There is a popular saying.
The mania of manias was the Western mania.
But above the Western manias there is one more: the crazy mania.
---
Outskirts of Gasan-ri, Yangsan, Gyeongsangnam-do.
Tang tang tang! Zssst!
Jinho plunged the red-hot iron, hammered by a spring hammer, into water. Steam hissed upward.
He fished the cooled blade out, inspected it, and nodded.
"Good."
Satisfied, he set the bar back into the forge.
---
"Hey! Little bro! What are you making this time?"
"Oh? Hyungnim! You came?"
Jinho, shuttling between the furnace and his machines, brightened at the arrival.
"What are you making?"
"An order — sashimi knives."
"Sashimi?"
Seeing his cousin's puzzled face, Jinho hurried to explain. "Fillet knives. A Japanese restaurant in Seoul ordered them. Don't stare — help me keep working!"
His cousin Kim Byeong-ho was a detective. After the explanation, Byeong-ho relaxed.
"Is that so? Are you getting good money from orders?"
Jinho wiped his nose with a finger and grinned. "I'm making a living. It's the result of hard work."
"Really…? Let me see."
"I just got the shape." He lifted the still-red blade for inspection.
"Hm…" Byeong-ho's interest cooled fast; he looked around the smithy instead.
"You should tidy up a bit."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Answer me nicely. Nicely…"
While scolding, Byeong-ho's eyes brightened when he noticed a knife wrapped in soft cloth inside a wooden box.
"Hey! That half-moon blade — is that upside down?"
Seeing a kukri for the first time, Byeong-ho pointed at what he assumed was a misset blade. Jinho's face changed.
"What's with that look?"
"...That's a kukri. It's shaped like that."
"...Oh. It's unique. Which country is it from?"
"Nepal."
"So the people there must be...unique too."
Jinho shook his head at Byeong-ho's careless remark. "Say that to a Nepali and you'll be rolling off the top of Everest."
"Just saying because they're not here." Byeong-ho glanced back at the kukri. "Did you call me because of that knife?"
"No. I need a license to carry a blade."
Byeong-ho measured the kukri with his eyes. "Looks like you need it. But why a sword license?"
"I'm entering a competition in the U.S."
"A competition?" Byeong-ho's brow rose. Jinho picked up a tablet on the bench and played a video. Byeong-ho clicked his tongue.
"Che! Wouldn't it have been better to make a Joseon military sword or a traditional one…?"
"You know people have been eliminated in these competitions for crooked katanas? And many have failed because their swords weren't tough. Joseon swords and katanas can be sharp, but they're not always durable. For these contests, heavy, tough swords win."
"Is that so? Fine, I'll do the paperwork."
---
A few days later.
"Here are the documents and your card."
"Thanks." Byeong-ho handed papers and an IC card to Jinho, then froze, staring at something.
"What's that?"
"What?"
"There — over there!"
On a shelf sat a flintlock rifle.
"Ah, that? An order from abroad — reenactors, cosplayers, people into American Revolutionary War props wanted one."
"Hm..." Byeong-ho held the rifle, listening with one ear. He examined the trigger, then looked up at Jinho.
"Was that the gun from that Mel Gibson movie? The Kentucky rifle?"
"Yes. A Kentucky rifle."
"Why make American guns?"
"Fewer craftsmen over there now. Most originals are antiques, too valuable to use."
"So you made one?"
Jinho nodded. "Just one so far. If they like it, I could export five to ten a year. Could be two to three billion won if it goes well."
"Hm…"
Jinho watched Byeong-ho's reaction and then added, "I need some paperwork for export."
"Again?" Byeong-ho sighed.
"Please. If this works out, I'll treat you to a big meal."
"You sure are smooth."
Byeong-ho's voice dragged mockingly, but he took the rifle seriously. He cocked the unloaded flint and pulled the trigger.
Clack!
"It's moving properly. Huh…is the muzzle normally this small?"
"No. Even if powder were added, it wouldn't accept bullets."
While Jinho explained, Byeong-ho noticed a small thread about a centimeter from the muzzle. He tugged it.
Poong!
A piece of the muzzle popped off. Inside, six rows of coiled steel wire curled along the bore.
Byeong-ho's face went hard. He grabbed Jinho by the collar. "What the hell, you prick! You said it was a prop. Why is there rifling in a prop?"
"If you're going to make it, make it right. The customer wanted it—"
"Do you think your customer is shooting snuff films?! You used me as cover! How dare you?"
"I can't—"
"It was on their demand! For emergency cases—"
"Bullshit! They're people living in a country full of vicious things beyond their means!"
They argued until they agreed to seal a plug into the barrel by electric welding and to add the following line to the Amazon listing:
> [In accordance with the laws of the country of manufacture, measures have been taken to prevent the use of live ammunition in the muzzle.]
"It's a mess—"
"Ssh!"
Jinho looked crestfallen as Byeong-ho glared. After a pause, Byeong-ho read the Amazon product blurb aloud.
"It says it was made 'according to history.' Did you use authentic materials?"
"No way. If I forged the barrel the old way from scratch, the price would add another zero."
"Figured."
Their conversation was interrupted when an old woman entered the smithy.
"Is the young blacksmith here?"
"Welcome!"
She handed Jinho a box. "Potato seed. Keep it in the warehouse."
"Will do." Jinho put the box in a small storage shed behind the shop.
When she left, Byeong-ho eyed Jinho anew. "You must be close to the neighborhood elders."
"We help each other."
"Why use your warehouse?"
"Some chemicals in blacksmithing are temperature-sensitive. I paid attention to the insulation and ventilation when I built the warehouse. It's good for storing seeds and fertilizer. That's why people use it."
"Really? Let me see."
"What else are you looking for?"
"Ssh…"
Byeong-ho's expression sharpened. Jinho led him to the separate warehouse.
In the first storage room, stacked steel plates caught Byeong-ho's eye.
"That's a lot of scrap."
"Spring steel makes the best knives. That's why I'm a regular at the junkyard."
"Show me the other warehouse."
"...Okay."
They entered a cool room. Byeong-ho frowned at the odd chemicals lining the shelves.
"Why would a blacksmith need these?"
"For etching and finishing work."
"You buy them the normal way, right?"
"Want to see the receipts? Who would doubt you're a detective?"
Despite the joke, Byeong-ho's gaze was fierce. "I'll kill you if you cause trouble."
"I won't get in trouble!"
"You the same guy who made the gun?" Byeong-ho growled.
"..."
Byeong-ho sniffed and complained as they stepped outside. "Whose field is that? What's that smell?"
"My field."
"Huh? Now you farm too?"
"Hahaha…"
Jinho's laugh sounded odd. Half the roughly 500-pyeong field was covered in solar panels. The other half was piled with manure.
Byeong-ho studied the layout, then looked Jinho in the eye.
"The only good thing about you is you can't lie. This isn't a farm. What is it for?"
"This is...pyroelectric—"
"Pyroelectric?"
"I was planning to make potassium nitrate…"
"Why potassium nitrate?"
"I need black powder to test the Kentucky rifle properly, but it's hard to—"
"Bastard! That's out of cover!"
Byeong-ho went white at the revelation. He grabbed Jinho's collar and shouted.
It wasn't just the fact that Jinho was making gunpowder that scared him.
---
Three days before Byeong-ho's visit, an agent from the National Intelligence Service (NIS) had met with Byeong-ho and several other detectives.
The visit concerned the domestic activities of Islamic extremist organizations.
"Since Osama's death, some Islamic fundamentalist groups have splintered and now operate independently. While we haven't found an organized group inside the country, the situation is dangerous. A significant number of illegal workers from Pakistan and Southeast Asian Muslim countries have been employed here."
The NIS agent's briefing painted a grim picture.
Illegally employed workers often endured long hours, unpaid wages, and even assault. As resentment built, the agent warned, the risk of a self-sustaining terrorist cell forming among them could rise.
"Because of this, I can't tell whether I'm speaking as an NIS officer or as a labor inspector. We're running out of time to recover unpaid wages and to secure medical costs for injured workers. Even if we deport them, we need to prevent bad blood."
The agent paused, then moved to the main point.
"The special concern is Yangsan."
"From what I know, Yangsan isn't full of factories suitable for illegal migrants," one detective said.
"No, but there are lots of farms. Agricultural and livestock complexes are a current source of demand for illegal labor."
Detectives listened as slides displayed images of bombing scenes beginning with the Oklahoma City attack. The agent emphasized a key point: explosives often used materials easily purchased on the open market. Nitrogen fertilizer, mixed with kerosene, diesel, or lubricants, had been used before.
The detectives' faces hardened. Fertilizer use overflowed in farms around Yangsan. Fuel tanks for greenhouses and lubricants for machinery were common. One-ton trucks were everywhere. And brokers who brought Pakistanis and other Southeast Asians into work often treated them harshly.
Sensing the detectives' concern, the NIS agent wrapped up.
"The cooperation we need from you involves several cases of foreigners hired illegally. But really, it's about gang surveillance in Yangsan. Our investigation shows brokers hiring these migrants are connected to organized crime. Gangs prevent and manage escapes. Please treat this area with urgency. This is vital for national security."