Nakamura's house garden.
"He may look naive, but he's truly courageous."
Miss Rie—this new Japanese woman—was introducing me to her father, President Nakamura.
I was still bleeding.
I placed my hands together politely and bowed slightly toward them both.
"Even though he had no strength left, he stepped forward and helped me."
In truth, it was closer to stupidity than heroism.
If there had been even a small hill called Bibil nearby,I would have turned around and pretended not to see anything.
"Hmm… is that so?"
President Nakamura glanced at me.
'His eyes are sharp…'
His gaze toward me was completely different from the warmth he showed his daughter.
'Does he think I'm some shady store owner?'
Given the times, it wouldn't be surprising.
The Japanese looked down on Koreans—invaders in their own land.
And many Japanese bosses routinely exploited Korean workers.
'This is still the Japanese colonial period.'
A time when Koreans lived without being treated as human beings.
'And that gaze… definitely suspicious.'
When he looked at Rie, his eyes softened.
When he looked at me, doubt filled them.
Merchants rarely trust people easily.
When you handle money for a living, you learn one thing clearly—
Money does not deceive people.
People deceive people.
"Don't hate the sinner, hate the sin" is nonsense.
How can you not hate the person when they are the one who committed the sin?
Because everything begins and ends with people.
[Nakamura]
Age: 53
Occupation: Japanese businessman (large rice store + automobile factory owner)
Confidence: 62%
Trait: Trustworthiness / Credit
Chance of Success: 85%
Note: A life full of ups and downs during turbulent times (Korean-Japanese?)
As I lifted my head slightly, translucent text formed above Nakamura's head.
'It's becoming clearer.'
Usually, the occupation line only shows: businessman, farmer, rickshaw driver.
But Nakamura's text explicitly listed the type of businesses he ran.
'There it is…'
A life full of twists and turns?
And "Japanese-Korean (?)"?
A question mark always means variables—things can change.
And these truly are turbulent times.
Japan will lose the war in a few years.
When that happens, Japanese-owned businesses in Joseon will collapse.
He will be forced to return to Japan.
A life full of ups and downs indeed.
'But why the question mark…?'
I couldn't understand that part.
Regardless, this ability was extremely helpful.
It was as if each person walked around with a business card floating over their head.
'No one can fool me anymore.'
And that was a priceless advantage.
"Yes, Father. He helped me, so I want to help him as well."
Rie defended me.
It could be called courage… or boldness.
I wondered if President Nakamura would think she was overstepping.
Still, an opportunity had opened.
Not just a chance to work—but a chance to build something.
"You saved our Rie, and this is the result?"
Nakamura looked exactly like a Japanese father figure from TV.
Gentle on the outside, but with piercing eyes.
His gaze swept over me.
This wasn't the gaze of someone giving a simple thank you.
"Is that so…"
I scratched my head awkwardly.
Boasting would only make things worse.
Nakamura seemed like the calm, quiet Japanese type.
People say an empty cart makes the loudest noise.
"You came to Gyeongseong from the countryside with no plan?"
I already told him why.
"Yes, that's right."
"Where is your hometown?"
"Miryang."
"Miryang?"
His expression shifted slightly.
Did he know Miryang?
People from Miryang bragged about being the home of noblemen.
I never met a real noble there.
Just stubborn, impoverished pretenders who exploited tenant farmers worse than the Japanese did.
Joseon fell because those kinds of people ruled it.
A country that neglects its poor is destined to collapse.
Because the will of the people is the will of heaven.
'The real nobles…'
They all went to Manchuria to fight for independence.
"Yes," I repeated.
"Do you happen to know Kim Won-mong?"
A Japanese president mentioning independence activist Kim Won-mong?
'Is this some kind of plot twist?'
Kim Won-mong—the leader of the Uiyoldan.
I only knew him from two movies in my past life.
A hero to Koreans.
A terrorist to Japan.
A man who left behind countless achievements.
Feared by the Japanese.
And because he leaned communist, he wasn't even recognized properly by South Korea.
"Kim Won-mong? Who's that?"
Even if I knew, I had to pretend not to.
If a Japanese businessman was bringing up that name—
He must be thinking that the incident with Rie could have been a planned setup.
'Then he must be very wealthy.'
Maybe he suspected the Uiyoldan was trying to plant a spy through me.
"Yes, I don't know him. There was no one named Kim Won-mong in Miryang."
"Hmm. Perhaps. Koreans are pitifully ignorant anyway."
Ignorant, he says.
He claims to sympathize.
'What an odd Japanese man…'
He was definitely different from most.
But his gaze still carried meaning.
"You seem stubborn. And from what I heard, you don't have a place to stay, right?"
His Korean was surprisingly fluent.
Most ruling-class Japanese refused to use Korean.
But he spoke it naturally.
"Yes…"
It was true.
If he kicked me out tonight, I'd be sleeping under someone's eaves in the cold night dew.
"You followed Rie because of how she was dressed, didn't you? Are you really that quick-witted?"
I had told the maid earlier that I came to Gyeongseong with no home and no permission.
To stir some sympathy.
"I wasn't considered dull in my hometown."
Though I was only fifteen, I looked eighteen—tall, with a bit of stubble.
Even in rags, girls blushed when they saw me.
'I wasn't exactly unpopular…'
The village girls adored me for being handsome and smart.
"Your eyes… they're alive. I think so as well."
Nakamura looked at me with a mixture of doubt and memory.
He seemed to see something in me.
I needed to figure out why—so I could earn more points.
"So, you must be looking for a job."
"Actually, yes. I came to Gyeongseong to achieve my dream."
"Dream? What dream?"
A strange question in such a tense first meeting.
"I want to become rich."
That was the only dream I had.
"Rich? Hahaha, just like the youth these days."
"Yes. I want to become rich like you, President Nakamura."
"Like me, hmm?"
"Yes."
"So tell me—what kind of person is rich? How much money must one have to be considered rich?"
An unexpected question.
A sudden philosophical conversation.
'Why is he so interested in me…?'
I had to find out.