Simon was furious.
He clenched his fists tight.
He wanted to throw a punch right then and there.
The young man standing before Simon was insulting, disparaging, and showing contempt for the path Simon had walked his whole life.
He was laughing at, trampling on, and violating every action Simon had ever agonized over and carried out.
And yet, there was nothing Simon could do.
The man before Simon looked young and frail, but
he wasn't clumsy.
He looked easy, but Simon couldn't beat him with words or fists.
To be exact, he'd been beaten one-sidedly.
It was a mistake to underestimate him just because he was young.
He'd made a mistake he shouldn't have.
In truth, he knew he couldn't beat the man even if he hadn't underestimated him.
Even so, he had to make these kinds of excuses.
If it wasn't for that, I was too miserable.
I felt too incompetent.
.
.
.
Simon's dream had not been to become a rebel.
He hadn't wanted to become one, either.
On the contrary, a strong repulsion toward rebels had welled up inside him.
Simon had been a model student who studied well, attended medical school, and was the pride of his village.
Everyone had praised Simon's kind personality and outstanding grades.
Simon was supposed to become a doctor.
Simon's future had been bright.
Simon, too, hadn't found people's expectations unpleasant.
He had strived not to betray those expectations.
But his younger sibling had been taken by rebels.
In an instant, his family was ruined.
His parents were robbed and assaulted while searching for his sibling.
A moment of choice had come in Simon's life.
To abandon his family and live alone as a doctor.
Or to throw everything away to protect his family.
Simon chose his family.
He gave up medical school and set out to find his sibling.
When Simon was struggling to find his sibling, there were people who stood by his side.
There were comrades who helped Simon in his search.
They called themselves Damaya (Tagalog for pity and compassion).
Damaya had no grand ideologies or justifications.
It was simply survival.
In the southern Philippines, where rebels ran rampant, they couldn't survive unless they were armed.
They couldn't protect what was theirs without picking up guns.
Damaya was a struggle to survive.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Before he knew it, while frantically protecting what was his, Simon had become Damaya's new leader.
But he felt this couldn't go on.
The meager funds collected from residents weren't enough to even protect what was theirs.
Buying bullets had become a burden.
While other rebels were growing stronger in firepower, Damaya was growing weaker.
If Simon could end this pain by dying, he could have died.
But if Simon died, Damaya would collapse.
If Damaya collapsed, it was obvious that the many people Damaya protected would suffer.
He had to stand firm no matter what.
So, throwing shame to the winds, he went to find an arms dealer.
Because he had no money.
He was going to somehow scrape by.
Since the dealer was said to be young, maybe if he blustered and tried to strong-arm him, it would work out somehow?
He thought it would be nice to get some weapons out of him.
He had considered asking properly, but
then he'd be looked down on and they'd inevitably demand more.
He couldn't stand on equal footing.
It was know-how born of long experience.
Here, if you were weak, they'd try to devour you without fail.
So he had to look strong unconditionally.
But the man in front of Simon didn't even flinch.
Instead, he disparaged, scorned, and humiliated Simon.
He refuted every single word Simon said,
denying the path Simon had walked.
And yet, there was nothing Simon could do.
That was why he was furious.
But the man didn't cast Simon out.
He cursed at Simon, berated him for being foolish, yet didn't cast him out.
He taught Simon how he had to do things.
******
"Here?"
The place Simon took me was Damaya's headquarters.
I hadn't thought Bohol Island had good conditions, but this place was truly miserable.
Was it about on par with the countryside of our country in the eighties?
The space itself was filthy and messy.
It wasn't maintained at all.
I turned my head.
I hadn't come here on a home visit to see if the rebels were living well.
There was exactly one reason I'd followed Simon here.
To check the skills of Damaya's members.
I'd come to check what level of ability the rebels possessed.
Someone might think, "Why check their skills?" but it was a very important issue to me.
Let's say I got lucky and triggered a war between Abu Sayyaf and the Bangsamoro Freedom Front (BLF).
After that?
When the two rebel groups were in chaos from fighting, I had to strike.
What if I need to raid an empty house while they're vulnerable, but the members' skills are a mess and I can't?
There aren't many of them to begin with, and if they lack skill on top of that?
It would be like cooking porridge just to feed a dog.
The New People's Army (NPA), which had been lying low, might swoop in and take the honey pot.
I had to check if they at least had that much ability.
It was a matter I absolutely had to check before moving on.
If their numbers were small and they lacked ability as well, I had no intention whatsoever of sponsoring Damaya.
I wasn't a philanthropist.
Of course, I wasn't doing this to make money.
But shouldn't there be at least some satisfaction?
The satisfaction of pouring money in.
People who pour money into their hobbies do so because they get satisfaction equal to that money.
I would only end up pouring money in and tasting nothing but bitter defeat.
If after seeing them I thought it wouldn't work, the chance was only now.
If I was going to pull out, it had to be now.
"Everyone assemble!!"
As a bell rang and Simon shouted,
people began to emerge one by one from the ruin-like place that looked ready to collapse.
They weren't even wearing their clothes properly,
dragging their slippers,
chatting with the person next to them,
cigarettes in their mouths,
guns slung haphazardly over their shoulders,
they sauntered out of the ruined barracks.
They didn't look like they had anything urgent or desperate about them.
Their faces were just full of annoyance, as if something troublesome had come up.
I hadn't expected soldier-like movement.
I hadn't thought there would be tactical movement.
But I'd thought they'd at least have some motivation.
I'd thought they'd have at least some pride as rebels who protected the peace.
No.
It was my delusion, my misunderstanding.
It was exactly the sight you'd get if you shoved guns into the hands of the neighborhood deadbeats and yelled, "Come out!"
They didn't seem to know how to hold a gun.
They didn't seem to know why they should care about their attire at all.
It looked like Simon was no different.
Even at a glance, they were a mess.
No, the word mess wasn't even enough.
Conquer rebels with guys like these?
That was absolutely impossible.
Rather, it seemed faster to take some Jindo dogs and train them.
I looked at Simon.
Simon was looking at me with proud eyes.
Does this bastard not know what the problem is?
I took Simon and hurried into the office.
"You said you guys were good? That you threw your weight around in Jambuangga? With those people?"
"They may look like that, but they're incredibly strong in actual combat."
Crazy.
He must have been lucky.
Or else he only fought around here and made good use of the terrain.
Their movements were ones that could never win in combat.
I had to make a decision.
If I was going to give up, I had to give up quickly.
I didn't do things like giving false hope.
I didn't mind giving them even 200 guns as a parting gift.
But it seemed better not to give them.
Those guns wouldn't be weapons to protect Damaya,
but weapons that would drive them to their deaths.
There was one reason Damaya had survived until now with such a disastrous force.
Because of their poor weapons, it was highly likely they had gone all-in on defensive battles only.
Not attacking other rebels,
but likely focusing solely on protecting their headquarters from attacking rebels.
They must have won by using geographical features to dig traps and lay ambushes.
And they were mistaking that for their victory and military strength.
If Damaya took the weapons I gave and went out to fight the rebels,
if they left this place and waged war, it would be 100% annihilation.
The military strength of Damaya I saw was about that level.
Of course, that was if I gave them weapons.
If I didn't give them weapons, they'd agonize before fighting.
"Can we win with this firepower?"
They'd try to avoid fighting as much as possible.
Why?
Because they had no weapons.
But if I gave them sufficient weapons and bullets?
They'd lose their fear because they had guns.
They wouldn't turn down a fight that came their way.
Rather, they'd go looking for fights.
Without knowing it was the path to their deaths.
I didn't think I could give them weapons that would kill Damaya.
So I spoke honestly to Simon.
"Simon, I think I have to retract my offer to buy you guys. This isn't for me—it's for you."
******
"We'll eat well."
"Yeah, eat plenty."
I didn't like the sloppy Damaya kids,
I'd decided I wouldn't buy Damaya because of that, but
I wasn't so callous that I could just ignore kids who looked that pathetic and pass by.
I thought I should at least feed them a meal.
I called Dennis, who managed the armory in Jambuangga, and told him to prepare food for 500 people and bring it.
Damaya's numbers didn't even reach 200, but
I said 500 to be safe, because inflexible Dennis might bring exactly 200 portions.
I told him to just load up meat, fruit, drinks, snacks, anything.
If they could eat it today, they'd eat it; if not, they'd eat it someday.
I hadn't been in that situation, but
you know how sometimes your father's friends drop by and treat everyone to a meal?
Think of it as one of those days.
Think of it as a day when a friend of Simon's came by and just bought everyone a meal.
Dennis came with a truck full of food.
We started a fire and began grilling meat.
We grilled chicken and fish too.
We grilled what could be grilled, boiled what could be boiled.
The smell of food filled Damaya's headquarters.
At first they were hesitant, but when we started eating, they came over and started eating too.
They could have just eaten, but they came over on purpose to say they'd eat well before going off.
The kids are kind, after all.
It made me feel sorry for no reason.
For the first time in a while, smiles spread across their faces.
Seen up close, they looked a little different.
From far away, looking down at them, they had been a complete mess.
But making eye contact and eating food with them made them seem pitiable again.
They, too, were living hard, tense lives.
Exhausted, weary lives.
Right.
These people weren't an army.
Even if they were rebels,
they had to farm and work.
They weren't salaried soldiers.
Even so, they were trying to protect their community.
I had overlooked that aspect and looked only at their abilities.
From their perspective, that might have been the best they could do.
Every day might have been an endless streak of fatigue.
Then, changing my mind, would I buy Damaya and raise them?
Of course not.
Bullets on the battlefield don't discriminate.
You've got a side job? Pass.
You worked overtime yesterday so you're tired? Pass.
You only recently joined the rebels so you're inexperienced? You don't get a pass.
So while I wanted to applaud their weary efforts to protect the community, preparing for war with them was absurd.
Just because the middle-aged men in the early morning soccer club kick the ball a bit harder,
even though they have jobs and main occupations but play soccer hard in the mornings and evenings, you can't take that team to a pro league.
Guys who do nothing but eat and play soccer can't even set foot on the field in the pro world.
If you lose in soccer, it's recorded as one loss and it's over,
but if you lose in war, you lose your life.
I'd already played this game once before.
I know well how cruel a game it is.
I'll praise them for kicking the ball hard, but they're not pro material.
I'll acknowledge their efforts to protect the region, but I can't plan anything major with them.
That was the right call.
For me, and for Damaya here.
And so I was spending a day at Damaya that might be my last.
Everyone was excited, eating meat and drinking,
but in one corner, a young man was staring blankly into the distance without even touching his food.
"Who's that?"
"Ah~ he's a new recruit. He's similar to me. He lost his parents to rebels. He's still in a state where his anger hasn't subsided, so this kind of occasion might be uncomfortable for him. It's best to just leave him alone."
Simon answered.
Even so, I took some meat and a bottle of beer and went over to the man.
“Eat a little.”
“I’m not interested.”
A curt voice.
I wasn’t going to offer twice, either.
It wasn’t as if I was stopping him from eating. I was telling him to eat, and he still said he wouldn’t.
Maybe he was on a diet.
This was basically a low-carb, high-fat meal, though.
As I turned to leave, he asked me.
“Mister. Are you good at fighting?”
“Huh? Me?”
“Yes. You, mister.”
“Why?”
“If you are, teach me a little. There’s no one here who can teach that kind of thing.”
“Why? There’s Simon here, and…”
“Simon’s the worst fighter here. Though he is good at healing injured people.”
“…What do you want to know?”
“How to kill people.”
He was asking something both difficult and easy.
People died if you shot them with a gun, died if you stabbed them with a knife, and died if you broke their neck.
They died if a bomb exploded, if you strangled them, if they got hit by a car.
There were countless ways to kill a person, too many to count on your fingers, but—
I should tell him the easiest way, right?
“Use a gun. Just shoot them.”
“That’s because it doesn’t hit.”
“That’s because you’re bad at shooting.”
“No. It’s because the gun is weird.”
“No. It’s your problem. That much is certain.”
“Then do you want to make a bet with me?”
“What kind of bet?”
“You shoot those empty bottles set up over there with my weird gun. If you hit three or more out of five, you win. If not, I win.”
“What are the stakes?”
“If I win, you teach us how to shoot. If you win, then, well, nothing happens.”
“The stakes are a little strange, aren’t they?”
“Huh?”
“I don’t get anything if I win. If you win, you gain a skill, but if I win, I get nothing.”
“I don’t have anything to give you, though?”
“Why not? You’ve got a perfectly sturdy body.”
“Huh?”
“And do you really want to learn marksmanship from someone who can’t even hit a target? That wouldn’t make sense. So if I hit all five, you train under me without a single word of complaint. No complaints, no dissatisfaction. Not a peep. No grumbling. No whining, rambling, lamenting, denouncing, or pleading. And no giving up. Deal?”
The man felt strange.
The conditions were clearly the same, yet he had an uncomfortable feeling that he’d been had.
Even so, at the thought that he could learn marksmanship, he shouted for now.
“Call.”
A short while later.
Five empty bottles were set up, and I took my position.
The bet became the main event of the drinking party.
Every single person in Madaya was watching.
“What’s your name?”
“Allen.”
“Allen. Watch closely.”
Bang.
With a crash, the bottle shattered.
Bang. Crash.
Bang. Crash.
Bang. Crash.
Bang. Crash.
I fired five shots, and all five bottles shattered.
A perfect score.
I put the gun down triumphantly.
Now I could legally run this bastard into the ground.
“Fall in, you little shit. Ehehehe.”
Of course, I didn’t tell him I had swapped it out for a gun from my inventory before shooting.
The barrel on Allen’s gun was a little bent.
How could anyone shoot with a gun like that?
It made no sense.
Wasn’t that much something anyone could excuse?
But it seemed Allen wasn’t the only one who wanted to learn.
Aside from Allen, people started lining up beside him.
“What are you guys?”
“We want to learn too.”
Oho.
Now, I liked proactive people like this.
I loved people with willpower.
I should show these guys the Seoul National University-style study method.
We’re going straight into repetitive learning so their bodies can absorb it immediately.