The Darkest Hour (3)
I was rushing to San Francisco.
New young talents had arrived from across the ocean—funded by the Eastern Education Development Fund.
The fund had grown far larger than I expected.
At first, I boldly declared, "I'll fund everyone's education myself! Mwahaha!"
…Turns out, it costs a ridiculous amount of money. Yushin had a reason for nagging me so much.
But my worries about funding turned out to be completely pointless.
"General Kim, if you could perhaps help my son—"
"I'm sorry, but I stepped away from candidate selection a long time ago."
"No, no! I would never dare push my son into a spot meant for children who are passionate about learning but forced to give up due to poverty. I studied under a dim oil lamp myself, chasing after blue-eyed foreigners like a beggar just to learn their language. I would never do such a thing."
"Then how would you like me to help?"
"If you could assist with my son's study abroad in America, I will cover the tuition for other children as well. The ones you select will surely become the pillars of future Asia—so at the very least, I hope my useless son can make good friends among them."
So… basically, donation-based admission?
Among the wealthy elites of Japan and China, the sharper ones seemed convinced that this education fund would bear great fruit in the future.
"China is in utter chaos right now—worse than the Five Barbarians and Sixteen Kingdoms. Better my child studies in America than risks dying in the streets…"
"Soldiers run rampant and prime ministers are assassinated in broad daylight. The future of the Empire is uncertain. I'll send my eldest to Tokyo Imperial University, and my second son to General Kim—at least that way, the family line won't collapse."
"Who did this idiot take after, chasing skirts all day? Maybe if he mixes with those prodigies from humble backgrounds, he won't completely ruin himself."
Thus, what began as a modest education fund quickly swelled like a Snorlax's belly.
If they wanted to pay just to attach the "Made by Yujin Kim" label, then of course I'd take their money and outsource a bit. Everyone wins, right?
While I was thinking that, the welcoming ceremony at the dock was proceeding smoothly.
Cheers echoed everywhere. Applause filled the air as countless Asians encouraged these youths' futures.
A moment overflowing with pride that transcended nationality.
Most of them were just teenage boys with pliable minds. Many would likely remember this day for the rest of their lives. I just hoped they'd hold onto that memory and study hard.
Asia's future would be harsh. No matter their nationality, I just wanted them to survive and thrive.
After the ceremony wrapped up, I had to shake hands with each of them and offer brief words of encouragement.
I asked several times if I really had to do this, but everyone insisted, so it ended up on the schedule. Seriously—after doing this, my hands swell up like Doraemon's. What am I, an idol? Hosting a fan meet?
Then my trash brain came up with a cute idea again. Right—if I ever run low on cash, I'll sell Yujin Kim handshake tickets. Autograph sessions too. VIP tickets include hugs. Dinner for two—$1,000. That should scare everyone off, right?
As I went on delivering well-wishes in Korean, Chinese, and Japanese—
A man who was clearly not a boy stepped in front of me.
"Oh! We have a mature student here. Welcome to America."
"I have always respected you. My name is Park Sang-hee, from Seonsan in Gyeongbuk."
"I see. What were you doing before coming here?"
"I was involved in the independence movement with Singanhoe. The Japanese put me on a ship and sent me away."
Damn—no brakes at all. You can't just say that outright like that.
"Hello! General, I really wanted to see you, so I came all the way to America!"
"Oh, we've got a young one too. Did you come with your older brother?"
"I came after attending Gumi Elementary School. H-here—"
The child, clinging tightly to Park Sang-hee, opened his bundle and handed me a worn-out book.
What is this…? A biography of Kim Yujin? Why does something this horrifying exist? Is this some kind of demonic manual?
I instinctively flipped through it.
— And so, General Kim Yujin turned grains of sand into bullets and distributed them among 30,000 Black Flag soldiers, who were so moved that they did not retreat a single step under the German hail of bullets…
My eyes! My eyes!! That's not Kim Yujin—that's some kind of mythical freak! Who the hell wrote this garbage?!
Struggling to maintain my composure, I took out a pen for the trembling child.
"Looks like you've read this a lot. Alright, I'll write something for you. What's your name?"
"Jeong-hee. Park Chung-hee."
…Who? Park Chung-hee?
No way. That Park Chung-hee?
But if it's a kid from Gumi… damn it.
I stopped thinking and quickly spoke.
"So, young Jeong-hee, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I want to become very successful—like you, General Kim, or Napoleon—and become a great person!"
"Jeong-hee!"
His older brother panicked, but I didn't mind.
Success, huh. Not a bad ambition. The more I look at him, the more he resembles the man I know.
"Success is a difficult word. Why do you want to succeed?"
"My dad doesn't work and just stays at home. My mom says it's because he couldn't succeed due to the Japanese discrimination. So I want to succeed, live well in Gyeongseong, and make my mom and dad happy."
"I'm so sorry! He's still very young—"
"No, no, it's fine."
Whether this child is the person I'm thinking of or not, I'm older—so I can give a bit of advice.
"I see. You're a very good child, full of filial piety."
"Hehe. Thank you."
"But being a soldier is not a job for the sake of success."
The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a large question mark.
The only soldiers he would have seen were probably military police beating Koreans. If that's what made him admire soldiers, I needed to correct him.
I knelt down to meet his eyes and spoke slowly.
"A soldier of this country, the United States, is someone who fights so that others can sleep peacefully at night. It's a very hard and difficult job. When people treat soldiers well, it's not because they are strong—it's because they're grateful that someone is doing something difficult in their place."
"Then… what about Napoleon—?"
"Think carefully about Napoleon too. When he fought for the French people, everyone was grateful to him. But once he grew greedy and started fighting for his own gain, he was eventually driven out.
A soldier who puts himself before others, a soldier who uses his strength to oppress others—people will inevitably come to hate that kind of person."
Talking at a child's level… this is really hard. Bang Jeong-hwan really was a cheat code of a human being. Next time, I'm definitely dragging him out of his room and making him stand next to me.
"Then if I want to succeed, what should I do?"
"You'll figure that out little by little while living here in America. It's best to do what you truly want to do."
At that moment, I heard applause from the side.
"General Kim, I couldn't help but overhear—those were truly words of wisdom!"
"You seem to be Japanese. You can speak Korean as well?"
"Yes. My father told me that before coming to America, I must learn Korean so I could better understand your words, General."
The boy—probably a middle or high school student—looked at me with something close to reverence.
"What's your name?"
"My name is Tojo Hidetaka! I was born in Meiji 44 (1911)!"
Tojo, Tojo, Tojo… damn it, Tojo.
If it's Tojo, there's only one possibility.
"And your father's name, perhaps—?"
"Tojo Hideki! I'm deeply honored to hear such valuable words the moment I set foot in America!"
So that random letter he sent me… it was about entrusting his son?
Why me? Why do I have to go through this?
Shouldn't I be meeting independence activists and great figures and thinking, Wow, I'm so glad I started this program!? Why does it feel like I'm gathering a Suicide Squad instead of Avengers? At this rate, Kim Il-sung or Yi Wan-yong's son might show up next. Seriously?
I want to quit. If I ever get fan mail from Hitler, I swear I'll bite my tongue and end it right there. Though that lunatic shouting about the greatness of the Germanic race probably wouldn't… right?
Glancing at the long line of people still waiting for handshakes, I forced a smile.
***
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean exactly what I said. You're dismissed."
"T-That can't be! I'm not just a US MILK employee—I was assigned here as a member of the Veterans' Association!"
John Miller's protest fell on deaf ears.
"I know. Didn't you hear from that Veterans' Association? Despite being responsible for auditing, they completely failed to stop the corruption of former president Doherty. Whether they didn't know or were complicit—who can say?"
"That is absolutely not true."
"Fine, let's say it isn't. The higher-ups are reluctant to touch the Veterans' Association directly. So instead, the Association will take responsibility for the audit failure and 'voluntarily' withdraw from US MILK."
The man from D.C. casually tore the nameplate off Miller's desk.
"You can head back now. You've worked hard protecting the rights of Black people."
"…Very well. If that is the position of the Veterans' Association, then I will step down as well. But allow me to say one thing. The men currently employed here are simply trying to earn a living. So please—"
"Do you expect us to consider every individual's circumstances?"
That blunt tone.
Seeing the coming storm all too clearly, Miller dropped to his knees.
"I beg you. Black or white—it doesn't matter. They are all heads of households, supporting their families. Please, I'm asking you—"
"My friend, my friend. What do you expect me to do about that?"
The man smirked as he lightly shoved Miller backward, his suit brushing against the dirt on the floor.
"Try praying to the invisible hand. Oh—and unfortunately, we'll be packing your things for you."
"What do you mean?"
Instead of answering, he gestured lightly. Several burly men waiting outside the door stepped in and approached Miller.
"Sir, we'll need your cooperation regarding the US MILK corruption investigation."
"I don't know anything!"
"Well, we'll find out during the investigation, won't we, you bastard? Shut up and come along."
As if they had been waiting for this moment, they twisted Miller's arms behind his back and slapped on handcuffs.
Are they making an example of me? The Veterans' Association… abandoned me?
Outside the window, the sky somehow looked yellow.
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