But still — choosing Number 2 wasn't an easy decision.It might be uncertain, even risky.Yet it was still better than walking the bloody path of Sirasoni.
I figured Rie — the daughter of a wealthy rice merchant — might give me a chance at a job.A lifeline.
A crossroads of choice.A moment of decision.
'I've decided. Number 2!'
I didn't come to Gyeongseong to become a fighter.I came to survive — and to rise.
'I'll become a tycoon — more successful than anyone.'
Like Kim Byung-chul of the Samjung Group, I swore to build an empire of my own.
In the world I lived in before, power only lasted ten years.Governments rose and fell, mountains and rivers changed hands in a decade.But money — that was eternal.If you raised your children well, your fortune could rule not for ten years, but for a hundred.
Money.The one true power that moves people and the world.
People might call me a petty capitalist, a materialist.But they forget — money builds nations, feeds people, makes the rules.
The German sociologist Max Weber called it peasant capitalism — the small but fierce spirit of merchants and traders who built wealth from nothing.Like the Jews in Europe, who, despite being despised, mastered trade and finance.
They called it "vulgar capitalism," sneering at those who valued profit over pride.
But so what?
'Yes. I'm a lowlife capitalist.'
From now on, I'll do anything that makes money.
Following the Heiress
"Miss, that boy is following us."
I had been tailing Rie, the rice merchant's daughter, from a distance.Her maid finally noticed and whispered to her.
"Following us?" Rie turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder.Even that small motion felt graceful.
I heard her speak softly to the maid.'At least she noticed me,' I thought.Because if she didn't — all of this would be for nothing.
"Yes, Miss. He looks badly injured. He's limping, but he keeps following us."
She wasn't wrong.My whole body ached from the beating earlier, my legs barely moved.But I followed Rie anyway — because I believed she was my lifeline.
"Come to think of it," Rie said in a low voice, "I didn't even thank him properly."
A moment later, she began walking toward me.
I froze on the spot.
"You helped me earlier, didn't you? I never got to say thank you."
Her voice was polite, but reserved.She looked a few years older than me — calm, composed, confident.
'I should look harmless… innocent,' I thought, scratching my head awkwardly.In times like these, it's better to seem shy than clever.If I looked too smart, she might think I had an agenda.
"Um… that, that…"
The maid stepped forward, her eyes suspicious.
"Why are you following us?"
I could feel her gaze crawling over my shabby clothes.To her, I probably looked like a beggar.
"That, that…" I mumbled again, pretending to be lost for words.
"You're from the countryside, aren't you? Where are you from?"
Her tone was sharp, almost mocking.Typical for a servant who feels secure behind her mistress's wealth.
'She's just a maid,' I thought, swallowing my irritation.Still, it was natural for her to be wary — a strange man following them on the street.
She scanned me again from head to toe.
"Have you eaten?" she asked.
Her words hit harder than a punch.I hadn't eaten properly in two days — only a few sweet potatoes my brother gave me before I left Miryang.I was starving, broke, and alone.
"Are you following us because you have nowhere else to go?" Rie asked gently.Her tone was nothing like her maid's.
Even though she was Japanese, she didn't look down on me.There was a quiet kindness in her eyes.
"...Yes," I said honestly.
Sometimes, truth moves people more than excuses.
"I see…" Rie murmured softly.
I scratched my head again, unsure of what to say.
"Then follow me."
I blinked.'Did I hear that right?'
"Yes?"
"I owe you for your help," she said with a small smile. "Let me repay you."
'That's it!'
The chance I nearly died for — finally within reach.Maybe fate wasn't done with me yet.
I followed her, trying to hide the grin spreading across my face.
This was my moment — my second beginning.
Meanwhile ,
March 18, 1940.A hidden room in Honmachiba, located in Bonjeong — today's Chungmuro.
A dim bar where hostesses poured drinks for soldiers and businessmen.
Inside, tension filled the smoky air.
"Your faces are a mess," said a man in a neat suit, glaring at the bruised thugs."I'm sorry. We failed."
The men in school uniforms — the same ones Sirasoni had beaten senseless — stood with their heads bowed.
"Oh, what a pity," the suited man said, his tone suddenly calm."Still, it's regrettable to see our own countrymen beaten so badly."
'Countrymen?' the thugs thought bitterly.They hadn't realized the man considered himself Korean too.
"You said the pig's feet attack should look like it was done by outsiders, right?" he asked quietly."Then why do your faces look like that?"
"I was defeated by a group of fighters who spoke a northern dialect," one thug said, wincing."They must've been Jongno men."
"A fighter from Jongno…" the man muttered. "Kim Du-han's people?"
"Yes. That's my guess."
The man sighed, rubbing his temples."The spirit of Joseon still lives in Jongno, it seems. Still, this is a problem. We needed that ransom money to send to Comrade Kim Won-bong."
That's when the truth became clear.
The plan to kidnap Rie, the Japanese woman —It wasn't random at all.It was an operation by the Korean Independence Army, meant to raise funds for their fight.
Rie's father, Nakamura, was no ordinary merchant — he was one of the wealthiest men in Gyeongseong.
And I — unknowingly — had sabotaged their mission.
"I understand," said the thug leader. "We'll prepare for another attempt, Comrade Deok-su."
The man in the suit — Oh Deok-su, a key figure in Kim Won-bong's Uiyoldan — shook his head.
"No. There won't be a second time. Once you fail at something like this, you're already compromised. We'll find another way."
"Yes, understood."
"Oh, and I'm leaving for Mapo now. You know what that means."
"Yes, sir."
"Until the day our nation is free."
The men saluted solemnly.
Those "thugs" who'd harassed Rie —They were soldiers of Korea's freedom movement.And it was me, a clueless capitalist wannabe, who had just destroyed their plan.
And the man who had ended it all with his fists — was Sirasoni.