Chapter 191 - The Patriot IV

6

Jo Yeongsu’s Great Trek Across the Nation!

From Busan to Pyongyang!

We’ll Show You Something Spectacular!

... No such advertisement actually appeared, but that was roughly how shocking it felt to me.

He intended to collect “public opinion from the entire Korean Peninsula” by surveying everyone, ordinary people as well as the awakened, without leaving anyone out. What an audacious ambition.

And Jo Yeongsu’s ambitious project...

["Mr. Jo Yeongsu died in Yecheon."]

...ran aground before he even made it out of North Gyeongsang Province, never mind reaching Pyongyang.

I sighed at the Saintess’s report.

“In a sense, I suppose that ending really did show us something spectacular...”

["Pardon?"]

“Nothing. Just talking to myself. So what was the cause of death?”

["Oh. He got lost in a void and died far from home. You know how walking near the Nakdong River sometimes takes you into a void called the Hwangsan River."]

Hwangsan River, meaning “Yellow Mountain River,” was the old name for the Nakdong River in the Silla era.

But the anomalies interpreted hwangsan as sulfuric acid instead. In other words, the strongly acidic substance H₂SO₄. The entire river had become a biochemical terror agent.

A single misplaced step could literally send you to the Yellow Springs of the underworld, so caution was essential.

["After wandering there for three days, he made a raft and tried to cross. But the raft melted before he got more than a few meters. So did Mr. Jo Yeongsu."]

“You’re serious...”

Anyway, Jo Yeongsu was dead. To put it crudely, he’d died a pointless fucking death.

And the citizens who heard the news weren’t particularly shocked. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Did you hear? That crazy old guy died. The one who was always protesting in Tower of Babel Square.”

“Huh? How’d he die?”

“Apparently he went off on a trip, saying he’d travel around the whole country alone.”

“Ah. Guess he wasn’t all that attached to living.”

After a brief expression of condolences, the citizens went straight back to the daily struggle of making a living.

In short, Jo Yeongsu’s death barely made the news.

It was rather ironic, considering he had spent his whole life making news in Busan.

Now there would never be any way to find out why he had suddenly become obsessed with a nationwide opinion poll, or what he had hoped to achieve.

“Hmm.”

If there hadn’t been a regressor in this world, that is.

“Something about this bothers me.”

["Pardon?"]

“You were quite interested in Jo Yeongsu, weren’t you, Saintess? Yet you just watched him wander around a void for three whole days?”

["I have to separate personal interests from my duties."]

The Saintess answered calmly.

["I may have a personal interest in Mr. Jo Yeongsu’s activities, but I can’t use a constellation’s powers to help him."]

“Really? You weren’t trying to get me interested in Jo Yeongsu?”

["..."]

“If you were, you succeeded, Saintess. Now I’m curious about Republic Geezer myself.”

What was the goal Jo Yeongsu had wanted to achieve, even at the cost of his own life?

I was a little curious.

And once my curiosity was piqued, I was a willing slave to dopamine, like a certain elf mage who stuck her head straight into mimic chests.

And so, in the next run, I immediately changed how I dealt with Jo Yeongsu.

“Sir, I’ll sit you down here before I go.”

“Uuugh... Uh...”

First, I played through the same “drink all night” event at the Haeundae drinking stall.

The ninety-first opinion poll—the event where he asked, belatedly, whether South Korea had fallen—happened just as before.

The branching point in Jo Yeongsu’s route came after that.

“Mr. Jo!”

“Hmm? Why, if it isn’t Mr. Jang!”

On the day he left Busan for Changwon, I came to see him off in person this time.

“What brings you here, Mr. Jang?”

“There’s a caravan heading to Changwon today. I have business in Mokpo myself, so I thought I’d travel with it while I’m at it.”

“Really!”

Jo Yeongsu’s eyes widened.

“Mr. Jang! May I ask you a favor?”

“A favor?”

“Yes! I must get to Changwon and continue my survey, no matter what, but these National Road Management Corps caravan members absolutely refuse to let me aboard! How can an institution funded by the people’s taxes be so heartless?”

Of course they refused. Why would a caravan already busy transporting supplies take on another piece of baggage?

In the last run, he had probably thrown a gigantic fit and forced his way aboard.

“Is that so?”

But this time, he had the Undertaker, the networking genius of the century whom THE psychopath Yu Jiwon addressed as Your Excellency.

“Listen, everyone. Mr. Jo Yeongsu here is someone I go out drinking with. Could you make an exception just this once?”

“O-of course!”

“If he’s a friend of Your Excellency Undertaker, naturally we must treat him as a VIP! We apologize for our rudeness!”

“Good, thank you. Next time I see you, I’ll make you coffee on the house. Oh, by the way. I’m a little worried the other members might not know about our friendship...”

“Don’t worry, Your Excellency!”

“We’ll post on SG Net so every member knows!”

I glanced behind me. Jo Yeongsu’s mouth was hanging open.

Ah, do you see? This is what we call 『The Protagonist’s Power』.

It shows up all the time in other novels, but in my tales, you only get the occasional little taste, like an oasis in the desert.

Jo Yeongsu had unwittingly acquired a free pass to travel around the Korean Peninsula, but my power didn’t end there.

“If you want to survey everyone, you’ll need to visit remote places the caravans don’t reach. Use this when you do.”

“Oh. Mr. Jang, what is this...?”

“A yogurt cart.”

A South Korean specialty. The third-generation refrigerated electric vehicle, CoCo (Cold&Cold).

Within “South Korean territory,” it could travel anywhere and appear anywhere. Jo Yeongsu was now practically Guan Yu with Red Hare.

“Th-thank you, Mr. Jang. I don’t know if I can ever repay this kindness before I die...”

Jo Yeongsu, who had spent his days languishing in obscurity, was overwhelmed by a donation from a big spender who had appeared out of nowhere.

I smiled warmly.

“I’ve always been very interested in your opinion polls, Mr. Jo. Please don’t think of this as a personal gift. Think of it as support for your cause.”

“Mr. Jang...!”

Affinity grind complete.

As I parted ways with Jo Yeongsu in Changwon, the Saintess spoke.

["That’s unexpected. I thought you weren’t interested in Korea or opinion polls, Undertaker."]

“I wasn’t, originally. But someone kept subtly putting in requests for me to pay attention to this man.”

["...? Was there someone like that around you? I didn’t see them with Clairvoyance."]

“I’m entitled to some privacy, too. Anyway, please keep an eye on him yourself, Saintess. Help him if he gets lost in a void or anything.”

["Oh, yes. All right."]

Naturally, word spread through the Regression Alliance network that “the Undertaker is interested in the crazy old guy from Tower of Babel Square.”

One day, Sim Aryeon, who reigned over Pyongyang as the Saintess of the North, visited Inunaki Tunnel and peeked around the entrance.

“J-just as I thought. A networking monster...”

“...?”

“You pretend otherwise, but G-Guild Leader. You actually wanted to join SG Net’s first-string celebrities, didn’t you? That’s why you keep clinging to me and Republic Geezer, trying to cozy up to us...”

“...?”

“I-I’ll acknowledge you during the dawn shift when nobody’s around. So please don’t reply in the morning, afternoon, evening, or night. Invading the community’s social circles on the strength of your real-life connections... Such an outrageous abuse of power, I will never forgive...”

“...?”

Having said her piece, Sim Aryeon scurried off.

What the hell was that? Sometimes her inner world frightened me.

Anyway, appearances aside, she was, much to my regret, the Saintess of the North.

Sim Aryeon granted Jo Yeongsu the status of a monk of the Holy State of the East. Now he could travel freely through North Korea as well.

In effect, most of the powerful figures who ruled the peninsula, openly and behind the scenes, had become Jo Yeongsu’s personal sponsors.

Buoyed by the light-novel development of “I’m Just a Small-Time Streamer, So Why Are the Hero and Saintesses Obsessed with Me?!”, Jo Yeongsu crisscrossed all eight provinces.

Time passed.

2,211 days.

From Busan to Sinuiju.

From south to north.

That was how long it took the people still living on the Korean Peninsula to complete a single opinion poll.

7

["He’s on his way back south after completing his final survey in Sinuiju. Finally."]

“Is he coming back to Busan?”

["Probably."]

The survey had taken approximately six years.

Throughout that time, I hadn’t asked the Saintess about its results.

My interest lay solely in Jo Yeongsu as an individual. I had no interest whatsoever in what people thought about South Korea’s fall.

What had Jo Yeongsu hoped to achieve through his six-year journey?

Certainty that his homeland was still alive in people’s hearts? The impetus to continue the movement to restore South Korea?

["Oh. It looks as though he has a different destination. Mr. Jo Yeongsu has just secured passage on a boat in Pyongyang, but it isn’t bound for Busan."]

Neither guess was right.

["He’s coming to Seoul."]

Seoul was practically my backyard.

I hurried to the dock, pretended nothing was out of the ordinary, and cast a fishing line. Arriving by boat from Pyongyang, Jo Yeongsu had no choice but to spot me as soon as he disembarked.

He cried out in surprise.

“Mr. Jang! What are you doing here?”

“Why, Mr. Jo?”

Jo Yeongsu abandoned his yogurt cart, ran over to me, and threw his arms around me.

Our first reunion in six years. He smelled strongly of grass and dry sunlight.

“Good heavens! How is it that your face hasn’t changed after all these years, Mr. Jang?”

“Haha. Your voice is still as booming as ever, too.”

“A Korean man is all about spirit, isn’t he? Spirit! But what on earth were you doing here?”

“Enjoying some fishing. My Seoul hideout is nearby.”

“My! Fishing, in times like these...”

The respect and affection in Jo Yeongsu’s eyes deepened as he looked at me.

He had aged considerably. It would have been quite understandable if someone mistook him for a man in his late eighties.

He had traveled the whole country in the body of a feeble awakened. Even with all those fervent donations, it couldn’t have been easy.

“But what brings you to the Han River, Mr. Jo?”

“Ah! Thanks to your support, Mr. Jang, I’ve finally completed my survey!”

He patted the cart twice.

It was piled high with scrap paper instead of yogurt.

“Now I intend to take this to its final resting place!”

“Its final resting place...?”

“Yes! The place where the bastards who left our country in this sorry state gathered!”

Jo Yeongsu pointed into the distance.

In that direction lay Yeouido, and on Yeouido stood a domed building no one from South Korea could fail to recognize.

The National Assembly building.

“Uh...”

Momentarily speechless, I pieced my words back together.

“Mr. Jo. It may look like the National Assembly building from the outside, but it’s actually a void. When the White Night void first came to Seoul, it was swept away and reduced to rubble like all the other buildings. Then one day, it reappeared all on its own. There’s even a real robot underground beneath that dome.”

“Huh? I don’t know anything about that! Anyway, I must go there!”

Come to think of it, this was the illustrious fellow who had set out to tour the nation with nothing but his own body in the last run, then enjoyed some free diving in the Sulfuric Acid River.

A sensible warning like “It’s a void, so it’s dangerous” was never going to work.

After all, in this run I had effectively forced CPR on a man whose natural course was to die.

“Then I’ll accompany you.”

“Oh dear! I feel terrible imposing on you...”

“It’s fine, really. I was only fishing for time to kill anyway.”

“Goodness! Thank you for absolutely everything, sir! Somehow I’ve ended up relying on you at both the beginning and the end!”

It wasn’t far from the landing to the National Assembly building. Even at the leisurely speed of Jo Yeongsu’s cart, it took perhaps thirty minutes.

We chatted about this and that along the way. Which town had been the hardest to survey? Had he ever come close to dying...?

The conversation drifted further and further into the past.

Apparently, when civilization was still intact, he had been editor-in-chief at a small local news outlet.

“I belong to the Pungyang Jo clan!”

The conversation’s timeline leaped straight back to Jo Yeongsu’s childhood.

“As you know, Mr. Jang, our ancestors did a great deal of damage to Joseon with their clan-dominated politics and whatnot! Though some historians did argue it wasn’t quite as simple as that!”

I nodded.

The Pungyang Jo clan was famous. Along with the Andong Kim clan, weren’t they the top two clans whose members inevitably squirmed during Korean history class?

Both were mere amateurs compared with the Yeoheung Min clan, but anyway, Jo Yeongsu continued.

“My word! Reading the textbook as a boy was quite a shock!”

“I see.”

“Yes! So my young self made a vow. How could I stand to be called one of the chief culprits who ruined the country? Why should my family’s name be a name associated with national ruin?”

Jo Yeongsu made a gesture of clenching his fist in the air.

“Just you wait! When I grow up, I’ll become a scholar truly loyal to the nation, like Choe Ikhyeon, and make up for what my ancestors failed to do! The elders in my family hadn’t said a thing, but this one reckless little boy was raising a fuss all by himself.”

“Hahaha!” Laughter burst from his aged lips.

“So, truth be told, my feelings toward my country are rooted in childhood shame and a sense of inferiority. It’s hardly something I can proudly go around telling people.”

8

When we entered the National Assembly grounds on Yeouido, anomalies attacked us, just as I had expected.

There weren’t any impressive boss-class anomalies, but there were plenty of village-class ones.

Had I not accompanied him, Jo Yeongsu’s life would have ended there.

'How many times is this man going to narrowly escape a pointless death?'

Smiling wryly to myself, I somehow managed to escort Jo Yeongsu into the main National Assembly building.

“Ah!”

Jo Yeongsu looked around.

“Nothing’s changed since the old days! Well, back then the lawmakers filled about half the seats.”

“Hmm.”

“The whole country’s been destroyed, yet this place alone is perfectly intact. Hahaha! That’s not much different from the old days either.”

I didn’t particularly agree with him. He was less conversing with me than talking to himself.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Jo Yeongsu wandered around the plenary chamber.

Looking at the lawmakers’ nameplates on the desks, he occasionally murmured, “Ah!” or “Right, now that I think of it, there was someone by that name!”

A place where no one remained.

Had the Korean Peninsula’s hopes and support, aspirations and wishes, contempt, anger, ridicule, and hostility once been concentrated here?

TAP. TAP.

Jo Yeongsu placed a sheet of paper on each desk.

I enhanced my eyesight and glanced at what the papers said.

[Republic of Korea: 91st Public Opinion Survey]

[Question: Do you believe that the nation of South Korea has fallen?]

[Yes - 99.99%]

[No – 0.01%]

After distributing the tattered documents to every seat, Jo Yeongsu walked up to the Speaker’s chair.

His gaze rested somewhere in empty space, as though he were looking not at the present but at the past.

“Please take your seats.”

Jo Yeongsu’s voice rang out softly. Without even a microphone, it carried little authority.

It was merely the voice of an ordinary man whose travels around the nation had aged his face into that of someone in his late eighties.

“As a quorum is present, I hereby call this plenary session to order.”

TOK. TOK. TOK.

The wooden gavel struck the air three times. Between the blows, Jo Yeongsu coughed.

“In the absence of the Speaker of the National Assembly, I, Jo Yeongsu, have been obliged to preside over this session. There are currently thirty-three people nationwide who consider themselves citizens of South Korea, and every one of them has delegated to me, Jo Yeongsu, the authority to conduct this Assembly.”

“...”

“Honorable members of the National Assembly, and fellow citizens. As the temporary representative of the Speaker, I will present a progress report before placing the following item on the agenda.”

RUSTLE.

Jo Yeongsu turned a survey sheet.

“First, Busan. Approximately 86% of all eligible voters responded to the question of whether South Korea had fallen. Of the 235,695 respondents, 235,693 selected option one, ‘It has fallen.’”

A page turned.

“Next, Changwon. Approximately 91% of all eligible voters responded to the question of whether South Korea had fallen. All 54,980 of the 54,980 respondents selected option one, ‘It has fallen.’”

The pages turned one by one.

With each flutter of scrap paper, the cities he named moved a little further north.

“Finally, Sinuiju. Approximately 89% of all eligible voters responded to the question of whether South Korea had fallen. All 21,139 of the 21,139 respondents selected option one, ‘It has fallen.’”

It took less than six minutes to announce the results of six years of surveying.

Jo Yeongsu closed the final page of the survey.

“This survey was conducted among citizens aged five and older. Furthermore, given the exceptional nature of the issue, eligibility was extended beyond citizens aged eighteen and older to include those aged five and older as well. This was because the question concerned the nation’s future.”

He coughed. His coughing was growing more frequent. Whenever a cough rose in his throat, he paused briefly before continuing, enunciating each word.

“An opinion poll is, ultimately, only an opinion poll. However, under the present circumstances, in which no voting takes place at all, I, as temporary Speaker, believe it serves in place of a vote. To support this, I have received delegated authority from the thirty-three citizens who selected option two, ‘It has not fallen.’”

A cough.

“I therefore place before this Assembly the question of South Korea’s continued existence. As the relevant voting results have already been announced, we shall proceed to a resolution. Anyone with an objection, please speak.”

A cough.

“Has everyone voted? Voting is now closed. I will announce the results. Approximately 88% of all eligible voters participated. Of these, 3,125,678 chose option one, ‘It has fallen,’ representing more than 99.99 percent. Thirty-three chose option two, ‘It has not fallen,’ representing less than 0.01 percent.”

A cough.

“I hereby declare that South Korea has fallen.”

TOK. TOK. TOK.

The sound of the gavel.

At that moment, something strange happened.

Applause erupted from the lawmakers’ seats, plainly empty, on both the government and opposition sides.

Applause came from the empty public gallery as well. Mingled with the clapping were the sounds of cameras firing their flashes.

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP!

Stranger still, Jo Yeongsu didn’t react at all, as though I were the only one who could hear it.

He merely sat quietly in the Speaker’s chair with his eyes closed.

“...”

Looking at his peaceful face, a thought suddenly came to me.

Perhaps, like an individual, a nation needed a funeral when it died.

That old man had observed six years of mourning to shoulder, alone, the funeral rites I had never thought to attend to.

If so, the nation called South Korea had died and been laid in its coffin at this very moment.

9

After that day, Jo Yeongsu never again went to Tower of Babel Square to protest, “Dictator Noh Doha, step down!”

He lived as an ordinary old man, going between soup kitchens and construction jobs every day, and died not long afterward.

He was already at an age when his strength was failing, and he had poured all his remaining energy into traveling the nation.

Since he had no surviving relations, I served as chief mourner. I set up a small funeral altar in the shack where he had lived.

There were few visitors. At most, a few old men who had passed the time playing Go with him came to pay their respects.

Then, on the last night, Noh Doha unexpectedly arrived without a single attendant.

Noh Doha looked around the shabby shack, scarcely better than a tent.

“You don’t even have spicy beef soup here...?”

“How am I supposed to afford something that expensive?”

“Aren’t you fucking rich...?”

“Now, now. This funeral is being held with heartfelt sincerity, not money. If I made it lavish at this point, every random nobody would flock here. Would that be what the deceased wanted?”

“Hmm...”

That was the conversation we had the moment Noh Doha arrived.

After bowing to the memorial portrait—but not to me, the chief mourner—Noh Doha plopped down beside me.

“Why did that old geezer suddenly quit after making such a racket protesting every single day...?”

“After finishing his opinion poll, he went to the National Assembly building on Yeouido and declared that South Korea had fallen.”

“Hmm? Aha? Ahaa...”

Noh Doha rested a hand on the chin.

“What are you going to do with the body...?”

“He’s the last representative of a fallen nation. It would be strange if the anomalies didn’t covet him. I intend to cremate him and scatter his ashes at sea.”

And that was what we did.

Anomalies were as dangerous to the dead as they were to the living. Without meticulous procedures, there was a strong chance of violating “Essential Funeral Etiquette: Don’t Suddenly Come Back to Life and Frighten the Mourners!”

These days, the prevailing funeral practice was to scatter the deceased’s ashes at sea and erect a simple gravestone at the spot. It was called a sea grave.

“To have the great Undertaker personally oversee your funeral from start to finish. Well, now, you couldn’t ask for a better send-off...”

Noh Doha, who had followed me to the very end, spoke sarcastically.

The following words were carved into the sea grave’s long stone marker:

Jo Yeongsu

Jo Yeongsu

Citizen of South Korea

Citizen of South Korea

Noh Doha shrugged.

“I’ve been up all night since yesterday. I’m getting hungry...”

“Would you like to get some spicy beef soup?”

“Oh. Spicy beef soup sounds good...”

There is no separate epilogue.

In a sense, this entire episode was the epilogue of the country called Korea.

-The Patriot. End.