The rain in Kojin didn't clean the streets. It just turned the dust into thick black slime that clung to everything. Kai stood at the loading dock of the Golden Star warehouse. His coat was soaked through. Water ran down his neck making his skin itch. He was lifting wooden crates stamped with the seal of the Ministry of Health.
The crates were light. Too light. Kai looked at the manifest taped to the side of one. Silk sheets. Expensive soaps. Bottles of imported spring water. Supplies for the Private Wing of Central Hospital. The wing where politicians and their families went when they had a headache or a cold.
He thought about Jin Haiwon's words. The lack of bandages and clean needles in the public ward. And here he was carrying silk sheets for people who already had everything.
Mr. Goro came out of his office wearing a bright yellow plastic raincoat. He looked like a giant lemon. He was holding a stack of yellow envelopes. He looked at the workers with a face that showed nothing but contempt.
Stop working and listen. I have your pay for the week.
The workers stopped and gathered around. Their faces grey and exhausted. Like shadows in the rain. Kai stood at the back watching.
Sato come here.
Sato walked forward. The man who'd worked there ten years. He reached for the money. Mr. Goro gave him the envelope but held onto it for a second.
There's a deduction this week. The government passed a new Security Fee for all industrial workers. Ten percent of your wages. The company also added a management fee for processing your taxes.
Sato looked at the envelope. He looked like he might cry.
Ten percent. Mr. Goro I can't afford ten percent. My daughter needs shoes for school. We're already eating one meal a day.
Don't complain to me. Talk to the Ministry of Finance. Or better yet don't talk at all. If you don't want the job there are men standing in the rain outside who'll take it for half the price.
Sato took the envelope and walked away. He looked smaller than he had a minute ago. Like all the air had been let out of him.
Mr. Goro called the other names. Every man got less than expected. When it was Kai's turn he took the envelope and looked inside. Barely enough to pay rent and buy a small bag of grain. The fees had stolen his chance to send extra money to his mother.
Mr. Goro what is this Security Fee for?
Mr. Goro looked surprised someone was asking a question.
It's to pay for police and soldiers who keep the city safe. To protect us from criminals and people who want to start trouble.
But we're the ones being robbed. Who's protecting us from the fees?
The other workers looked at Kai with terror. Some moved away. They didn't want to be near someone who spoke like that. Mr. Goro stepped closer. He smelled like cheap tobacco and stale coffee.
You're new here so I'll give you a warning. In this city the tongue is the part of the body that gets people killed. You lift boxes. You take your money. You go home. If you ask another question I'll call the police myself. Tell them you're a troublemaker. Do you understand me farm boy?
Kai didn't look down. He stared straight into the man's eyes. He saw the cowardice behind the anger. A man who was also afraid of the people above him.
I understand.
Mr. Goro spat on the ground near Kai's boots and went back inside. The workers returned to their tasks. The rain kept falling.
At the end of the shift Kai walked to a small cafe near the warehouse. A place for the poor. Cracked windows. Floor covered in sawdust. A small television mounted on the wall. The only light besides a few dim lamps.
The news was on. A woman with a perfect smile was speaking. Han Jisu. Member of Parliament. Standing in a room with gold curtains wearing a dress that looked like it was made of clouds.
Our citizens are happy to contribute to the growth of our kingdom. The new Security Fee is a sign of our unity. It will allow us to build a better future for every child in Hakoran. We are a family and every family must work together.
An old man sitting next to Kai laughed. No teeth. Holding a cup of hot water.
She calls us a family. I wonder if she'd let me sleep on her floor tonight. I wonder if she knows what it's like to have a stomach so empty it hurts to breathe.
She knows. She just doesn't care.
The man looked at Kai. Saw the envelope in his hand.
You're young. You still have fire in you. My advice is to douse it. The people in that television have ice. And ice always wins because it's patient. It waits for fire to burn itself out.
Not if the fire is big enough to melt the ice.
The man shook his head and went back to his water.
Kai left and went to a public park. He'd told Jin Haiwon he'd meet her there. The park was empty because of the rain. The benches cold and wet. He saw a figure standing under a tree. Haiwon. Thick coat. Scarf covering half her face.
He walked up. No hello. He felt too angry for small talk.
They took ten percent today. Called it a Security Fee.
She looked at him. Dark eyes full of quiet pain.
I know. They started taking it from nurses last month. Said it was for our own good. Meanwhile the hospital director bought a new house in the Silver District. Says it's for his health.
How do they get away with it? They tell lies on television and take money from our pockets. They do it in the open. Don't even try to hide it.
They don't hide it because they know we're afraid. They know we need jobs to eat. They know the police are waiting at the corner.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small folder. Handed it to him.
I found these in the trash near the administrative office. Records for medical equipment.
Kai opened it. Rows of numbers. Prices for machines. Names of companies.
What does this mean?
Look at the name of the company that sells beds to the hospital. Silver Peak. Do you know who owns it?
I don't.
The brother of Minister Han. The hospital pays three times the real price for every bed. The extra money goes back to the Minister. They call it a contract. I call it robbery.
Kai stared at the numbers. He felt a cold clarity. This was what Park had talked about back in Muraki. The corruption wasn't a mistake. It was the system. The government wasn't trying to run a country. It was a machine designed to steal from millions of people at the same time.
They stole medicine from the old. Shoes from children. Breath from his father. And they did it with papers and signatures and golden scissors.
We need to show this to everyone.
If you show it now they'll just call it a lie. Arrest you for stealing documents. You're just one man from a small town. No one will listen to a warehouse worker.
Then I have to become more than a worker.
Haiwon leaned against the tree. Looked at the city lights.
My brother died in the public ward. He was ten. Had a fever that could have been cured with simple medicine. But they told my mother they were out of stock. Two hours later I saw a box of that same medicine being carried into the Private Wing for a businessman who had a scratch on his leg.
I'm sorry Haiwon.
Don't be sorry. Be the person who stops it. I've been watching you Kai. You have a way of speaking that makes people stop. Even the men at the warehouse. They're afraid of you but they also listen.
They're only afraid because they think I'll get them in trouble.
No. They're afraid because you remind them of what they've lost. You remind them of their dignity. And dignity is a very heavy thing to carry when you're trying to survive in the mud.
Kai took the folder and put it inside his coat. Felt the weight against his chest. Like a weapon.
I need to find a way to reach more people. Street corners aren't enough. Cafes aren't enough.
Use phones. Everyone has a phone. Even the poorest worker saves money for a cheap phone to talk to their families. The government controls television and radio but they can't control every screen in every hand. Not yet.
I don't know how to do that.
I do. I can show you how to record a video. Send it to groups where workers talk. But once you do it you can't go back. Your face will be known.
Kai thought about his mother in Muraki. His sister Minji. If he did this their lives would change too. They'd be the family of a rebel. They'd be in danger.
He closed his eyes. Heard his father gasping for air. Saw the blue face. The cold hospital door.
I've already gone too far to go back. I died in the back of that truck with my father. The man standing here is just a shadow that wants to bring the light.
Haiwon nodded. She took his hand. Small and cold but her grip was strong.
Then we start tomorrow. I'll bring a camera. You need to think about what you want to say. Don't talk like a politician. Talk like a son. Talk like a brother.
I'll talk like a man who's tired of being dirt.
He walked back to his room in Namgu. The building was quiet. He sat at his small table. Didn't turn on the light. Just sat in the dark listening to the rain. He thought about millions of people sitting in similar rooms. About the anger sleeping in every heart.
He wasn't the leader of a movement. He was just the first person to stand up. The one who was going to pull the cord that started the engine.
He took out the paper with the party name. Looked at it for a long time. The Liberation Party. A name for a dream. But tomorrow it was going to become real.
He began writing his first speech in his head. No big words. No talk of history or philosophy. Just things he saw every day.
The smell of the warehouse. The weight of the crates. The look in Sato's eyes when his pay was stolen. The silk sheets in the hospital for the rich.
He felt a strange calm. Fear was still there but sitting in the corner of his mind. No longer the master. The ash had been stirred. The first flicker of real flame was appearing.
As he lay down to sleep he heard the television in the next room. The news still on. Han Jisu still talking about the family of Hakoran.
We're not your family, he whispered to the wall. We're the people who pay for your gold. And we're coming to take our lives back.
He fell into deep sleep. Didn't dream of fires or falling towers. He dreamed of a hospital. But in the dream the doors were wood not iron. And they were wide open. No guards. No desks with glass. Just beds and medicine and people who cared.
He saw his father. Jinho sitting up in bed. Breathing easily. He looked at Kai and smiled.
You did it son. You opened the door.
Kai woke before sunrise. The rain had stopped but the air was still cold. Sharp hunger in his stomach. He didn't have money for breakfast. He drank a cup of cold water and put on his damp coat.
He walked to the warehouse. Did his work. Lifted boxes. Listened to Mr. Goro's insults. But he did it with a smile. He knew a secret. This was the last day he'd be just a worker.
When evening came he went back to the park. Haiwon was waiting. Small black camera. She looked nervous.
Are you ready?
I'm ready.
He stood in front of a grey brick wall. Light fading. No stage. No microphone. Just his voice and the truth.
My name is Kai Sungho. I'm a worker at the Golden Star warehouse. My father died because we didn't have five thousand gold pieces.
He kept talking. Ten minutes. Didn't stop. Didn't stumble. The words came out like water from a broken dam. He told the city everything. The silk sheets. The brother of Minister Han. The Security Fee.
Haiwon watched through the small screen. She was crying but she didn't let the camera shake. She saw the power in his face. The man who was going to change the kingdom.
When he finished there was long silence. City noise humming around them.
That was... I've never heard anyone speak like that.
Did it sound real?
It sounded like the truth. And truth is the only thing people are still hungry for.
She pressed a button.
It's done. I'll send it to the network. By tomorrow morning every worker in Kojin will see your face.
Kai looked at the sky. First stars appearing. Still cold and far away. But for the first time he felt taller than the buildings. He wasn't a ghost anymore. He was a voice. And the voices of corruption were finally going to have an answer.
The camera clicked off. Such a small sound. But it was the sound of a match being struck in a room full of dry wood.
The kingdom of Hakoran was about to burn.