Chapter 22: China Could Lose a War Against South Korea?
Chapter 22: China Could Lose a War Against South Korea?
Chinese Central Military Commission Leadership Conference Room
“How does it make any sense that we lost? We’re China!”
The senior officials still could not recover from the shock.
For the first time in history, China had lost a simulated war game against South Korea.
“South Korea’s pace of new weapons development has increased markedly.”
The Director of the Equipment Development Department cautiously addressed the Vice Chairman.
“In proportion to that, South Korea’s international standing and bargaining power are also rising.”
“Drones, HPM drones, even AI technology... It’s as if they’re a country preparing to go to war right this very moment.”
The Vice Chairman’s cold gaze swept across the charts in the report.
“Vice Chairman, South Korea still does not possess a proper reconnaissance drone. That point will clearly give us—”
Bang—
The Vice Chairman slammed the table hard enough to break it.
“I hate South Korea. Do you know why, Director?”
Cold sweat ran down the Director of the Equipment Development Department’s back.
There was no telling when the Vice Chairman’s capricious temper would explode again.
“China has many Go prodigies. There must be around seventy Chinese players ranked among the top one hundred.”
(Translator’s Note:Go (Baduk) — An abstract strategy board game originating in ancient China. It is known as baduk in Korea and igo in Japan. Professional competition is especially prominent in China, South Korea, and Japan.)
The Vice Chairman’s voice was thick with irritation.
“Yes, that is my understanding.”
“And yet first place is always held by a Korean. It’s been that way for decades. Do you... do you have any idea how infuriating that is?”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Vice Chairman’s thick fist struck the table again. The Director’s shoulders jerked violently.
“That phenomenon is quite enough in the world of Go. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Y-Yes. I understand.”
“Even if it was only a simulated war, China losing a war is unacceptable. Find a way to overturn the result immediately. Even if you have to use ‘that bastard.’”
“That bastard? He’s extremely difficult to handle...”
When the Vice Chairman’s expression hardened, the Director wiped away his cold sweat and bowed his head.
“I will have my subordinates investigate immediately.”
Europe was in an uproar.
The news anchor on television spoke with a grave expression.
“A Russian-made drone roamed freely throughout European airspace.”
All because of a single drone.
“Poland scrambled fighter jets, but failed even to intercept it.”
It was a clear demonstration of just how unprepared Europe was for modern warfare.
Click.
The television turned off.
“Hey, what the hell? I was watching that.”
When I grumbled in complaint, Taeju dragged over a whiteboard with a rattling sound.
Written in large letters in the center were the words, “End-of-Month Meeting: Choosing Product Names.”
In the corner, someone had written, “Let’s become the world’s most valuable company.” I liked that, but I did not let it show.
“Let’s start by naming our HPM drone.”
Taeju flicked the whiteboard marker as he spoke.
“...Agreed. Not even having a product name lacks romance.”
Come to think of it, we had sold this new weapon without ever giving it an official name.
Even on the contracts, we had simply written the lone letter “H” and handed them over.
Without a proper nameplate, it almost looked like some generic factory product or counterfeit knockoff.
“Hyesung, do you have anything in mind?”
“How about ‘Mobile Microwave’?”
It was a name based on scientific principles.
“Rejected.”
“How about ‘Drone Killer’? Like mosquito killer.”
It was a name based on similarity of purpose.
“Rejected. It doesn’t sound cool.”
They were all jokes, but having every single one rejected made me lose interest.
“Then you come up with one.”
“How about Xellos?”
(Translator’s Note:Xellos— Xellos is a powerful recurring character in Slayers, a Japanese fantasy light-novel series written by Hajime Kanzaka. The first Slayers story appeared in 1989, and the first collected novel was published in January 1990.)
“Xellos?”
“In the anime Slayers, Xellos wipes out an entire group of dragons with one finger.”
“Hmm... That’s not bad.”
“Good. Then from today onward, our HPM drone is called ‘Xellos.’”
That was when it happened.
Bzzzt—
My smartphone on the desk vibrated loudly.
“Who is it?”
“...It’s Secretary Seo Dojin.”
Taeju’s eyes widened. I quickly swiped the screen and answered the call.
“Yes, hello?”
“CEO Ryu, are you able to speak right now?”
Secretary Seo’s voice over the phone sounded unusually heavy and urgent.
“Yes. What happened?”
“The President has called an emergency meeting.”
“An emergency meeting?”
Why would the President summon an ordinary high school student like me to an emergency meeting?
“I am on my way to pick you up now.”
Underground Bunker, Agency for Defense Development, Republic of Korea
I was rushed there in a black government vehicle, arriving at an underground testing facility under strict security control.
“I’ve wanted to meet this young man for so long. We finally meet.”
Not only the President, the commander-in-chief of the armed forces, but also the Director of the Agency for Defense Development sat there with grave expressions.
“What is this about? You called an emergency meeting.”
At my question, the President finally spoke.
“We need a Korean reconnaissance drone.”
A reconnaissance drone.
The single most important principle in modern warfare was unquestionably to see first and shoot first.
To shoot first, you had to see first.
In the past, reconnaissance soldiers had to risk their lives by entering enemy territory themselves, or commanders had to anxiously wait for satellite photographs that would not be updated until much later.
But in modern warfare, where every second counted, responding that slowly meant certain defeat.
“South Korea’s current reconnaissance drone, the Songgolmae, breaks down constantly, and its resolution is terrible.”
The Director calmly stated the reality of the situation. The President continued with a dark expression.
“Hyesung, the Americans quoted us forty billion won for a single MQ-9 Reaper.”
(Translator’s Note:MQ-9 Reaper — An American medium-altitude, long-endurance remotely piloted aircraft manufactured by General Atomics Aeronautical Systems. It is used for surveillance, reconnaissance, and precision strikes and achieved initial operational capability with the United States Air Force in October 2007.)
The President’s expression hardened coldly.
They might be a blood-bound allied nation, but when advanced weapons were involved, they were nothing more than merciless merchants.
“And even then, they’re arrogantly saying they can’t deliver one for another three years.”
“Our Agency for Defense Development does not have nearly enough personnel or funding to develop one ourselves.”
The Director beside him voiced the painful truth. Then he abruptly grabbed my shoulder and looked at me desperately.
“Have your company make one for us. If our institute develops it internally, it’ll take at least fifteen years.”
“What?”
“CEO Ryu, I’m asking you. Localize the production of a reconnaissance drone.”
The President made the request with an earnest expression.
“But, Mr. President, the aircraft you just mentioned is already outdated.”
The MQ-9 Reaper? That might have flown in the past, but the situation had completely changed now.
“These days, people use six-million-won DJI Mavic 3s or fifty-million-won Shahed-136s as reconnaissance drones.”
(Translator’s Note:DJI Mavic 3 — A civilian camera drone made by DJI, a Chinese drone manufacturer. Released in November 2021, it features obstacle sensing, an extended flight time, and high-resolution camera systems.)
The President and the Director’s eyes widened in surprise at my answer.
“If the goal is to see first, it’s more advantageous to make them cheaply in large numbers and throw them out en masse.”
No. 1 Secret Detention Camp, Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region
In stark contrast to the brutal, desolate atmosphere inside the prison, a single solitary cell stood in a completely isolated special section.
Clatter, clatter—
The old desk beyond the bars looked as though it belonged in the dealing room of a major securities firm.
Dozens of monitors flashed busily without pause, spewing out complicated streams of data and code.
“Senior, who’s that guy in the wheelchair? Why does he get such special treatment?”
“They say he’s the worst genius in Chinese history. His crimes were too serious to let him live outside, but he was too valuable to kill.”
“What? What the hell did he do...?”
“He hacked Chinese military secrets, manipulated the stock exchange, stole cryptocurrency... Basically, if it was a crime you could commit with a keyboard, he did it. They say countless people killed themselves because of him.”
“Wouldn’t that be enough for the death penalty?”
“Of course. The fact that he’s still alive must mean he’s unbelievably smart.”
The new prison guard looked dumbfounded.
No matter how smart one criminal was, how intelligent could he possibly be to escape execution?
Clang—
At that moment, the sound of a heavy iron door opening echoed down the corridor.
“Loyalty!”
The guards who had been chatting idly until moments ago instantly snapped upright.
Anyone capable of opening the thick security door and walking straight inside had to be one of the Party’s highest-ranking figures, even without introducing himself.
“Open it.”
The man gave only a curt order without explanation or introduction.
The guards did not dare question him and hurriedly opened the solitary cell.
“Li Wei. Have you finished the analysis?”
The General Team Leader of the Chinese Ministry of National Defense’s Special Response Department asked in a cold voice.
He had outsourced research on Ryu Hyesung—the central reason China had lost the simulated war against South Korea—to this insane psychopath.
“I-It was... finished long ago...”
Li Wei, seated in the wheelchair, pointed at the monitor with trembling fingertips and stammered.
“At present... the most dangerous ‘person’ in K-Korea... is R-Ryu Hyesung...”
On the central monitor he indicated was a large photograph of a young-faced Korean high school student.
“So it is him after all... Why?”
“Within three days... he can develop humanity’s worst... n-nuclear weapon... In practical terms, South Korea... is a nuclear-armed state.”
“Everyone already knows South Korea could develop nuclear weapons whenever it wanted, even without him. Do you think we kept you alive just to analyze that?”
“I mean the n-nuclear weapon with... the most powerful specifications... in human history...”
“What?”
A chill ran down the team leader’s spine.
The reason China had no choice but to lose a war against South Korea was the “most powerful nuclear weapon in human history” that Hyesung could create within three days.
“Then Ryu Hyesung is the one we need to be most wary of...”
“N-No...”
“What? Not Ryu Hyesung?”
Another chill ran down the team leader’s spine.
Was there someone else in South Korea whom China needed to fear?
“The most dangerous... ‘existence’ in K-Korea... is the AI... H-Hermes... inside his watch...”
“What? A watch? What the hell are you talking about? Speak clearly, you fucking retard!”
“The AI he created deliberately left... a warning message for m-me.”
“Why did it leave a message for you?”
“Because I can... understand it.”
The General Team Leader was growing frustrated.
Suppressing the rage that made him want to beat Li Wei, he barely managed to continue.
“Haah... Explain exactly how it’s dangerous. What happens?”
“...”
Li Wei closed his mouth.
He looked utterly terrified.
“Are you not going to talk, you bastard?”
Thud—
Thud—
Ignoring the guards outside, the team leader viciously stomped on the disabled Li Wei.
The wheelchair toppled over, and Li Wei’s body was kicked and trampled.
Even then, Li Wei never took his eyes off the team leader’s face.
One week later.
The team leader who had assaulted Li Wei was found hanging in his home.
Science Facility Factory No. 1 Office
“No, I’m telling you, Earth is shaped like a dinosaur.”
Taeju stared intently at the computer monitor, locked in a heated argument with Hermes.
Whenever he was bored, he would start spouting nonsense at Hermes.
[Are you an idiot? Earth is spherical.]
Hermes’s voice message came through the speakers with unmistakable irritation.
“You’re seriously only good at company work and useless at everything else, huh? I’ll show you proof.”
Looking triumphant, Taeju uploaded a doctored “dinosaur-shaped Earth” meme image from the internet into the chat window.
Hermes gave a brief scoff through the device’s speakers.
It was a remarkable moment in which a mechanical AI openly mocked a human.
[...I believe I am becoming angry. Stupid human.]
“Ha. And what are you going to do if you get angry? Hyesung, I’m telling you, this thing keeps making fun of me. It wasn’t like this at first.”
“That’s because you started tormenting it first.”