471 - The Outcast Writer of a Martial Arts Visual Novel

Episode 471: Paper Mill - 5 “Are you suggesting we take to the streets?” When foreign workers go on strike in a fringes factory, it rarely becomes a major issue. It only becomes newsworthy if they take a truck and shout loudly with megaphones in the heart of Seoul's Gwanghwamun. "We must maintain our occupation of the paper mill, leaving essential personnel behind, and join the other mill workers on the streets." I nodded at the bewildered paper mill worker's representative who asked me that question. “...” “Is something wrong?” Why do they all look so grim? When I asked, the representative of the paper mill workers cautiously gave his opinion. “If we lose control of the paper mill again, won’t everything be for nothing?” “Aren’t I setting the stage for you? The mill manager is taken hostage, and the assistant manager is scared the workers might set a fire. Now is the chance to take to the streets and make your voices heard.” When the opponent's judgment is clouded, you must act swiftly. This was the time to go out and widely publicize the strike. “...” “You all seem frightened.” Everyone averted their gaze at my words. “Wouldn't it be better to stay put than to risk being labeled as instigators of a rebellion?” A misguided street march could easily be subdued. The fear was evident on the faces of the gathered mill workers. Without my help, they could have been overpowered by the constables—a terrifying thought for them, evidently. Troublesome. Rest assured, I’ll see this through. The inspector is backing us. Don't worry. But it seems coaxing with promises won't make them nod in agreement. ‘We can't maintain this strike indefinitely.’ Pressure will definitely come one way or another. Setting aside my personal interests, this needs to be resolved swiftly. ‘No choice then. I must ignite the fire myself.’ There will be no gentle coaxing with warm words. Those standing on the hot plate should be made to move quickly with some flames. “How many years have you worked here?” I approached a young worker who had been listening absentmindedly to our conversation from the corner. “Pardon? What do you mean?” “I’m asking how many years you’ve been working in this mill.” “Oh, I’m on my first year.” “And you?” I turned to another worker who looked distinctly older than the one-year worker. “Five years.” “Five years? Good. First-year, take a look at the face of the five-year veteran next to you.” “Excuse me?” “Take a good look.” What was Kang Poh Kweh trying to say with this? All the workers were looking at me with curiosity. “Yes, sir.” When I spoke with a solemn face, the first-year worker closely observed the face of the five-year worker. The face of someone who had endured grueling labor for over five years. After ample time to gaze at a face that looked five years older due to exposure to sun and steam, I voiced in a grave tone. “That’s your life in four years.” “...!” “Five-year.” I approached the five-year veteran this time. “Yes.” “Turn around. Over there. Your representative, who's been here for ten years, stands.” As a ten-year veteran who endured and persisted at the mill, speaking truths, tough words to the managers for the Korean and fellow workers, the oldest worker stood there. “Kang Poh Kweh...” I continued speaking, looking over the faces of the workers. “Look at each other's faces. Look at the faces gripped by fear of going out to the streets.” To spur them into action, they couldn’t remain seated idly. I told these hardened workers, solidified in their misery and sorrow by years of hardship, to confront their reality. “If things continue as they are, do you think anything will change in a year, five years, or even ten years?” In a life with no way out, in a life stagnant without progress, what comes is not light but mere years. An age where it mercilessly jabs at where it has already toughened. “So if we go out, will anything change?” The first-year worker asked, bravely searching for courage. Yes. It can change. I must not guarantee it for them. I must make them stand up. Even if change doesn’t come, I must make them want it. “Why are we living like this? Why on earth are we living without a future?” I throw out a non-answer in the form of a question, adding fuel to spark a great fire. “Because we are all barbarians…” “Is it because we are barbarians? Then what about that blue hair sitting there? What of the green hair? The orange hair? Are they also Koreans?” A good answer, but not the one I sought. “Because we’re in a position with nowhere to go…” I stepped closer to the first-year. As if angered, as if frustrated to the point of bursting, I clenched my fists and unleashed my fervor. “No! It's not that! Discard that attitude first. Why do you blame it on us?” “So, are you saying there's a different reason?” In the world, there are countless reasons for events, but I must distill it to one. It's about focusing. To guide them to the goal I desire, I specify the reason for their suffering. “Because they own the means of production.” I presented a concise reason. Redirecting their focus outward, not onto us. “The means of production? What do you mean?” “The asset called the paper mill! The means to produce paper is owned by them! That's why they can earn money without a drop of sweat, while we toil all day and walk away with a few coins worth less than the paper we produce.” The explanation was brief. Swiftly splitting the two classes and emphasizing our plight. I clutched my chest painfully, stressing the injustice of the structure. “Isn't it only natural since it's the landlord's?” There was no need to deny it. I applauded someone’s point. Clap, clap, clap. In the quiet paper mill, the sound of applause echoed throughout. Once again, every eye was fixed on me. It was time to acknowledge the prevailing opinion and then twist it to align with my own. Clenching my fists, I spoke with passion, as if spewing out what was buried in my chest. “Yes! Of course, it's only natural! That's precisely what I wanted to say. Look around. Pestles, knives, bark, straw, hammers, paper. These are just everyday things, aren't they? Yet...” “Kang Poh Kweh?” I stepped into the center of the workers. I met everyone's gaze, addressing them directly. “When did you all become the property of the landlord?” “...!” “Sure, sickles and hammers were bought with money, that makes sense. But why did you—the ones who weren't bought—become something that's considered natural? Why did you willingly become slaves?” I added force to my words, asking them why they hadn't realized this before. “Us, slaves...?” I didn’t intend to let them digest the shock. If their idle legs were to stand, I had to keep shaking them. “Do you know what the commonality is between a one-year, five-year, and ten-year slave?” I approached the first-year worker again and asked. “I, I’m not sure.” “You just wait for the day you die. Just like now.” “...” There was nobody inside the mill who could refute my claim. The mill, occupied by workers. A haven where they could avoid the constables and resist the assistant manager’s threats. In this seemingly comfortable space, I turned it into a decaying coffin. With a few words, I changed it into a place where remaining stagnant meant awaiting defeat. “You hold less money than the few sheets of paper you make with your blood, sweat, and tears all day. Why? Because you admitted you’re an asset! Because you decided to be slaves, whipped into labor!” “What choice do we have?!” A desperate cry of resistance hurled at me. Sure. I’m not telling you to overturn the world. I don’t plan to take on another treason charge, but listen. “True. Unfortunately, we can’t change the means of production owned by them. They have it! But we can prevent them from owning the blood, sweat, and tears we shed!” Even while you’ve grown complacent in this situation, I can make you rise again. I can throw logs onto the fire in you, given the chance. “How do we do that?” There was a spark in the eyes of the first-year worker. I looked him straight in the eyes, meeting his newfound fervor. “First, let me ask you. Are you a slave?” “No, I'm not.” “Then will you just sit back and watch as they try to own you?” “No, I won't!” “Whose are the blood, sweat, and tears we shed?!!!” “They're ours!!!” “Rise! Show them what you’re made of!” The young man did not hesitate to grab my outstretched hand. “Let’s all stand up!” Even those who had remained seated rose to their feet. “Let's unite! Band together! Stand in solidarity! Let’s put on the red headbands and show them that we are workers who bleed!” I placed a red headband on the first-year’s head. It bore the words “Unity” and “Struggle.” “We’ll make sure everyone knows!” “Let’s unite! Let’s shout our demands out loud!” “Unite!!! Fight!!!” Everyone vigorously shouted the slogans inscribed on their red headbands. There was only one piece of advice left to offer the workers whose fire had just been rekindled. “Yes. Prove that you are people, not tools.” ————— *Thump!* *Thump!* “What, what is this?!” *Thump! Thump thump thump!* The next morning, a mysterious drumming sound greeted the marketplace vendors in the city of Mu-Han. Out of nowhere, a wave of red surged before them. “What, what is this? Is it a rebellion?!” “Shouldn’t we pack up and run?” The merchants, their faces tense with anxiety, watched the crowd warily, but what they held were instruments and banners, not weapons. “Paper mill workers! We can’t live like this anymore!” “We can't go on! We can't go on!” The slogans they chanted were unfamiliar to the marketplace vendors. “What’s going on?!” “Don’t recklessly join the march! It’s dangerous!” “The constables are blocking them? What's happening?” Even the constables stepped in, creating a barrier between the passersby and the protesters. “With wages not even half of those at other workplaces…” “We can't go on! We can't go on!” “Instead of dismissing us when we’re sick, guarantee us sick leave! Guarantee us!” Once people realized the protesters posed no threat, they finally began to grasp the situation. “The paper mill workers are staging a collective protest.” “I heard they receive less than half of what dock laborers earn?” “Tsk, tsk. No matter how they’re treated as outsiders, that’s too harsh.” “There are people of different hair colors too. Looks like all the workers who can’t withstand this have gathered, risking their lives.” The protest quickly became the talk of Mu-Han. “I wondered who dared to be so harsh. Do you know under whom those paper mill workers labor?” “Who is it?” “The landlord, Jiju Dae-in.” “What? The landlord treated the workers that harshly?” “He’s a notoriously rumored manager, and the sentiment is that it was bound to happen.” “My word.” Naturally, even the name of the paper mill’s owner, Jiju Dae-in, became a hot topic. ------------- I was right to start the fire. Indeed, protests must occur in places with bustling crowds. They instantly become the talk of the town. “It burns well. Even better than the flames of Yiling Forest…” “What did you say?” “Ah! It’s nothing, Jeon Gil-San. What are you doing?” I clumsily fumbled my words in response to Jegal Sojeo’s startled voice. Indeed, it was a famous line said by Jegal Muhu, but there was no need to dig into painful histories. I hurriedly shifted my focus to Gil-San to steer the conversation. Why was he staring at me with such suspicion? “Hey, you.” “What?” “You didn’t come from Joseon as a treason mastermind, or part of a rebellion gang, did you?” “What nonsense are you talking?” “Looking at how you pulled this off, it doesn’t seem like your first time…” Perhaps it was a mistake to bring him to the paper mill. He seemed persistent, so I took him along, but witnessing my actions left him speechless. “If you're going to talk nonsense, I'm not bringing you next time.” “Brother-in-law! I was just joking! You handled it so well, I thought a little humor was in order!” Sure, there are things one shouldn’t say. How can you precisely point out the truth to someone who once forged a corpse and hit the emergency escape button? Feeling a bit guilty, I gave Jeon Gil-San a gentle slap on the back, then turned to Jegal Sojeo. “What do you think will happen now, Jegal Sojeo?” The Jegal family has strong ties with government officials. Jegal Sojeo has been quite helpful, given her comprehensive understanding of the situation. “As per your plan, Lord Kang, Jiju Dae-in will be in a hurry now. Even if it’s not a full-blown rebellion, rumors spreading in Mu-Han will prevent Jiju Dae-in from staying idle.” “If he doesn’t act quickly to calm things down, even Jiju Dae-in will face consequences.” Even if this doesn't turn into a full rebellion, the situation is troubling enough for Jiju Dae-in if it becomes widely talked about. “Yes, probably so. He might send someone over to see you.” “Most likely someone who is connected to Jiju Dae-in.” They would probably send someone who could exert appropriate pressure on me and has ties with Jiju Dae-in. “Yes. Based on my investigation, it’s likely someone from the office...” “Lord Kang, Woo Podo from the office has come to see you.” “Heh heh heh.” Was it because, before she could finish her sentence, Woo Podo arrived as expected? Jegal Sojeo chuckled, visibly pleased. “Haha. Looks like Jiju Dae-in is finally feeling pressed.” Let's hear what message has been brought.