Chapter 114

Mr. Sunset (1)

All schedules were either postponed or pushed forward at lightning speed, like beans being stir-fried in a flash of lightning.

Even though my leave had technically been approved before departure, time was tight.

For an ordinary officer, there would’ve been plenty of time to meet family and acquaintances and get things in order—but when have I ever been ordinary? I had too many loose ends to tie up. This was all the karma I’d brought upon myself.

“Make sure you sell plenty while you’re there.”

“I’m not a salesman, Chairman.”

“Aren’t you now a state-appointed salesman? Where do you think the money from those tank sales goes? It circles around and ends up in your pocket anyway, so give it everything you’ve got.”

What a crooked businessman.

Still, it was true that part of the tank purchase payments fluttering in would land in my account, so I kept my complaints to myself.

“You won’t be around to see the new model launch.”

“It’s a shame, but there’s nothing more I can do. I’ll be watching Mr. Ford’s success from across the Pacific.”

“You can start calling me Ezel more casually now. Haha.”

I probably wouldn’t be touching Ford Motor Company affairs for a while.

The same went for The Sun. It was, after all, an independent newspaper with plenty of ‘friends’ besides us. Since we’d already used it once for our own benefit, it was time to give it a cooling-off period.

The next person I met was someone a bit uncomfortable to deal with.

“I enjoyed the show. Your handling of Congress was quite impressive.”

“I simply testified to the best of my ability. How could I dare claim to ‘handle’ the representatives of the United States?”

Hoover leaned back crookedly as he evaluated my latest performance.

“I’m not in the habit of plucking a lion’s whiskers either. I won’t be meddling with Major Kim, so no need to worry.”

“Why don’t we just take what we each need from one another? There’s no such thing as secrets in this world, after all.”

After I’d thoroughly dressed him down—politely implying, ‘The intel you gave me was garbage. You can’t even tell Japanese from Ryukyuans—what kind of investigator are you?’—Hoover’s new obsession had become figuring out how to gather inside information on minority groups and small organizations.

I knew his type well. People whose pride is tied directly to their expertise.

He’d built his reputation on that very skill, so his pride must’ve been enormous. Getting torn apart with hard facts by someone who wasn’t even a specialist must have stung badly.

“Negro—… pardon me. Just being able to acquire extensive information on Black and Asian communities is, personally, a great achievement.”

“Don’t we share the same goal of protecting this country? There’s no need for us to clash. Haha!”

Most of Hoover’s informants were white anyway. How was he supposed to plant them into entirely different racial communities? It’d be about as difficult as me sending Mr. Miller undercover into the KKK.

And what did I gain from cooperating with Hoover?

Simple.

I now get to decide who’s a communist.

Anyone foolish enough to reject the benevolent hand of Yujin Kim and try to stir up trouble among good Asian Americans would be dragged into Hoover’s basement closet and treated to the full course.

People like that only add to the number of potential traitors anyway. If we can legally cut away the rot, isn’t that proper treatment?

The last person I met was the only naval officer I knew.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Congratulations on your promotion, Major Kim.”

“Thank you.”

“I heard you’ve had a daughter, so I brought a few baby supplies.”

King, who had taken on the role of a naval messenger simply because he knew me, looked somewhat uneasy.

With no need for small talk, he got straight to the point.

“Are you aware of the disarmament negotiations taking place in Washington, D.C.?”

“I’ve only heard that something like that is going on.”

Why would I concern myself with the affairs of the navy?

As if expecting that answer, he immediately handed me a few documents.

“These are materials from the State Department—written by those pencil-pushers—and this is the Navy’s position. Please take a look.”

“Understood.”

“The current administration is pushing very aggressively for disarmament. Halting new ship construction, scrapping vessels already launched, banning fortification of strategic points… As a member of the Navy, it’s quite baffling. In that regard, what you did—saving the tanks—looks quite impressive.”

“I barely did anything. The legislators simply came to see reality, albeit belatedly.”

King only nodded bitterly.

“I’ll take my leave now, as my schedule is tight. Please take care of your health in that den of those vile Japs.”

“Nothing will happen. I’ll be fine.”

Afterward, I said my farewells to my beloved family, stopped by San Francisco to wrap up loose ends, and then met Consul General Oota.

“At last, the Empire is honored to receive Major Kim.”

“Ah… I’m actually a bit concerned. Wouldn’t my visit make things uncomfortable for your country?”

“What are you saying! We invited you, after all. Please relax and enjoy your stay—we’ll take care of everything.”

Even after opening like that, Oota hesitated for a moment before speaking in a serious tone.

“You are a man of considerable political acumen, so I’m not overly worried—but are you familiar with the political landscape of the Empire?”

“No, not really. I’d appreciate it if you could enlighten me.”

Of course, I already knew that the Army and Navy practically lived under the same roof while growling at each other like sworn enemies.

Perhaps because he couldn’t openly tell a foreigner, ‘This is how messy our politics are,’ Oota’s explanation was fairly brief.

One notable point was that, contrary to my assumption that the military unilaterally controlled everything, politicians and bureaucrats in Japan actually wielded considerable power.

“Of course, Prime Minister Hara was recently assassinated—”

“Excuse me? The Prime Minister was killed? Are you sure it’s safe for me to go?”

“Ah, of course! It was merely the act of a deranged individual. Absolutely not terrorism or the work of subversive elements. Preparations are already well underway to ensure not a single hair on your head is harmed.”

Damn, that’s unsettling.

Even more troublesome than Japanese politics itself was the issue of how to handle me, Yujin Kim, in terms of protocol.

During the Great War, Japanese media—obsessed with clicks… or rather, performance—had gone wild covering “Yujin Kim, the great hero of Asia” as an overseas sensation. The Army, Navy, and politicians had all eagerly praised me as well. It was profitable, after all.

But now, Japan was in competition with that very United States over disarmament interests.

So what—give a grand reception to a U.S. officer? That would be quite a blow to their pride.

Then treat me coldly? But if they did that after inviting me, they’d risk turning the very Yujin Kim they had worked to win over into an enemy.

“This is a bit strange.”

I interrupted his explanation.

“Wouldn’t this problem be solved simply by… not inviting me in the first place?”

“That was precisely the dilemma—we couldn’t.”

Apparently, for reasons unknown, rumors had begun spreading in Japanese media that “Yujin Kim would be deployed to China.”

There had never even been a single mention in D.C. of me being sent to China, so it was probably just the usual nonsense cooked up by Japanese tabloid hacks obsessed with boosting their sales numbers.

But somehow, that rumor gradually turned into an established fact—

[General Kin Confirmed for Deployment to China!!]

[How lamentable! How can the Empire fail to welcome Asia’s great hero!]

[The U.S.-China encirclement looms—The Empire stands on the brink!]

[Let 100 million imperial subjects unite to receive General Kin!]

“What kind of nonsense is this? Does Japan not have any process for verifying facts?”

“You of all people should know better. How many times has truth ever really mattered in this world? Even I sometimes question my position.”

What the hell? Are they insane?

I seriously couldn’t understand Japanese logic. Something was happening—something—but my common sense outright refused to process it.

“Due to various circumstances, Major Kim, you will be received as a guest of Admiral Tōgō, the Empire’s greatest national hero.”

A foreign war hero, received as the guest of the Empire’s greatest hero. But not a state guest. Definitely not.

They were clearly trying very hard to piece together some kind of justification.

“So the Navy will likely take charge of hosting you…”

“…Likely?”

“I’m not sure the Army will sit quietly.”

Of course. It wouldn’t be complete without that.

If a naval hero were hosted by the Army, pride alone would make them seethe—and this was the Imperial Japanese Army we were talking about. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what they might do. Truly impressive.

With my head only growing more complicated, I wrapped up all preparations on the mainland and boarded a ship bound across the Pacific.

Just before boarding, I happily grabbed a passing newspaper boy and bought a copy of The Sun.

Ah, I couldn’t resist this. Had to buy it.

[Brigadier General Douglas MacArthur Revealed to Be Engaged to Louise Cromwell Brooks!!]

[The Wedding of the Century—Pershing Furious?!]

[U.S. Army’s Greatest Love Scandal! Who Is the Woman Both War Heroes Desperately Pursue?!]

So it finally blew up. Being thousands of kilometers away from ground zero felt incredibly reassuring.

General, I am forever grateful for your consideration—sending me to the great city of Tokyo instead of the tropical jungles of the Philippines. I shall never forget this kindness.

Even though I could practically see the mushroom cloud rising over D.C. and hear Marshall’s screams in full 3D IMAX—

Not my problem.

Hahahahahaha!

***

Just as Yujin Kim was departing,

Tokyo, Empire of Japan.

“We’ve received word from the San Francisco Consulate. General Kin has departed.”

Army Minister Yamanaashi Hanzō tapped the desk as he continued.

“Is General Kin perhaps a seal?”

“No, sir!!”

“Then what is he?”

“Army, sir!!”

“Then why the hell is he coming as a guest of those damned seal bastards?! This is outrageous! The Army’s honor will be dragged through the mud!!”

Every officer present had the same thought rising to their throats—You’re the one who got played by the Navy during negotiations, and now you’re complaining?—but as proud generals of the Empire, they knew the difference between what could be said and what would get them killed.

“Even if we concede everything else, we must, by any means necessary, take charge of his security. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!!”

“If, by any chance, General Kin ends up like Prime Minister Hara, then we are all committing seppuku.”

The faces of the assembled generals turned pale.

An American officer who embodied the spirit of the yellow race dying on Japanese soil? Even if they begged for seppuku, they’d likely be dragged to the gallows instead.

The United States would be enraged—and would demand compensation.

And before America even issued its demands, the Empire’s own citizens would probably burn down the responsible party’s home and ruin their entire family line.

“If anyone here is harboring idiotic thoughts about him being some ‘Joseon bastard,’ leave immediately. That man is someone who will lead the U.S. Army in the future. Make sure he leaves the Empire with goodwill—no matter what it takes. Understood?!”

Nothing will happen.

No—nothing can happen.

If another incident occurs, the Empire might gain a reputation as “the country where every visiting guest gets stabbed.”

And at that same time, elsewhere in Tokyo—

“As whose guest is General Kin visiting the Empire?”

“As Admiral Tōgō’s guest, sir!!”

“This is the perfect chance to screw over those ground-pounder bastards! Even if we concede everything else, we must, by any means necessary, take charge of his security. Understood?!”

Vice Minister of the Navy Ide Kenji, acting in place of Navy Minister Katō Tomosaburō—who had departed for Washington—was also passionately delivering his speech.