Chapter 91: That Time I Reorganized the Bureaucracy in South America

TL: Skye

Exactly two months to the day after Yu-jin met with the investors.

Rumble! Boom!

With a massive explosion, groundbreaking began simultaneously at dozens of sites along the Eastern Coast.

A consortium of nine major American construction firms, led by Bigtel, had won the contract and gotten the work underway.

American construction companies were famously expensive, yet they'd landed the bid, of all things, by coming in cheap.

The reason was simple.

First, running construction at thirty sites all at once slashed costs dramatically; second, being close to the U.S. made it easy to ship in materials and equipment; and finally, labor in San Marcos ran about a fifteenth of what it cost in America.

Sure, they had to bring in Americans for the engineers and managers, but even just getting cheap labor for the grunt work was nothing to sneeze at.

For the price of hiring a hundred Americans, they could hire fifteen hundred.

On top of that, building close to thirty hotels and resorts at once took serious muscle, so the job ended up going to the American consortium.

The consortium's goal was set in stone.

To flawlessly complete every assigned project within two years.

Even with the environmental assessments ignored and the permits waved straight through, it would be no easy feat, but armed with the latest construction methods, they were confident.

And besides.

"Let's goooo!"

"Woooaaah!"

"For His Excellency!"

With a workforce crazy enough to douse itself in gasoline and charge into a fire if Yu-jin gave the word, they figured it was more than doable.

And so the Eastern Coast, thirty kilometers out from Libertad, was transforming by the day.

***

[@Drumpf My thanks to Yujin Choi for choosing the American consortium! San Marcos is a true friend of America, and Yu-jin is a truly fantastic leader in my book. Together, we are doing great things!]

'Is this guy out of his mind?'

As I was scrolling through Drump's social media, Isabella came over.

"What's on the schedule today?"

"You have nothing scheduled today, Your Excellency."

"Then..."

"Yes. It'll be your first day off in quite a while."

"I see. In that case, you take the day off too, Chief Isabella."

"Yes."

Clack, clack.

Having given me my schedule, Isabella walked out of the office.

Click.

The moment I heard the door shut, I clenched my fist.

"Nice!"

A day off, at long last.

And not some wishy-washy half-day, either, but a full day off, morning to night, every hour of it mine.

I sank into my chair, grumbling.

'Seriously, one day off a month? Come on.'

In the 21st century, an era with clear-cut labor laws, a head of state getting a single day off a month was flat-out exploitation.

Take it to the International Labour Organization (ILO) and there'd be no defending it.

But what could I do?

'I really shouldn't have declared martial law back then...'

I'd dug my own grave.

If I lazed around, economic development would stall, and if that happened, my retirement got pushed further out.

Which meant that, if I wasn't careful, I could end up locked in this Presidential Palace until the day I died, stamping paperwork until I keeled over from overwork.

'Dammit, dammit, dammit...'

I ground my teeth, cursing San Marcos's wretched infrastructure.

Still.

'But today... today I'm going to play hard, like Pororo...!' [TL: Pororo is a hugely popular Korean children's cartoon penguin whose theme song is all about how playing is the best thing in the world.]

Playing is the best. Everybody, gather 'round.

With grim resolve on my face, I marched into the bedroom.

'Today, I'm playing outside.'

The plan was to head out, grab some street food, stroll along the beach, sip an iced americano at a nearby café, and cap the night off with a beer.

The problem was that people recognized me everywhere I went, but it wasn't like I had no way around that.

The number of Korean tourists coming to San Marcos these days ran about a hundred thousand a month.

And that was only because airfare was so steep; if the place were any closer, it would've been wallpapered with Koreans by now.

I decided to put those Korean tourists to good use.

'Slap on some sunglasses, pull a bucket hat down low, and nobody'll recognize me.'

To the locals here, all Asians probably looked the same.

Hardly anyone could tell whether I was President Choi Yu-jin or just some Kim Chul-su in from Seoul.

I dug out the Hawaiian shirt, the bucket hat, and the oversized sunglasses that covered half my face, all stashed deep in the back of my closet.

Snap, snap.

One look in the mirror and I was a Korean tourist through and through.

'Perfect.'

Whistling, I crept toward the door, muffling my footsteps.

The idea was to slip into downtown Libertad, grab a cold beer, do a little people-watching, and head back.

Creak.

I carefully turned the handle, poked my head through the gap, and scanned outside.

Not a soul.

'Now's my chance!'

And just as I was quickly stepping out into the hallway.

"And where might you be off to?"

"Gyah?!"

At the chilling voice from behind me, I jumped a good meter into the air before I even knew what was happening.

I turned around to find Isabella, who had most definitely clocked out, standing there with her arms crossed, looking up at me.

"Wh-what... Chief, how did you...?"

"I was about to leave, but something about Your Excellency's movements seemed off, so I came back."

"Come on."

What was that supposed to mean, my movements seemed off?

"And what on earth are you wearing?"

Isabella's eyes narrowed.

Her gaze raked over the loud floral shirt and sunglasses I had on, and it stung.

I cleared my throat and played it cool.

"Ahem. Weather's nice, so I figured I'd take a little walk. Get some photosynthesis in."

"A walk, meaning...?"

"I was going to pop downtown for a bit."

"So that's what the getup is for."

"Camouflage, obviously. If the president goes wandering around out in the open, it makes the citizens uncomfortable."

"You weren't planning to go alone, were you?"

"I was, actually?"

At my brazen reply, Isabella shook her head firmly.

"Absolutely not."

"Why not? I'm entitled to a private life too. If I drag a whole herd of bodyguards around, how is that a break? That's a route march."

"Your Excellency is the president of a nation. You could be assassinated at any moment. What will you do if someone comes after you? On top of which..."

Isabella let out a sigh and added,

"You have an overseas tour coming up soon, so you ought to rest while you can."

"......"

There was simply no arguing with the logic.

'Why does Isabella have to be so damn competent?'

Then maybe she should just be president herself.

But I wasn't backing down that easily.

No way was I blowing my precious monthly day off holed up in a corner watching Netflix.

"Chief Isabella. I'm serious. If I don't get out today, I think I'll get sick. I could spiral into a depression and throw the whole administration off track."

"A superhuman like Your Excellency? Not a chance."

"Come on, what superhuman? Just three hours. I'll take a look around downtown and come right back. Okay?"

As I laid down my orders with this insane charisma of mine, Isabella's expression softened a little.

"Haah... well, if you insist, there is one option."

"What is it? I'll do anything."

"I'll accompany you."

"You will, Chief?"

"Yes. I'll change into plain clothes and escort you myself. And on the condition that a security team tails us at a distance, out of sight. That's the only way you're setting foot outside."

Not entirely satisfying, but I'd take it.

"In exchange, no nagging, deal?"

"I'll do my best. Wait here a moment. I'll go change." Isabella turned away with a faint smile.

And just like that, I'd managed to secure my freedom, precious even if it was only half of it.

A little while later.

When Isabella came out in her new outfit, my jaw nearly hit the floor.

I was used to seeing her only in stiff suits or uniforms, so the sight of her in a white linen shirt, jeans, and a wide-brimmed straw hat made her look for all the world like a model on a magazine cover.

"Why are you staring like that?"

"Nothing. It just suits you so well. You should dress like that more often."

"...Let's go."

Isabella turned her head away, flustered, and took the lead.

And so we got in the car and slipped out the back gate of the Presidential Palace.

Downtown Libertad, when we arrived, was buzzing with life.

As the economy revived, people's faces had brightened, and freshly opened shops lined the streets everywhere.

The first place we headed was the Central Market.

"How much for this?"

"Three for a dollar!"

The raucous din, the smell of spices, and tropical fruit piled up like mountains.

I bought a few ripe mangoes and handed them to Isabella, whose eyes sparkled like a child's at the sight of the street food.

"Yu-jin, look at that. Empanadas."

"Yu-jin?"

"What else am I supposed to call you? I can hardly call you 'Your Excellency' out here. And my conscience won't let me call you 'oppa'."

"...You could just call me oppa, though."

"Yu-jin is better. Sounds more like a tourist, anyway."

We left the market and grabbed a table at an open-air café along the coastal road.

Sipping an iced americano while gazing out at the wide-open horizon of the Caribbean, the taste was nothing short of heavenly.

"This is nice. I can't remember the last time I got out like this."

"Same here. Buried in mountains of paperwork day in and day out, and then I look at the ocean, and I feel like I can finally breathe."

Isabella said it languidly, drawing the straw to her lips.

After a good long stretch of that peaceful time, the sun was already sinking low.

"I'm starting to get hungry... what should we do for dinner?"

"Would you care to try the local cuisine?"

"Hmm, I don't know. I'm in the mood for something a little different."

That was when it happened.

As I scanned around for a restaurant, an unbelievable sign caught my eye.

[The Original South American Kimchi Jjigae]

Unmistakable Korean lettering.

The original spot, no less.

"Hup...!"

I stopped in my tracks as if bewitched. The one dish Paulo, the Presidential Palace chef who'd been reinventing himself as a Korean cuisine specialist, could never quite nail was kimchi jjigae.

He simply couldn't grasp the funky, tangy sharpness of fully fermented, well-aged kimchi.

Which was why I'd been perpetually pining for a good kimchi jjigae.

"There. Let's go there."

"Korean food? I'm not sure I can handle it if it's too spicy..."

"It's less spicy than you'd think."

I dragged Isabella inside.

The place was small but spotless.

At the half-dozen or so tables, locals were sweating buckets with their noses buried in earthenware pots.

"Welcome! How many are... huh?"

The instant my eyes met the owner's as he stepped out of the kitchen in an apron, I couldn't help freezing up.

A familiar face.

Because the restaurant's owner was Kim Heung-su, the advisory team leader who'd come over as part of the agricultural advisory team back during the Saemaul Undong.

I'd heard he'd married a San Marcos woman and naturalized, but who'd have guessed he was running a restaurant here!

"Y-Your Ex...!"

The moment he startled and moved to open his mouth, I quickly pressed my index finger to my lips.

Kim Heung-su caught on fast, clamped his mouth shut, and glanced around.

Luckily, the customers were too absorbed in their meals to pay us any mind.

"...Table for two, I see. Right this way, to the corner seat."

He led us over in a trembling voice.

"Two kimchi jjigae, please. Nice and fiery, Korean style."

"Understood. I'll make it... especially good for you."

A little while later, out came the earthenware pots, bubbling away.

Chunks of pork and tofu, roughly cut, floating atop the bright red broth. Just the smell was enough to make my salivary glands detonate.

The moment I scooped up a spoonful and put it in my mouth.

"Guh-haahh..."

An old-man groan of appreciation slipped out before I could stop it.

This. This was the taste.

That fierce, pungent flavor that reminded me I was Korean to the bone.

Isabella reached for water at first too, protesting that it was spicy, but soon finished off a whole bowl of rice like she was hooked.

After a thoroughly satisfying meal, I asked while settling the bill.

"What made you decide to open a kimchi jjigae place? I was honestly stunned."

"Ah, well... I made it once for my wife's family, and they all went wild over how good it was. Korean spice seems to suit the palates here pretty well."

"Is business good? Anything giving you trouble?"

"Thanks to you, it's going well. Plenty of Koreans stop by, and I've picked up more local regulars, too."

Kim Heung-su scratched his head, looking bashful.

"San Marcos is... really a wonderful place to live. Beautiful nature, low cost of living, and such warm-hearted people."

"Glad to hear it. Anything inconvenient, though? Something you'd like to see fixed, seen through Korean eyes, maybe?"

At my question, Kim Heung-su mulled it over for a moment, then spoke up cautiously.

"Hmm... if I had to pick one thing..."

"It's fine, go ahead and speak freely."

"The police... they're terrifying."

"The police?"

"Yes. I'm grateful they keep the peace, but they all walk around with automatic rifles, and it makes you uneasy. San Marcos locals may be used to it, but for a foreigner like me, or for the tourists, it's downright startling."

"Ah..."

Only then did I take notice of the officers out on patrol.

Long automatic rifles slung over their shoulders.

In a way, it made sense.

After all, they weren't really police to begin with, but a police unit dispatched from the military.

Still, just as Kim Heung-su had said, while the locals strolled past without a care, the Korean tourists flinched and stepped aside.

'Yeah... it is a bit much.'

I'd beefed up their armament to keep order, but it was a sight that didn't belong in a peaceful tourist town.

'If I want to pull in more tourists, that's the first thing I'll have to change.'

Especially with a whole new city going up.

"Thank you for the sharp observation. I'll keep it in mind."

"Oh, no, no! It's just my own personal opinion, that's all."

I finished paying, tacked on a generous tip, and stepped out of the shop.

My stomach was full, but my head was full of a new task.

'This one, I've got to fix.'

*****

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