The Academy’s Sashimi Sword Master

A Korean restaurant somewhere in Wonju.

On the table was a banquet of fifteen dishes, fit for a king.

It was a feast that made one’s mouth water just by looking at it, but the two people sitting across from each other paid it no mind.

The middle-aged man flipped through the pages of a document, wetting his finger with saliva. The sound of pages turning echoed hurriedly.

As the pages dwindled, the man glanced repeatedly at his companion.

Reflected in his trembling pupils was the figure sitting across the table.

She remained silent, watching him calmly, as if waiting for him to lift his spoon first.

Finally, the man closed the document. With a dry throat, he eased it with a sip of roasted turmeric tea.

Then he opened his mouth.

“Haha… I had heard the director of the Academy was extraordinary, but I didn’t expect this much.”

The middle-aged man—the president of Korea—smiled with a forced laugh.

He wore an affable expression, but inside, he boiled with discomfort. He could feel the tea burning through his insides.

Only then did Ryozo, seated across from him, finally pick up her chopsticks with a light gesture.

“It’s not that much. I just jotted down some loose thoughts from desk discussions.”

“…Well, those loose thoughts have more density than all the laws the lawmakers in Yeouido have fought to pass in the past five years.”

“I’m flattered.”

It wasn’t an empty compliment.

The president glanced at the papers once more.

‘With this…’

He could even consider reelection.

In this world, unlike Earth, the president of Korea could be reelected up to twice.

So maintaining approval ratings in the final months of the first term was key to securing a second.

‘If I use this…’

His popularity was at rock bottom, buried in the deepest abyss. Just months ago, it had been revealed that the prime minister—whom he himself had appointed—was conspiring with villains.

‘And that was already bad enough…’

But the next disaster had been even worse—Korea’s capital was destroyed.

Seoul, the battlefield between me and that unknown entity, had come to the brink of apocalypse.

The skyscrapers, once rising like shark teeth, were now a flattened wasteland.

Even those groups that used to hide sinkholes to protect property values had to stay silent—there were fewer crater-free zones than those with them.

The capital was paralyzed.

The people and parliament demanded the president demonstrate leadership as head of state.

But the truth was—

‘I’m not up to the task.’

The president had the virtue of self-criticism. He was capable and diligent, yes, but he wasn’t “the brightest mind of the age” or a “man on a white horse.”

He opened his mouth.

“With so much work at the Academy, you must be extremely busy… and yet you wrote all this. I imagine you have something to ask of me, right?”

“Ask? No, nothing.”

Ryozo smiled sweetly.

“My family and I live in Korea like everyone else. I did it in my spare time, thinking it might be of use to you, and that’s why I contacted you.”

“…Haha, thank you.”

The president thought otherwise.

Such an invitation clearly showed the balance of power.

Would the U.S. president leave the White House to meet a minister? And here he was, sitting across from the director of an educational institution that wasn’t even part of the government.

For a president, it was humiliating.

‘At the very least, let it be remembered as just a fleeting impression.’

He carefully stored the document in his briefcase and let out a deep sigh.

“What do you really want?”

“Me?”

“We’re both too busy. Let’s skip the pretense. Tell me directly, Director.”

“It must seem like I’m playing games with you… but since you ask, I’ll be honest.”

Ryozo set down her chopsticks.

“I’ve said many times that I have no intention of going into politics.”

“I know.”

“However, in Yeouido I feel like I’m still being constantly attacked.”

“I know that too.”

“I’d prefer to ignore it, but the intensity is increasing. I’ve even noticed criticism directed toward my family, and that worries me.”

The president moistened his lips with his tongue.

“The executive branch cannot pressure the legislature directly…”

“In theory, no.”

“To be frank, Director, even this meeting of ours is inappropriate. I could be accused of managing affairs through a shadow power…”

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of becoming a shadow figure. Those documents I gave you are just personal notes, nothing more.”

Personal notes?

The president was left speechless.

That ten-year plan for Korea, treated like a simple doodle.

If other politicians knew about those papers, they would fight to the death to obtain them.

So it was clear.

‘This is a transaction.’

Ryozo was making him an offer.

With the capital inoperable, if the president acted quickly and took the initiative, he could overcome the lame duck period and secure reelection.

He swallowed hard.

‘To this woman, the position of president is just a bargaining chip?’

Saki Ryozo.

An enigma in many ways.

She had even turned down the role of prime minister in Japan, and yet remained the director of Joaquin, a post offering little more than prestige.

Ryozo swirled her tea calmly before speaking.

“My request is simple. Soon the ceremony for the succession of the Seven Stars will take place.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“It was originally to be held at the Olympic Park in Seoul, but could we move it to our Academy?”

……?

“Just that?”

“…Yes, it wouldn’t be hard to arrange, but…”

“That look on your face suggests you think, ‘just that?’”

“Ha ha ha… to be honest, I’m surprised at how modest the request is. It’s so simple that I’m left puzzled.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for more later.”

“I see… although, may I ask something?”

Ryozo nodded.

The president placed the documents in his briefcase, locked it firmly, and then said—

“Those kinds of things, I think you could initiate them yourself at the Academy. Why ask me directly?”

“Because there’s a lot of noise in Congress. All because of my country of origin.”

“As a politician, I probably shouldn’t say this, but…”

The president hesitated for a moment and continued.

“Politicians will always find any excuse to criticize. You shouldn’t take it too seriously.”

“If the attacks were only directed at me, it wouldn’t be a problem. The issue is that the criticism ends up targeting Geom-Ma.”

“Forgive me for speaking frankly, but the truth is, that happens because Mr. Heavenly Sword is a frightening figure.”

The Heavenly Sword was practically a demigod.

A hero who surpassed human limits, the asymmetric force against the demons.

A man who, with overwhelming power, could dominate all of society.

And yet, he wielded no direct influence.

That fact was what frightened nobles and politicians so much.

If he had openly declared, from now on you’re under my command, obey me, they would have submitted.

But Kang Geom-Ma demanded nothing.

He lived as if all he wanted was for the world to follow its natural course.

He possessed immeasurable power, yet remained silent, secluded within the Academy.

And the unknown was always more unsettling than the visible.

Ryozo gave a bitter smile.

The cold turmeric tea gave off a sharp aroma.

“Heavenly Sword is not an enemy of humanity. Frankly, I’m tired of repeating it. I’m always by his side, so I know better than anyone that he’s not a threat to people. But of course, those who only see his outer appearance don’t understand that.”

“…Right. Among the nobles, the opinion about him is quite uncomfortable, and I suppose that ends up influencing public perception.”

“But now his image has improved a lot, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. Ironically, after the partial destruction of Seoul, public opinion toward Heavenly Sword changed. He appeared in the broadcasts—seeing him fight to protect citizens and minimize damage moved many people.”

“That makes me happy, although…”

Did he really have to risk his life in combat for people to finally acknowledge Kang Geom-Ma?

‘Even if that’s the fate of a hero…’

Ryozo knew Kang Geom-Ma’s mental state.

His heroism was founded on “self-harm.”

He lived with the obsession that he must never rest.

‘A hidden depression.’

She didn’t fully know Kang Geom-Ma’s past.

She had never asked. She believed that shared memories and a future together would be enough to heal his scars.

But that wasn’t the case.

Deep down, even he was unaware of his wounds.

It was as if his subconscious were trying to erase them by force.

‘Geom-Ma… I wish you’d stop fighting.’

And yet, she wanted people to recognize him.

‘Or at least, that we could go somewhere peaceful…’

Ryozo swallowed those words.

She couldn’t say them with the shadow of disaster looming over them.

Even though she and the Golden Generation trained without rest, the true cornerstone remained Geom-Ma.

Her hands clenched tightly.

‘I must become even stronger.’

She forced herself to smile, controlling her expression.

“By the way, how’s the capital relocation going? I’ve been so busy with personal matters that I haven’t kept up.”

“Ah, it’s progressing well.”

The president brightened with joy.

He had thought the information had already leaked to Ryozo, but realizing the executive branch’s security was still intact gave him relief.

That was exactly what she wanted.

Aside from small details, she already knew nearly everything. After all, the original idea had been hers.

It’s just that lately, she hadn’t had time to follow every update closely.

‘Between training with uncle, I’ve been spending half the day on that alone.’

She couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong due to oversight.

‘The relocation of the capital is too important.’

The Seoul elites were mostly part of the anti–Heavenly Sword faction.

When they saw the confrontation between Geom-Ma and the Emperor, they rushed to side with the throne.

And just then, the Kali Yuga disaster struck Seoul.

‘Right now, those elites are still reeling from the panic.’

This was the moment.

The golden opportunity to pull Korea out of the Emperor’s orbit across the sea.

At least the president had been elected by vote.

His ties to the nobility were weak.

He adjusted his hair with a self-important gesture.

“Starting next month, we’ll begin setting up the administrative infrastructure in Wonju, in Gangwon Province.”

“On the outskirts? A smart strategy. We already have Joaquin Academy’s infrastructure at the center.”

“At first, I was skeptical about moving the capital. But thinking it over, the Academy and the government are already partners. Being closer will allow for more direct communication.”

Ryozo smiled with her eyes.

‘A real fox…’

Seoul’s population had already dispersed across the country.

The president was looking to regroup those nearly fifteen million people in the new city—and win over local voters in Wonju in the process.

He hadn’t reached his position by accident.

‘At least our interests align.’

It was time to get up.

‘Tonight we have the dinner… and the big event.’

Even if the honoree didn’t want celebrations, everyone around him insisted.

Ryozo was about to wrap up the meeting when the president stopped her.

“Ah, I forgot something important. I suppose I got distracted after receiving such valuable documents.”

He spoke as if trying to preempt her.

“Yesterday, Mr. Heavenly Sword came to see me.”

“…He came in person?”

Ryozo’s eyes widened.

“Yes, you can’t imagine how surprised I was. He also came to talk about the capital relocation. He told me that for a new capital, Wonju’s current name sounded too limited.”

“…He’s right, in a way.”

“Exactly! I thought so too. Heavenly Sword’s vision left me speechless. What’s more, he proposed a new name for the city, and honestly, I loved it. I’m thinking of moving forward with it.”

Ryozo took a few sips of cold tea before asking—

“What name?”

“Using the character for high (高) and the one for grace (恩), he suggested Go-eun-si — City of Great Grace.”

“…”

“A city blessed with great grace. In this world, where Blessing permeates everything, doesn’t that sound like a perfect name?”

Ryozo’s gaze, fixed on the president, slowly shifted downward.

Her lips trembled.

Seeing her eyes blur, the president grew alarmed.

“Director?”

“Ah… I’m fine.”

She wiped her tears with her sleeve.

“It’s an incomparable gift.”

“A gift?”

“That was a slip of the tongue.”

June 21.

Saki Ryozo’s birthday…

No.

“I just meant—it’s a beautiful name.”

The birthday of her Korean name Shin Go-eun.