Chapter 3: Harmony at Home
Translated by Vine | Proofread by Lust
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Gaining future knowledge was a blessing, but it came with side effects. For instance, my sense of “common sense” was a tangled mess somewhere between 19th-century Germany and 20th/21st-century South Korea.
General Jo’s memories included an incident where he distributed leave permits to soldiers on December 25th while sporting a comical white beard (and being worshipped as the second coming of Christ for a few days). But in 1893 Germany, a Santa Claus infiltrating through chimneys didn’t exist.
Catholics celebrated St. Nicholas Day on December 6th, giving gifts to children. The German Santa, instead of Rudolph, led a pack of devilish Krampus creatures. And then there was the Christkind, baby Jesus with angel wings, also delivering presents.
Even just looking at this Santa business, you could get a sense of it. Germany was a patchwork of hundreds of states, with many similarities but also vast differences. A country only “unified” in 1871.
Under Prussian leadership, the German Empire was formed, but beneath the imperial facade lay a jumble of kingdoms, grand duchies, duchies, principalities, free cities, and even the imperial territory of Alsace-Lorraine. A hodgepodge. I heard Austria was even more complex, but I didn’t want to know.
Nevertheless, in 1893, the imperial heart of Berlin was growing at a tremendous pace.
The city expanded daily, requiring city trains to travel from one end to the other, and talks of subway construction were emerging. Young men and women cycled to the countryside on weekends, and automobiles, the marvels of civilization, appeared on the roads.
An infinite confidence that “where there’s a will, there’s a way.” A relentless spirit of challenge, driven solely by success. I saw in Berlin an echo of South Korea during its period of high growth, a time yet to come. The German Empire and South Korea. Somehow, even the letters seemed to overlap. They were incredibly similar.
So, wouldn’t it be natural to embrace this spirit of challenge and embark on aircraft development?
“I want to invent a flying machine!”
“Haha, I see. Our only son, Armin, wants to conquer the sky! Alright, Dad will support you in every way!”
…Even I found it absurd. As if it would be that easy. Even though my father had never hit me directly, I didn’t expect such heartwarming support. This was troublesome.
In this turbulent era, the late 19th and early 20th centuries, countless inventions and discoveries were being made, but I was fixated on airplanes for several reasons. Firstly, the symbolism of the “sky” and its widespread impact. Secondly, it was a field where, since everyone was starting from scratch, ideas, simple concepts, and future knowledge could lead to great achievements.
Could I develop penicillin? Or invent the wireless telegraph? No way. Even if I had been a relevant engineer in the future, it was uncertain whether I could achieve “firsts” using 19th-century technology.
I might be able to manage something like a tank or barbed wire. But as I kept saying, this was the German Empire. A country where nobles were soldiers and soldiers were nobles. Did you have any idea how complicated, even dangerous, it was to get involved in military procurement contracts? It was a challenge I couldn’t even dream of without strong backing.
So, airplanes. Putting aside all the fancy reasons, aircraft development was the most feasible option I could think of. Jo Beom-seok seemed to have quite a fondness for airplanes. He’d agonized between the Military Academy and the Air Force Academy, ultimately choosing the former. If he had chosen the latter, perhaps he wouldn’t have ended up swallowing a pill and dying.
Ten years remained until the Wright brothers invented the airplane.
I had to secure capital within ten years. I had to improve my technical skills. I had to verify whether the future knowledge in my head was accurate. And I needed to find collaborators for areas like engines and design where others were better suited than I was.
And for that, I first needed to…
“I’m off to school.”
“Alright, be careful.”
…go back to school. Oh, the joys of childhood.
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“Armin, my goodness, your grades! My, my, you studied hard!”
“It’s nothing.”
“I’m so proud. You’re truly my son. I knew you could do it, a true German boy.”
“Yes.”
“You should be grateful. You should be thankful that you can eat white bread every morning. If you don’t study hard, you’ll end up miserable like those factory workers.”
“Yes.”
“So don’t be complacent about these grades, and continue to strive-”
Dad was more excited than I was, babbling about how I seemed to be a genius and should skip grades to attend a good Gymnasium. Mom, ignoring Dad’s rambling, hugged me tightly, refusing to let go. I almost suffocated. Goodness, I was going to keep getting top marks, so why was she so overjoyed?
After I aced the exams, peace finally settled upon the Rosenbaum household. No, for the first time in my short life, “laughter” and “happiness” flowed. Amazing! Thank you, future knowledge!
Sitting arrogantly on the sofa after achieving top marks, I reflected on how peaceful a child’s life was. Go to school, study, play, eat, sleep. Was this the peace and happiness other children enjoyed? It made me envious.
Of course, teenagers usually wouldn’t see it as a “peaceful, honey-like life” but rather as “imprisoned in the school-prison for the crime of being a student, listed on the attendance roster of doom.” But I was a unique case. Probably the only one in the world.
As expected, elementary school was utterly boring. Hah, so old-fashioned.
Children were so bothersome. Full of energy, they ran around like bullets, their voices loud as freshly pulled mandrakes or pterodactyls, screeching incessantly.
Did I, with my aged mind, have to live like this? I, who had glimpsed the future, was stuck at a tiny desk doing arithmetic with kids instead of dealing with national affairs or world peace. Was this why Prussia would fall?
Couldn’t I skip a few grades? Honestly, me being top of the class was a massacre. It was like a professional soccer player joining a neighborhood amateur game.
But my grand ambition ran aground on an unexpected reef.
“Hey, Armin! Let’s play ball!”
“Play ball?”
Those little kids dared to challenge me, the king of military league soccer, the miracle of Moses, the Maradona of Gyeryongdae? How pitiful and pathetic.
“Pant, pant, pant!!”
“This kid, always studying like a bookworm, has become a weakling.”
“You guys, have, too much, pant, energy!”
“Nope, you’re just weak-”
“Armin… weakling… sucks at soccer…”
But I was the one mistaken. What kind of country was Prussia? A country obsessed with the military, where the army owned the state. A country whose education system was designed to create excellent soldiers.
Naturally, I didn’t want to be labeled a “frail bookworm” in such a country, so my grand plan to skip grades was slightly postponed. How could I, a former career soldier in my past life, become a weakling?
However, it was only a slight postponement. I had no intention of abandoning my plan.
“What? You won’t skip grades?”
“No.”
“Why?”
My father, Bruno Rosenbaum, lit a cigar and faced me as soon as he got home from work.
Just a while ago, he’d been dancing with joy, claiming our house had a prodigy. Now, he looked ready to punch me. Was he a psychopath?
“Are you scared of skipping grades?”
“No.”
“Then… do you not want to be in a different class from your friends?”
“Not really.”
“Then why won’t you skip grades?”
“A healthy mind in a healthy body, as they say. I’m worried that skipping grades and overexerting myself might harm my health.”
“Is that so…?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t exactly wrong, was it?
But he stared at me with such… strange eyes. As if he were looking at an alien or Bigfoot from the X-Files. That was the look I should be giving him.
“Then do as you wish. You are the future of our family, so it’s naturally good to build up your strength.”
“Yes.”
I couldn’t understand this man’s thoughts. It was strange. I had decades more social experience than him, yet I couldn’t fathom what he was thinking.
I was still afraid of my drunken father’s punches. I dreamt of them. Even with decades of future memories, I still felt short of breath whenever he clenched his fist. This was truly force majeure… this must be what they called trauma.
But then again, except for *that day*, he’d never actually hit me directly. He always turned red in the face and hit my mother or smashed things, but that was it.
“Armin.”
“Yes.”
“My son.”
“Yes.”
“I have high hopes for you. I want you to grow up to be a fine man.”
“…?”
“You can skip grades next time. Yes. Rest.”
I didn’t understand. Anyway, I nodded vaguely. As always, even with future knowledge, this man called father was so… hard to read.
I diligently followed a 20th-century workout routine, and thanks to the abundant energy of puberty, I steadily bulked up.
Despite achieving results worthy of a novel titled “Invincible Elementary Schooler with Future Cheat Knowledge,”
“…Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Do well in school. I’ll be back in two weeks.”
… the atmosphere at home was heading straight off a cliff.
Just a few months. Not a year, not two. I thought we’d briefly returned to being a “normal family,” but in just a few months, the atmosphere had become like this again.
I could glean bits of information from the newspapers and documents Dad was looking at: the economy was struggling, America was in trouble, England was shaky. That was probably why Dad, who worked at Deutsche Bank, frequently went on business trips.
But he started looking at me strangely before the recession hit. When exactly? After I postponed skipping grades and decided to focus on exercise.
Carrying this unsolved mystery, I went back and forth between home and school for months.
Then, one ordinary evening, as I finished dinner and got up from the table,
Bang!
“Hic, ugh, hey!! Why are your shoes organized like this!! Hiccup!”
“You’ve been drinking again instead of coming straight home? Look at you. The smell… Just a minute, let me take your coat-”
“This damn woman, how dare you look at your husband like that!! Hey!! Who did you sleep with this time!”
With a slap, my mother collapsed on the floor.
And I couldn’t stand by any longer.
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“I said stop it! Why are you always tormenting Mom?!”
“You ungrateful brat! Living off the money I work day and night to earn, and you dare talk back like a-”
A fist flew towards me.
I grabbed his right wrist.
“Wh, What?”
“Stop it. Please.”
“You, you little…!”
He swung his left arm, but I caught that one too.
My father was weaker than I thought. A mere elementary school student who’d been working out for a few months… Of course, I was quite well-developed, but still, he was pathetically easy to restrain.
This weak man had been causing such havoc at home?
His face turned crimson, but I didn’t loosen my grip on his arms.
“Let go of me.”
“You’ve had too much to drink. I can’t let go.”
“Let’s talk. Let go!”
The anger in his eyes shifted to that strange, muddy emotion I’d been seeing lately. I now recognized it.
Fear. The fear of being overpowered by his own son.
But it wasn’t just fear. There seemed to be more mixed in-
“I’m sober now. I won’t hit you. Please let go.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a gentleman, Father, so I’ll trust you.”
Just in case, I subtly appealed to his pride and let go. My mother was still sitting on the floor. I was drenched in sweat. My father quietly went to his study.
I followed him without hesitation.
“Father.”
“Don’t call me that! You, you’re!!”
He started to shout something but abruptly clamped his mouth shut.
But I could guess the unspoken words. It was clearly “You’re not my son.”
A birth secret? Look at my life… Look at the state of it.
Oh.
Oh… Right. That’s it.
Thinking about it again, I think I really was Jo Beom-seok…!
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