The Darkest Hour (1)
Japanese-ruled Joseon.
Sangmo-ri, Gumi-myeon, Seonsan, North Gyeongsang Province.
A remote countryside village—one of countless others across Joseon.
To get to the town center took what felt like an eternity on foot, and reaching anything that could be called a city required serious preparation and resolve. Naturally, there was no specialty product or anything noteworthy about the place.
Still, even this backwater had something it could take pride in—a young man from the village who was, at least somewhat, someone worth boasting about.
"Oh my, Sang-hui, is that you? What brings you here?"
"Haha. I had some business, so I came down for a bit. Everything's been well, I hope?"
"Yes, yes. Your mother's out in the fields—wait here a moment! Sang-hui's mother!!"
Park Sang-hui gazed upon his hometown after so long and was filled with emotion.
As if he might never see it again, he carefully took in every corner of the small, impoverished village—like capturing each scene on camera and engraving it into his mind—before finally heading home.
"What brings you here?"
"I came because I have something to tell you."
"You're not about to get dragged off to prison again, are you?"
"It's nothing like that. It's actually good news, haha."
Once his parents were seated, he immediately began explaining.
"It's just that… I've been given a very good opportunity this time."
"You're not saying you're going to take a position under the Japanese, are you?"
"Of course not!"
At his father's words, he flared up in indignation, then decided to skip the suspense and continue.
"I've been selected for a scholarship program hosted by the Oriental Education Development Fund."
"Oriental… what did you say?"
"The Oriental Education Development Fund. You know—the one where General Kim Yujin sends young people abroad to study."
"General Kim's scholarship? You? You're saying you actually got it?!"
"Oh my! Oh my goodness! I didn't even dream of pigs, so what kind of fortune is this?!"
This time, it was his parents who jumped up in shock.
If it was General Kim's scholarship, wasn't that the one even the Japanese and Chinese prayed for, offering bowls of clean water in hopes of being selected? That rare opportunity, said to be even greater than admission to Tokyo Imperial University, had come to their son!
"T-this won't do. We need to slaughter a cow immediately."
"Of course, of course! We have to invite everyone in the village. You go gather the people. I'll head into town and bring back a cow."
"What if even people from the town come?"
"What kind of question is that?! Of course they should come! In all of Seonsan, who else but our Sang-hui has ever gone to America?!"
Before he could even try to stop them, his parents jumped up and rushed out. From afar, he could already hear his mother shouting, "Villagers!!" at the top of her lungs.
It was difficult for him to explain the circumstances behind how he had been selected.
He couldn't bring himself to tell the whole truth.
It had happened not long ago.
"America?"
"Yes, America. You've been selected by the Oriental Education Development Fund. They intend to send you there."
Park Sang-hui was a member of the Singanhoe, and one of the most active activists in the Gyeongbuk region.
It was painful to send someone of such reputation and influence abroad, but there was no helping it.
"The Japanese have nominated you."
"…What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. The Japanese want you gone from Joseon, so they put your name into the fund themselves."
It was bewildering.
He had heard rumors like that before, but never imagined he would be the one it applied to.
"Looks like you've really gotten under their skin."
"Is there no way I can refuse?"
"Have you lost your mind? It wasn't us who chose—you were chosen by the Japanese. If you reject this opportunity, then what comes next… you know it, don't you?"
They would find some way to cut his life short.
In a sense, this was a modern variation of exile.
They selected a young man—intelligent, reputable, and fiercely anti-Japanese—and offered him the "best opportunity."
Once he left, it was obvious he would never set foot on Joseon soil again. But on the other hand, it meant that someone who might otherwise be falsely accused and beaten half to death could instead study abroad in America and develop his abilities.
His hesitation didn't last long.
More precisely, the moment the Japanese had set their sights on him, he had no choice but to accept.
But his parents and the villagers, unaware of these circumstances, were already pouring makgeolli in celebration, abandoning their day's farm work to revel in the joyous occasion.
After repeatedly downing bowls of makgeolli offered by neighbors who were already visibly drunk, he made an excuse and quietly slipped back home.
"What's our youngest doing in the house instead of eating meat?"
"…You're going to America."
"Yeah. I'm going to America."
His youngest sibling—twelve years younger—had always been frail, which made him worry.
So he often brought books from the city to keep him entertained while lying down. But today, strangely enough, the boy was sulking under the blanket, refusing to show his face. Normally, he would have clung to his brother's pant leg, asking if he had brought any books.
"I didn't have time to buy a book today."
"I don't need one. Books."
"I'll bring you two next time. Good grief, look how worn these are."
Among the books in the corner, two stood out as particularly tattered.
One was a biography of Napoleon, and the other a biography of Kim Yujin. A reading taste that was, at a glance, very straightforward.
"Come on, get out from under that blanket and look at me."
"No. Just hurry up and go to America. I'll stay here in this village forever."
"You'll regret it if you keep this up."
"What would I regret?"
"Going to America. Actually… it's fine if family comes along too."
"…Really?"
"What, you think I'm lying? Looking at it, there's really only one person from our family who could come with me—"
"Me? Me? Me??"
"I can't take someone who's hiding under a blanket."
No sooner had he said that than the boy kicked the blanket aside and flung it across the room.
"Me! Me! I want to go! I want to see General Kim Yujin!"
"Even if you go, it'll be hard to meet him."
"But it's America! Take me to Americaaa!!"
"With your health, I don't know if you'll manage… and once you go, it'll be hard to come back."
In truth, Sang-hui had already planned to take his youngest sibling with him from the moment he decided to return home.
Despite being so frail, the boy stubbornly walked hours to attend school. His own mind had already hardened with age, but if his younger brother studied in America, he could surely become someone great.
If this opportunity had come, then at least his youngest should be able to study without worrying about tuition.
Whether he understood the pain of his older brother leaving this beloved homeland or not, his younger brother Jeong-hui chattered excitedly.
"Hyung! If I go there, can I become a soldier? Can I hold a gun with General Kim Yujin and fight the Japanese?"
"Haha. We'll find out when we get there."
Yes. As long as his younger brother was happy, that was enough.
With a bitter smile, he ruffled the boy's hair.
***
Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe—Munich, Germany.
This was a place where distrust and hostility toward the current regime—the Weimar Republic—were stronger than anywhere else in Germany. It was also where a minor political party had first taken root.
The National Socialist German Workers' Party.
The so-called Nazi Party.
Once, they had attempted to seize the country in a single stroke through a coup, but their forces were weak, and their conspirators timid and indecisive. Instead of saving the chaotic nation, they were swiftly suppressed.
But as the saying goes, a misfortune can turn into a blessing.
Their leader, Adolf Hitler, rose to national fame during the trial following the failed uprising, gaining recognition as both a patriot and an orator. He later published Mein Kampf, a work filled with what he believed to be remarkable insight, allowing him to rise once more.
On this day, a senior party member, Joseph Goebbels, was visiting the residence of the revered leader.
"Leader? Leader?"
The door was unlocked.
Goebbels stepped inside and cautiously called out.
"—Therefore, for the survival of the Aryan race! We must exterminate those evil Jewish-Bolsheviks who stabbed us in the back during the last great war!"
"Leader?"
"Ah, Dr. Goebbels. My apologies. I was practicing a speech."
Hitler flung open the window and snatched the thick bundle of documents Goebbels was holding.
"Is this what I requested?"
"Yes, it is."
Goebbels glanced at three portraits hanging on the wall.
One was of Benito Mussolini—Hitler's role model and idol, the man who had unified a weak and divided Italy.
Another was of Henry Ford—whom Hitler regarded as a crusader building a great industrial empire across the Atlantic in opposition to what he perceived as Jewish-Bolshevik influence.
And the last—
"I've always wondered—why is that man's portrait hanging there?"
"He is an unparalleled superhuman produced by the United States."
Hitler replied sharply.
"We Aryans conquered Asia and Europe and placed them beneath our feet. Then surely a man like Genghis Khan must also have had Aryan blood hidden within him. Don't you think?"
"You're saying the Tatars are descendants of Aryans?"
"Who knows? I'll have to ask Himmler. But a great conqueror deserves to be honored as an honorary Aryan for his achievements alone. And if we speak of the final mounted monarch of the 20th century… who else but Yujin Kim?"
Hitler gestured toward the portrait of Yujin Kim on the wall.
"A man four years younger than me crushed the armies of the great Aryans while I was choking on poison gas as a mere soldier. The Junker generals—who lived in luxury their whole lives, receiving nothing but military education—were all defeated one after another by a man not even thirty."
"…That is true."
"In my estimation, if we trace his lineage back, we will surely find a great Aryan ancestor. Did he receive extraordinary military training? If not for the blood of a conqueror, where could such brilliance in strategy come from?"
A remarkable record—achieved while commanding what he dismissed as a weak American force.
If a commander like Yujin Kim had led the German army instead of those incompetent Junkers, would they have lost the last great war?
Hitler was certain they would not have.
As he scanned the congressional testimony documents Goebbels had brought, he muttered:
"And in my bold estimation… he is one of us."
"That's even harder to believe."
"At the very least, I'm certain he studied Mussolini closely. He understands how to handle the masses. A combination of innate talent and effort. Look here—this part. I repeat, a Tatar officer four years younger than me is debating hundreds of politicians without yielding."
Hitler trembled with excitement, clenching and shaking his fists.
"This is the Übermensch! Nietzsche's superman is here! Why would God burden such a man with Tatar blood? Why was this man not granted to the German people? God is dead—dead, I say!
This incredible strategy, this incredible ability to move the masses… Do you understand? This man is like the emperors of ancient Rome. I guarantee it—Henry Ford and Yujin Kim will join forces, sweep away the Jewish-Bolsheviks, and build a true nation of freedom!"
He grew impatient.
If fascist states capable of replacing decaying capitalism were rising in Italy and America, then Germany must act quickly as well.
"Germany must launch its National Socialist revolution soon. National Socialism is the answer to overcoming this dark age. If Germany, America, and Italy unite—and Britain awakens to its Aryan duty—we can defeat the Jews and the Soviets!"
"I see."
It was difficult to believe.
But Goebbels chose to accept it.
After all, their leader was the greatest figure of the German people—one who could see farther than anyone else.
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