00033 - The Little Prince in the Ossuary
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#Negotiation, Camp Roberts (3)
The Japanese internment area. Particularly, the boundary of 「Sumiyoshi Society」.
The guard was the same as before. Was it a coincidence or a lack of manpower? Gyeo-ul decided to remember the latter possibility.
"You, you're that... you're Korean."
It seemed like he already knew who Gyeo-ul was. The Japanese man swallowed the habit of calling him a "Chosun-jing."
"Yes. We've met before."
"What do you want?"
"I'm hoping to see the Kaicho (會長/Chairman) regarding a drug issue."
"The Oyabun (親分/Boss)?
The man carefully observed Gyeo-ul. Specifically, the weapons the boy carried. As a federal military officer, Gyeo-ul was free to carry weapons inside the camp.
Even so, they couldn't just take them away. The man, in hesitation, nodded.
"I'll report it. Wait there."
"Sure."
Gyeo-ul nodded.
It didn't take long. Was it Daisuke? The man who disappeared with Kushinada Setsuna was quick on his feet. He hurried back and whispered something to his older brother. Soon after, the elder of the guards gestured toward Gyeo-ul.
"He said he'll see you. Come along."
Many gathered as they followed, whether it was escort or encirclement was unclear. In fact, it was more the latter. They glared, trying to suppress his spirit. Gyeo-ul just showed a fabricated smile.
As he followed, he saw the stark reality of the Japanese area.
There were traps made of plastic bottles set all over. In one, a trapped mouse was going berserk. Someone snatched it before the owner. The child bit into the live mouse while fleeing from the angry owner. Blood and entrails dropped with each step.
Around the corners, people lay around, high on drugs. Methamphetamine suppressed hunger in users. It was a popular drug even in North Korea before the epidemic outbreak.
Following a deliberately twisted path, they arrived at a tent.
「神州不滅」
(Divine Land - Japan - never perishes.)
The reddish-brown letters were noticeable, the color of dried blood. Hanging the sign in the middle of the tent, a shirtless man sat beneath it. His upper body was covered in scars and tattoos, with impressively thick muscles.
"Han Gyeo-ul."
He pronounced Gyeo-ul's name distinctly. It was difficult for a Japanese.
"Sit down."
A place was prepared. Nothing more than the bare ground with a sheet, but Gyeo-ul didn't refuse. Armed men sat in lines on either side, reminiscent of the 「Damul Development Society」.
Their purpose was likely the same. They stared intently.
The Yakuza boss just stared for a while as if observing the boy. Then he spoke casually.
"Drink?"
"I'll pass."
"Bold, yet still young."
As if it had been arranged, a table appeared without additional instructions. Only water and meat were served after Gyeo-ul refused the drink. The well-grilled meat was large. Perhaps sewer rat. Gyeo-ul tilted his head.
"Surprising. What kind of meat is this?"
Sounds of swallowing echoed from the sides. The Sumiyoshi Society boss replied nonchalantly.
"Pork."
Possibly. It was feasible. If something was offered to the US military in exchange. Still, there was room for doubt. Fresh pork was an excessively rare commodity since the disappearance of the cold chain. Gyeo-ul didn't touch the utensils. The Sumiyoshi Society boss recalibrated his assessment of Gyeo-ul.
"Not bold at all."
"Just cautious."
This made him chortle.
"What's this cautious person doing here? Really because of drugs?"
"Yes."
Someone served drinks to the boss. Aside from buck teeth, the woman was very pretty. She poured the drink. Large-mouthed cups emptied quickly. The Yakuza boss exhaled a long sigh mixed with alcohol and asked.
"Are you here to buy drugs or sell them?"
"Neither."
"Then?"
"I want to know how the Koreans and Chinese selling drugs here acquire their products and their distribution routes."
"And when you know?"
"To clean them up."
Up to this point, a very quiet Q&A. The boss placed his cup down.
"Tadaatsu Ryohei(忠渥良平). Owner of 「Sumiyoshi Society」."
"As you might know, I'm Han Gyeo-ul. I represent the 「Gyeo-ul Alliance」."
"Representative. Quite the ambiguous title."
Ryohei tapped his empty cup with a finger.
"When you say 'clean up'... do you mean kill?"
"If there's no other way."
"In this world, there's no such thing as another way. It's either kill or be killed."
"That's something someone like you, a Yakuza, would think."
It got noisy. The Yakuza members began pulling out kitchen knives and such. They swung them fiercely in place without moving. Rough curses followed. Gyeo-ul thought to himself, wherever you go, the behavior is similar. Bravado just for show, without any real intention to fight. The boss calmed them down. He was quietly dignified. Even if it was just for show, he was a hundred times better than the madman raving about being a chief advisor.
Ryohei said.
"Information has its price. I can't just give it to you."
"How should I pay?"
"Kill them."
A low growl.
"When the Chinese oppressed us, you Koreans joined in the fun. The druggies were the worst of the lot. They're still harassing us. Poor, starving Japanese giving away everything for a dose of drugs. When there's nothing to offer, even giving away their daughters and wives. Of course, the women do it themselves now."
The Yakuza's eyes were on fire.
"Promise me you'll kill them. I will tell you everything I know."
"I'm not interested in borrowing a knife to kill (借刀殺人)."
There's no guarantee the information is reliable, so what promise? Gyeo-ul brushed himself off and stood. The people became restless. They blocked the exit. By then, Gyeo-ul was already gripping his gun. The Yakuza members trembled, but their faces remained fierce. They showed no intention of stepping aside. A sign that they had undergone hardships themselves.
From behind, Ryohei spoke.
"Sit down."
Gyeo-ul calmly replied.
"You can't stop me, you know."
"True, I can't stop you. But you'd have to kill them all to break through."
"Are you afraid I won't be able to kill them?"
"It would be a loss."
No matter how permissible it was to carry weapons, there was naturally a burden in committing mass murder. At the very least, there would be friction with the camp commander. Gyeo-ul thought for a moment, then released his grip on the gun and sat back down.
"Hand it over."
Gyeo-ul snapped.
"I just don't want my people going crazy from drugs. Once they're insane, clashes are inevitable. So if you have information, hand it over. Whatever happens, you won't lose anything. If a fight breaks out, just watch. As I said, if necessary, I'll kill."
"What if I suggest joining hands?"
"It's not the right time. Once the Chinese start fighting among themselves, I'll consider it after stepping on the insane Koreans. I also need to see if you're sane."
Ryohei burst into laughter.
"You mean nationality doesn't matter. Fine. I'll trust your track record."
The track record must have meant rescuing a girl from extremist lunatics.
He called someone over. Shortly after, a man and woman pair entered the tent. They didn't fit the setting. Ryohei called them over and whispered something. The pair, trembling, nodded and took out clean papers and drawing tools from their bags, along with some sketches. They copied sketches onto the paper while seated.
"They were manga artists, quite skilled with their hands."
Ryohei said.
"I don't know where the other guys get their drugs. Nor their distribution routes. I only know the people, so it's better to draw and give it to you."
"Seems you were prepared."
"There's no telling when there'll be another battle. Needed to tell my subordinates who to kill first when fighting breaks out, and this was the best way."
Indeed. Gyeo-ul was curious about the contents of their bags. Could they also have montages of the 「Gyeo-ul Alliance」 people? If they drew everyone they saw and updated the information, it was possible.
Time passed in silence.
"Seems they're done."
When the pair looked expectantly, the Yakuza boss nodded. The man's side of the pair approached Gyeo-ul. Trembling, he handed over the stack of papers. Was it due to Gyeo-ul's fearsome reputation? Those who didn't know him well considered the boy a sociopathic killer, a human butcher crazed with blood. The young lad truly was insane, they thought.
Fear was also an asset. Gyeo-ul thought this as he viewed the drawings he'd been handed.
"Not bad."
Some faces he'd encountered in passing. In some, information was scrawled in the margins. Places, dates, activities observed. Occasionally even their organization and names appeared.
"So you're not touching the food after all?"
"Apologies. I dine well elsewhere."
"Pity."
Just as Gyeo-ul was leaving, the Yakuza boss spoke.
"Think of me as a national leader next time we meet."
To which Gyeo-ul responded, "Depends on your actions."
Though it seemed excessive for Gyeo-ul to be so rude, the initial rudeness had been on the part of the Yakuza. Despite Gyeo-ul coming directly as a representative of an organization, from start to finish, they dropped any form of honorifics. In the Yakuza world, where they emphasize 'honor', this was a public insult.
'In the end, it's nothing but a means of self-glorification.'
Yakuza talked of honor, the Black Society talked of cooperation. Each crime organization emphasized some supposed virtue. Without emphasizing anything, how could a criminal group have any discipline?
Perhaps, for Ryohei, it was a matter of face-saving.
'Yet, a Yakuza talking about national leadership...'
Before the chaos erupted, Ryohei himself must have been the one selling drugs to the Japanese.
Yet, it might have an effect among the Japanese. There was a saying that Yakuza arrived before the Self-Defense Forces during disasters. It meant the criminal groups were meticulous with their image management and that the Japanese bureaucracy was that rigid.
At that moment, there was a closer sound of people approaching. Many.
"Uh... excuse me. Are you Mr. Han Gyeo-ul?"
An older male voice. The distance of his approach was awkwardly hesitant. Due to the Yakuza members glaring fiercely at him as he left. A family of three endured their anxiety, standing there. Among the parents and daughter, Gyeo-ul recognized one.
"Yes, that's correct. Hello. It's been a while, Setsuna."
Kushinada Setsuna. She didn't look like she'd been well. Though healthier and better dressed than before, her face was downcast. Upon his glance, she quickly lowered her head.
Parents, aged beyond their child's years, bowed.
"Sorry we didn't come sooner. We heard you saved our daughter. We are sincerely grateful."
As Gyeo-ul composedly responded, an angry voice cut in.
"Ah, geez! Father! Mother! I told you not to do this! Why such deference to a Joseonjing?"
"Hmm?"
Turning back, he saw a young man with a distorted face. He was robust. Striding in, he handled his parents roughly, setting them upright and glaring at Gyeo-ul.
"What are you smug about, accepting gratitude, you scum?"
"......."
Gyeo-ul tilted his head. Who is this? He seemed to be family, but their features didn't match. Either it was genetics or terribly nurtured. The mother among the couple gently reminded him.
"Dear, isn't this the human thing to do? Isn't it grateful that such a person exists among those who forget their humanity?"
"This kind of person? This kind of peeeerson? Oh, geez."
He shouted ferociously.
"Mom, are your ears blocked? I said you're dealing with a Joseonjing! Jo! Seon! Jing! Don't you know all peninsulans are the same? Geez, it's like thanking a thief for returning stolen goods after using them halfway! How is there anything to be thankful for? Really embarrassing! Aren't you ashamed to show this to others?"
"Excuse me."
Gyeo-ul frowned.
"No need to be thankful to me, but don't treat your sister like an object."
"What?"
The young man sneered viciously.
"She's not my sister. Just a sow."
Setsuna made a sorrowful face. Ignoring her, the young man stabbed her heart with words as if they were daggers.
"As a Japanese with any pride, you should've committed suicide after being captured! With a defiled body, how dare you crawl back! And with a Joseonjing, no less! Japanese live with pride! Sow! You're a freaking sow! A woman who's sold her body to an enemy and returned is nothing but a sow!"
Pride, my foot. Gyeo-ul's gaze turned icy. In proportion to the hostility, the "threat level" activated, immediately silencing the young man.
Gyeo-ul had thought to carry a handkerchief ever since Paso Robles, and it was a relief not to forget. He handed it to the crying girl. And.
Thump!
The young man gasped for breath as his solar plexus got struck, crumpling down. A short scream from the parents, above which Gyeo-ul's calm voice descended.
"You might want to pay more attention to his education. I'll take the gratitude. Excuse me."
Pride isn't a necessity of life. More so is love. Comfort, embrace one another, share one's pains. In a world already hard to survive as is.
Here or in the real world alike.
Gyeo-ul thought as he walked away.
---------------------------= Postscript ---------------------------=
1. In the narrative, there's a use of phrases like 'makes a face' or 'made a face.' Such expressions are used exclusively for Gyeo-ul.
2. I've heard an incredibly shocking piece of news today.
Santa Claus... they say he is a fictional character.
My childhood wonder is destroyed, and it seems difficult to continue writing novels.
I sincerely thank everyone who has loved The Little Prince in the Ossuary.
See you again in the Human Empire 40,000 years later, goodbye.
Clacky's Corner:
There will always be racists regardless of race.