The Mage of Leavenworth (5)
"By any chance, if your father was Ryukyuan, then your mother—"
Please don't say mixed-blood.
If she suddenly says my mother is Japanese too, that would put me in a very awkward position.
"Ah, my mother is from Amami ."
Um… sorry, but even if you say that, I don't really know…
"My apologies. I must have gotten a bit too excited. Amami refers to another group of islands near Ryukyu."
"I do recall hearing the name, but I didn't realize there was enough of a difference in perception between them to distinguish like that. Thank you for explaining."
Honestly, even knowing Ryukyu barely made it past the razor-thin cutoff of my general knowledge. How would I know where Amami is attached to? I've never even been on a simple one-night, two-day hot spring trip to Fukuoka.
Still, the way she made that distinction, I could infer that there was something like regional sentiment over there too. Islanders, in particular, tend to have a stronger sense of distinction like that.
I'd already scored some points just by knowing Ryukyu—no need to lose them unnecessarily.
After that, in a much gentler atmosphere, I mostly listened to her story.
If I'd brought kimchi to use as a slap weapon, that would've been a disaster.
After wrapping up the conversation in a warm and friendly mood, I stepped outside and saw my pathetic younger brother nervously bouncing his leg and chain-smoking.
"Hyung, how did it go—"
"You little bastard, get ready! Clench your teeth!"
Before Yushin could even say anything, he instinctively took a defensive stance like Pavlov's dog preparing for an incoming punch—but no chance.
Taste my headlock of fury, you punk!
"Ghk—ghk! What's wrong with you now?!"
"If you'd just said she was from Okinawa, this wouldn't have happened, you idiot! Why couldn't you say that and caused all this mess?!"
"What the hell are you talking about?! I tried to say it several times, but you kept throwing a fit saying you didn't want to hear it!"
Did I?
Feels like I did… or maybe not.
What does it matter? The important thing is that I didn't hear it.
"No, seriously, think about it. Even I only realized Okinawa wasn't originally Japanese land after my girlfriend explained it to me multiple times. When I first met her—just knowing her name and face—I naturally assumed she was Japanese."
"Wait, how do you not know Ryukyu? Haven't you heard of the Ryukyu Kingdom?"
"And where the hell is that?"
Only after exchanging a few rounds of heated, brotherly fist-based conversation did communication finally start to work properly.
And, as always, the root cause was the great education of the United States of America.
Come to think of it, Yushin and Yuin had been thoroughly educated in early 1900s America.
Asia barely appeared in the standard curriculum, so the only knowledge they had came from bits of dinner-table talk at home and a few words they'd picked up from people like Teacher Dosan. Honestly, it was amazing they even had any sense of ethnic identity at all.
"I tried casually bringing it up with a few people, but none of them knew either. Honestly, if you just hear the name Ryukyu, wouldn't you assume it's somewhere near Tokyo?"
"…Maybe?"
"Exactly! So I figured you wouldn't know either and was going to calmly explain it! But you suddenly started beating me like a dog!"
"Hey. Your older brother here is a proud graduate of West Point. There's no way I wouldn't know Ryukyu."
Sorry, little brother.
To be honest, I don't remember them teaching anything like Ryukyu at West Point. There were hardly any instructors there more knowledgeable about East Asian history than I was.
So not knowing was normal—and me knowing was the strange part. If I only had the education from this life, without memories from my previous one, I probably wouldn't have known either… right?
"Sigh. Anyway, the misunderstanding's cleared up now, right?"
"Ahem. Misunderstanding? I knew from the start—"
"Cut the crap. Just thinking about how I got beaten up back then still makes my whole body ache."
"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, hyung. I should've listened more carefully to what you were saying. I'm a lousy older brother—sorry! I'm sorry!"
We got back into the car and headed home.
"So, how was she?"
"Be honest—you fell for her at first sight. Just admit that."
"That's not it at all!"
His face was flushed red as he went on and on about how the two of them couldn't live without each other—he was completely hooked, and it showed.
In a way, it was a pretty cliché story.
A family that couldn't fully blend into either the Japanese community or the Okinawan community, somehow managing to get by.
Just when they were trying to build a modest but happy home, a great earthquake struck, followed by tragedy.
Even so, she was recognized for her abilities and earned a chance to go to university—but after her father passed away, leaving only her widowed mother, she gave up her studies, returned home, and worked hard to support her.
And then a young, handsome man who didn't discriminate based on race came along and saw her—
"Stop. That's enough."
"Why?!"
"You're seriously describing yourself as young, handsome, rich, hardworking, and kind? Where did your shame go? Did you leave it at home before going back to San Francisco? Did Dorothy throw it away?"
"I am handsome enough! I'm tall too! What, is it because I didn't go to college?!"
"I should've introduced you to more women earlier. You worked so much I didn't even realize my kind little brother was turning into a twisted, self-conscious, lifelong single monster…"
"What the hell is a 'lifelong single'?!"
"Born… single."
"You're really a master at coming up with phrases that make people feel like crap."
Yushin's driving was getting more and more aggressive. There's an old saying: never mess with the person behind the wheel. It's even written in the Goguryeo Subakdo, so I'd better follow it.
"Hey, you."
"Yeah. What now? What are you picking a fight about this time?"
"Do you want to go to college?"
He flinched.
Now that I look at him, he's got a bit of a complex about his education.
"Are you kidding me? The company can't run without me right now."
"Just hire a professional manager. That's something Dad and I can discuss."
"And how's some professional manager supposed to deal with all that crap—ancestral rites, back-alley gangs, politicians' pocket money, supporting the Provisional Government? Are you messing with me?"
"That's why I'm asking if you want to go to college."
No matter how twisted his self-esteem was, there's no way this guy would chase after someone just because he thought she was Japanese based on her looks. Among our family, Yushin was the one who had spent the most time with Teacher An Chang-ho.
Listening to his saccharine-sweet love story, though, it felt like the focus wasn't so much on her looks—but more on the fact that she'd had higher education.
"College, huh… College… Come on, what would I even do going to college? There's already a West Point graduate in the family, and Yuin went too."
"You, you. Don't you feel uncomfortable being the only one among the three brothers who didn't go?"
"Damn it—of course I'd go if I could! I was top of my class, you know. Quarterback! Okay? But life isn't about doing everything you want just because you want it."
"Alright. Got it. I'll prepare things myself."
If I want to make better use of him, I'll have to give him some proper education too.
And besides, we need to increase the number of educated Koreans in America anyway.
"You know, I've been thinking—I want to secure a university."
"Hyung, are you insane? The money you've already spent saying 'buy this, buy that'—"
"Just listen, you punk. Do you know what Joseon lacks the most right now?"
"…What?"
"People. Highly educated people. To get higher education, you have to study abroad in Tokyo, which naturally ties you closely to Japan. And even that education is mostly disconnected from actual governance or business."
High-level engineers.
Core administrative personnel.
In the original history, the newborn Republic of Korea could never secure enough of these two types of manpower, no matter what.
Syngman Rhee had talked about sending more Koreans to immigrate to America, and in fact, the number of immigrants was gradually increasing.
Education is a plan for a hundred years—we need to start planting the seeds now.
There's no need to force patriotism into them right away. Just educate them well, and once they hear about mushroom clouds rising over the archipelago and Korea's liberation, more than enough of them will cross the Pacific, burning with the mission of rebuilding the new nation.
"We don't even need to build one ourselves. There are universities that are friendly to Asians—if we just provide scholarships and financial support and help talented students get admitted, that's enough."
"…Yeah. No matter how hard we try, most of the highly skilled workforce is still white."
"Exactly. So even if it's not immediate, we need to open a route to supply high-level human resources."
Of course, if they take our scholarships, get jobs connected to our family, and entrust their hard-earned money to our vaults, it doesn't matter whether they're in America or Korea—they won't escape our influence.
I don't even expect to control the Provisional Government.
As long as the key working-level personnel who actually run the country are within our reach, that's enough.
Even from the perspective of a future Korea, wouldn't it be better to bring in fresh American-trained talent rather than filling the upper class with people who reek of Japan? That's a true win-win.
"Oh, and by the way—the treasury of the Korean National Association is in our facility right now, right?"
"It's way safer in our company building—with armed veterans standing guard—than in their office."
"Instead of just letting it sit there, how about we start something like a bank?"
"You said you'd send me to college! Why does this keep turning into more work?! Why?! Why!!"
"The steering wheel! Grab the wheel, you idiot! Not my collar!"
What a mess.
***
The remaining procedures moved forward at lightning speed.
"My name is Nishime Fumiko."
"Ah, yes. Please take good care of our foolish son."
My parents were momentarily shocked upon hearing the name of this suddenly appeared second daughter-in-law candidate, but I did my best to explain and mediate.
"She's not Japanese?"
"She's from the Ryukyu Kingdom. Haven't you heard of Ryukyu, Teacher Dosan?"
"I have. A pitiful people crushed under the wicked Japanese Empire. They share our pain, so I cannot object—but…"
"The Korean community cannot stand on its own, neither in size nor strength. We must cooperate with more peoples if we want our voices to reach Washington, D.C."
"I understand. But I worry more about how our compatriots across the sea will see it."
"Please don't worry too much about that."
Do your job, Doctor.
If you don't, I'll have to reassess your usefulness.
And my actions soon drew reactions from an unexpected place.
"Pleasure to meet you, Captain Kim. Thank you very much for accepting my invitation."
"The honor is mine. I'm merely a low-ranking officer, yet you've invited me—I'm truly grateful. I hope our meeting… will contribute to improving Japan–U.S. relations."
"Heh heh. It seems the two of you have much to discuss. I won't intrude—something urgent has come up, so please excuse me."
Thanks to the mayor of San Francisco acting as an intermediary, there was no way to avoid it.
I had expected movement given the union between a Korean and a Ryukyuan—but I didn't expect such a swift response.
Even in decline, a great power is still a great power.
Just as I was about to return to Leavenworth, an invitation I couldn't refuse arrived—from the Japanese Consul General in San Francisco, Ota Tamekichi.
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