Her blue eyes clung to Henry with relentless tenacity. If first class in the twenty-first century was a closed-off space where people hid inside private partitions, Pan Am in 1979 was different. Wide leather sofas, an open lounge, and a precarious intimacy permitted between passengers and crew—it was truly an age of “romance.”
To put it simply, for smokers, the economy seats back there were an age of romance, when smoking onboard was not only legal but routine. And for the upper classes, it was an age of romance in which one could still do that sort of thing(?) without needing a private jet.
“I certainly have no time to be bored, not when I’m receiving such attentive service.”
As Henry lifted his glass and lightly wet his throat, Diana pressed herself close behind his shoulder and whispered. The rich scent of Senel No.5 mingled with the engine noise and tickled his nose, and the breath brushing his ear was blatantly suggestive.
“In a little while, we’ll be dimming the lights. The lounge sofas up here are much softer and quieter than the seats downstairs. If you find you can’t sleep… shall I make you another special cocktail? One that isn’t on the menu… a recipe just for you.”
When her hand lightly brushed across his chest, Henry’s lower body naturally grew heavy. Honestly, during a tedious thirteen-hour flight, how many men could refuse the temptation of such a beauty?
Henry, too, was no saint. If anything, he was the sort who wanted to enjoy life, and he was not particularly patient. But. Beyond her alluring eyes, future headlines naturally floated up in Henry’s field of vision.
“You’re truly beautiful, but… this is a bit difficult right now.”
With a voice dripping with regret, Henry lightly took her hand and stopped it. Bewilderment flashed through Diana’s eyes, the eyes of a woman who had never been rejected.
“Are you afraid you won’t like my recipe?”
“No, I’m sure the recipe is perfect. But Diana, haven’t you seen the news in America lately? They say strange, nameless diseases have started going around. Especially in places like New York and San Francisco.”
Henry lowered his voice and murmured just loudly enough for only her to hear. In 1979, the official name “AIDS” did not even exist yet, but among the upper classes and glamorous party people, bizarre rumors of “gay cancer” or a “rare blood disease” were already spreading like poisonous mushrooms.
In particular, flight attendants dedicated to first class, who dealt with the global “jet set,” were exposed to the front lines of infection. In Henry’s eyes, behind her smile, a cruel number called “infection probability” flickered.
At present, he had only one clone—Joshua. And Joshua’s surname was not Devenzer. In other words, if Henry died now and had to live as Joshua? Even if he received the role of representative for the illegitimate child thanks to the will he had left behind, the corresponding power and fortune would, of course, not exist.
‘If I die now and end up living as Joshua? All my power and the name of [Devenzer] will scatter into thin air. I’d have to start over from the bottom, playing representative for an illegitimate child. Absolutely not!’
At the very least, he needed insurance in the form of a child who inherited the Devenzer name, or even an illegitimate child made into a clone. Only then would everything he had built so far not vanish into thin air, and only then could he continue to perfectly control even that gigantic trust as he did now.
Of course, AIDS was not a disease that killed you the day after you caught it, but wasn’t it said that preparedness prevented disaster? Henry, a safety-first man by nature, did not have even a speck of courage to take on such an uncertain risk. This was exactly why he had continued two months of forced abstinence despite having more money than he knew what to do with. The other reasons were that there had been no women who caught his eye, and that openly calling a call girl, all while claiming to care about the “dignity of the family,” which he had never actually upheld, left a bad taste in his mouth.
‘Damn it, even if I wanted to throw money around and have them undergo a precision examination, with the current level of medicine, they probably don’t even know what the causative pathogen is. Even if a medical certificate says “no abnormalities,” I can’t tell whether that means she’s healthy or a ticking time bomb called AIDS.’
In 1979, AIDS was treated as a nameless rare disease that only unlucky people, especially gay men, contracted. Some hospitals called it simple immune deficiency, while others could not even attach a name to it. Since the diagnostic criteria themselves were all over the place, there was not a single reliable point like modern test results.
It would take until at least 1984 for trustworthy medical certificates to begin appearing. In other words, until then, unless it was a celebrity he knew from his previous life or a clone he had personally created, giving up his current dazzling life for a moment of pleasure would be far too wasteful.
If he endured just a little longer, a clone would appear after January of next year, and that clone could satisfy all his fantasies about the opposite sex. Moreover, in the future, even famous actresses Henry knew would appear, so days of far more spectacular enjoyment than now were waiting for him.
Besides, in Henry’s eyes, Diana’s practiced movements were a danger sign.
‘She doesn’t even know who I am, and she’s coming on to me just because I’m in first class… She’s a real slut.’
For Henry, whose Eastern way of thinking had not completely vanished, her blatant sexual appeal might instinctively attract him, but rationally, it instead made him uneasy.
‘And looking at her closely, she’s not even that pretty… Seriously, do they have to put in those voluminous waves? Can’t she just have straight hair?’
Henry felt uneasy about Diana’s aggressiveness, but this was also Henry’s misjudgment.
The current Henry lacked self-objectivity. He had only a faint awareness that he was a 190-centimeter-tall sculpted handsome man close to the ideal type admired by Americans.
He was handsome enough that even Henry himself had been satisfied when he first looked in the mirror, thinking, “This is pretty good,” but human greed was endless. Henry, with the aesthetic sense from his previous life still remaining, had recently begun grumbling, “Is my face too big?” or “Isn’t my jaw too square?”
His neatly trimmed hair, broad shoulders, and overwhelming wealth, enough to ride first class with bodyguards in tow. Diana had seen all those perfect conditions and decided to make her move.
“A strange disease? This is the first I’ve heard of…”
“Not knowing may be a blessing, but I tend to be careful with my body. America these days feels, how should I put it, like it’s overflowing with invisible viruses. I don’t want to enjoy myself with someone as pretty as you and end up putting my future up as collateral.”
Feigning a serious expression, Henry patted the back of her hand and pushed it away. Diana’s lips parted in disbelief. Displeasure—Is this handsome man treating me like a carrier?—and fear—Is there really such a terrifying disease?—crossed her face in turns because Henry spoke with such conviction.
“Let’s meet again later, when the world has become a little cleaner. Until then, take good care of that special recipe.”
Diana stared at Henry with a strange expression, then gathered her tray and hurried down the stairs. Watching her luscious silhouette recede, Henry briefly smacked his lips.
‘Her face isn’t great because of the makeup, but American women really do have insane body volume. That one thing is honestly a shame… Tsk. But in the eighties, I have to be careful, then careful again. They say every time I move bodies, one clone slot gets consumed, so I need to save them as much as I can.’
.
.
.
The massive body of the Pan Am Boeing 747-SP settled smoothly onto the runway of Narita International Airport. Fourteen hours after cutting through the night from New York. As Henry rose from the comfortable first-class seat, a courteous announcement flowed from the cabin speakers, informing them of their arrival.
“The local time is 4:30 p.m. on August 11, 1979. The current temperature in Narita is 32 degrees Celsius, 89 degrees Fahrenheit, with humidity at 80 percent.”
In his previous life, it had always taken a tremendous amount of waiting time just to get off a plane, but this flight was on an entirely different level. Following the guidance of Diana, the dedicated flight attendant who gave him the deplaning signal—the equivalent of getting out if this were a car—Henry stepped out without delay. Jeston took the front, and Jay stuck to the rear like a shadow, providing close protection.
As soon as he got off the plane, what greeted Henry was Japan’s sticky, hot summer air, which swallowed the chill of the air conditioning in an instant and made it hard to breathe.
It was heat on an entirely different level from what he had experienced on his recent business trip to California.
‘Why the hell is the weather always like this whenever I go on a business trip!! California was practically heaven…’
Swallowing the grumble that threatened to escape his mouth, Henry maintained a leisurely smile as if nothing were wrong. In truth, he was also a little excited inside. Though he had lived as a born-and-bred Korean and had even gone on business trips to Europe, in his previous life he had never once set foot in nearby Japan. Seeing scenery he had only watched in NewTube videos made him feel as if he had come overseas on vacation.
This strange exhilaration was not the first time.
When he first entered Manhattan, he had spent nearly a month poking around here and there under the pretext of meals. Of course, later on, he had grown thoroughly sick of the bare face of 1970s Manhattan—lacking, chaotic, and far removed from its future splendor.
But the bigger reason a smile now came to his lips of its own accord was the fact that he had finally set foot in the Japanese market, which would bring him astronomical wealth in the future.
‘Gundam, Gunpla, let’s go! [Bindai], just you wait. You can’t sleep these days because this thing is going under, can you? You must be under a lot of stress. Don’t worry. I’ll buy that entire factory for you.’
From the perspective of the future, Gundam would be an immortal IP and the king of Gunpla, but as of August 1979, the present situation was miserable.
The first Gundam anime was suffering a complete failure. [Clover], the anime’s main sponsor, was pressuring for an early cancellation due to atrocious ratings and sales. For reference, the current [Bindai] was nothing more than a subcontractor for [Clover].
When Henry heard that Gundam was already airing, he had ordered an investigation, thinking he might buy the early rights in advance, only to be dumbfounded by how much more serious the situation was than he had expected. It was to the point that he even wondered, “Has history changed?” But the moment he personally checked the anime video, he was certain. This would absolutely not fail.
Because it was exactly the same as the legendary direction he had seen in his previous life.
The problem lay somewhere completely unexpected.
The toys being sold now were not the precise Gunpla of his previous life, but bizarre alloy objects that were strangely different from their appearance in the anime.
‘The production company [Moonrise] is on the verge of collapse, so I’ll acquire it; [Clover], which holds the rights, can be bought cheaply when it’s about to go bankrupt; and if I swallow [Bindai]’s subcontracted production line and release Gunpla first? This is guaranteed to succeed.’
In reality, though Henry did not know it, after the original Gundam had utterly bombed, it was revived miraculously when the 1/144 scale Gunpla released by [Bindai] became an unprecedented hit. Henry had simply discovered the problem that the toys differed from his previous life and intended to directly release models in the form he knew, but as a result, he had struck at the core of history.
Henry adjusted the fit of his light summer suit and descended the airstairs. Gilberto and the M&A specialists hurried after him. As soon as Henry set foot on the runway, what entered his eyes was a line of black Toyota Century sedans arranged as if measured with a ruler.
Even amid the heat radiating from the airport ground and the engines, men dressed in dark navy suits stood in a row without moving, sweat streaming down their faces. When Henry looked at the scene with puzzlement, Gilberto, who had been following behind him, nodded and whispered in a low voice.