Chapter 69: That Time I Held a Sports Festival in South America

TL: Skye

One of those summer days when a record-breaking heat wave just refused to quit. I was paging through the weekly report, and I couldn't help being impressed.

[Tortilla Farm Production Report]

Corn: 135% of target achieved, 270,000 tons produced. Potatoes: 118% of target achieved, 110,000 tons produced. Notable: highest production volume on record since opening.

"Wow..."

Even after rubbing my eyes and looking again, the numbers were hard to believe.

Tortilla Farm had been open barely two years and change, and it was already putting up numbers like this.

And wasn't this year hotter than any year before it?

"Everyone's been working hard. Honestly, it makes me feel guilty, sitting here doing my job under the air conditioning."

When I said it with genuine feeling, Isabella replied evenly.

"They're simply doing their jobs. I don't believe there's any need to concern yourself."

"No, no. These numbers are clear proof that they've been through quite a bit."

I set the report down, looked out the window at the blazing sun, and made up my mind.

"Soon, let's load up some meat and liquor and pay them a visit. While we're at it, we could even do a little team-building event."

"Team... building, sir? Is there really a need to go that far?"

Isabella's expression said she didn't follow at all, and she looked distinctly reluctant.

"Director Isabella. I didn't take you for the type... isn't that a bit cold?"

"Excuse me?"

"They're out there doing backbreaking labor in this killer heat. If they hadn't produced results, fine, but they're working this hard for us. They deserve a little comfort! They're people too!"

"No, that's true, but... it might be more taxing for Your Excellency to actually go..."

"Enough. I'm heading out in three days with the meat and liquor in tow myself, so make the arrangements."

For once in a while, I gave the order with finality.

Looking after the welfare of one's subordinates. That was the true mark of a good boss, wasn't it?

'Everyone's going to love this, right?'

I was already looking forward to it.

***

Meanwhile, at the same hour that Yu-jin was busy ordering up beef and beer.

Tortilla Farm was descending into a hellscape of pure pandemonium.

"Emergencyyyyy! All hands, fall in! Why aren't you moving?!"

The Farm Warden was screaming hard enough to blow out the megaphone.

The man who normally strolled around with his hands clasped behind his back, taking his sweet time, was now ashen-faced, foaming at the mouth as he yelled.

"H-His Excellency is coming! And it's in three days!"

"......?!"

In that instant, the thousands of laborers tilling the cornfields froze solid.

When a Division Commander pays a visit to a frontline army unit, they're out there color-matching the rocks on the back hill of the base, never mind when living power itself, the very man who shipped them all out to this place, was coming. The announcement was indistinguishable from saying the King of Hell himself was descending upon them.

The Farm Warden bellowed at the top of his lungs, eyes bloodshot.

"If anything happens to upset His Excellency, you're done working on this farm. Every last one of you gets dragged off to the coal mines!"

"Gnnnghhh...!"

If the farm in the Central Mountains was a hellish place, then the coal mines were just plain hell.

Naturally, the laborers of Tortilla Farm couldn't help but be terrified out of their minds.

"Beginning now, we are commencing farm environment improvement operations! Drop whatever you were doing and follow orders! Understood?!"

"Yes, sir!"

And from that moment, the war at Tortilla Farm began.

The first order of business was killing the smell.

"Hey! Number 1024 over there! Get those fertilizer sacks out of here right now! It stinks!"

"Sir, where are we supposed to put them? The storehouse is full."

"Dig! Bury them! Dig all the way to the earth's inner core if you have to, just bury them so the stench can't get out!"

The managers were running around like rabid dogs.

To bottle up the compost smell, they scattered lime over the dirt floors like fresh snowfall, and they turned over the laborers' bunkhouses, which were filthier than pigsties.

"Pull out every blanket! Wash the cotton stuffing too!"

"Sir, there's not enough room down at the creek!"

"Then climb to the top of a mountain and wash them! Otherwise, I'll have you wash them with your own blood!"

"Hieek!"

Second on the agenda: cleaning up the surrounding environment.

"Lay gravel on that road! The second His Excellency's car rattles, your life rattles too, understand?!"

The work on the access road where the trucks would pass was, quite literally, a crystallization of blood and sweat.

Hosing down and tamping the dirt road so no dust would rise was the bare minimum; jutting rocks were chiseled down and broken apart, and dips and potholes were filled with fine sand and leveled out.

"Hey, why are those boulders over there all different colors?"

"Well, boulders are usually all different..."

"I don't like it. Go grab some shoe polish or something and make the colors uniform, right now!"

Even the nameless wildflowers blooming along the roadside were mercilessly ripped out, on the grounds that they might obstruct His Excellency's view.

But the biggest problem still remained...

"Sniff, sniff! What is this? Why isn't the smell going away?"

"It seems to be coming off the workers themselves, sir."

"Why the hell aren't you people washing?!"

The humans themselves.

Thousands of grown men marinated in sweat, dust, and compost stench, every single one a walking bioweapon.

"Beginning now, we are commencing showers! Get in the water with the mindset of scrubbing the grime off your toenails!"

When the laborers were herded down to the creek and started scrubbing themselves raw with soap bars, the creek water turned pitch-black with muddy filth in seconds.

There was so much grime that the freshwater fish living downstream couldn't handle the excess protein washing down, and they came bobbing to the surface belly-up.

And that wasn't all.

For the sake of clean appearances, scissors hacked through hair that had grown into manes, and razors scrounged up from somewhere were used to scrape every beard down to bare skin.

After three days of hell, Tortilla Farm reached the cleanest state it had been in since its founding.

And then.

Vrooommm-

In the distance, kicking up clouds of dust, the black motorcade from the Presidential Palace came into view.

"H-He's here...!"

"All hands, attention!"

While thousands of laborers stood frozen, not daring even to breathe.

Clunk.

The car door swung open, and the supreme power of San Marcos stepped out.

***

The moment I stepped out of the car, I looked around and let out an impressed sound.

"Wow..."

I'd expected the place to reek of compost and livestock manure, but it was surprisingly pleasant.

The ground was spotless, not a speck of dust, and the laborers lined up in rows looked far more presentable than I'd anticipated.

'Management is running a tight ship.'

I broke into a satisfied smile and whispered to Isabella, who was standing beside me.

"You see? Look how cleanly the place is being run."

"Sir? That's..."

I left her behind and strode up onto the platform.

The Farm Warden then bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"Allll handsss! Attennn-tion! Salute His Excellency!"

"Pro! Duction!"

The crisp discipline of it made me nod approvingly on its own.

"It's good to see you all."

When I spoke into the microphone, my voice boomed and echoed across the Central Mountains.

"It's a hot day, and everyone's been working hard! The reason I dropped by so suddenly today is, quite simply, to commend you all for your dedication."

"......"

"I read the recent report. Corn production hit 135% of target. Potatoes came in at 118% as well."

I praised them with every ounce of sincerity I had.

"Thanks to the sweat you've all poured out, our San Marcos's food self-sufficiency rate has skyrocketed."

I stretched out a hand toward the laborers.

"It's all thanks to you! You are the true heroes who keep this country standing!"

"......"

Despite the impassioned speech, the plaza was silent as the grave.

'Huh? What's with the mood?'

I cranked up the volume to try and lift the atmosphere.

"For all your hard work, I've prepared a little gift."

At my signal, the cargo beds of ten trucks lined up and waiting all opened at once, revealing beef freshly transported on ice and bottles of beer kept just as cold.

"Whoaaaa...!"

At last, gasps of awe burst spontaneously from the laborers' mouths.

"Take the day off today! Eat and drink to your hearts' content, and shake off all the stress that's built up! How does that sound?!"

"Wooooooaaaahhh!!!"

The Central Mountains were swallowed up in cheers.

I felt satisfied with the rapturous response and shot Isabella a glance.

'See? I told you they'd love it.'

Isabella seemed to agree, in her own way, as she watched the crowd with a distinctly uneasy look in her eyes.

"But that's not all!"

I declared with a grin spreading across my face.

"Just eating and drinking would be a bit dull, wouldn't it? So I've prepared something extra. The First Annual Tortilla Farm Unity Sports Festival!"

"......?!"

"We'll split you into two teams, and the winning team gets a fat bonus plus a special week of paid leave!"

For a moment, silence fell.

And then.

"V... Vacation?"

"We can rest for a whole week?"

"Y-You mean we can breathe the air of the outside world?!"

A fierce gleam began to flicker in the laborers' eyes.

"Farm Warden?"

"Y-Yes, Your Excellency!"

"Split them into teams however you see fit."

"Yes, sir!"

And so, the First Annual Tortilla Farm Unity Sports Festival was officially convened.

***

A short while later.

The laborers of Tortilla Farm had been split right down the middle.

On one side, the Gang Team, anchored by the former gang members.

Their backs and forearms, bared with their shirts stripped off, were covered with tattoos of every shape and design.

On the other side, the Civil Servant Team was nothing to scoff at either.

Sure, their former line of work might have been considered white-collar, but most were ex-military, and the killing intent radiating off them was no joke.

What they were after was one thing and one thing only.

A week of vacation.

On top of that.

"Forget the game, His Excellency is watching. Run like your lives depend on it, all of you. Got it?"

Vacation or no vacation, there was no way they could've half-assed it anyway.

The first event of the sports festival, decided just like that, was none other than...

"Forty-five minutes each half. No injury time."

True to South America, soccer.

Pheeeeet-!

With the sound of the whistle, the ball rolled out to center field.

Eleven against eleven.

They were the chosen representatives of their respective teams, but oddly enough, they were all staring at each other and not one of them was looking at the ball.

Wham!

"Gyaaagh!"

A scream rang out the instant the game began.

The Gang Team's striker had kicked a Civil Servant in the shin.

A textbook subtle, lethal low kick.

"You thug bastards!"

When their teammate went down, the Civil Servant Team saw red.

"Take him out!"

The murderous slide tackles forged in the army leagues exploded into action.

A defender from the blue team flew in with both legs spread like scissors, aimed straight at the gang member's ankle.

Crunch!

"Aaagh! My ankle!"

The hulking figure rolled across the dirt.

The field was instantly swallowed up in a haze of yellow dust.

"Gouge his eyes! The eyes!"

"You, kick him in the groin!"

True to their roots, the Gang Team responded with techniques you'd only see in back-alley pickup games.

Pretending to form a scrum while jamming their elbows into the opponent's solar plexus, pretending to trip and stepping on the other guy's foot... every kind of sneaky foul imaginable was happening in the blind spots.

"Uoaaaahh! Charge!"

But the Civil Servant Team had no shortage of grit either.

Operating on the principle of paying with the body, the moment the ball went up, they headed it straight into the opponent's skull, and the second things turned into a shoving match, they hooked their legs in and dragged the other guy down with them.

Blood, sweat, spit, and curses all mingled together in what was, no exaggeration, a riot of a match.

And the contest was decided in the filthiest way possible.

Right before full time.

When the Gang Team's hulking striker came barreling toward the goal with the ball at his feet, the Civil Servant Team's goalkeeper rushed out to cut down the angle.

"Block him! Block him, damn it!"

In that instant, instead of taking the shot, the Gang's striker leapt straight up and drove his knee into the goalkeeper's chest.

Whaaam-!

"Hguuugh...!"

With a dull, sickening sound, the goalkeeper crumpled to the ground, foaming at the mouth.

It was a flagrant charging foul, an automatic red card, but the referee didn't dare halt a match His Excellency was watching.

And the abandoned ball, rolling lazily across the field, was promptly hammered home by the Gang Team's striker.

Pheeeeet-!

"Goal, Red Team!"

Watching the goalkeeper being carted off on a stretcher from the spectator stand, Yu-jin's jaw dropped open.

"This isn't what I had in mind at all..."

*****

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