Legacy of Dishonor
The narrow road was too tight for the black car Yukiko was driving. If I'd been behind the wheel, I would've scraped something for sure.
"For that amount, euthanasia would be a more efficient choice for the family than paying the hospital bills."
"..."
"A family of five—father and eldest daughter killed in the war, leaving only the second daughter Hyun-ah, her little sister, and their mother."
The road was poorly maintained. The car jolted constantly.
"Isn't one death better than three?"
"...Yeah."
Before the war, I might've spouted something like 'one life is worth more than the world.' But after seeing real death, those words stuck in my throat.
"Why did you help her?"
"Wasn't that what she wanted?"
"I'm just curious, Master. To you, she's nothing more than a stranger you bumped into on the street, isn't she?"
Hyun-ah's situation was pitiful, of course. But the world overflowed with people even more desperate.
"If you handed that kind of money to everyone you met, even your wealth wouldn't last long."
You could find plenty just circling this neighborhood a few times. Among the people visible beyond the car window, those in shabby suits or work clothes were the lucky ones. The truly poor wore tracksuits unwashed for months, staring blankly out their windows from inside dim rooms.
"True... but it's just so absurd."
Hyun-ah was a little different, though.
"In a situation like that, you'd expect her spirit to be as broke as her wallet..."
It was tragic, but the rich and the poor had different mindsets. The marshmallow experiment: give kids one marshmallow, promise another if they wait fifteen minutes. Those with the self-control to hold out succeeded later in life; those who scarfed it down ended up poor again.
Sadly, it was also about trust. The lives of the wealthy and well-educated were predictable—effort yielded results. For the poor, it was usually the opposite. Society didn't give them trust. Wallets stolen by thieves, wages withheld by shady bosses. Watching the rich achieve multiples with less effort in better environments? Surrender was inevitable.
In that world, surrounded by that, thinking 'I'll work hard, raise my value, and succeed' was admirable—and brutally naive.
"Why... why try so hard in a situation like that?"
Such positive, bold, hopeful attitudes weren't needed for the poor. They could even be harmful.
"She knows it won't work... Fuck, walking into a slave academy on her own—what the hell does she think she'll learn there..."
Sure, slaves with skills sometimes fetched higher prices. But that was just the gap when a capable woman fell into slavery. Effort from a kid like her? Meaningless. She'd struggle and struggle, realize it was all for nothing, and despair.
"That's amusing."
"Hey, you think this is funny?"
Yukiko flashed a rare smile—one she hardly ever showed. Someone's dying inside here...
"In the end, isn't she saying she'll work for you, Master? More dignified than begging for mercy."
"She'll fail."
"She's already saved her mother and succeeded. And if she fails, won't you take her in anyway?"
Hyun-ah's past efforts, her future struggles—they were futile flailing.
"As long as you make her happy in the end, it'll be a happy ending for her."
I could fix everything for her materially, but not make her life meaningful.
"Maybe."
I used to be more uncompromising, distinguishing the inevitable from what I could change. I'd give my all where I could. I wondered what that old me would think of me now. No positive answer came to mind. He'd probably despise me.
Yukiko parked and spotted me instantly, striding over.
"A fine hospital."
"Rare disease. They must've bounced around until landing here."
The hospital courtyard—with its benches and structures—felt worlds away from where Hyun-ah lived. A bitter taste lingered as I pushed open the doors.
Thankfully, it wasn't crowded. A high-ranking staffer rushed to greet me. I showed the estimate on my phone and explained why I was there.
"Mind if I ask how the bill could possibly reach this amount?"
She escorted me to the director's office. The white-haired old man immediately investigated the patient I'd named. Soon, I got answers.
"This... involves experimental treatments requiring drugs not normally available domestically."
I lacked medical knowledge to argue. As he explained, the equipment was rare in the country, and specialists few. Reasons for the cost stacked up.
"Then why isn't insurance covering it?"
If my memory served, domestic medical costs had limits, no matter what.
"That's... tied to the patient's family history. It's awkward to discuss."
"I'll cover it. Just tell me."
The old doctor in his white coat sighed deeply before continuing.
"The patient... was within the prime conscription age during the war."
"Couldn't enlist?"
"Yes. That's... how it turned out."
Wartime needs exceeded conscription; forcing recruitment warped the system. Women 20 to 40 had to 'voluntarily enlist' unless crippled. The 'voluntary contribution for social unity' for dodging? Pocket change for elites, debt-inducing for middle class, impossible for the rest.
Some were too frail for training yet too poor for fines. The state's approach was simple.
"She's classified as a 'duty evader,' ineligible for insurance."
No basic welfare, no civil service jobs. No disaster aid. Discrimination lasted until they paid 1.5 times the original fine. Most died without paying.
"Her family had a war casualty—still no coverage?"
"Casualty? Haven't heard that... Let me check with records."
Punishing losers honored sacrifices. Martyrs' families got preferences, if excessive. Hyun-ah had enlisted 'late'—after exemption age—highlighting that could reduce costs. Tricky, but men held sway in such disputes. A cheer from the gallery yelling 'Go Hyun-ah!' might seal it.
Waiting silently, the doctor tapped his computer, then looked up darkly.
"Han Da-hye, the daughter... uh... she's listed. Died in the war, but... no martyr status."
"Accident?"
Barring gross negligence, a call to veterans' affairs barking would fix it.
"No... dishonorable... death. Ah, this..."
The director couldn't meet my eyes. Neither could I, shame burning.
"Ah."
Execution. For crimes, desertion. 'Insolent' attitudes to commanders, refusing suicidal orders. Thousands died. Against China, outright surrenderers and traitors abounded. The military regime granted field executions to officers. Abused endlessly.
Fragging worked against humans; post-enhancement male commanders crushed resistance.
Sure, some committed atrocities, betrayed units. But even they were pitiable—people who'd have lived peacefully without war.
Personal opinion. No lawsuit would stick.
"Sorry I couldn't help more."
"No, this helps a ton! Where do I pay? Card? I'll cover treatment now—start as soon as possible without strain."
I smiled wryly. As suspected, some things couldn't be changed.