“Press harder. I said press harder. That’s how you get better efficiency.”
“Come on, I told you that’s not how you do it.”
Japan.
A coast far from Tokyo.
In a vast, empty expanse where not a single person could be seen, an old factory stood.
Not a factory, but an industrial waste facility.
Inside it, yakuza who looked even older than the factory were working.
Arguing over who was right and who was wrong,
bickering with each other all the while, their hands never stopped.
Sweat poured off them like rain, but their faces were not gloomy.
If anything, they looked happy.
At the very least, they seemed satisfied by the fact that they could work.
.
.
.
Kurokawa accepted Alex’s proposal.
It was an ambiguous situation, hard to call goodwill,
hard to call an investment,
and hard to call consulting, as he had described it.
Even so, Kurokawa decided to believe Alex’s words.
He decided to accept his kindness.
He did not know what this new life would become, but at the very least, it seemed better than the life he had now.
His current life was truly bleak.
Hoping not to be caught,
praying not to die,
he did not want to keep surviving like that.
It felt like a terminal life with only the day of death left to await.
He did not want to live like that, but there was no other way.
He could see no escape.
So he accepted.
His pride did not allow it, but he accepted because it seemed better than what he had now.
Kurokawa moved personally.
He went around secretly meeting other yakuza.
“I’m thinking of starting a business. I’d like you to help me.”
“I’m talking about a merger. I need your ‘Amagi Alliance.’”
“The ‘Shiranui faction’ is the best around here, isn’t it? Let’s do this together.”
“I’ll recognize your position.”
“You’ll be paid a monthly salary too.”
“In return, the work is hard and dirty. But the money we touch will be clean.”
“You’ll be able to live like human beings.”
The words that they would be able to live like human beings moved the yakuza’s hearts.
Kurokawa’s method was gentle.
He did not crush them with force,
but resolved everything through conversation.
He used the word merger, not absorption.
He told them to join him.
He recognized their positions and their members as they were.
On top of that, he said he would pay them salaries.
There was not a single reason to refuse.
More than anything, the person saying this was Kurokawa.
The man at the pinnacle of the yakuza.
Even for yakuza, it was burdensome to accept this offer so readily.
To accept Kurokawa’s proposal without question, there remained one final hurdle called pride.
Kurokawa easily knocked that hurdle down for them.
If someone else had made the proposal, they would have refused, if only because of their pride,
but because it was Kurokawa, it was possible.
The yakuza nodded.
And so, the “Yakuza Alliance” was formed.
They did not use the name of any particular organization.
They simply used the term Yakuza Alliance to represent the organization’s identity.
.
.
.
They bought a waste disposal company.
It was a company with no legal issues whatsoever.
The paperwork was clean as well.
Waste disposal was not difficult.
You just had to get rid of trash.
Bury it, burn it, whatever it took, as long as it was disposed of.
The problem was regulations.
Incineration temperature, dioxins, carbon monoxide concentration, heavy metals, lead, cadmium, hydrogen ion concentration, exhaust gas filters, and so on.
There were far too many regulations and standards to follow.
But the yakuza did not follow them.
No, they pretended to follow them while conveniently exceeding the standards here and there.
They started the waste disposal business while violating rules in small, minor ways.
These regulations were difficult to meet.
For example, if the standard was 90 points, the yakuza’s current score was somewhere between 60 and 70.
Going from 60 to 80 is harder than going from 20 to 60,
and going from 90 to 95 is harder still.
Standards were the same.
To raise their current 60 points to the required 90 would cost a lot of money and require proper facility management.
But the yakuza only pretended to do it.
They had no intention of meeting the standards.
Yakuza are not afraid of the law.
If it becomes a problem, they can shut down and set up somewhere else.
In the meantime, whether they are fined or sent to prison, they do not care much.
Prison? It is not bad.
It is a place they have been in and out of countless times.
Even within the Yakuza Alliance, there were truckloads of guys willing to go to prison.
So they did not concern themselves much with illegality.
On the other hand, from the customer’s perspective, it was excellent.
They could dispose of the same amount of waste for more than 30 percent cheaper.
There was no reason not to use the Yakuza Alliance.
It was not as if the Yakuza Alliance went around advertising, “We are yakuza.”
Legally speaking, they were merely a sound waste disposal company with no issues whatsoever.
They were just a newly established company with good prices.
The old, rugged appearances of the yakuza who came to collect the waste made them look like experts hardened by the difficult work of waste disposal.
Their rough words and behavior made them look like professionals who had been doing that work for a very long time.
It was unintentional, but it made them look like veterans in that field.
The yakuza went one step further.
They erased every trace of yakuza color.
For all external channels, they hired female employees.
The employees answering phones and doing sales were all women.
Thanks to that, the company became even softer in impression.
As a result, the Yakuza Alliance became a company with low prices and experts everywhere.
A company with good customer service.
There was no reason not to use them.
Customers had no need to know how the Yakuza Alliance processed waste.
If they asked, it was enough to say it was an internal trade secret.
And so, the Yakuza Alliance’s waste disposal business grew rapidly.
The expressions of the yakuza who worked there were bright.
They no longer had to stand guard in alleys holding knives like before.
Would they perhaps be stabbed to death? There was no need to worry about that either.
They no longer had to run away for no reason whenever they saw the police, or go out of their way to avoid them.
They went to work at a set time, worked, and received wages.
The items were dirty and dangerous, but there was no problem.
If anything, their minds seemed to grow clearer.
After work, they ate dinner with their colleagues and had a beer.
They had drunk plenty even back in their yakuza days, but the alcohol tasted different.
The taste of a beer while eating dinner after finishing hard work was incredible.
It was a taste that cleared the chest wide open.
And so, the yakuza were living new lives.
.
.
.
I was on my way to Kurokawa’s factory.
Kurokawa had made such a fuss about me absolutely having to come and see it that I reluctantly stopped by.
Kurokawa himself was out at the front gate.
“You’re here?”
Kurokawa’s face looked bright.
His expression was different from when he had been living as a fugitive in Wakkanai.
Perhaps because he was working, his face was full of vitality.
“It’s been a while.”
“This is our factory. Isn’t it amazing?”
To my eyes, it was an extremely old factory, but to Kurokawa’s eyes, it must have looked endlessly impressive.
“Yes. It’s incredibly impressive.”
“Let’s not stand around here. Come into the office.”
I moved to the office and was introduced by Kurokawa to the executives.
Though, calling them executives was generous. They were former bosses.
Every one of them bowed their heads and thanked me.
“Thank you.”
“We’ve heard a great deal about you.”
“We will serve you for the rest of our lives.”
I merely nodded.
After the greetings ended, I went down to the factory.
Then I asked for a moment and headed to the incinerator.
Alone.
And I took out the bodies of the missing members of the Cheonghwa Association that I had brought in my inventory and placed them in the incineration area.
I intended to dispose of them here.
In truth, the Daehun faction also had a high-temperature incineration facility like this.
We had used it last time when incinerating Disand.
Even so, there was only one reason I had brought the bodies all the way here.
To keep a promise.
The promise that I would scatter their ashes in Japan.
The promise that I would feed them Japanese memorial offerings.
That was why I had come all the way here.
And I could inspect the factory while I was at it.
Killing two birds with one stone.
I quietly watched the flames flickering inside the incinerator.
As if nothing had happened,
the incinerator was quietly and faithfully burning everything away.
********
[ Congratulations. K-ORIGIN SCHOOL Opening Ceremony ]
A large banner hung at the front of the auditorium.
Inside the auditorium, it was extremely noisy.
The languages of various countries mingled together in a low roar.
From somewhere came the sound of camera shutters,
and there were people on the phone here and there.
Some people were already talking to those beside them, trying to make friends.
Their skin colors, ages, and clothing were all different.
Some wore suits, while others wore jeans and T-shirts.
They had gathered for the same reason, but they did not look the same.
Kwon Sangyeol, who had overseen the project, stood on the podium,
and Daehun, too, was seated among the guests of honor as a representative.
I was also seated beside Daehun under the name of investor, or major shareholder.
But there was an unexpected person in attendance.
The Minister of Culture, Sports and Tourism.
The Minister of Culture, Sports and Tourism had attended the opening ceremony.
That fact alone made it possible to feel, without any need for explanation, how the government viewed this project.
Everyone gathered here shared the same awareness of the problem.
That K-culture must not end as a passing fad.
That it had to be made not into a temporary trend, but into a sustainable culture.
That it must become not a copy, but an original.
And K-ORIGIN SCHOOL was saying that it would fulfill that role.
For it to truly become K-ORIGIN, the students were important, but the instructors were even more important.
In that regard, K-ORIGIN scored top marks.
Not theorists, but working professionals from the field joined as instructors.
Michelin chefs, YouTubers with ten million subscribers, choreographers, composers, visual artists, fashion designers, hair designers, makeup designers, and so on.
People who were said to be among the best in active service came as instructors.
They were people whose names alone were enough to recognize them.
They, too, shared our purpose.
They gladly and readily joined K-ORIGIN.
Thanks to that, the pool of instructors overflowed.
Instructors changed by the semester or by the year.
They were all busy people,
and it was also so the students could experience a variety of curricula.
They were not beginners.
They were all kids who had the basics down.
The goal was to melt K-culture into the abilities the kids already possessed and have them turn it into their own colors.
But once classes actually began, the classrooms were thrown into chaos.
Problems erupted everywhere.
Too many different kinds of people had been mixed together.
Their cultures were different.
Their passion to learn was the same, but the way they expressed it was different for everyone.
Some asked questions endlessly,
some wanted to begin practice before the explanation was even over,
and some found the entire scene displeasing.
The students clashed with each other, and they clashed with the instructors as well.
It looked as if cracks were forming.
- Makeup class.
“Don’t make it too heavy. Natural is better.”
“But this area isn’t being covered at all.”
The instructor shook her head.
“It doesn’t matter. As long as it shows up properly on camera.”
The students tilted their heads.
Seeing that, the instructor said,
“It may be hard to believe. Then don’t agonize over it and just film it. Then check. See which one looks better.”
The students did one another’s makeup and filmed.
The naturalness seen in person and the naturalness seen with a camera and lighting were clearly different.
- Hair class.
“Teacher, what about this?”
A student showed the instructor a neatly arranged style.
The instructor shook her head.
“It’s too neat, and too honest.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It’s not a problem. But it doesn’t leave an impression. It’s like wallpaper without any pattern.”
The instructor picked up a tail comb and made a single strand fall loose from the neatly arranged style.
It was a subtle dishevelment.
The eye was drawn to it.
- Food class.
Here, it was even worse.
A kitchen was already a place with strict hierarchy.
Since the pecking order had not yet been established, they growled at each other.
The atmosphere was such that if one more word was said, someone might immediately start swinging fists.
The instructor gave them a mission.
“Create a fusion dish suited to K-FOOD.”
Then every student put kimchi into their dish.
They minced it and added it, ground it and added it, added kimchi brine.
Kimchi went into pasta, hamburgers, rice noodles, and donburi.
The food tasted revolting.
The instructor said,
“I don’t think this is it. Putting in kimchi doesn’t make it K-culture.”
The student who heard those words ran out of the classroom without saying a word.
And three days later, they returned with a fairly decent dish.
Of course, that dish had kimchi in it too.
In a completely different way.
.
.
.
The students had come to learn, but they did not accept things one-sidedly.
Even as they learned K-culture, they struggled to connect it with their own cultures.
Many people worried when they saw the situation at K-ORIGIN.
Wondering if a fight might break out at this rate.
Wondering if cracks were forming.
They poured out concern and worry.
But Kwon Sangyeol smiled silently.
This situation was exactly the picture Kwon Sangyeol had designed.
This was not a fracture.
It was the process of culture colliding with culture and creating a new culture.
As they collided with and experienced one another, they were accepting one another’s cultures.
It was the process of K-culture becoming richer.
By interacting with and accepting other cultures, it was mixing and blending with them.
Through that process, K-ORIGIN’s spectrum was now widening enough to embrace even other cultures.
That phenomenon was taking place at K-ORIGIN SCHOOL.
Here, practice was filming, and filming was content.
Once filming ended, they did not wait.
The content was uploaded immediately through YouTube.
“Teacher, wait a moment. Let us edit it first.”
“We messed up this time. We’ll upload the next one.”
“No. Upload it right away. That’s how you can know your current skill level.”
“Editing it here won’t make it better. Upload it and check for yourselves what you’re lacking. That’s how you can take a step forward.”
The students had no choice but to upload the videos.
They were crude and awkward videos, but the ideas contained within them shone.
K-ORIGIN SCHOOL was a school, but not a school.
It was not a place that taught,
but a place where things were made, where people collided, and where they were immediately thrown into the world.
A new K-ORIGIN culture was beginning.