WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS
Translator/Editor: Ryuu
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ The Little Prince in the Ossuary
00033 <-- The Little Prince of the Ossuary -->
------------------------------------------------------------------------
#Negotiation, Camp Roberts (3)
The Japanese detainment area. Specifically, the boundary of 「Sumiyoshi-kai」. The guards were the same as before. Was it a coincidence, or were they short on manpower? Gyeoul decided to keep the latter possibility in mind.
“You're that Cho from before... a Korean.”
The Japanese man already seemed to recognize Gyeoul. He swallowed the habitual slur "Chōsenjin."
“Yes, we met once before.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to see the Kaicho regarding a drug issue.”
“The Oyabun?”
He cautiously eyed Gyeoul, more precisely the weapons he carried. As a Federal Army officer, Gyeoul was free to carry weapons within the camp.
Taking them away was not an option. The man, after some hesitation, nodded.
“I'll report it. Wait here for a moment.”
“Sure.”
Gyeoul nodded.
It didn’t take long. Was it Daisuke? The man who had taken Kushinada Setsuna away. He was quick. He rushed back and whispered something to his superior. Soon, the leader of the guards motioned to Gyeoul.
“He will see you. Follow me.”
As they walked, many people gathered around them. It was unclear if they were escorts or a form of containment. They seemed more like the latter. They glared menacingly, trying to suppress their energy. Gyeoul merely maintained a fabricated smile.
Following the path, the reality of the Japanese sector was stark.
Here and there, rat traps made from plastic bottles were scattered. One trap held a rat, frantically trying to escape. Someone had caught it before its owner did. A child ran away from the enraged owner, biting the rat alive. As the child ran, the rat’s innards and blood dripped along the path.
People high on drugs lay sprawled in corners. Methamphetamine was popular even before the plague in North Korea because it suppressed hunger.
A deliberately winding path led them to a tent.
「神州不滅」 (The Divine Land - Japan - shall not perish.)
The crimson characters stood out, dried blood color. Beneath the sign sat a shirtless man. His upper body was covered in scars and tattoos. His thick muscles were impressive.
“Han Gyeoul.”
He carefully pronounced Gyeoul's name, which was difficult for a Japanese person.
“Sit.”
There was a place prepared. It was just the bare ground with a cloth laid over it. Gyeoul didn't refuse. Armed men lined up on both sides, much like the 「Damul Promotion Association」 had done. Their purpose was likely the same. They glared intensely.
The Yakuza boss stared at Gyeoul for a while, as if studying him. Then he casually asked,
“Alcohol?”
“I’ll pass.”
“You act bold, but you’re still a kid.”
As if it had been arranged beforehand, a table was brought without further orders. With the refusal of alcohol, only water and meat were served. The well-cooked meat was large. Perhaps it was a sewer rat. Gyeoul tilted his head.
“Interesting. What kind of meat is this?”
There were many swallowing sounds from the sides. The Sumiyoshi-kai boss answered nonchalantly.
“Pork.”
It was possible. Maybe it was something received in exchange from the U.S. Army. Still, it seemed dubious. Fresh pork was too rare without a cold chain. Gyeoul did not touch the food. The boss revised his opinion of Gyeoul.
“You’re not bold after all.”
“I’m just cautious.”
At this, the boss chuckled.
“Why has this cautious person come here? Is it really about drugs?”
“Yes.”
The boss was served alcohol by a very pretty woman, except for her snaggletooth. He drank continuously from a wide-mouthed cup. After a long sigh mixed with drunkenness, the Yakuza boss asked,
“Are you here to buy drugs or sell them?”
“Neither.”
“Then?”
“I want to know how the Koreans and Chinese get their drugs and their distribution routes.”
“Once you know?”
“I’ll clean them up.”
The conversation had been very quiet until now. The boss put down his cup.
“Tadatsu Ryohei. I am the head of 「Sumiyoshi-kai」.”
“You might know, I’m Han Gyeoul. I lead the 「Gyeoul Alliance」.”
“Leader, huh. That’s a vague title.”
Ryohei tapped his empty cup with his finger.
“Cleaning up... you mean killing?”
“If there’s no other way.”
“In this world, there’s no other way. It’s kill or be killed.”
“That’s something a Yakuza like you would think.”
It got noisy. The enforcers drew kitchen knives and other blades. They didn’t move but brandished them threateningly. There were rough curses as well. Gyeoul thought, wherever you go, people act the same. Bluffing without intention to actually fight. The boss calmed them down. He was silent. Even if it was just for show, it was a hundred times better than the madman who had talked about recklessness.
Ryohei spoke.
“Information has its price. I can’t just give it to you.”
“How do I pay?”
“Kill them.”
A low growl.
“When the Chinese oppressed us, you Koreans joined in. Among them, the drug dealers were the worst. They still torment us. Poor, hungry Japanese give up everything for drugs. When they have nothing, they even offer their daughters and wives. Sometimes the women themselves do it.”
The Yakuza’s eyes were ablaze.
“Promise me. Promise to kill them. I’ll tell you everything.”
“I’m not interested in using a borrowed knife to kill.”
Without guarantee of reliable information, there was no point in making promises. Gyeoul got up. People rose noisily. They blocked the exit. By that point, Gyeoul already had his hand on his pistol grip. The Yakuza men trembled, their faces ferocious. They didn’t seem to want to move. It was unusual courage for gangsters. It was evidence that they had suffered through hardships.
Ryohei spoke from behind.
“Sit.”
Gyeoul replied calmly.
“You can’t stop me.”
“No, we can’t. But you’d have to kill us all to get through.”
“Can’t you just let me go?”
“It would be a loss.”
Even though carrying weapons was permitted, killing a large number would naturally cause issues. At the very least, there would be friction with the camp commander. Gyeoul thought for a moment, then put down his pistol and sat back down.
‘Show me.”
Gyeoul snapped.
“I just don’t want my people going mad on drugs. There would inevitably be conflicts with those out of their minds. So, if you know something, tell me. You have nothing to lose. If a fight breaks out, just watch. I said it, didn’t I? I will kill if necessary.”
“What if I suggest an alliance?”
“It’s not the time. Once the Chinese start fighting each other, I’ll consider it after crushing the crazy Koreans. And I need to know if you’re sane.”
Ryohei burst into laughter.
“So nationality doesn’t matter to you. Fine. I trust you given your record.”
By record, he meant the time Gyeoul had saved a girl from extreme right-wing lunatics.
He called someone. Shortly, a man and a woman entered the tent. They didn’t fit the scene. Ryohei whispered something in their ears. The trembling couple nodded and took out clean paper, writing tools, and some drawings from their bag. They began copying the pictures onto the paper.
“They were cartoonists. They’re quite skilled.”
Ryohei said.
“They don’t know where the others get the drugs or the distribution routes. All they know are the people, so it’s better to draw than explain.”
“You seem prepared.”
“You never know when another conflict might break out. It’s best to show my subordinates whom to kill first using pictures.”
Indeed. Gyeoul was curious about the contents of the couple’s bag. Did they have montages of the Gyeoul Alliance members too? It was possible if they drew everyone they saw and added information.
A quiet time passed.
“It seems they’re done.”
The couple looked to Ryohei, who nodded. The man approached Gyeoul, trembling as he handed over the papers. Perhaps due to Gyeoul's notorious reputation. To those who didn’t know him, the boy was considered a psychopathic killer, a blood-crazed butcher. They believed he was a young man who had gone mad.
Fear was an asset. Gyeoul thought so as he examined the drawings.
“Not bad.”
Some were familiar faces. Some had additional information in the margins, such as location, date, actions, and occasionally, affiliations and names.
“You won’t touch the food after all?”
“Excuse me. I’m well-fed.”
“That’s a pity.”
As Gyeoul was about to leave, the Yakuza boss spoke.
“Next time, think of me as a national leader.”
Gyeoul’s reply was…
“We’ll see.”
Though Gyeoul seemed overly rude, it was the Yakuza who were rude first. Even though Gyeoul was young, he was representing a group and had come personally. Despite this, they had omitted honorifics from start to finish. In the world of Yakuza, where righteousness was emphasized, it was an open insult.
‘It's just a means for self-glorification anyway.’
The Yakuza emphasized righteousness, while the Heishehui emphasized loyalty. Each criminal organization highlighted a plausible virtue. Without such emphasis, could there be any discipline in a group of criminals?
For Ryohei, it might have been about maintaining face.
‘But a Yakuza talking about being a national leader...’
Before the chaos, it was likely Ryohei himself who sold drugs to the Japanese.
Yet, it might still work among the Japanese. There’s a saying that Yakuza arrive before the Self-Defense Forces during disasters. It means that the criminal organization is that meticulous about managing its image, and that the Japanese bureaucracy is that rigid.
At this moment, there were approaching footsteps. Many of them.
“Excuse me... Are you Han Gyeoul?”
An elderly’s voice. The distance from which he spoke was awkwardly far. It was due to the Sumiyoshi-kai enforcers glaring at him. A family of three stood there, enduring their anxiety. Gyeoul recognized the daughter among them.
“Yes, I am. Hello. It's been a while, Setsuna.”
Kushinada Setsuna didn’t seem to have been well. Her complexion had improved, and her attire was better than before, but her expression was dark. She quickly lowered her head when their eyes met.
Her parents, who looked older than their actual age, bowed deeply.
“We are sorry for not visiting earlier. We heard you saved our daughter. We are sincerely grateful.”
Gyeoul was about to reply calmly when an angry voice interrupted.
“Oh, seriously! Dad! Mom! I told you not to do this! Why are you bowing to a Chōsenjin!”
“Hmm?”
Gyeoul turned around to see a scowling young man. He was hefty. He strode over and roughly handled his parents, forcing them to stand and glaring at Gyeoul.
“You human trash, what gives you the right to receive thanks?”
“......”
Gyeoul tilted his head. Who is this guy? He seemed to be family, but he didn’t resemble the others. Either it was bad genes or poor upbringing. The mother tried to reason with him.
“My dear, this is just common courtesy. Having someone like him among those who have lost their sense of morality is something to be thankful for.”
“Someone like him? Him? Seriously.”
He shouted angrily.
“Mom, are you deaf? He's a Chōsenjin! Jo-seon-jing! Don't you know all those Peninsula bastards are the same? Damn, it's like a thief returning stolen goods! What are you thankful for? It's so embarrassing! Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?”
“Excuse me.”
Gyeoul frowned.
“You don’t need to thank me, but don’t treat your sister like an object.”
“What?”
The young man sneered.
“She’s not my sister. She’s just a sow.”
Setsuna looked sorrowful. The young man continued to stab her with his words, disregarding her.
“If she had any pride as a Japanese, she should have killed herself when she was captured! Where does she think she’s going with a tainted body! That too with the help of a Chōsenjin! Japanese people live with pride! She’s nothing but a sow! A sow who sold her body to the enemy and came back!”
Pride, my ass. Gyeoul’s gaze turned cold. In proportion to his growing hostility, his "Threat Level" activated, silencing the young man immediately.
Gyeoul was glad he had remembered to bring a handkerchief from Paso Robles. He handed it to the crying girl. Then…
Wham!
The young man, hit in the solar plexus, collapsed, unable to breathe. His parents let out a brief scream. Over their voices, Gyeoul’s calm words fell.
“You need to educate your son better. Thank you for your gratitude. I'll be going now.”
Pride isn’t essential for living. Love is more important. To console, embrace, and share pain. It’s already hard enough to live in this world.
Here or in reality.
Gyeoul thought as he walked away.
---------------------------= Afterword =---------------------------
1. In the story, there are times when a character's expression or tone is described as "made" or "created." These expressions are used exclusively for Gyeoul.
2. I heard some shocking news today.
Santa Claus... is a fictional character.
With my childhood shattered, it’s hard to continue writing.
I sincerely thank everyone who has loved The Little Prince of the Ossuary.
See you in the human empire 40,000 years from now. Goodbye.
Footnotes:
Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried
