If I had to summarize my relationship with Lee Chan-ho in one line, it would be: a one-time meeting with someone I’d never see again.

I doubt I was the only one who thought that.

You don’t need me to list how he didn’t even bother handing me a business card at the end of that meeting to know it.

So when Lee Chan-ho contacted me using a number I hadn’t been given, I had a familiar and unpleasant feeling before I even picked up the phone.

"Ah, Commander Park Gyu! Thank goodness. I was worried I’d dialed the wrong number."

What Lee Chan-ho chattered about after that didn’t stray far from the framework I had anticipated.

He’d ended up in some kind of trouble and was reaching out to me in hopes of escaping it.

What piqued my curiosity, though, were the more specific details.

"Well, I was suddenly appointed to a new position."

Someone on Jeon Si-hoon’s side had given Lee Chan-ho a new title.

Chairman of the New Settlement District—essentially a mayor of a newly established city, if we’re using pre-war terms.

By common sense, it’s not a bad position, even if it comes with a lot of baggage.

It’s clearly ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) tied to vested interests and easy to exploit.

It’s the kind of dream post that any ambitious, daring person would want to try at least once, precisely because it allows them to pull the strings.

But the title Lee Chan-ho received had a different flavor.

The area he was to develop was part of the old Gangnam District—an honorific location by Korean standards. The problem lay with the people.

Japanese. Japanese refugees.

Just as he had predicted, the total headcount of the Japanese refugee fleet—which once claimed 16,000 members—had ballooned to nearly 40,000.

And their condition was more or less what Defender had uncovered beforehand.

They were nothing like “four-year university graduates with knowledge and expertise in engineering or science.”

On the whole, they were poorly educated, had little to no work experience, lacked even the most basic manners expected of Japanese citizens, and behaved in the kind of degenerate, unmasked way often seen in the worst of them.

On top of that, half showed signs of drug addiction, and most of the men had violent tendencies.

They were, in every way, the same Japanese marauders that had been spreading chaos throughout the East Asian seas.

According to rumors, after several acts of deceit and fraud, they had been branded as public enemies even among other marauders, which led them to seek asylum in Korea.

Even rehabilitating troublesome Koreans into functional citizens in a rebuilding society was a desperate task—doing the same with foreigners was almost laughably hopeless.

And Jeon Si-hoon had decided to take it a step further and give Lee Chan-ho an even crueler challenge.

He was ordered to build an official residence right in the middle of the “Japanese District” and live there with them.

"...I can accept everything else. Yes. It wasn’t intentional, but I did say something that could be misinterpreted as advocating for the acceptance of Japanese refugees. But isn’t it too cruel to force my family to move into a place full of people we can’t even communicate with, especially now that we’ve finally settled into a home in Seoul and started forming connections with our neighbors?"

Lee Chan-ho knew it too—the person who’d sown the seeds of this mess was none other than himself.

Many Seoul citizens likely remembered him smiling warmly on TV, preaching about the need to embrace Japanese refugees.

So the clever little guy had been cornered.

After hanging up, I contacted Defender, who knows politics better than I do.

"Oh, Skelton!"

For some reason, Defender’s voice sounded different than usual.

He sounded like he’d been drinking.

I could hear laughter and conversation in the background, glasses clinking.

The faint background music coming through the speaker helped me guess where he was.

Probably a classy bar or banquet hall.

"Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No, it’s fine. Really."

He’s just an internet friend, but even I can tell Defender’s become someone you can’t ignore in New Seoul.

He started small.

After losing popularity on the forums and leaving behind my conflict-ridden territory, he moved to Seoul with his chronically ill sister and took on the dirtiest, most undesirable task of all—tracking and killing fanatics.

I remember the exact starting point.

Defender, marked by hideous scars and filled with a burning hatred for cultists, led a small, equally brutal team. They never took a day off from their job as human slaughterers.

Then times changed.

When power in New Seoul shifted from Woo Min-hee and Kim Byeong-cheol to the people from Jeju, Defender got his break.

The Jeju Committee pointed to him as a partner—someone who could provide intel and take care of their dirty work. Under their protection, Defender exponentially expanded his organization.

The Skull Brigade, which he brought to the front gates of King’s city, now resembled a full-blown paramilitary force.

And his rise still hadn’t stopped.

Word was that Jeon Si-hoon, now aiming to seize Seoul’s hegemony, was trying to court Defender—Hong Jeong-ho.

It probably explained his good mood tonight.

"So, what do you want from me, friend?"

Defender asked cheerfully, his words slightly slurred.

I simply asked him about Lee Chan-ho.

Hong Jeong-ho burst out laughing.

"That guy? Let’s put it this way. A dog? Hey! That little hopping mutt—is that what you call a dog? Huh?"

That second comment seemed aimed not at me but at someone else at the party.

A woman’s raspy laughter rang loudly through the speaker, but Defender’s booming voice quickly drowned her out.

"Right, right! A frog! A frog!"

In a tone I’d never heard from him before—ridiculously lighthearted—Defender grinned and spoke.

"A frog being boiled in a pot. Yeah. That bastard’s the first one."

Defender swallowed and then said more firmly,

"Anyone who falls out of Jeon Si-hoon’s favor will end up like that."

Chilling, but plausible.

Lee Chan-ho had been marked.

Unless you were Defender, there was no chance you’d be saved.

I decided to ignore him. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Ironically, the next day, another Jeju Committee member, Kim So-uk, came to visit.

I was slightly tense, wondering if this was about Lee Chan-ho, but Kim So-uk brought up something completely unrelated.

"I heard you recently visited Jeju?"

Since the government moved back to Seoul from Jeju, very few people had gone back.

Only individuals handpicked by Yoo Yang-seo from Kang Han-min’s faction had made the trip.

Outside of Yoo Yang-seo’s circle, I was probably the only recent visitor.

Of course, my visit had been a whirlwind round trip by plane, and I didn’t have much to share—but Kim So-uk seemed desperate for even trivial details.

I told him exactly what I saw.

"I saw a Japanese ship get shelled and sunk by a naval vessel. And I saw people living inside what looked like a wrecked ship."

I didn’t mention Eden.

No need, and no reason for Kim So-uk to know.

"Ah, I see."

Kim So-uk seemed a bit disappointed but still thanked me.

"That was very helpful."

I’d been pretty nervous, but now that he was about to leave so easily, I was intrigued.

So I asked,

"Have you heard anything about Chairman Lee Chan-ho?"

"Chan-ho? Wait, you know Chairman Lee?"

Kim So-uk looked mildly surprised.

"Yes."

I told him about our past.

Kim So-uk nodded and muttered to himself.

"Knew it. So he did side with them. Well, of course."

He looked at me.

"What did Chairman Lee say?"

"He complained about having to move."

"Hmph. He brought that on himself."

For just a moment, I saw a flicker of contempt in Kim So-uk’s eyes.

"He’s acted like Yang Sang-gil too many times."

Even married couples fight.

Even within the Jeju Committee—a group held together by mutual benefit—there are bound to be cliques and grudges.

Just a gut feeling, but Kim So-uk clearly didn’t like Lee Chan-ho much.

"How should I put this... Ah, right. Let me give you a school example. Imagine ditching night study with your friends to play games, and then suddenly one guy gets all serious and says, ‘Should we really be doing this?’ and starts reflecting on life. How obnoxious would that be?"

"That’s true."

I never did night study.

Barely did night drills either.

Taking care of my body has always been a lifelong habit.

"There are always people who want to be seen as good, no matter what. I don’t get it. What’s the point of being seen as a good person? Unless you’re so good at the act you can fool everyone forever, what’s the difference? It’s not like a few empty words and a couple of fake good deeds change anything. It’s not like drawing lines on a pumpkin makes it a watermelon."

Kim So-uk didn’t pity Lee Chan-ho. He didn’t seem inclined to help, either.

Lee Chan-ho contacted me again two days later.

"I’m really sorry to ask again, but I heard that you’re the only one who can offer advice to Hero Jeon Si-hoon."

His voice sounded more desperate than before.

"I’m sorry, but I’m also watching how the wind’s blowing."

I said coldly, but he didn’t give up.

No, it seemed like he couldn’t afford to.

"Tomorrow, my family and I are going to be evicted. Could you please, please stop it?"

He deliberately left out where they were being sent.

So I asked.

"Where are you going?"

"The New Settler District."

He still refused to say "Japanese." Just like Kim So-uk, I could now understand the kind of disgust that inspires.

"I’ll bring it up."

Not that it would go anywhere. Even if I called, a secretary would answer.

Getting through Yoo Yang-seo’s surveillance and into the rift itself was already exhausting. I wasn’t going to bother the Hero over a petty issue like this.

"Thank you! Really, thank you!"

"Yeah."

Just as I was about to hang up—

"Wait! I’m so sorry—!"

"?"

"Would it be okay if I was there when you call?"

"What do you mean..."

"I just thought maybe if I was there and heard what was said, I might get a chance to say something to Hero Jeon Si-hoon myself..."

I could now fully feel what Kim So-uk must have felt.

He was lying.

He didn’t want to speak to Jeon Si-hoon.

He just didn’t trust me and wanted to monitor me.

It was a reasonable suspicion—but still offensive.

"Hey."

I paused for a moment.

I was going to speak harshly.

And I decided I should.

"You’re asking me this because you don’t want to go to the Japanese District, right?"

"..."

For someone who’d been so talkative, Lee Chan-ho fell silent.

"You’re the one who said we should accept Japanese refugees. Jeon Si-hoon heard you say it."

Then suddenly, a loud shout exploded through the speaker.

"I never said I should live with them!"

I went quiet.

I couldn’t understand his train of thought.

After a moment’s pause, I sighed and asked:

"Why?"

Just that.

Why?

Why not?

It was a sincere question born of curiosity.

Unfortunately, Lee Chan-ho didn’t answer.

He just ended the call in an awkward silence.

"...Then I’ll wait for your call."

The next day, I contacted Jeon Si-hoon.

Usually, his secretary answers—but today, for some reason, he picked up himself.

"Ah! Commander! Still not inside the rift yet? Oh, right, there was that outburst. Just hang tight. Yoo Yang-seo sent the estimate—we’re almost there."

Jeon Si-hoon sounded cheerful that day.

It hadn’t been planned, but I casually asked about Lee Chan-ho.

"That guy Lee Chan-ho—he’s being sent to the Japanese District, right?"

Jeon Si-hoon chuckled and replied.

"Yeah. That’s where he’s going."

"He doesn’t seem thrilled about it."

"A bastard like that deserves it."

Jeon Si-hoon snorted.

"When I was a kid, my nickname was ‘Rapture.’"

"Rapture?"

"There was this trashy apartment brand everyone called the ‘Beggar Apartments.’ Kids used to say I was a beggar who lived there. But it wasn’t just me. The whole neighborhood was poor. Not even in Seoul—some outer suburb. Property was cheap. Full of foreign laborers."

"..."

"Foreign laborers are fine. Lots of good people. One of my best friends in elementary school was from Pakistan—Hasim. Tons of people to look up to."

Jeon Si-hoon paused for breath.

"But it’s not easy living with people who grew up in a different world and look different from you. Small misunderstandings build up. And those small things snowball into big ones. Who ends up dealing with all that daily tension and conflict? Is it the person who demanded they be accepted—or the person who actually has to live with them?"

So the animosity Jeon Si-hoon felt toward Lee Chan-ho wasn’t just ideological.

It came from lived experience.

"Shoving something you hate onto someone else and forcing them to endure it—that’s not right."

Jeon Si-hoon laughed.

"If you’re going to preach coexistence, shouldn’t you be the one to prove it? Don’t dump the burden on others."

He was firm in his convictions.

I relayed them to Lee Chan-ho.

"What? What do you mean? Wait—can I come with you? Please? Can I be there next to you when you call?"

Lee Chan-ho’s a smart guy—he should’ve known.

And maybe he did, which is why he screamed in desperation.

"Listen! That bastard Jeon Si-hoon’s trying to kill us all! He’s going to wipe out the entire Jeju Committee who’ve kept this country afloat since the war!"

"Do I need to know this?"

"This is important! Kim So-uk! That bastard’s sided with Jeon Si-hoon. He’s planning to sell us out and run off to Jeju alone. It’s dictatorship! A dictatorship is coming back! That goddamn dictatorship!"

"..."

"Do you know why Jeon Si-hoon’s cozy with that murderer Hong Jeong-ho? Huh? Do you know what that means? They don’t even want to understand!"

"I'm hanging up."

And I did.

For his sake.

Any longer, and I would’ve started swearing.

Lee Chan-ho tried to reach me twice more, but I ignored him.

The next day, he was officially given the title of "Mayor" and dragged from his newly built apartment at Hangang Riverside to the Japanese District, now packed with tents.

*

A riot broke out in the Japanese District just as the monster eruptions—now in their fifteenth day—had finally begun to subside.

A grotesque but disciplined group of executioners—bearing the same insignia as one of the most infamous units from the military dictatorship era—stormed the Japanese District with firearms, blunt weapons, armored vehicles, and tear gas.

Naturally, Lee Chan-ho and his family, whose whereabouts had already gone silent during the chaos, were never found.

Some of the captured Japanese rebels claimed that their leader, Logai, had flayed the faces of Lee Chan-ho and his family alive and added them to his personal collection—but that detail hardly mattered anymore.

What did matter was that Defender, who had burned Logai to death with his own hands, immediately rallied his troops and stormed Seoul, arresting most of the Jeju Committee members—Kim So-uk and a few others being the rare exceptions.

In that regard, Lee Chan-ho really was a clever man.

Whether or not he was a good person is something we’ll never be able to know.