Within the control tower, a collective sense of relief permeated the atmosphere. Upon learning that 13 was aboard the Japanese charter flight, everyone silently felt invigorated. Although 13's actions constituted a crime, universally, his conduct garnered silent applause. Regarding the matter of notifying the air force for pursuit, everyone diligently procrastinated. What astonished them most was receiving directives from the highest echelons of Special Operations Command—no pursuit authorized. The 13 hijacking incident concluded, albeit unsatisfactorily.
Nightfall. The aircraft maintained an uncanny quietude, punctuated only by the subtle drone of the engines. 13 rested against the foremost bulkhead, seated on the floor. After a cursory cleansing, his body regained its original complexion. The bloodstains on the wall had dried, leaving a vast, conspicuous scarlet expanse. Resting against such a backdrop, 13's every respiration seemed to synchronize with the collective heartbeat of the passengers. No one contemplated an opportunistic assault during his repose; the day's horrific spectacle impressed upon them the sheer fortune of their survival. Confirming the youth's identity as 13 rendered sleep even more elusive. All eyes fixated on his every movement, for each gesture potentially dictated their life or death.
Seated beside 13, Sun Hui also found slumber impossible, her emotions tumultuous, uncertain even of the appropriate facial expression to adopt.
"Do you have any inquiries?" 13 spoke, eyes closed, head lowered. Sun Hui's fervent heartbeat disturbed his tranquility.
"Why did you have to execute them?" Sun Hui hugged her knees tightly.
"Because they intended to harm me." A reason couldn't be more self-evident.
"But they were utterly incapable of harming you. Why did you still brutally slay them? Aren't you supposed to embody a hero?" Sun Hui questioned, bewildered.
"I am no hero." 13 lifted his head, gazing at Sun Hui. "Merely an individual."
"But in our hearts, you are a hero, capable of rescuing the world. It was you who truly fortified the nation. You can never comprehend the stature you hold in our minds. Though we fear you, we also revere you. You are akin to an unassailable deity." Sun Hui spoke, somewhat lost in thought.
"Don't be excessively naive, girl." 13 sighed. "I have never been any hero, nor any god. I harbor no desire to save anyone. I simply wish to command my own existence. Unfettered by any constraints, free from anyone's manipulation."
"Who exactly is being naive?" Sun Hui murmured softly. "No one can live unbound by constraints, because we are all human. Society furnishes us with employment, sustenance, and necessities, thus we are governed by societal laws. Taking a life necessitates forfeiting one's own; this is human common sense. If you claim to be human, you should be subject to the same constraints as I. I don't know what you are now, but you are decidedly not human."
13 was perplexed. Confronted by this girl he had known for mere hours, her every statement left him incapable of rebuttal.
"I see no necessity to deliberate this matter with you." 13 evaded.
Sun Hui rose and entered the rest area; the conversation yielded no resolution.
Time elapsed. 13 drifted back to sleep. Yet, Sun Hui remained awake. Quietly opening the door, she approached 13 softly, truly softly, merely fearing to disturb his rest. But for 13, whose senses registered even heartbeats as noise, her strange movement was perceived the instant she opened the door. Her footsteps neared him. Just as her hands were about to touch his shoulders, 13 sprang up abruptly, pinning Sun Hui against the bulkhead, the cutlery knife once again pressed to her throat. A blanket dropped to the floor.
Glancing down, 13 comprehended everything and released Sun Hui.
"When I am resting, please refrain from approaching like this. Otherwise, I might perhaps kill you." 13 resumed his original position.
Sun Hui uttered no word, returning to the rest area.
The aircraft's air conditioning indeed felt somewhat excessively cool. 13 retrieved the blanket from the floor, draped it over himself, and slept.
Dawn. The aircraft entered Korean airspace. Due to the recent regime transition, border security was not meticulously enforced. The aircraft penetrated without any warning, continuing its trajectory towards Seoul.
At that moment, within the former Korean Combat Command Center in Seoul. A formidable young man stood before a global map, hands clasped behind his back, his eyeballs subtly shifting, scanning every corner of the map as if appreciating a world-renowned masterpiece.
Accompanying him were commanders of various ranks from the stationed troops in Korea, yet none dared to interrupt with speech. Observing his attire, it was merely a standard Japanese student uniform. Although his robust physique strained the fabric somewhat uncomfortably, it symbolized power.
"How progresses the handover work?" The young man finally turned to face the crowd, seating himself in the former Korean Supreme Commander's chair. He possessed a surprisingly feminine, refined appearance, with long hair braided past his shoulders, utterly incongruous with his build.
"Essentially, half of Korea's regions and cities have been taken over," replied Army General Miyamoto (age 40) sternly.
"Why such sluggishness? Can Mr. Miyamoto provide an explanation?" The young man crossed his legs, leaned back against the chair, supporting his chin with one hand, exhibiting a languid demeanor. Even so, the standing crowd below felt no sense of ease.
"Although Korea has declared surrender, some civilian guerrilla forces and scattered, un-surrendered military units remain exceptionally tenacious, frequently launching various attacks to disrupt our handover operations. I have already ordered intensified search efforts; we should be able to locate their strongholds and eliminate them shortly," Miyamoto stated, head bowed.
"I seem to recall instructing you not to engage in baseless speculation." The young man's placid sentence, however, elicited cold sweat from Miyamoto.
"What do you mean, 'eliminate them shortly'? My projections indicate this situation will persist for at least five years. Your single sentence overturns my assessment. Are you mocking me as an imbecile?" The young man gazed quizzically at the slightly trembling Miyamoto.
"Your subordinate is the imbecile, having failed to analyze the situation meticulously! It is my error." Miyamoto abruptly knelt, his head nearly burrowing into the ground. Throughout Japan, likely only Ryuichi could compel this general to bow his head.
"Let it pass." The young man waved his hand dismissively; Miyamoto sighed in relief. "Regarding the search for subversive organizations, do not proceed too aggressively. Remember, under no circumstances should the populace be harassed."
"But such searching yields no practical results?" Miyamoto's voice was almost inaudibly soft.
"Of all you've spoken, only that sentence holds true." The young man expressed contempt. "You truly are an imbecile. That is precisely what I desire."
Now, everyone was bewildered.
The young man sighed, scanning the crowd: "Do you understand why they resist?"
Everyone knew, but no one dared answer.
"Because we are aggressors, bandits who plunder their possessions. We will kill their children, rape their women, burn their houses. This is the historical definition consistently applied to invaders. Naturally, they must resist! To alter the status quo, suppression is entirely ineffective in resolving the issue, unless every single Korean is exterminated. Therefore, we must 'assimilate!'"
"'Assimilate?'" Miyamoto inquired, perplexed.
"Correct. We must make the Koreans realize we are not nefarious invaders, but emissaries sent by God to deliver them. We will provide them with blissful lives, and genuine prosperity and strength. What are nations and ethnicities? Merely hypocritical constructs, excuses used by rulers to mesmerize the foolish masses. Our current task is to awaken their most pragmatic instincts. Just like the Manchu rule over the Han Chinese territory." The young man revealed a cryptic smile. "As long as we can offer them more than their previous government, they will pledge allegiance to us like dogs. This is the true path of imperial conquest! We must assimilate their thoughts, assimilate their beliefs. I estimate that within a decade, not a single Korean will say 'We are Koreans', perhaps not even speak Korean."
"Your Excellency is indeed the cherished son of Senior Ryuichi. Such profound and far-sighted planning could only be conceived by the lineage of Aota, renowned as the foremost strategist." Miyamoto's admiration was sincere.
The assembly nodded in agreement.
"Clarify this! Intelligence is not because I am Ryuichi's son, but because I am Aota Hideaki!" The young man roared furiously.
No one dared speak further; the command room fell into deathly silence.
After breathing intensely, Hideaki noticed his loss of composure. "Very well, that concludes today's session. You may all resume your duties. Remember to manage your troops effectively; avoid repeating actions akin to those during World War II. We are soldiers, not ruffians."
The expressions of the crowd were somewhat troubled.
"You people are remarkably dense." Hideaki shook his head resignedly. "Those apprehended are villains. Are those unapprehended still considered villains? You should truly learn from the domestic politicians. Superficially, each is a paragon of virtue, yet who among them dares claim never to have killed? Never engaged in corruption? Never dallied with underage girls? One can undertake certain special activities without letting others know."
The assembly grasped the implication behind Hideaki's words; their expressions subtly shifted.
After their departure, the command room finally regained tranquility. Hideaki lay back in the chair, eyes closed; the continuous planning had induced fatigue. It was this 23-year-old youth who had orchestrated the entire Korean invasion.
Ryuichi's life was replete with women, and consequently, numerous children. Hideaki ranked eighteenth, Ryuichi's youngest child, yet not of the principal wife's lineage—a product of Ryuichi's extramarital affair. Thus, within the rigidly hierarchical family, he held no status whatsoever. Although his exceptional talents earned Ryuichi's favor, Ryuichi, perennially absent, remained unaware of the life Hideaki endured, inferior even to that of the household servants. The more favored by the family head, the more bullying and ostracism he received. Each time he was beaten, Hideaki endured through gritted teeth. He detested every "family member," and detested Ryuichi even more profoundly. In the world, he felt like a superfluous existence. Resentment completely transformed the child. Studying more arduously than others yielded wisdom and cunning rivaling Ryuichi's.
Hideaki had been waiting, waiting for an opportunity to soar. When Ryuichi decided upon invasion, Hideaki drafted a complete plan within merely three days, encompassing even Japan's developmental trajectory for the next decade. In Ryuichi's estimation, Hideaki was elevated instantly to a stature comparable to the Chinese Special Operations commander, logically assuming the position of Commander-in-Chief of the stationed forces in Korea. He attained the long-awaited praise and glory, yet behind every commendation, others invariably attributed his success to Ryuichi's tutelage. This was what Hideaki currently resented most. Ryuichi—that name had become an unspeakable taboo for Hideaki.
Just as Hideaki rested, the tranquil atmosphere of the command headquarters began to transmute. Five ventilation grates on the ceiling slowly opened.
Masked, dark figures descended silently. The objective was unambiguous: assassination!
"Taking so long to descend after lingering up there? Your courage is truly not insignificant," Hideaki stated, eyes closed.
"Today, you must die!" The five individuals assumed various combat stances.
"Among assassins, you lot are the most inept. Wouldn't firearms be more practical?" Hideaki stood up; the five became vigilant. "Is it solely for the sake of some nonsensical martial artist's honor?"
"You know our identities?" The tallest among the five expressed astonishment.
"Such a grand mobilization of the nation's most formidable martial arts masters—did you think I would remain unaware?" Hideaki offered a rare smile.
"Even if you know, you must still die here today!"
The five clenched their fists.
"Do you believe you can depart safely?" Hideaki advanced.
"We came with no intention of leaving alive. Prepare yourself!" With that, the five charged towards Hideaki, whose entire form seemed riddled with vulnerabilities.
"Since you hold your own lives in such low regard, I shall accept them." Lifting his head, Hideaki's expression was impassive.
The guards at the entrance suddenly heard tremendous commotion within. Just as they intended to enter and investigate, a figure crashed through the closed main door; this individual's head was missing.
Within the dimly lit hall of the room, Hideaki stood, holding the very missing head in his hand. The four adjacent corpses were also incomplete. The thick scent of blood, the gruesome scene, nearly induced vomiting even in the rigorously trained soldiers.
"Truly a pack of idiots." Tossing aside the head in his hand, Hideaki smiled frigidly. "With such meager strength, daring to emulate others in assassination? Overestimating yourselves."
Covered in bloodstains, ignoring the fearful gazes of the soldiers, he walked out of the command post.