Japan Ministry of Defense.
A Japanese government agency established to protect Japan’s peace and independence and to safeguard national security.
In our country, it was much like the Ministry of National Defense.
Shimamura, the Director-General of the Policy Bureau at Japan’s Ministry of Defense, and Miyamoto, the head of the Export Strategy Office at the Acquisition, Technology & Logistics Agency, were meeting in secret.
“I’ve already put the word out. Korea is probably in an uproar by now.”
At Director-General Shimamura’s words, Export Strategy Office Director Miyamoto bowed his head.
“Thank you. This will be an enormous help to us. At the very least, it will buy us time.”
Expectation was written across Miyamoto’s face.
It was the expression of a man who believed they could turn the tables with this.
But Shimamura thought differently.
He still did not find Miyamoto reliable.
“But is this really possible?”
Shimamura asked Miyamoto once more.
He wanted confirmation.
“Yes. It is one hundred percent possible.”
Miyamoto answered firmly.
Shimamura furrowed his brow.
“Our opponent is Korea. You can’t think of the Koreans the same way you think of us. They do absurd things. You can’t judge them by our standards.”
Shimamura had lived his entire life as a bureaucrat.
He was a man who verified everything through documents and valued procedure above all.
He chose options with no risk rather than challenges.
This matter was a challenge even for Shimamura.
It was not something Shimamura had wanted to do.
He was merely yielding reluctantly to pressure from above.
An order from the higher-ups to cooperate actively.
“According to information from the Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office, the Republic of Korea’s data on Mangwol itself has been deleted.”
Unlike the negative Shimamura, Miyamoto was endlessly positive.
“Does that make any sense?”
Shimamura said, as if it were absurd.
This was a national-level project, and the data had vanished?
From Shimamura’s perspective, as someone who dealt with documents, it was naturally incomprehensible.
Miyamoto added an explanation.
“They say one of the researchers there was won over by China, secured all the data, then deleted it.”
“No, there should be backups.”
“The blueprints remain, but they say the research logs are gone. Since they have the blueprints, they can build it, but there is no evidence of how they developed it. That is the part we are digging into.”
“In other words, they can make it, but they cannot prove how they made it.”
“That is correct. We, on the other hand, are different. We document every process. Test data, records of failure, improvement procedures—there is an enormous amount, to the point that it feels inefficient. That will protect us.”
Unlike Korea, Japan had exerted almost no strength in the defense industry.
Despite being called an economic powerhouse and a technologically advanced nation, its presence in the defense sector was minimal.
The starting line had been different.
After the war ended, Japan began while shackled by the fact that it was a defeated aggressor nation.
Article 9 of the Constitution, the exclusively defense-oriented policy, and the ban on arms exports.
These three things structurally blocked the growth of Japan’s defense industry.
It was not that Japan lacked technology.
On the contrary, Japan possessed some of the world’s best technological capabilities in precision machinery, electronics, and materials.
The problem was actual combat.
There had been no opportunity to deploy equipment on a real battlefield and verify it.
Because Japan had no military.
A Japan without a military selling defense equipment?
It was a contradiction.
The most important thing in defense equipment was reliability.
And that reliability was proven not in laboratory tests, but in actual combat and harsh environments.
The battlefield was always extreme.
A desert at forty degrees, snowy fields below freezing, the humidity of jungles, mud pits and sandstorms.
Even equipment that moved without issue in a mild climate broke down easily when the environment changed.
In reality, there were countless cases of engines giving out and stopping in high heat, or oil freezing in subzero weather and rendering machines inoperable.
There were too many cases to count of vehicles getting stuck in mud or sand.
That was why, in the defense sector, proof that something worked in any environment was more important than anything else.
If the enemy charges in and the gun does not fire?
That is simply death.
Only if it can fire even when water gets in, even when dirt gets in, is it truly a gun.
That is why the basics of defense manufacturing are to make things as simple as possible and easy to replace.
But Japan lacked that precious experience.
Japan had little experience with actual deployment,
and lacked repeated verification data from extreme environments.
That was why Japan’s reliability in the defense sector was low.
The structural limitations were also great.
The only market Japanese defense companies had to deal with was their own country.
Their sole customer was the Self-Defense Forces.
The size of the Self-Defense Forces was around 230,000 personnel.
Since weapons were developed and produced based on the Self-Defense Forces, mass production was impossible.
Naturally, unit prices soared.
Japan had the economic power to handle expensive equipment.
But the international defense market was different.
Most countries wanted cost-effectiveness and proven performance in actual combat.
No matter how outstanding the technology was, it was difficult to choose expensive, unproven weapons.
For example, the most basic weapon: the rifle.
Our country’s standard rifle, the K2, costs around 650,000 won per unit,
while Japan’s Type 89 rifle costs around 4 million won per unit.
In terms of price alone, it was six times more expensive.
But the price was not the problem.
The Type 89 rifle had its selector lever on the right side, making it difficult to switch modes while firing.
When switching the selector to safe during shooting, the shooter had to remove his right hand from the trigger, turn the rifle to the right, and change the selector.
What if the situation were the opposite?
What if the selector was on safe and the enemy appeared?
With the Type 89, the shooter had to turn the gun to the right, change the selector, and then begin firing.
No one knew how many people might die in that brief moment it took to switch the selector.
It was expensive, inconvenient, and dangerous.
On top of that, they could not even produce it properly,
so its distribution to the Ground Self-Defense Force, which numbered around 140,000, had only recently been completed.
Even so, rather than pressuring defense contractors,
the government protected them instead.
There were all kinds of collusion.
With the situation like this, Japan’s defense market was ignored by the international community.
Korea, on the other hand, was different.
It continued developing weapons and operating military forces.
It tested them against an actual enemy, and proved the results through exports.
Before anyone knew it, Korea had achieved enough to rank among the world’s top ten arms exporters.
For Japan, it was something they could not acknowledge, and something they must not acknowledge.
They had to reclaim that position.
It was a national project.
Among the many defense sectors, the one field where Japan was at least competitive was radar.
But after Korea developed “Mangwol,” even the radar field had become dangerous.
Mangwol was truly a threatening radar.
Japan absolutely had to resolve this issue.
Naturally, the best method would be to make a radar better than Korea’s, but that was not easy.
Mangwol was that much of a monster.
So what they had thought of was to put a blemish on Korea’s radar technology.
It was difficult to tarnish the radar technology itself.
The technology itself was flawless.
Just in time, through the Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office, they learned that the developer of Mangwol had disappeared with the relevant data.
They also learned that the National Intelligence Service had gone all the way to the Philippines to catch Shin Junggi, but failed.
Korea had no materials to prove the development of that Mangwol.
Even if they claimed its original technology belonged to Japan, Korea had no materials with which to refute it.
So they decided to dig into that part.
“Hmm… This makes me rather uneasy.”
Even so, to Shimamura’s eyes, there were far too many insufficient points.
He knew they had to do it.
But at this rate, it seemed far too hasty.
Still, he could not disobey the orders from above to cooperate.
“Do not worry. Everything is prepared. Before long, there will be tremendous results in the defense business as well.”
Miyamoto answered confidently.
Shimamura said nothing.
He was merely calculating the risks.
******
Unity Town.
After meeting Shin Junggi and confirming the data, I came to see Kwon Jua.
Fortunately, there were no issues with the data.
But Kwon Jua was another matter.
She was glaring at me with her arms crossed.
“What are you?”
“Huh?”
I had felt it earlier too, but Kwon Jua’s eyes were no joke.
She looked like she had a lot she wanted to ask me.
I had expected it, but it was not easy from the start.
“Why do people act so helpless around you?”
“Who? Who acts helpless around me? There wasn’t anyone like that.”
“I saw it. Everyone was practically groveling in front of you. I thought Jesus had returned or something.”
“It’s not like that. People just like me a little.”
I tried to gloss over it with a laugh.
But Kwon Jua kept staring at me.
The problem was, I had nothing in particular to say in response.
I did not really know either.
Why people liked me this much.
If anything, this kind of welcome from people was a little burdensome to me.
That was why I did not come to Unity Town often.
Even when I did, I came quietly.
But because of that bastard Scott, everything had turned into a mess.
I answered reluctantly.
At least I told her something that she might understand.
“I’m the one who made this place… Unity Town.”
“What?”
As if she had not expected it at all, Kwon Jua looked startled.
I explained the situation to Kwon Jua.
“I got to know a certain Kopino.”
“His situation was really pitiful. So I decided to support him a bit.”
“But it wasn’t easy to find a way to support them.”
“It wasn’t easy to provide living expenses or scholarships, and above all, their environment was the biggest problem.”
“So I had no choice but to make something like this. They needed a place where they could live in a safe and clean environment.”
“But there aren’t only Kopinos here. There are Japinos, Chipinos. It’s really enormous. So as I took in as many of them as possible, it became like this.”
“And I was the one who said we should make it, but I didn’t make it alone. Zamboanga City and many other places cooperated, and that’s how it became this.”
“This place was created through everyone’s efforts.”
Kwon Jua’s expression softened a little.
She hesitated for a moment, then asked again.
“Then what’s with the rebels?”
Kwon Jua recalled the children she had seen at the farewell ceremony.
The children who had shed tears because they had not become rebels.
That weighed on her mind.
She wanted to know why.
“That’s because, in the beginning, security here was really bad. The rebels maintained public order and protected people. To young children, those rebels may have looked like real men, real adults. That’s why. It’s a kind of admiration.”
At my explanation, Kwon Jua nodded.
Her crossed arms came undone.
It seemed her suspicions had lifted.
That was when it happened.
“Boss, you’re here.”
A low, orderly voice.
A voice I had heard many times before.
When I turned my head, Patrick was there.
Patrick greeted me with utmost courtesy.
Ah. Please.
Not at this timing.
Kwon Jua is going to misunderstand.
“There are many matters I need to report.”
After saying that, Patrick glanced once at me and Kwon Jua.
“Shall I report them separately?”
I did not answer.
“I will come see you separately later.”
Then, with a smile that was unlike Patrick, he added,
“The Code Pink lady is quite beautiful.”
Patrick left with a smile.
Deep suspicion once again settled on Kwon Jua’s face.
.
.
.
Kwon Jua thought for a long while about what this situation meant.
Kwon Jua knew that man.
Although Kwon Jua had not been in the Philippines for long, she knew that man.
He was someone she could not possibly not know.
A man who appeared whenever you turned on the TV.
Documentaries, news, current affairs programs too.
Every day, the TV reported on the achievements he had accomplished.
The mayor of Zamboanga.
The man who stabilized Zamboanga, which had been swarming with rebels.
And the man who transformed it into the safest and cleanest city.
The man who solved the power shortage all at once.
The man who lowered electricity rates to one-third.
A candidate for the next presidential election.
The strongest candidate.
The de facto next president, with no competitors.
The media was overflowing with analyses about how the man who had transformed Zamboanga would transform the Philippines.
They would speculate on what policies he would present in a Philippines where the single-term system had disappeared.
A man like that had come to see Inbae.
He greeted him with utmost courtesy.
He said he would report to him.
This was not the attitude one showed a friend or colleague.
A workplace superior? No.
It was above that.
Familiar, yet respectful, and filled with reverence.
He looked several years older than Inbae, yet there was not the slightest lapse in the way he treated him.
Kwon Jua had no choice but to look at Inbae with suspicious eyes once more.
Kwon Jua’s worries were not far away.
She was not trying to say that Inbae was good because of this, or bad because of that.
It did not matter what Inbae did.
She was willing to trust and support Inbae.
She simply wanted to share everything with Inbae.
But Inbae kept surpassing her thoughts and imagination.
That made her uneasy.
She was afraid she might not be able to handle it.
She was afraid he might exceed the limits of what Kwon Jua could accept.
That continued to weigh on her mind.