The Little Prince in the Ossuary - Chapter 33

Chapter 33

# Negotiation (4), Camp Roberts

Outside the perimeter of the Japanese district, the territory of 「Sumiyoshi-kai」. In front of the gate stood the two guards that Gyeoul had met in his previous visit.

‘It could be just a coincidence, but maybe there’s a shortage in manpower.’ Gyeoul decided to keep the latter possibility in mind.

“It’s you, the Chō… Korean from before.”

One of the guards greeted the boy. He managed to swallow back the racial slur he was about to spit out from habit.

“Yes. Glad to see you again.”

“What brings you here?”

“I’m here to see the chairman, to discuss the drug trafficking.”

“Our Oyabun*?”

The guard then carefully examined Gyeoul, or to be precise, the weapons that he carried. As an officer of the U.S. federal army, he was free to carry firearms within the camp. He spotted a pistol tucked inside a holster on the boy’s hip, something he had expected, but knowing that he couldn’t do anything about it, the guard grudgingly gave him a nod.

“We need to go report our boss, so wait here,” said the guard before running into the gate.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the guard to return with an answer. The younger-looking guard—the one named Daisuke, if he remembered correctly—was quite swift on his feet. Hurrying back from inside, he spoke into the other’s ear for a moment before beckoning Gyeoul with his hand.

“He agreed to see you. Come this way.”

Gyeoul was then escorted into the Japanese district by the two guards, then soon by several guards. Though the guards were staring daggers at him, Gyeoul walked with a feigned smile on his face.

Each alleyway Gyeoul passed by while being escorted to the boss displayed the grim reality of life in the Japanese district. In one alleyway, the ground of which was full of water bottle mouse traps, a little child was sitting in a corner, biting off a freshly caught rat with its blood and guts dripping, while in another one, there were people lying on the ground, intoxicated with drugs. Gyeoul couldn’t help but frown at their miserable sights.

It was only after making several more turns that the guards stopped in front of a tent. When the boy entered, a wooden signboard hanging in the middle of the tent struck his eyes.

「The Land of God Shall Never Perish」

A phrase written in reddish-brown ink. It was the color of dried blood.

Underneath the signboard, a man was sitting on a mat. His body, stripped to the waist, was full of ugly scars and tattoos covering those scars.

“Han, Gyo, Ul.”

The man spoke the boy’s name aloud, articulating each syllable as though he was trying to pronounce it correctly.

“Take a seat.”

There was already a mat prepared for the boy. No sooner had he sat down, a group of armed men also sat down near them. Just like what happened previously in the tent of the 「Damul Promotion Association」. ‘Probably with the same purpose,’ Gyeoul thought.

The chairman, without saying a word, stared at the boy for a while, as if gauging him. The deafening silence lasted for minutes until the Chairman asked a question.

“Do you drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Bold, but still just a kid.”

As the man tapped on the floor a couple of times, a tray of food was served in front of Gyeoul and the man. On Gyeoul’s tray laid a bottle of water and a plate of grilled meat. A big piece of well-grilled meat that could have possibly originated from the sewers.

“What kind of meat is this?” Asked Gyeoul, tilting his head.

“It’s pork,” the chairman answered nonchalantly.

In an apocalyptic world like this where cold chains didn’t exist anymore, fresh pork had become an ingredient almost impossible to find. ‘Almost’ impossible. There was still a chance that what he said was true, had it been obtained through bribes. The boy, however, decided not to touch the meat.

“Maybe not so bold after all.” The chairman snorted.

“I’d call it being cautious.”

The man chuckled.

“Then why would such a cautious person come to visit us? Is it really to talk about drugs?”

“Yes.”

The boss then silently lifted his sake cup to his side and a pretty woman walked in and refilled it. He emptied his cup in one go and then drank a few more. After exhaling a long, drunken sigh, the boss continued.

“Buying or selling?”

“It’s neither.”

“Then what?”

“I want to know who the Korean and Chinese drug dealers are, how they get their drugs, and how they distribute them.”

“And what are you gonna do with that?”

“I’m gonna clean them up.”

The boss closed his eyes as he put down his cup.

“Tadaatsu Ryōhei. I’m the owner of 「Sumiyoshi-kai」.”

“Han Gyeoul. I’m currently serving as the delegate of 「Winter Alliance」.”

“A delegate, huh? What an unassuming title.”

Ryōhei tapped the empty cup with his fingers.

“So, about cleaning up the traffickers, do you intend to kill them?”

“If there’s no other way.”

“There’s no other way around here. It’s either kill or be killed.”

“Only a Yakuza like you would think like that.”

The moment the boy said so, his surroundings grew uproarious. The lackeys sitting next to him all vault up from their seats, taking out blades like kitchen knives and shivs and ferociously swinging them at the boy, in addition to showering him with curses.

‘These stupid thugs all act the same wherever I go. So full of bluffs when they can’t even put up a fight.’

Before long, the boss beckoned them to calm them down. He was silent. Even if it was just a pretentious act, it was still a hundred times better than the other lunatic who called himself Makliji.

“Information isn’t free. I cannot just give it away.”

“And what would be the price?”

“Kill them,” said Ryōhei with a snarl.

“When the Shinajins** persecuted us, you Chōsenjins joined them and ran riot against us. The traffickers were the worst. They spread drugs furtively and turned our people into slaves of drugs. Even now, they torment our people. Those who run out of money even sell their wives and daughters for a dose of crank.”

The chairman’s two eyes burned grimly.

“Promise me that you’ll kill them all. Then I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“I’m not interested in murder-for-hire.”

‘When there’s no guarantee that the information will be true.’

Gyeoul got up from his seat. Then, the lackeys once again bustled up from their seats and began to block the exit.

“Sit down,” Ryōhei spoke from behind.

Gyeoul answered as he drew out his pistol from its holster.

“They can’t stop me.”

“You’re right, they probably can’t. But still, you’ll have to kill them all to get through.”

“You think I can’t?”

“You’ll also suffer losses.”

Although Gyeoul had the right to execute refugees, it would cause a problem if he killed this many. At least it would produce friction with the commander. After a moment’s thought, Gyeoul slid his pistol back in and sat down.

“Just hand over the information,” Gyeoul shot back.

“Look, all I want to do is to get rid of them so that my people can be safe from drugs. So if you know anything, just tell me. I swear, no matter how things turn out, it won’t negatively affect you.”

“What if I offer you to join hands?”

“It’s not the time yet. I’ll consider your offer once I take care of the Korean traffickers while the Chinese are busy fighting each other. I also have to judge if you are trustworthy.”

Ryōhei suddenly burst out laughing.

“You sure don’t care about nationality. Good. I’ll trust you based on your record.”

The record he mentioned was him saving a girl from the extreme rightist lunatics.

The man then ordered one of his lackeys to bring in some people. After a while, a man and a woman entered the tent, trembling. They didn’t seem to belong to the organization. Ryōhei beckoned them and whispered something in their ears. The two of them, still quivering, took out clean sheets of paper, pencils and some pictures from their bags and began to copy the pictures on paper.

“These chaps used to draw manga before. They’re good with their hands.” Ryōhei smiled.

“I don’t know where they get the drugs nor how they sell them. The only thing I know is who sells the drugs, so I believe a picture is worth a thousand words.”

“Do you have these people ready all the time?”

“You never know when a war will break out. I figured that showing the Kobun* portraits of their kill-targets would be more efficient than describing them with words.”

Certainly, it was. Gyeoul then began to wonder about the contents of their bags. ‘Do they also have sketches of the people of 「Winter Alliance」?’

Time passed by with only the sound of pencils scribbling filling the room.

“Looks like they’re done.”

The boss nodded as the two of them took their hands off the papers. One of them approached Gyeoul and handed him the sketches with unsteady hands.

“Not bad,” assessed Gyeoul as he looked over the sketches.

The sketches contained some faces he recognized. Some had information such as their last spotted location, date, belongings, and names written in the corner.

“Leaving the food?”

The boss asked as he saw the boy walking towards the exit.

“Sorry. I don’t go around with my stomach empty.”

“That’s a shame.”

The boss chuckled.

“Next time you see me, think of me as a national leader.”

“That depends on how you act.”

One might think Gyeoul’s actions were extremely rude, but it was actually them who had been rude. No matter how young he might be, Gyeoul came here as the leader of a faction. However, the chairman of Sumiyoshi-kai did not use honorifics from the beginning to the end. For the Yakuza who claim to value righteousness, it was no better than an outright insult.

‘Anyway, it’s only a display of self-importance.’

The Yakuza’s righteousness and Heishehui’s chivalry. Despite being crime syndicates, they acted as if they lived by these codes they developed. Because without them, they wouldn’t be able to maintain order in their organizations.

‘A Yakuza calling himself a national leader…’

Before the epidemic, Ryōhei must have been nothing but a common drug dealer selling drugs to his people.

Still, it might work, at least for the Japanese. There had been several news reports about the Yakuza aiding the victims of natural disasters like typhoons even before the Self-Defense Forces. This meant that crime syndicates were very concerned about the way they portrayed themselves and that the Japanese bureaucracy was that much rigid.

Just when Gyeoul arrived at the gate, someone talked to him from behind.

“Well, uh… Excuse me, sir. Do you happen to be Mr. Han Gyeoul?”

Gyeoul heard the voice of an old man speaking from a distance. It was probably because of the underlings with fierce eyes that were escorting the boy out of the district. When he looked around, there were three people, who appeared to be parents and their daughter, standing while shivering in fear. Among them, the daughter was an acquaintance of Gyeoul.

“Yes, that’s me. By the way, long time no see, Setsuna,” said Gyeoul with a smile on his face. But the moment the girl met his eyes, she quickly dropped her head down.

Kushinada Setsuna. She looked healthier and was dressed in better clothes than the last time he saw her. But for some reason, she was wearing a gloomy expression on her face.

The parents, who looked much older than their daughter’s age, bowed to the boy and expressed their gratitude.

“We’re sorry we couldn’t get to you earlier. We’ve heard you’re the gentleman that saved our daughter. Thank you so much for your heroic act. I don’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened to her if it weren’t for you.”

Just before Gyeoul could speak a word, the voice of an angry man suddenly cut into their conversation.

“Oh, for fuck sake! Dad, I told you not to do this! Why are you bowing your head in front of a Chong!”

“Hmm?”

Turning back again, Gyeoul saw one of the underlings stomping toward the old man in a huff. He then grasped the old man’s shoulder, forced him to stand upright and then scowled at Gyeoul.

“What are you staring at, you scumbag?”

“…”

Gyeoul was struck by surprise for a moment.

“Kid, we shouldn’t forget that we are human beings. We should be grateful that there’s such a kind man in a world full of people who have forgotten their human duty.”

“A kind man? Seriously?” The young man bawled at the old lady.

“Did you suddenly become deaf, mom? This fucking thing is a Chōsenjin! Chō! Sen! Jin! Don’t you know that Chongs are all the same? Those robbers just tossed it back to us because they were done using it! What are you so grateful for when what you got is just a worn-out thing! Aren’t you embarrassed?”

“Excuse me,” Gyeoul spoke in a low voice with a slight grimace on his face.

“You can say whatever you want about me, but don’t talk as if your sister is an object.”

“What? Ha!” The young man laughed furiously.

“That thing isn’t my sister! It’s more like a female hog.”

Setsuna’s somber expression became even gloomier. Unmindful of her feelings, however, the young man kept on stabbing at his sister’s heart with his words.

“If she had the least self-esteem as a Japanese, she should’ve bitten her tongue off and died the moment she was kidnapped! How could she think of crawling back to our land with her filthy body, and even holding a Chong’s hand? What a dirty female hog she is!”

Gyeoul’s eyes grew colder and colder at each passing second as he watched the man spewing such absurdity. Fortunately, the boy’s 「Menace」 that activated in proportion to his hostility immediately impeded the young man from speaking any further.

Considering himself lucky for not having forgotten to carry a handkerchief, Gyeoul handed it over to the crying girl. And then…

Thud!

“Kuk!”

Taking a punch in his thorax, the young man fell on the ground.

“You better discipline your son well. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Pride was not a necessity in life. Love was. It is only when people comfort the ones in pain and share their suffering that they can survive in this harsh world.

‘But I guess that’s never gonna happen. Not in here, not in reality,’ thought Gyeoul as he walked away from the Japanese district.