The Osaka firearms incident was resolved quickly.
Almost too quickly.
Everyone knew.
There was no way this case could be that simple.
The firearm was a Type 89 rifle used by the Self-Defense Forces.
At least two had been used.
It was a weapon that was realistically far too difficult for the yakuza to get their hands on.
There was no way the police, the prosecutors, or Public Security did not know that.
But the more they investigated,
the deeper they dug into the case, the more the evidence vanished instead.
There was no trace anywhere of the guns having leaked out,
and the Self-Defense Forces armories were not off by even a single number.
The physical count matched exactly.
The research institute was the same.
The only ones left were the defense contractors.
But the moment they pushed the defense contractors to the end,
the problem went beyond a simple case of missing firearms and became a matter of national dignity.
“Weapons are being illegally circulated within our own country.”
That sentence alone would crack diplomacy, security, and exports.
The government knew that as well.
The investigation gradually lost its direction.
The more they dug, the more it could only become a problem.
And even when they dug, nothing came out.
They could not keep clinging to this case forever, either.
That was when it happened.
News came in of the death of Miyamoto, head of the Export Strategy Office at the Defense Equipment Agency.
The timing was too good.
Perfect, even.
Evidence was found in his office and on his personal computer.
Suspicious overseas account records.
Documents not found in the ledgers,
and unidentified contracts.
There was no decisive evidence directly proving the firearms leak, but the circumstances were enough to explain the suspicion.
Even within the investigation team, doubtful eyes were cast.
“This is strange.”
“It fits together too well.”
There were not just one or two suspicious points.
But what mattered now was not the truth.
What was needed now was the “closure” of the case.
The government realized it.
That they could not drag this case out any longer.
That revealing the truth would not help the nation.
No matter what result came out, the answer was the same.
Miyamoto was already dead.
He could neither protest nor deny it.
The moment they pinned the responsibility on him,
this case would become individual corruption.
It would not be a problem with the nation, the defense contractors, or the system, but a tragedy created by one man’s greed.
That conclusion was the most reasonable one for both the government and the defense industry.
The picture was drawn.
The defense contractors moved immediately.
They claimed that Miyamoto had used his authority to pressure companies all this time,
and had demanded bribes in exchange for convenience during the export and approval process.
The companies had had no choice but to comply, weeping as they ate mustard.
If they refused, they suffered administrative disadvantages—that was the explanation.
The actions were the same, but the positions of victim and perpetrator had been reversed.
“We will ensure that such a thing never happens again.”
“We will further strengthen our internal controls.”
“We will cooperate even more actively with the government’s management and oversight.”
They were promises that would not be kept anyway, but the defense contractors made them, and the government accepted them.
They were parties that would have to continue on together regardless.
Defense contractors were essential to national security,
and the government could not completely turn its back on them.
They were in a relationship that had to be carried forward together; there was no reason to fight until their faces reddened.
They needed to stitch it up.
Miyamoto took all the burden with him.
That was how they decided to do it.
A few days later.
The Osaka firearms incident was officially closed.
“Illegal weapons leakage caused by the individual corruption of a senior official at the Defense Equipment Agency. The person in question died by taking his own life.”
With just a few lines, a case in which dozens of people had died in Osaka was summarized.
The government and defense industry, which had been frozen stiff, recovered quickly.
Meetings once again proceeded amid laughter, and reports were once again filled with formulaic phrases.
And in the hands of those departing with smiles was one USB each.
It was simply that one incident caused by an individual deviation had been resolved.
But everyone knew.
This had not been resolved; it had merely been covered up.
This method was convenient for everyone.
Everyone except Miyamoto was smiling.
*******
Unity Town, Philippines.
Gwon Jua was on her way back to her quarters after finishing treatment.
“Dr. Gwon.”
At the voice calling from behind her, Gwon Jua stopped.
“Yes?”
It was Simon.
Simon, the rebel commander.
The administrator of Unity Town.
When Simon called her, Gwon Jua was surprised.
Why?
What for?
Simon was the person in charge here.
But he treated Gwon Jua with great courtesy.
He never ordered her around or demanded anything.
No, he did not interfere at all.
It felt less like indifference and more like consideration.
She could always feel that he treated her carefully.
He kept his boundaries.
So it felt a little awkward for such a Simon to speak to her.
Simon began.
“Could we talk for a moment?”
“Yes. Of course.”
The two moved to the community center.
“How is life here?”
“It’s good. The weather is nice, and I like Unity Town too.”
“I’m glad. If there is anything at all that makes you uncomfortable, please be sure to tell me.”
“Yes. Thank you. By the way, if there’s something you wanted to say...”
Gwon Jua wanted to hear the main point quickly.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“What is it?”
“I heard they’re carrying out the K-ORIGIN Project in Korea.”
“Yes. I heard about it.”
“We’re going to send children from here as well, and I thought it might be good to give them a little light education before they go.”
“Yes?”
“Would it be possible to teach them some practical tips that might help in daily life, like greetings, culture, public transportation, ordering food, and currency units?”
“Hmm...”
Gwon Jua thought for a moment.
The children came to mind.
Their smiling faces were the first thing that came to mind.
The children who had come up to her asking her to teach them Korean.
She hoped those children would not get lost in Seoul.
“All right. I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. I’ll let you know the training schedule separately. And thank you for coming here. You truly are a great help. I’m grateful.”
Simon was expressing his gratitude sincerely.
A brief silence passed, and... after hesitating, Gwon Jua opened her mouth.
Gwon Jua decided to ask what she had been curious about while she had the chance.
Her curiosity had only one target: Inbae, Alex.
No matter how much she thought about it, there was no one who could tell her about Alex.
She had asked a few people, but instead of answering, they only gave her unreadable smiles.
Simon, perhaps, seemed like he might know the answer.
“Could I ask you something?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“What kind of person is Alex?”
At Gwon Jua’s question, Simon did not answer right away.
He stared into empty space for a long while.
He seemed to be thinking deeply about something.
“This is the first time I’ve received this question.”
“Yes?”
“No one mentions the name Alex directly. They merely feel, give thanks, and pray.”
“Yes?”
She had asked what kind of person he was, and he gave an utterly unexpected answer.
“You asked what kind of person he is, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm... He is someone for whom the harder question is how much I am allowed to say.”
Simon was saying things that were becoming harder and harder to understand.
“Most people have reasons for their actions. They have goals, and behind those are benefits, and desires.”
“Alex has none of that. There is no calculation in his actions, and no regret. He simply does, silently, what he believes is right.”
Gwon Jua tilted her head.
She was not even sure if the person Simon was talking about was Alex.
“I don’t really understand.”
“You’ve seen the children here too, haven’t you, doctor? Children who were starving and abused found their smiles again here. Alex created all of this. But he does not even want to leave his name behind. He wants gratitude even less. He is simply satisfied with the children growing up well.”
“Then why does everyone follow him like that?”
At Gwon Jua’s answer, Simon paused briefly before continuing.
“Because he forces nothing. He is someone who believes a path is something one creates for oneself. He believes that everyone has the right to live their own life. And he is helping everyone live that life.”
“He makes it so that the children do not have to worry about other things. He helps the children here run toward their dreams with peace of mind.”
“Run for your dream. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“He doesn’t want trophies from the children, either. If a child is happy, he says that is enough.”
“The children here have never received that kind of benefit before. That is why they are grateful.”
“The K-ORIGIN Project is an extension of that as well. You could say it is a vocational school for the children of Unity Town.”
“He believes everyone should live out their own lives. Alex is creating a path so that they can challenge themselves toward their dreams.”
“And since he also creates a warm home for them, they cannot help but follow him.”
Gwon Jua’s mind grew even more complicated.
She had asked because she was curious about Alex, about Inbae,
but he was becoming an even more incomprehensible person.
“Then why does everyone call him President? Considering what he does, wouldn’t another title be better? Founder, boss, commander, or something like that...”
“Alex asked to be called that.”
This time, the answer came quickly.
“Why?”
“He said ‘President’ was enough. Alex has no interest in power, positions, or money. He dislikes ruling from above, and he dislikes standing below. He simply wants everyone to live their own lives.”
“Is that how he made Unity Town too?”
“Something like that. He wanted the children to gain new lives. Quite a lot of funds went into it, but he did not consider it a waste at all.”
“What? I heard Alex only came up with the idea, and that other companies provided the funding.”
“All of those companies belong to Alex too. In fact, you could say the rebels were also created by Alex. I am merely commanding them on Alex’s behalf.”
“What?”
“There is probably nothing here in the Philippines that Alex cannot possess. Alex has more authority than the president, and more money than the major Philippine corporations. His influence is enormous. That is precisely why Alex is even more cautious. He lives carefully because he worries others might be harmed because of him. He is always one step behind.”
Gwon Jua could not continue speaking.
She wondered if Inbae from high school and Alex of the Philippines were truly the same person.
It was as though he had become someone else.
That was how great the gap between the two was.
But the Inbae before her eyes, in reality, was still the same.
A little indifferent and cynical, but attentive.
Always honest and comfortable—that was Inbae.
So she decided to stop worrying.
She decided to stop trying to find out.
It did not matter what kind of person Inbae was.
She would simply like him.
Wouldn’t that be enough?
.
.
.
At the same time.
Sin Junggi was sitting in front of a monitor.
His face was different from his usual expressionless self.
His pupils trembled faintly, and an unreadable smile appeared at the corners of his mouth, then vanished, again and again.
It was as though emotions he had suppressed were bursting out of their own accord.
On the monitor was the blueprint for “Project Mangwol.”
One page, then another.
Each time he flipped through a layer, familiar structures and unfamiliar details were revealed at the same time.
Something he had thought lost.
Something he had resigned himself to never seeing again.
It was unfolding once more before Sin Junggi’s eyes.
It felt as though a child he had thought dead had come back to life.
Sin Junggi did not have a child,
and even if he had, he probably would not have poured that much affection into one, but that was the only thought that came to mind.
When he opened the file, the development log appeared along with the blueprints.
Dates, meeting records, revision histories, failure logs.
Each line stimulated his memories.
Without realizing it, Sin Junggi stopped breathing.
He was a man who had never cried in his life.
Sin Junggi had thought sadness, anger, and despair were all unnecessary emotions.
That was why people called him a psychopath.
But the moment the screen of Mangwol’s blueprint appeared,
he could not stop the heat from rising around his eyes.
The reason his life had changed entirely,
the reason he had left the Republic of Korea and come to live in the Philippines,
was all because of this damned “Mangwol.”
Sin Junggi had been the person who led the development.
Whenever the development hit a wall, he had suggested directions and thrown out ideas.
He was the one who concretized vague ideas and altered structures and formulas.
He had not been the PM, but he had contributed no less than one.
That was why he knew every structure of Mangwol.
The overall design and concept remained in his head as they had been.
But that was as far as it went.
He could not recreate it.
He could not draw it again exactly as it had been.
That was how complex, meticulous, and refined Project Mangwol’s technology was.
Being smart did not mean one could memorize an entire blueprint.
But now, he had the blueprints.
And he had the development logs too.
With these, the story changed.
Sin Junggi’s hand slowly moved the mouse.
He checked the blueprint once more.
He zoomed in, zoomed out, separated the layers, and examined them.
“Hah...”
A short breath leaked out.
It was the sound of trying to suppress excitement.
Something was surging powerfully inside Sin Junggi.
With this data, not only could Mangwol be restored,
it could be elevated to the next level.
The structure could be simplified even further.
While developing weapons in the Philippines, he had realized an enormous number of things.
Developing weapons without the restriction of safety had shown him something.
That weapons did not need to be complicated.
That the more complicated they were, the higher the possibility of failure and malfunction.
Weapons were a technology for killing people.
They only needed to do that well.
He looked forward to seeing how many technologies would branch off from Mangwol’s technology.
Anticipation became excitement.
A smile appeared on his expressionless face.
.
.
.
While Sin Junggi was absorbed in the monitor, Toto was behind him.
Toto was learning all kinds of skills and knowledge not only from Sin Junggi, but also from Edward, Chen Zhihao, Dennis, Simon, and others.
Now, too, he had come to bring the materials Sin Junggi had asked for, but since Sin Junggi seemed focused on something, he had been watching along with him.
At first, he had not known what it was and had to look for a long time, but after watching for a while, he understood.
Toto had learned many things from Sin Junggi all this time.
After watching for a long while, Toto said to Sin Junggi,
“This is a total gold mine. There are an incredible number of technologies we can extract and use.”
Hearing that, Sin Junggi was not surprised.
He had known for some time that Toto had come in.
“You think so too, don’t you?”
Sin Junggi spoke without even turning his head.
The two continued staring at the monitor.
It seemed countless ideas were rising in their minds.
Their hands grew busy.
They kept writing something down by hand.
In the lightly written notes, the seeds of new weapons were taking shape.