December 25, 2030
The demo hall had emptied out. The conclusion felt unsatisfying, but a few investors stayed to watch the presentation, with some vaguely promising to consider investing. Jang Cheol-dae, Jang Cheol-jin, Baek Hyung-jin, and Ko A-young turned to Park Sung-jae. He frowned. “…What? Without me, you wouldn’t have made it on time.” Ko A-young sighed. “…Gamamusa had his eyes on one investor anyway—Dmitry Grekov.” Park Sung-jae tilted his head. “…The Wagner Group director? That guy got fired for embezzling with a food supplier. How can you trust him?”
“I don’t trust you, Dmitry. I don’t trust sneaky people like you,” Gamamusa said mockingly. Dmitry showed slight irritation but didn’t regret following him. “…By the way, where are we going? We’re far from the demo hall.” Gamamusa, driving, kept his eyes forward, smirking at Dmitry beside him. “…Nothing special, for now.” He stopped at a plain outside Moscow, a barren wasteland with only grass, no wheat fields, and a desolate air. As Dmitry looked around, Gamamusa spoke. “What do you think this place is?”
Dmitry shrugged. “…Looks like a wasteland. Grass, rocks, trees… endless nothing.” Gamamusa nodded. “…For now. I’m going to buy this land. And starting here, I’ll buy up all of Russia’s useless, frozen lands.” Dmitry frowned. “…This land? What would you do with it?” Gamamusa chuckled, gesturing at the vast plain. “…Develop it all, of course. Russia spans a third of Eurasia. Thousands of kilometers east, south, north, west—it’s still Russia. To develop this vast territory, even billions of Chinese and Indian migrants wouldn’t suffice. It’ll be like the Mayflower landing in North America. This land’s value will skyrocket thousands of times.”
Dmitry stroked his chin. “…Not an invention, but real estate for profit? Clever. But I’m fleeing to Brazil—why buy Russian land?” Gamamusa shrugged. “That’s why we’ll buy it. Invest in us, and you’ll get rich. Oh, and you should buy land in Brazil too. Make a fortune buying and selling Siberian land, then take dividends and buy Amazon rainforest property.” Dmitry looked skeptical. “…Fine, say I make a fortune in real estate. What’s that got to do with saving your homeland?” Gamamusa lowered his head. “…It’s deeply connected. You don’t need to worry about it, Mr. Grekov. But if there’s ever a chance to invest in my homeland, now’s a good time. Soon, our people will eat cake instead of bread.”
…
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December 7, 2030
Jung Min-ju was in a foul mood. She sat across from Ko A-young in an airport café, sipping coffee and trying to read her thoughts. Ko A-young drank calmly. Ring. A phone rang in Ko A-young’s pocket. She answered. “…Yeah, you just crossed into Vladivostok? Got it. When’re you coming?” Jung Min-ju wondered who it was. Ko A-young raised her voice. “…The 25th? That’s the demo day! Ugh, whatever. If you don’t show, we’ll present without you.” She hung up and pocketed the phone. “…Sorry, that was Gamamusa. That idiot insists on swimming from Sakhalin to Vladivostok. Says taking a ship would get him caught by Russian intelligence or something.”
Jung Min-ju brushed off the comment as a joke. She thought Gamamusa might be capable of it, but having never seen it, she reserved judgment. “…Why’d you come to me? Did I do something wrong?” She leaned forward, arms on the table. “…It’s a big deal. You conspired with a murderer, Gamamusa. You helped steal microbial samples from Hiroshima University for Russia, playing industrial spy. You were involved in Lee Yeol-gi’s death and cooperated in impersonating the late Yeol-gi and Gamagogi. That’s enough for national security violations, murder conspiracy, and fraud—straight to prison.”
Ko A-young shrugged. “…Let’s see. Gamamusa’s father was purged, and he was sent to a political prison camp under North Korea’s guilt-by-association system. He killed violent criminals and guards to escape, true. The Hiroshima samples were his father Gamagogi’s research, stolen by the Japanese government. And Lee Yeol-gi… we didn’t kill him.” Jung Min-ju’s forehead twitched. “…Right, you didn’t kill him. You sold him as a salt farm slave or at least left him there, knowing his fate. How else would you know where he died? And Park Sung-jae impersonated him.” Ko A-young went silent. She knew Jung Min-ju had a recorder in her pocket. “…Where’s the proof Park Sung-jae impersonated him? You’re going too far.”
Jung Min-ju shook her head. “…No, Park Sung-jae posed as Lee Yeol-gi. A body was found dead at a salt farm, and Park Sung-jae, who doesn’t even resemble him, was impersonating Yeol-gi. And Gamamusa, who looks like Park Sung-jae, posed as him too. Even crazier, Park Sung-jae resembles the late Professor Gamagogi—probably impersonated him too. Yet this impostor found Yeol-gi’s body.” Ko A-young sipped her coffee calmly and looked up. “…We didn’t cause Yeol-gi’s death. But… Gamamusa did know about it.” Jung Min-ju scoffed. “…Don’t bullshit me. Gamamusa’s a monster who brings death and destruction. You’re saying he didn’t kill Yeol-gi?” Ko A-young’s face hardened. She stood, glaring. “…Our Jung-pil isn’t like that. Unlike you losers who ignored school violence, he’s different. He solves the world’s problems, saves people, saves his homeland. He’s a masterpiece, not like you. He just used the identity of the already-dead Yeol-gi. Got it?” Ko A-young stormed out. Jung Min-ju glared at her with icy eyes as she left the café.
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