Opening (1)
Of course, being pulled to the rear didn't mean I was being sent back to Washington, D.C. to take care of my pregnant wife.
I was back in San Francisco.
The ones who dragged me from the front lines to the rear… were those damn journalists.
[Bandit Leader of Pancho Villa Killed by U.S. Forces]
[Bandit Killers — The Iron Hammer of American Vengeance!]
[Head Hunters Return in Triumph with Enemy Heads!]
The more time passed, the more exaggerated the media reports became. By the time the yellow press got involved, we had practically turned into Cortés returning to conquer the Aztecs.
It was Patton who went berserk, not me.
As his junior—and, frankly, his underling—I did my best to control his madness… but I just couldn't.
So why the hell did I end up lumped into that ridiculous title too?
Seriously, could they at least drop the plural?
Anyway, according to the articles, I was the first Asian officer in U.S. history, a man who burned with righteous fury at bandits invading the United States, the first to cry out for punishment using a "new weapon," and finally a berserker who shattered enemies with a cutting-edge weapon called a tank—just being introduced in Europe—bathing in their blood while shrugging off severe injuries.
My "injury" was just a graze on my neck.
Sure, if it had gone one millimeter deeper, it would've been serious—but as it was, it barely even counted.
And to make things worse, the Public Affairs office—desperate for achievements—deep-fried the story even further.
Whether it's 21st-century South Korea or this era, propaganda departments are the same everywhere.
People with nothing to boast about but who have to boast are like starving hyenas.
So what happens when you feed them words like victory, corpses, and severed heads?
[A Prepared Talent! Lieutenant Patton, the True Protégé Recognized by General Pershing!]
[Every Step Becomes History! The First Asian Officer — Yujin Kim!]
The result?
Maximum embarrassment.
When these twisted, exaggerated reports reached Washington, D.C., Dorothy nearly fainted, my father-in-law was horrified, and Chairman Ford panicked at the thought of losing his investment.
And so, I was sent to San Francisco.
Meanwhile, Congress finally revised the National Defense Act.
As a result, there was a massive military expansion and large-scale mobilization.
National Guard units from across the country were called up to guard the border, and short-term officer training programs were established to rapidly increase manpower.
But the results?
A complete disaster.
"Seventy-five thousand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Draft dodging aside… no weapons. No ammunition either. Jesus."
"We've got guys who don't even know how to fire a rifle. Some showed up to Texas wearing fur coats."
"Goddamn America. And we're supposed to turn this into an army?"
Even the brass couldn't turn their backs on this mess.
Americans were so ignorant they didn't even know it was hot near Mexico, and they were unbelievably undisciplined.
These weren't people you could easily turn into soldiers.
And as for officer training for college students and graduates—sure, there was something resembling what would later be called ROTC, but in true American fashion, it barely rose above militia level.
Anyway, I was newly assigned to a training camp under General Benjamin Franklin Bell's Western Command.
Knock knock.
"Excuse me. Lieutenant Yujin Kim, reporting for reassignment as of today."
When I stepped inside, several officers stood up as if they had been waiting for me.
"We've been expecting you, young hero!"
"…Come again?"
"Haha! We've all been waiting for the Bandit Killer of Mexico. Is it true you broke the necks of seven bandits at once using Eastern kung fu?"
"…What?"
What kind of nonsense is that?
If I could do that, I'd be entering a martial arts tournament, not serving in the army.
"Wait… don't tell me it was false?"
"I did engage the enemy as a soldier, but it wasn't seven against one, and I didn't use kung fu."
"Damn it! Those Public Affairs bastards. But you're wrong about one thing."
The officers who had been slumped over paperwork all around the room suddenly gathered around me.
A man who seemed to be the personnel officer grinned.
"It's true we were assigned Yujin Kim. But… the one we were supposed to receive is LieutenantYujin Kim."
"Lieutenant?"
"Congratulations on your promotion! If those idiots are going to turn you into a kung fu master, the least they can do is promote you!"
And just like that, the moment I reported in, I found out—amid applause—that I'd been promoted.
It felt… a bit surreal.
Even Patton, my senior by six years, was still a second lieutenant.
And I was already a first lieutenant?
"Looks like you really do get promoted by going to the battlefield."
"If it means becoming a kung fu headhunter, I'd rather stay unpromoted."
Yeah… I agree with that.
While we were introducing ourselves, someone else entered the room.
"Are you the newly assigned Lieutenant Kim? The general is waiting for you."
"Yes, sir. I'll head over immediately."
"I'm Lieutenant George Catlett Marshall Jr., the general's aide-de-camp. A pleasure to meet you."
…Who?
In this chaotic U.S. Army, it felt like I was collecting famous names like Dragon Balls.
If this Marshall was that Marshall, I had to stick close to him no matter what.
Even if it meant kissing ass—I absolutely had to get on his good side.
Honestly, earning favor from one Marshall was a hundred—no, a thousand—times better than earning favor from ten Pattons.
"Lieutenant Yujin Kim—no, First Lieutenant. Looking forward to working with you!"
"Hm. You've got spirit. General Bell will personally pin your new rank on you, so let's head over."
"Yes, sir!"
And just like that, my new duties in San Francisco began.
Officer training.
Even now, just thinking about the four-year program at West Point makes my emotions stir.All the hardships and experiences from back then were probably the most valuable things across both of my lives.
But this?
"Excuse me… am I misunderstanding English right now?""No. You heard correctly.""You're telling me to train officers in 30 days?! What kind of nonsense is that?!"
My mind went blank.
Whose idea was this?Hell, even basic training back home wasn't just 30 days, you lunatics.
Sure, I knew about the so-called "90-day miracle" officer training programs during World War II.But 30 days? A 30-day miracle? Even students who talk about a "30-day miracle" are already preparing to fail. And this isn't about recruits—it's about officers?
But the military is a place where you do what you're told.
And I had just been drafted into that very program—about to experience hell firsthand.
"Don't worry."
Lieutenant Marshall's eyes were shining—like a cow being led to the slaughterhouse.
"I'll be stepping down from aide duties and joining the training assignment as well."
"H-heh… hahahaha…"
Training fresh recruits together with Marshall…No matter how you look at it… 30 days was just insane.
The despair of knowing this was impossible, mixed with my determination to butter up Marshall properly, blended together like some cursed oriental salad in my head.
Yeah.There's only one thing I can rely on.
At last, I've met a proper, rational, trustworthy superior.All I need to do is stick to Marshall like glue.
Once I made up my mind like that, I felt strangely at ease.
Now that I was in the rear, the marvel of civilization called mail finally reached me quickly again.
Friends who had seen the newspapers—or heard about my promotion—sent letters of congratulations, and I busied myself writing replies.
[Dear Yujin,We all knew you were crazy, but we never imagined you'd be smashing Mexican skulls with a bat…]
[Yujin, how have you been? I got married too, and now… (omitted) …so when I heard you beheaded an enemy commander in Mexico, I thought, "Yeah, that's just like you."]
No, you idiots!
Stop believing those rumors!When would a reasonable, rational guy like me ever do something like an Aztec jaguar warrior?!
After writing long replies correcting all these misunderstandings, I finally opened Dorothy's letter with a pounding heart.
[I'm relieved you came back alive. Just thinking I almost had to give birth to a fatherless child still makes my heart drop. I was a fool for believing someone who said you'd be staying safely in the rear—]
Even though it wasn't the first letter since I'd deployed, the very first line stabbed straight into my chest again.
I'm sorry. I did nothing wrong. It was all that medieval berserker Patton. Please believe me.
Every line that followed was filled with worry and concern.I felt truly sorry.
But the more I read… the stronger my resolve became—not to stay safe, but to go to Europe.
My father-in-law had about 3/8 Native American blood.Dorothy had about 3/16—roughly 19% non-white ancestry.And our future child would inherit Korean blood from me.
Even with the absurd advantage of a second life, navigating American society had been like walking a tightrope every single step.
How hard would life be for that child?
There was only one answer.
No matter what it took, I had to rise to the highest place possible—beyond every barrier.
I didn't expect to eliminate racism.But at the very least, I would make sure my child would never have to hear "yellow monkey" to their face.
Even if I died in the mud of Europe, at least that child would have the honor of being the family of a fallen soldier.
After replying to Dorothy, the last thing left was a letter and package from the Ford Company.
The package was something I had requested, but the letter—I wasn't expecting much. What could it be?
[To First Lieutenant Yujin Kim,Congratulations on your promotion. As your investor and patron, I, Henry Ford, respectfully request that you agree to exercise my rightful privilege.]
…What?
This feels ominous.Don't tell me it's something like "Don't even think about going back to the front lines"—
[If your child is a son, I request that his first name be Henry.]
This man really knows how to give someone a heart attack.
Is he planning to become the godfather or something?The backing behind my future child just keeps getting more ridiculous.
I opened the package next.
"…Yes. This is exactly it."
Perfect. Custom-made really is different.
As I ran my hand over the bright red baseball cap Ford had sent me, I fell deep into thought about how the hell I was supposed to turn these chicks into elite U.S. Army officers in just 30 days.
READ MORE CHAPTERS HERE : https://beastnovels.com