The End of the Party
Intense sunlight pierced through the curtains.
The sound of birds chirping.
My head throbbed like it had been shoved into a press as I barely managed to open my eyes.
"Ugh… ugh. Water…."
I looked around and saw a glass of water beside the bed. I quickly gulped it down in one go, and little by little my senses returned and my vision cleared.
"I'm screwed."
Damn it.
I was alone in the spacious bed.
But those intense… traces of close combat—there's no way I could miss them, no matter how blind I might be.
What the hell did I even do last night?
So—
Dorothy looked, at a glance, as if she was excited simply by having someone who would listen to her.
Just how shitty this era was. Just like how I carried penalties because of my skin color, being both a woman and mixed-race must've been more than enough to make life hell.
"If what you're saying is true, then what you need most right now is a foundation to produce firearms, correct?"
"Guns are just a bonus. I'm certain a war is coming, and what I need is the reputation of having prepared the 'innovations' needed for that war in advance."
"Then… shall I speak to my father about it? He already thinks quite highly of you. So—"
"Well, I don't know. Getting help from your father or getting help from the Chinese—it's all the same in the end, isn't it?"
There was a slight difference.
But unexpectedly, she shook her head.
"No, it's not. That person you mentioned—Hally Song, right? You said he's an associate of Sun Wen? I've heard of Sun Wen before."
"You have?"
"Yes. My father mentions him from time to time. Said he's the ringleader of some red revolutionary stirring things up in China…."
Well, that's completely screwed.
If Congressman Curtis himself called Sun Wen a communist, then it must be true.
I couldn't understand it at all, but at least in the eyes of the big shots in Washington, D.C., Sun Wen was a red.
And if you wanted to rise through the ranks as a soldier, you must never, ever get entangled with communists. Absolutely never. Even falling leaves had to be watched in my military life—there was no way I could afford even a trace of that.
Without realizing it, I had nearly jumped straight into a pit of hell. If it hadn't been Dorothy, I might've been completely fucked.
Relief filled my body. As the tension drained away, it was only natural that I started craving nicotine.
"Mind if I smoke one?"
"My father smokes strong cigars beside me all the time. I don't mind."
Damn, how considerate.
As I put the cigarette to my lips, her gaze turned a bit strange. So that look was—
"Want one?"
"Y-Yes??"
No need to say more. Among smokers, you can tell at a glance when someone's out of cigarettes.
I held out my pack, and she looked visibly flustered.
"Is that really okay?"
"What wouldn't be?"
"I mean, really—really—is it okay for a woman to smoke?"
Ah, right.
This was that kind of era.
Even back in my country in the '90s, people would go, "How dare a woman smoke!"—so in 1912, it went without saying.
Instead of answering, I offered her a cigarette. She quickly accepted it.
As she took it, her hand lightly brushed the back of mine. Just that faint touch of soft skin—damn, it was enough to drive me crazy.
But the way she held the cigarette and brought it to her lips was awkward and clumsy. Looks like she wasn't originally a smoker.
She tried to act cool, gently tapping the cigarette in her mouth, but she looked like a kid wanting to be treated like an adult. I couldn't help but smile.
Anyway, just as I was about to strike a match—
Snap!
The match head broke clean off and flew somewhere far away.
"Ha… that was the last one."
"Come here."
She beckoned me.
Right—there was fire.
The cigarette in my mouth.
As I was about to lean in—
—
"Ah—Aaaah—Aaaah—!"
I feel like I'm losing my mind!
Honestly, I would've been better off forgetting this memory!
I'm screwed.
I messed with the daughter of a powerful man—what am I supposed to do now?
In my head, I could already see Congressman Curtis showing up with a double-barreled shotgun, replaying for a full fifteen seconds. Even my father would probably bow and say, "He had it coming. I sincerely apologize for my son causing trouble."
Sighing deeply as I realized this whole mess started because I ran out of matches while trying to light a morning cigarette, I stepped out of the room. I needed to borrow a light from those idiots.
"You're back?"
"Yeah. Feels like my head's gonna split open."
"Hmmm…"
What's with them?
The three idiots huddled together were staring at me strangely.
"What? Quit humming and just give me a light."
"Why didn't you come back last night?"
"Huh? Last night? When I woke up, I was lying in the garden. Guess I drank a bit too much."
"…."
At my answer, Ike snorted like he couldn't believe it.
"Yeah, right. You reek of perfume."
"Wipe that red lipstick off your face before you talk, dumbass."
I quickly wiped my face, but the moment they saw that, all three idiots broke into grins at once.
I'd been had.
"Kehehehe…"
"Pfft—hahahaha!"
"Pay up, three dollars. Pfft!"
"Fuck! Fuck!!!"
I got played. Omar… you set me up, Omar!
How many wins and losses was I at since coming to this damn Kansas?
"So, how was your fiery first night?"
"Come on, share your battle experience. Spill it."
"Get lost… you bastards…"
They surrounded me like a scrum, and then a strong scent hit my nose.
Hold on—
"Hey, you guys smell like perfume too."
"Huh? Well, obviously."
"Actually, all three of us—"
"And you're asking me to share my 'experience'?"
"You're the only one who had a first night."
"Hahahaha! Hahahaha!"
James laughed so hard he rolled on the floor, and Ike and Omar, trying to help him up, ended up clutching him while chuckling too.
Bastards. I'm going to turn crooked at this rate.
They're not friends—they're enemies.
"Excuse me? She left?"
After a simple breakfast to settle my stomach, I hurried to find Congressman Curtis—anything to avoid a shotgun ending.
But it turned out the congressman was extremely busy. He had only briefly shown his face yesterday to check on his district before immediately moving on to his next destination.
"Really? Not even a 'did you sleep well'?"
Dorothy said that with a bright smile.
My head started pounding again.
"My brother and sister both have their own schedules, so I'm the only one here."
"Oh… then—"
"You're not planning to leave me here alone, are you? Ah, no wonder my whole body aches…"
"I… I'll accompany you…."
Yeah, damn it.
Come to think of it, Democrat or Republican—how many Korean women even existed in this vast land of America to begin with?
If I wasn't careful, I could end up growing old alone for life. And now a beautiful, wealthy woman from a good family was saying she liked me—if I went, "Hmm, sorry, but my political stance—" then I'd truly be insane.
Once I adjusted my mindset, everything in the world looked beautiful. Even the sun seemed to bless my path, breaking through the clouds and pouring down radiant light.
"Then let's head outside for now. I should get moving too."
"Where shall I escort you?"
I probably couldn't go to Ike's place, but I didn't mind at all.
Being surrounded and interrogated by three hulking idiots with eyes like baby deer going, "Spill it! Tell us everything!" sounded far worse than spending time alone with a beautiful woman.
No matter how I thought about it, this was no ordinary opportunity.
It was an incredible connection.
When Woodrow Wilson's eight-year reign ended and the Republican era began—
if by then I could build a career as a war hero and secure a decent level of influence, then our dear Dr. Lee would be finished that very day.
He dared try to screw me over? Unfortunately for him, that wouldn't work anymore. Let's see if his precious connections would mean anything against the son-in-law of Congressman Curtis.
When his usefulness ran out, I'd gladly toss Syngman Rhee into the trash without hesitation.
Of course…
that was assuming I didn't get shot with a shotgun first.
The vacation was incredibly pleasant.
Dorothy understood me far better than I had expected.
"Hm. Reaching the top of the military as an Asian, huh."
Naturally, Dorothy and I became lovers.
We spent days and nights stuck together like glue, so it was only natural. If her feelings changed, it might just remain a fleeting Christmas romance—but well, given the times…
Anyway, she was the first person to hear the ambitions that had only ever stirred within me.
And her reaction was something else.
"Do you know what my father's goal is?"
"…Not really?"
"The White House."
"Huh. Impressive."
"Right? So if your goal was just to 'pin on a star,' I would've told you to aim higher."
Was this family's boldness genetic?
Instead of being shocked, Dorothy casually muttered, "That's the kind of man you should be," and I felt a quiet sense of relief.
A second life.
At first, I just wanted a modest life—earn a star or two and take it easy.
But the more I tried, the higher I began to see.
The likes of Douglas MacArthur, George C. Marshall, and others…
Realms I had never even imagined in my past life now seemed just within reach. Naturally, ambition began to rise.
"Want to visit West Point?"
"Don't overdo it."
And Dorothy—
after hearing my raw desires, she shamelessly fanned the flames, saying, "Commander of the Army? Why not aim for the White House?"
Just knowing I had someone who understood me and supported me made everything feel so much easier.
"Haha, we'll be keeping a close eye on you."
"If he even glances at another woman, we'll report it immediately!"
"Rest assured!"
"You guys… tone it down a bit…"
Those idiots treated Dorothy with excessive care, calling her sister-in-law.
At least get the title right—it should be sister-in-law properly.
Thus, 1912 passed, and in 1913, after returning to West Point, time began to flow smoothly again.
The very first thing I did upon arrival was, of course, to refuse Song Qingling.
After that? Naturally, Dorothy.
Letters came every week without fail, each one overflowing with affection. So this was the antique charm of a hundred years ago. I had no choice but to reply diligently—and as time went on, my skill at embellishing letters leveled up rapidly.
At the same time, I had to stay in contact with the Korean National Association.
Dosan Ahn Chang-ho, separate from Syngman Rhee, responded to my request and reached out.
We decided to take more time looking into establishing a factory. Coincidentally, there was a Korean with skilled hands and an interest in firearms production, so I shared my plans with him.
We exchanged letters over several months, but of course, we couldn't produce anything truly viable. My ambitions had simply been too large.
Still, the barbed wire project progressing was a definite comfort.
The "circular barbed wire" I proposed was patented under my younger brother's name, and I only felt at ease after hearing that test production had begun in a tiny factory.
As someone born a minority, the Korean community was my base—something I could never give up unless I completely disguised myself as Japanese.
With someone like Syngman Rhee, who betrayed people as easily as breathing, controlling the community, there was no way I could feel at ease. This incident alone had shown his true nature.
In that sense, owning a business and becoming an employer was the best possible strategy. Just like Korean conglomerates in the future, certain regions effectively became their domains.
Besides, the image was perfect:
an older brother rising through the military, a younger brother through business—an ideal embodiment of the American Dream.
With backing secured, there was no longer any need to worry about things like "a family being wiped out overnight."
If the firearms business had worked, I could've established my position much faster and more firmly… but even knowing how difficult it was, I couldn't completely give up after investing so much.
And then there was Dr. Lee.
Syngman Rhee probably thought he had just thrown a light jab, but from my perspective—a fragile sapling—even that jab was heavy enough to nearly knock me out.
Seriously, I almost collapsed from it.
So I sent him a letter full of youthful bravado—and to my father, I wrote at length about how Rhee had offered me a poisoned chalice, even sprinkling a couple of tears onto the paper for effect.
Bit by bit, clumsily but steadily, my preparations were taking shape.
Now that the shock from my "bet" about the outbreak of World War I had faded, it was time to once again create a major stir and raise my profile.
October 1913.
After finishing third-year training and returning to classes—
I fired off a second massive shell that would shake West Point.