Admission
A few days ago, after my acceptance was finally announced, a handful of reporters naturally came to our house.
And along with the reporters, Dr. Rhee—who would of course show his face in a situation like this—also paid a visit.
"You're refusing interviews?"
"Yes."
At my answer, he looked momentarily flustered, then quickly regained his poker face.
"Mr. Yujin. Think carefully. Of course I know what concerns you. But in a democratic nation, the press is the greatest weapon! To give that up—"
"If I agree to an interview, what exactly should I say?"
"Well, naturally—"
He trailed off.
Exactly.
My position was extremely ambiguous.
In front of these independence activists, I had emphasized what a 'Korean-American' U.S. Army officer could do for Korea in the future.
And conversely, to Congressman Flint, I had spoken about what it would mean to have an Asian 'U.S. Army' officer.
I had no intention whatsoever of carelessly running my mouth.
Once World War I and World War II inevitably broke out, my value would naturally rise.
I would chatter on as though my knowledge of the future were merely the result of keen insight, and every time my "predictions" proved accurate, neither the Department of Defense nor the State Department would be able to ignore me.
Right now, with no tangible achievements to my name, my goal was simple: to quietly and safely receive my commission.
"So you intend to walk a tightrope."
"To satisfy white Americans, I must highlight myself as an American. To inspire pride among Koreans, I must package myself as the hope of Joseon. I can't have both."
"You truly ought to go into politics. If you ever take off that uniform, come under me. No matter what happens, you come under me. Understood?"
As if I'd go under Syngman Rhee.
Even if I succeeded in the U.S. Army, I would inevitably need to firmly secure influence over the Korean community—my own front yard.
That meant either joining hands with powerful figures like the doctor before me, or becoming the leader of the Korean community myself… but in the original history, this Dr. Rhee had an illustrious record of stabbing comrades like Park Yong-man, Ahn Chang-ho, and the Provisional Government in the back.
Still, I merely gave a sly smile and did not bother to answer. For now, he was far too useful.
The political demon, whatever meaning he read into my smile, burst into hearty laughter.
"Heh, hahaha. Very well. You're asking me to prove that joining me is worth it, aren't you? My, my."
Syngman Rhee then pulled an envelope from his coat and handed it to me.
"Seems someone took interest after hearing about you. To be honest, I'd rather not deliver this…"
"For Teacher Unam to act as a courier, whoever it is must be quite an important person."
"Dosan. A man whose tongue is sharper than most. I'll give you the letter, but don't go sticking to that fellow. You're mine. Understood?"
Dosan?
Dosan Ahn Chang-ho?
That was unexpected. As far as I knew, he wasn't even in America yet. It seemed my name was spreading far more quickly than I had thought.
"My market value rises yet again. However, I will be sure to remember that Teacher Unam possesses the magnanimity to deliver even a rival's letter."
"Of course! Of course! Since you're refusing interviews, I suppose I'll go play with those reporters."
With that final remark, he leapt into the midst of the journalists.
The more I saw him, the more impressive—and ruthless—he seemed.
"So that's the man I have to defeat…"
A sigh escaped me.
"Honey, look at the newspaper! Hahaha!"
"That child… what will he do once he joins the army…"
I was over 180 centimeters tall and had trained like hell to pass the physical exam, yet to my mother I still seemed like a little boy.
"I'll be going far away now, so you all must take good care of our parents."
"Yeees~"
With my final words to my younger siblings delivered, there was truly nothing left to do.
All that remained was to board the transcontinental railroad, head to New York—to West Point.
"Then I'll be off."
"Be careful. Make sure you eat properly. I wish I could pack you some kimchi—"
"Oh, woman! The white folks panic at the mere sight of kimchi—what kimchi are you talking about!"
"Joseon people live on rice! He can't even eat rice! If he can't have rice or kimchi, how will he have the strength?"
Whether a great elder of the Korean community or not, it seemed universal across East and West that a man couldn't stand tall before his wife.
He had turned a New Woman—once ablaze with zeal to learn modern studies and devote herself to Korea—into a housewife. It wasn't hard to understand why Father had become a man who bowed his head at home, but still…
"My son."
"Yes."
"Don't live like this… Ack!"
I decided to pretend I hadn't heard the resounding smack across his back.
The long, sprawling railroads stretching like a web across the United States.
My first train ride ever felt antique in every sense.
It could not compare to the KTX of my previous life, but considering that it was 1911, the mere fact that one could cross from the westernmost edge of America to the easternmost by train in a single stretch spoke volumes about the nation's power.
From here, my new future would unfold.
"Hoo… hoo…"
Carrying a massive bag, I climbed an uphill path steep enough to feel like rock climbing.
At last, a grand stone archway loomed over me.
West Point.
The United States Military Academy.
I had become the first Asian cadet.
"Huh, a freshman?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Welcome to West Point. Get inside."
Yes, just like that.
A man who looked like an upperclassman gave me a brief glance and guided me in a businesslike tone.
At least, fortunately—or unfortunately—I didn't hear anything like, "How dare a yellow man enroll here! Get out of our school!"
After walking for quite some time, I found myself among towering monuments and Gothic stone buildings.
At last, the second life of a soldier was about to begin.
There was a time when I truly believed that.
"Reveille! Reveille!!"
"You're too slow changing, you maggots!"
We chirping newcomers, fresh from admission, didn't even get to enter the dormitories.
West Point was vast beyond comparison to any Korean university campus.
And in one of its many wide-open barren fields, we had to pitch tents and roll around like raw recruits.
They called it Beast Barracks—a damnable event that put freshmen through relentless initiation for three whole weeks.
"Sniff, sniff. What's that smell?"
"The stench of that damn outside world, what else?"
"You! If you want to become officers of the United States, you must purge all that filthy civilian stench from your bodies! Understood?!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Too quiet!"
I'd like to say I'd already been through this in my previous life.
…But the military from a hundred years ago was barbaric beyond anything I'd imagined.
"Down! Hold it!"
"Your arms are dropping? Dropping?"
All manner of vicious hazing and abuse—unimaginable in 21st-century Korea—were carried out in the name of "tradition."
No, not even the Korean army decades ago had been this bad. When they made you kneel on shards of broken glass, that said it all.
"Hey, yellow monkey!"
"A monkey at West Point? Why not just crawl back to your Asian village?"
Among my class, I naturally stood out overwhelmingly.
To those itching to torment someone, I was the perfect target.
The first night of Beast Barracks.
I had been called out separately and was getting a generous helping of racist prejudice beaten into me by two scrawny white upperclassmen.
That was when it happened.
"Still going on about that 'yellow monkey' crap again?"
"Hey, cannibal. Why're you barging in while we're educating the kid—"
"Say 'monkey' one more time in front of me and I'll actually kill you. I don't care if you haze him, but keep that fucked-up talk inside your own head."
One man had suddenly inserted himself into the scene.
Obviously a person of color at a glance, he shot back fiercely, and the two upperclassmen who had been so overbearing just moments ago clamped their mouths shut.
"Tch. Look at them, birds of a feather."
"Handle it yourself. Tch!"
He stared hard at their backs until they disappeared completely, and only then did he turn his gaze to me.
"I heard there was another Asian in this class, so I came to take a look. Didn't expect to see something this ugly."
"…Thank you. You saved me."
"It's nothing. I'm Vicente Podico Lim. From the Philippines. A year ahead of you."
"Yujin Kim."
"As you just experienced, quite a few of these bastards think white skin is some kind of medal."
He said this while helping me to my feet.
"But there's no need to shrink. You'll be seeing these people face-to-face for four years, and even after commissioning. Not many people like someone who acts like that toward someone they'll have to keep seeing."
"I'll be heading back to the Philippines after graduation anyway, haha!" he added with a grin.
"Let's get along from now on."
"Yes. Thank you, truly."
That was one weight off my shoulders.
West Point was far more barbaric than I'd expected—
—but it was still a place where people lived.
When I returned to my tent, my classmates had already claimed their spots and were chatting away.
"Oh, you made it back alive?"
"Yeah. Thaaanks."
"We actually had a bet going. Two dollars you'd come back within an hour, two dollars you wouldn't. One dollar that you'd never come back at all."
Unbelievable.
I'd barely managed to get released from the upperclassmen, and if I had heard "yellow monkey" even here, I might've snapped. But I had to admit—the bet was oddly creative.
"So, option one came in under an hour. Where's my cut?"
"Here."
The grinning gambler pressed a one-dollar bill into my hand.
I felt the last bit of my incredulity evaporate.
"I actually won it all! I figured you'd come back!"
"And what made you think that?"
"Ever since the entrance ceremony, your eyes were shooting out killing intent. I figured if someone messed with you, it wouldn't be commissioning they'd have to worry about—it'd be a shotgun blast to the head."
"Bullshit. I didn't even know he existed. This is a scam!"
"We already finished introducing ourselves. Get over here and introduce yourself."
Well, I'd made some money and hadn't been subjected to racism here, so there was no need to sour the mood.
I sat down and was about to introduce myself when the gambler suddenly raised his hand.
"Wait, wait. Otherwise it'll look like we're excluding you. We'll introduce ourselves properly first."
"Oh? Sure. I appreciate it."
"Alright! I'll start. I'm Dwight David Eisenhower."
"…What?"
"Too long, right? Just call me Ike."
No, not that.
Who did you just say you were?