The Mage of Leavenworth (4)
"As expected. As expected! Hahaha!! Khahaha!! I was right! I knew it!! Damn it, it really was you! All of it!"
Was he bluffing?
I'd been hit right in the weak spot, so I was momentarily dazed.
Yeah. Logically, there's no way he could've figured out it was me.
Syngman Rhee, The Sun, and the Republican Party—among the countless links connecting them, only a fraction could ever be exposed to the outside.
I really need to practice controlling my expressions more. Maybe I should play some intense poker with Harding.
"I was simply taken aback because the idea of taking out a president is too absurd."
"Don't lie. I'm an investigator, after all. I can tell at a glance. It was you. You—someone not even thirty yet!"
Unable to hold himself back, he sprang to his feet.
"I haven't told anyone, and I don't intend to. There's no way to prove it anyway—I'd just be branded a lunatic and thrown out. Even I, who managed to piece together part of that unbelievably massive yet meticulous plan, questioned over and over whether I was just delusional!"
"..."
"Captain Kim. Let's join hands. Let us hot-blooded young men protect this country together. Hmm?"
Look at this bastard dropping formalities already.
If this were anyone else, I'd have yanked out a few nose hairs from this Yujin Kim—citizen of the United States, land of 'freedom'—and taught him a proper lesson for such arrogance.
But this is Hoover.
Clashing head-on with someone like him would cost too much. Becoming enemies with the future lifelong director of the FBI? I wouldn't sleep at night.
"If I take your hand, what do I gain?"
"Anything! You're not someone who should rot away in the military, begging Congress for scraps. Think bigger. Bigger. Take control of the military, rise to the top, and with that brilliant achievement, let's go to D.C. Together!"
"Even if that's the case for me, it doesn't seem like you have that kind of standing yet, Mr. Hoover."
"You still doubt me even after seeing how far I've deduced things? Fine. I'll catch up soon enough. Palmer's Red Scare failed, but once I take down a few communists, the tide will turn again. So take your time, watch my abilities, and decide later. Of course, by then, the scales might tip a bit more in my favor. Heh heh heh."
I slowly approached Hoover and extended my hand.
That smug smile on his face.
That certainty that he had me by the neck.
Just like in history—digging up people's dirt and exploiting their weaknesses for years. He's already showing signs of it.
"Sharp as expected, Captain. I have no intention of harming you over this matter."
Ah, I can't stand this.
Grudge or no grudge, I'll take the loss if I must. I wasn't the one who threw the first punch anyway, so don't blame me.
Just before our hands met, I grabbed his wrist tightly.
"What are you—"
"Listen carefully. I don't care if someone's a Dixie Democrat, a Black man, a 'yellow monkey,' or some bastard who likes wearing women's clothes."
"C-Captain Kim! Wait!"
A completely unexpected strike from out of nowhere.
You enjoyed hitting me earlier, didn't you? I feel great too. You think you're the only one who can bluff?
He tried to pull away in shock, but he couldn't break free from my grip. I am still a soldier, after all.
"Wait, there must be some misunderstanding—"
"But if some thug pulls a knife on me for some bullshit reason, I don't let them live—whether they're the President or anyone else. You piece of shit."
As I shoved his arm away, he collapsed back into the chair like a limp kite.
"This… this…"
"It seems there's still a lack of mutual trust between us, Mr. Hoover. I value communication… and an open mind above all else."
Next time you visit, I'd appreciate it if you came with a more open mindset.
Leaving him staring blankly into space, clearly shaken, I walked out of the study.
That bastard really thought he could grab Yujin Kim by the topknot just because I let him get comfortable.
He's got a death wish, seriously.
***
Lately, too many people have been leaving this study as if their souls were sucked out of them.
At this rate, Yujin Kim's study—meant to be full of dignity and warmth—is going to turn into some soul-draining occult site. A few decades from now, Satanists or occult enthusiasts might come here like it's some haunted landmark, chanting, "Ah, tragic dark sorcerer," while performing rituals.
Should I just call in a shaman from Joseon and have a cleansing ritual done?
Hoover left, glancing back at me like he'd just seen a ghost. He can go ahead and use that brilliant brain of his to figure out how I knew.
Of course, he'll never find the answer, no matter how long he thinks about it. How could he possibly guess I'm from the future?
It seemed he realized too late that what I'd said might've just been a bluff without any evidence—but by then, it was too late.
We each landed a blow on the other's weak spot, so let's call it a draw.
I went into the kitchen, sprinkled some salt at the front gate, then slowly read through the documents Hoover had left behind.
A few days later, after clearing as much work as I absolutely couldn't postpone and reluctantly handing off the rest to others—
"You're really sure about this? I'm going to collect this debt thoroughly. Don't regret it later."
Mcnary's words sent a chill down my spine more than anything else.
Terrifying. I can practically see him calculating how he's going to squeeze every last drop out of me.
Mcnary is difficult to deal with in a completely different way from MacArthur or Marshall. I have no idea what kind of club he's hiding behind that faint, ambiguous smile.
At least someone like Drum shows his greed plainly, but Mcnary doesn't seem to want anything from me, which makes it even more maddening.
After wrapping everything up, I immediately boarded a train to San Francisco.
"Hyung? What are you doing here?"
"What do you think? If you're not busy, let's go."
"…Alright."
Even though I spoke without a subject as soon as I entered the office, he understood immediately. Convenient.
On the way, I read through the file Hoover had given me again.
Nishime Fumiko .
Thankfully, not a native-born Japanese, but a Japanese-American.
Her parents immigrated and settled in San Francisco, where she was born.
She had an older brother, but he died in the San Francisco earthquake.
Despite the harsh discrimination of the times, she managed to enroll at the University of Michigan, but after her father passed away, she took a leave of absence—effectively dropping out—and returned to San Francisco.
After that, she got a job at a factory run by a Chinese immigrant, handling administrative work. The report noted that the factory had connections to my family.
As expected, the report—clearly a Hoover-made product—was obsessively thorough regarding whether she was a spy or a communist.
Her connections with mainland Japan, her involvement with pro-Japanese organizations or Japanese-American communities, even her family's records were completely scrutinized. They checked whether she had joined any suspicious student groups in college, and even whether her withdrawal and return home were part of some communist agenda—digging through everything down to the finest dust… and I actually went head-to-head with this lunatic?
No evidence of anti-state suspicion found at this time.No evidence of espionage activity found at this time.For deeper investigation, it may be necessary to infiltrate Japanese-American organizations with personnel…
At this point, it feels like Hoover is more of a problem than the woman.
He concludes there's no suspicion, yet still ends with, "Therefore, we must insert informants into Japanese groups to be certain." What kind of logic is that? This isn't the FBI—it's the KGB, you psycho.
After driving for a while, my younger brother stopped the car in front of a shabby house in a remote area, far from where most Japanese residents lived.
"Wait here a moment. I'll go talk to them first."
"Alright."
A few minutes later, Yushin, who had gone in first, gestured for me, and I stepped inside the house as well.
"Excuse me."
"Welcome. It's a pleasure to have General Kim—whom I've only heard about in rumors—visit my home."
Huh.
For a moment, I was at a loss for words at her fluent Korean.
"Yushin. Is this her?"
"Y-Yeah."
Right. Now I see why you were talking about running off in the middle of the night.
Still… shouldn't your older brother have been mentally prepared first?
You should've at least told me she was unbelievably beautiful. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have been so quick to beat you down—I might've listened first… If this weren't 1920, she'd belong in Hollywood, not in a house like this.
I've got the whole picture now. I could practically start fortune-telling with this.
Of course—our Yushin, who's probably never even held a woman's hand except his mother's, meets a beauty like this, and suddenly he's ready to throw away everything, business and all. Idiot kid, blinded by a pretty face…
"I'm Yujin Kim. Your Korean is so fluent I thought you were Korean."
"I'm Nishime Fumiko. I've been studying hard lately. I look forward to your guidance."
"Hyung, don't be too harsh—"
"Stop chattering and wait in the car."
I brushed aside my visibly trembling younger brother and sat down. She brought over a cup of tea.
"Please."
"Thank you."
Time to work.
I didn't come all the way from Leavenworth to San Francisco for nothing. I need to wrap this up cleanly before I go back.
On the train here, I ran through every scenario I could remember from my past life—throwing cold water, handing over a bundle of dollars and telling her to leave, spilling orange juice—mentally training myself with every cliché I'd seen in countless Korean dramas and films.
As a result, I'm now prepared to handle any situation perfectly. Call me the god of operations.
"Since Korean might still be uncomfortable for you, would you prefer Japanese or English?"
"My native language is English. Please speak in English."
"Understood. The reason I came today is… my foolish younger brother says he wishes to build a constructive future with Miss Nishime."
"Yes…"
"Of course, I am aware that you are not Japanese, but a Japanese-American. However, given that the emotional history between Koreans and Japanese is far from simple—"
"I am not Japanese."
That was unexpected.
I thought she would assert her identity as an American here instead.
I had prepared extensively for issues surrounding second-generation Japanese-Americans as well, knowing I'd have to deal with it at some point, but I didn't expect this kind of response.
Still, denying it doesn't change anything. If Hoover dug into her background, there's no way it's wrong.
After dealing with nothing but monsters lately, this kind of reaction felt oddly refreshing. Right… I guess I've risen too high to casually sit down and talk with ordinary people like this.
"Is that so? My apologies, but out of concern for my brother, I conducted a small background check. According to the results, your parents are Japanese."
"It seems the Americans you've met were quite considerate about distinguishing Asian nationalities. We were not afforded that luxury."
She slowly set down her teacup as she spoke.
"My father was Ryukyuan."
My head went blank.
Where the hell is that idiot Kim Yushin? How do you not mention the most important detail?!
And Hoover—what a complete fool.
He gritted his teeth and investigated whether she was a spy or a communist all the way out to her extended relatives, yet got her nationality wrong? Is this a joke?
"Ah, you might not be familiar with the name Ryukyu. Ryukyu is—"
"I'm well aware of Okinawa. It's in a situation similar to Korea."
I don't even need to see more.
Okinawa was swallowed by Japan much earlier than Korea, and even at the point of immigration records, the name 'Ryukyu' would've already disappeared. I understand that, but… if he had spent even one percent of the effort he put into investigating communism on this, I might've known beforehand. Or is it my fault for trusting Americans, knowing their understanding of other cultures is practically nonexistent?
All thirty-one carefully prepared scenarios in my head were instantly scrapped, and now I found myself deeply contemplating what to do with this woman—who seemed genuinely pleased that I even knew about Ryukyu.
***
(Reference)
The Ryukyu Kingdom had long been under the influence of the Satsuma Domain and was formally annexed by Japan in 1879 as part of its early expansionist policies.
Later, a teacher named Toyama Kyuzo, while studying in Tokyo, learned of the Japan–Hawaii migration program and began promoting emigration to Hawaii and the Americas. On January 8, 1900, the first group of Okinawan immigrants, including him, arrived in Honolulu.
However, the Okinawan immigrant community in the Americas faced continuous struggles—regional divisions (such as Shuri vs. Naha), generational conflicts between first- and second-generation immigrants, tensions between San Francisco and Los Angeles communities, linguistic divides between native Ryukyuan speakers and Japanese speakers, complicated relations with mainland Japanese immigrants, and even the spread of communism during the era.
Eventually, with the enforcement of Executive Order 9066, Okinawans were swept up alongside Japanese Americans and forcibly interned, leading to the collapse of their distinct community. It took many years for them to recover.
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