How to Fight the Darkness (1)
Almost every American hated the calendar of 1932.
November 8.
The day of the U.S. presidential election.
Children might eagerly wait for December 25 to meet Santa, but adults all longed for November 8 to arrive as quickly as possible.
"Boooooo!!"
"Milk Killer Hoover, get out!!"
"Hoover, just leave already!!"
"Hey Hoover, why don't you vote for FDR? Then we might get the first unanimous election in history, huh?!"
At this point, the election itself had lost meaning.
Everyone already knew.
This election would go down in history as a landslide victory for the Democratic Party—specifically for Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Effigies and statues of Herbert Hoover, dragged out like a doomed relief pitcher, were burned almost daily. Newspapers competed to uncover new depths of failure in the Hoover administration.
A volcano erupting in Alaska? Hoover's fault.
The national anthem? A conspiracy to stop people from singing songs mocking Hoover.
The worn-down pavement in front of the Belgian embassy? Because Hoover visited so often for a drink.
Unlike the Democratic candidate four years prior, Roosevelt wasn't Catholic, boldly supported repealing Prohibition, and carried the image of a fighter battling the Great Depression as Governor of New York.
"The era of a new president is coming."
"There's no way Hoover wins. Haha."
While businessmen across the country debated how best to curry favor with the Democrats after more than a decade in opposition, inside a hotel conference room—
Kim Yushin sat smiling brightly, sliding a thick stack of documents across the table to the white man seated opposite him.
"This is the new venture we're preparing."
"The 'Mr. Bang' plan you mentioned before?"
"Exactly. We've been discussing it since the concept stage years ago. If your company is open to it, we'd very much like to collaborate."
The man flipped through the documents quickly.
"A 60-minute theatrical animation… I've always wanted to make a feature-length film, but outsourcing it like this is quite—"
"Crazy, right?"
Yushin chuckled.
"But tell me, would you consider selling more shares of your company? If we secure just a bit more, we could reach 50.1%."
"That would be difficult. I cannot hand over either my creations or my company—they're like my children."
"Of course. It's a shame, but what can we do? Mr. Bang insists that working with your company is the only way to succeed."
At the mention of acquisition, the man's expression had gone cold—but hearing "Mr. Bang," it softened like spring sunlight.
"Could you at least let us meet this 'Mr. Bang' you're hiding like a treasure?"
The man—Walt Disney—rubbed his mustache irritably, but Yushin only smiled wider.
He knew exactly what kind of businessman sat before him. Not that Yushin himself was any softer—if there were such a thing as a businessman with compassion in this industry, he would've crushed them himself and squeezed out every last drop.
"Do I look like I'd harm him? I'm just curious. If we proceed with this project—"
"Then of course you'll meet him in person and discuss things."
"Hah. Signing a deal just to meet a man, not even a beautiful woman."
"It's not just about meeting a man. This project carries the title of the world's first feature-length animated film."
"To be honest, I'm thrilled just to be part of something like this. You extended a hand when things were at their hardest, and now you're not making a film, but a mid-to-feature-length animation…"
"We're confident it will work. And to show audiences magical worlds or giant dragons—live-action film has its limits."
As the economy worsened rather than improved, even the once-thriving "paper business" was beginning to show warning signs.
Imitations were nothing new, but now entirely new card games—copying rules loosely or claiming originality—were entering the market.
Most were worthless.
And even among the rest, many weren't worth playing. Unlike other products, a game depended heavily on how many people were playing it.
Still, like finding a coin on a beach, a few products were beginning to see real success.
"I hear some major companies are developing competing products. But once the original appears on the big screen, that'll be the end for them."
"Competition is good, haha. Aren't specialty card game stores starting to appear? New competitors are always welcome."
"I've heard you're funding tournaments at those stores—"
"We're not selling pieces of paper. For children, we sell dreams and hope. For adults, the desire to win—and a bit of investment value. Ultimately, we want to create a community around a shared interest."
In an era where concepts like media mix or cross-platform storytelling barely existed, visual adaptation was the ultimate move—one that could crush competitors and turn a three-year-old into a lifelong customer.
The comic business, started on his brother Yujin's suggestion, was decent—but that was all. The market was simply too small.
So naturally—
you expand the market.
They say the American spirit is one of frontier expansion.
But Koreans were no less tenacious. No matter how barren the land, they would cultivate it until rice grew.
The days of locking Bang Jeong-hwan in a room, feeding him regularly, and squeezing out writing like wringing water from a rag—
were over.
Production had evolved.
What once depended on a single writer was now broken into specialized teams—worldbuilding, balance, and more—organized and standardized within a corporate structure that could produce stories at scale. Bang Jeong-hwan now only gave final approval.
It was like watching a cottage industry transform into the Industrial Revolution.
If this momentum held, the gates of Hollywood would open soon enough.
***
Even after finishing his meeting with Walt Disney, Yushin couldn't rest.
That meeting had been a stepping stone for growth—now it was time to clean up existing business.
"It's about time we shut down Ubok."
"With Franklin D. Roosevelt pledging to repeal Prohibition, it makes sense. But if we close immediately after repeal, won't it look suspicious?"
"How many people drank at our place? If anything, they'll be glad their dirty secrets disappear quietly."
It was time to visit Washington, D.C. again—and scatter another round of cash.
Better to dismantle everything cleanly at the right moment than leave loose ends.
Closing Ubok didn't mean the real estate vanished. It could always be repurposed.
Yushin smiled inwardly—until Yoo Il-han spoke up, giving him a headache.
"Then what about the Provisional Government?"
"I've already told them to wrap up the brewery."
"Will they accept that?"
"There won't be any profits going forward—what's there to accept? We need to reduce our ties anyway."
They'd been warned since the end of the Hoover administration. They should've wrapped it up earlier.
And hadn't they already been given alternative revenue streams?
For example—pure coincidence, of course—a few Asian workers from a Ford tractor factory had recently disappeared overnight.
They might have boarded a smuggling ship to China from San Francisco… but surely the Provisional Government wasn't planning to build tractors, so what problem could that be?
Good people avoid dangerous activities.
Given that, it was better to make their connection to the Provisional Government appear as distant as possible.
"How's the situation in California?"
"Thanks to charity events and free food distribution, public sentiment toward us is very favorable."
The Great Depression felt almost like a gift from heaven—ensuring the Kim family's dominance in San Francisco and California for generations.
For over a year now, free food had been distributed every morning—no questions asked. Long lines of people holding trays, regardless of race, had become the new normal.
If only they could cut off that money-devouring military industry… but that would defeat the whole purpose.
Yushin finally brought up what troubled him most.
"My brother sent a letter from Europe… says he can expand our weapons export channels."
"Isn't increased revenue a good thing?"
"He wants to sell submachine guns… to Vietnam."
Yoo Il-han frowned.
"France already produces its own submachine guns, doesn't it?"
"Not France. Vietnam."
"…You mean the Vietnamese independence forces?"
Yushin silently nodded.
"Even though the Provisional Government is based in the French concession in Shanghai?"
"When has my brother ever cared about things like that?"
What kind of madness had he picked up in Europe to come up with this idea?
Life truly never gave him a dull moment.
***
After the Opium Wars, China had become a patchwork of territories carved up by foreign powers.
Power was the only way to secure safety, wealth, and authority. Warlords ruled like independent lords, constantly forming and breaking alliances.
To them, the Mukden Incident and the Shanghai Incident were shocking events.
The Manchurian warlords, crushed like insects under mechanized forces.
And in Shanghai, defenses that managed—if only briefly—to hold back what seemed like an unstoppable Japanese army.
These warlords weren't fools.
Soon, they all reached the same conclusion:
"In a fight where tactics barely matter, the side that fires more bullets wins!"
"Replace every blade with submachine guns!"
"We need tanks! Tanks!"
"Even if it breaks our backs, we need armored units! We can pay later!"
Submachine guns were one thing—but tanks didn't just fall from the sky.
Still, if a rival warlord built a tank unit first, it would mean instant defeat. Whether ruin or salvation, they had to acquire tanks.
And so, wandering across the vast continent in search of armored vehicles, these "young warlords" encountered a certain fox in Shanghai.
"I have a request. Sell me just one tank."
"Haha, you've come to the right place! Our Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea possesses technological capabilities that rival any Western power. We even have former engineers who worked on tank development at Ford—making us capable of providing the finest tanks in the East—"
And that fox—
a man with a doctorate—
possessed the admirable quality of being willing to sell anything, so long as there was money involved.
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