October 17, 1942.
I returned home in the car President Nakamura gave me.
The townspeople's mouths dropped open.
It took me a day and a half to drive back to my hometown.
'The road was crazy.'
It was a moment that made me truly understand: for a country to develop, infrastructure must come first.
The longest and most difficult section of the future Gyeongbu Expressway…Chairman Jeong Ju-hyeong's achievement of breaking through that barrier now seemed even more incredible.
Of course, I can think this way because I am someone who has lived a future life.
'If I had known this would happen, I would've taken the train…'
If I had come by train, one day would have been enough.
'If it were the KTX…'
Two and a half hours would do.
Of course, that's a memory from my past life.
I found myself lost in thought again.
For a country to achieve rapid growth, infrastructure has to be built first.Someday, I want to help with that.
"Uh, how… how…"
My father's mouth dropped when he saw the car in front of the house.
Townspeople gathered to see it, touching the shiny doors until the driver shooed the kids away.
"Didn't I tell you I'd succeed when I got to Gyeongseong? Hahaha!"
I smiled brightly at my father.
Honestly, my return home was earlier than I'd ever imagined.I didn't expect success to come this fast.
But I wasn't satisfied—not yet.
This was only the foundation.
"I said that, but…"
Just then, my eldest brother came home carrying the poop bucket.
I ran to him in my suit and took it from his hands.
"Iron… iron…"
My brother widened his eyes when he saw my suit.
"Hyung! Have you been well? Give me the poop. I'll carry it."
"Sh-sh-shit on it, shit on it…"
I was always polite to people—parents, siblings, strangers, everyone.
People should be consistent.Consistency builds credit and trust.
"It's okay. I brought an extra suit anyway."
"You… you… you really made it! Our youngest really made it! Hahaha! You're amazing!"
He tried to grab my hand, but stopped, thinking it was dirty.
I grabbed his hand tightly.
"Yeah, hyung. That's why I came."
"What…?"
"Father, come with me to Gyeongseong. It's a great place to live. Hahaha!"
"What…?"
"Stop working someone else's land as a tenant. Work your own land. I'll buy you rice paddies, fields, and even a house. Come with me to Gyeongseong, all of you!"
My father and brothers were shocked into silence.
I smiled at my mother, too.
Of course, I couldn't say the real reason—fear of conscription.Too many neighbors were watching.And surely some of them were acting as Japanese informants.
"G-Gyeongseong…"
"Yes! Now you can live well in Gyeongseong! Hahaha!"
'This is what success tastes like.'
From now on, I would be the pillar of the house.
And honestly, the only people you can truly trust are your parents and siblings.
And though not family, there was one more I could trust:
President Nakamura.
November 15, 1943.
A cave deep in the foothills of Bukhansan.
A naturally formed cave in a dense forest with no paths—barely anyone knew about it.
Five armed Japanese soldiers watched over about 30 Korean laborers.The laborers carried heavy crates into the cave.
A Japanese colonel observed them closely.
It looked like they were stockpiling supplies for the possibility of war.
A lieutenant ran out of the cave.
"How much did you move?"
"All of it. Two hundred fifty boxes. The workers say they're too heavy."
Meaning, the workers didn't even know what they were carrying.
"What about the soldiers?"
"They're resting inside while watching the workers, as you ordered."
"Good work."
"Thank you."
"You're a tight-lipped man, aren't you?"
"Sir?"
"So I thank you."
"I will serve you with all my heart."
The colonel suddenly drew his pistol.
Bang!
"Wh-why… why…"
The lieutenant collapsed.
"You are loyal, but the dead are even more loyal. This is for the future of the Empire of Japan."
His eyes turned cold.
He dragged the body into the cave.
A moment later, he emerged alone and activated the explosives.
Boom!
The cave entrance collapsed instantly.
Inside, the soldiers and the 30 Korean laborers were trapped.
"For the future of the Empire and His Majesty!"
Just as Kangcheol prepared for his future,Japanese militarists were preparing for theirs—in their own ruthless way.
November 30, 1943.
President Nakamura's study.
After returning from my hometown, I reported to him again.
"Should we stock up on gasoline?" I asked.
President Nakamura was a major rice merchant, expanding auto repair shops, and running a taxi business.
Gasoline was essential.
But during wartime, gasoline was nearly impossible to get.
That's why charcoal-powered trucks still rattled along the streets.
'In this era, even those are a blessing…'
Gasoline wasn't just for cars—it powered factory machines.
"So it wouldn't hurt to stock up," I said.
The taxi business was barely operating due to shortages.
"Yes, but… we have to import it?"
Wartime imports were dangerous. Gasoline was a military commodity.
"That's true," I said.
"But if we quietly stockpile it, it'll be a huge help later."
"If the Governor-General finds out…"
He usually accepted my ideas immediately.But this time, he hesitated.
"We can notify him beforehand," I suggested. "Or donate it later if needed."
"Donate…?"
"Yes. If problems arise, you can offer it up. People will see you as someone preparing for the future."
"That may be true."
"We also prepared a cave in Bukhansan to hide the gasoline."
A cave that once stored shrimp paste.
"You prepared all of that already?"
He looked surprised.
"Yes. A chief of staff should prepare everything before speaking."
In truth, this was a future-focused move.
After liberation, supplies would become scarce.
And that cave…Few people even knew it existed.
"You truly are an ideal person. Hahaha!"
"Should I prepare everything in secret?"
That meant if anything went wrong, President Nakamura could claim he didn't know.
"Do it."
"Yes, Master."
"You're calling me 'Master' again. Just call me that from now on."
Recently, he seemed to be trying to close the distance between us.
'After liberation, gasoline…'
It might become something valuable.
Or maybe it wouldn't last that long.
But every preparation was a stepping stone.
'For tomorrow…'
I would live preparing for tomorrow, not for today.
Because opportunity comes to those who prepare.