Black Corporation Joseon
A miscellaneous otaku reborn, obsessed with everything from military gear to steampunk and beyond.
But his father is King Sejong the Great?
A ruler skilled in fandom, a son insane with fandom, and ministers and countless others ground down in the process.
Tonight as always, the nights of Joseon glow with the lights of overtime work.
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< Prologue >
"…Thus, this matter shall be handled as just decided."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
"I feel a bit peckish. Let us have a light snack and reconvene after this watch."
"…As you command, Your Majesty."
[The royal scribe records:]
Clang! Slash!
[His Majesty's love for the people is unparalleled through all ages.]
Clang! Slash!
[He even ensures that the lowliest slave is not overworked; His virtue is like the warm spring sun.]
Clang! Slash!
[Yet the ministers do not receive such spring sunlight—how lamentable this is…]
"Scribe? You're writing something bad about me right now, aren't you?"
"Not at all, Your Majesty!"
"Then why are you typing so long?"
"This humble servant's hands are slow…"
"Is that so? Shall I send you back to the Administrative Training Institute?"
"I will do my utmost to write faster!"
"I'll be watching you."
"I am eternally grateful…!"
< Prologue. > End
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< Episode 1. He Is a Fanatic Among Fanatics. >
People often say: Of all fandoms, Western fandom is the highest.
But above even that, there is one rank higher—he is a Gwangdeok, a fanatic among fanatics.
* * *
Outskirts of Gasan-ri, Yangsan, South Gyeongsang Province.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Hiss!
Jinho plunged the iron he had hammered with a spring hammer into water. Steam rose with a loud hiss.
He pulled out the cooled metal, inspected it, and nodded.
"Nicely made."
After checking its condition, Jinho placed the iron back into the forge.
"Hey! Little brother! What are you making this time?"
"Huh? Brother! You're here?"
Jinho, who had been bustling between the forge and the machine tools, brightened when he saw his visitor.
"What are you making?"
"A sashimi knife that was ordered."
"Sashimi?"
Seeing his cousin's odd expression, Jinho quickly added,
"A fillet knife! Someone running a Japanese restaurant in Seoul ordered it! Don't let your professional instincts kick in at random!"
His cousin, Kim Byungho, was a detective. At the explanation, Byungho relaxed.
"Really? You're getting orders? Must be earning pretty well?"
Jinho rubbed his nose with a finger and grinned.
"I make a decent living."
"Yeah? Let me take a look."
"I've only shaped it so far."
"Hmm…"
While examining the still-glowing blade-shaped lump of iron, Byungho looked around.
"Clean up a bit, will you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're good at answering, at least…"
As he wandered about inspecting things, Byungho's eyes gleamed at a blade resting in a wooden box lined with soft cloth.
"Hey. This half-moon blade—did you mount it backwards?"
It was his first time seeing a kukri. Jinho's expression turned strange.
"What's that face for?"
"…That's a kukri. It's supposed to look like that."
"…Really? Odd-looking thing. From what country?"
"Nepal."
"Must be peculiar people."
Jinho shook his head.
"Say that in front of a Nepali person. They'll roll you off the top of Everest."
"I only say it because they're not here. Anyway, did you call me because of this kukri?"
"Yes. Could you arrange a weapons possession permit?"
Byungho measured the kukri with his eyes and nodded.
"Judging by the size, you'll need one. Why do you need it?"
"I'm thinking of entering a competition in the U.S."
"A competition?"
Jinho pulled up a video on a tablet and showed him. Byungho clicked his tongue softly.
"Tsk. You could've made a Joseon hwando or some traditional blade…"
"Someone brought a katana and got eliminated because it bent. Others got knocked out because their blades snapped. Joseon hwandos and wa-do are sharp but not tough. In competitions like that, heavy and tough blades are king."
"Is that so? Fine. I'll prepare the paperwork."
* * *
A few days later.
"Here are the documents and the card."
"Thanks."
While handing them over, Byungho's gaze fixed on something nearby.
"What's that?"
"What?"
"That, right there!"
A flintlock rifle stood upright.
"Oh, that? Someone overseas asked if I could make one. Reenactors—people who cosplay the American Revolutionary War and stage mock battles—ordered it."
"Hmm…"
Byungho examined the rifle carefully.
"This is the gun from that American Revolutionary War movie with Mel Gibson, right?"
"Yes. A Kentucky rifle."
"Why are you making American guns?"
"Apparently there are fewer craftsmen over there now. And the surviving guns are almost museum pieces."
"So you made one?"
Jinho nodded.
"For now, just one. If the evaluation is good, I might export five to ten a year. If things go well, I could make twenty to thirty million won."
"Hmm…"
Sensing his reaction, Jinho added,
"So I'll need some paperwork for this too…"
"Again?"
"Please. If it works out, I'll treat you big time."
"You talk well."
Though his voice was flat, Byungho examined the rifle seriously. He pulled the cock—without flint—and squeezed the trigger.
Click.
"Oh? It works properly. Hmm… Was the muzzle always this narrow?"
"No. I blocked it so powder can go in but bullets can't."
"…Hmm."
Examining the barrel more closely, Byungho noticed a fine crack about one centimeter from the muzzle. He gripped it firmly and pulled.
Pop!
The muzzle separated, revealing six spiral riflings inside.
Byungho grabbed Jinho by the collar.
"You little bastard! You said it was a prop! Why does a prop have rifling?!"
"If you're going to make something, you have to meet customer needs…"
"Are your customers filming snuff films or something? You called me here to use me as cover, didn't you?!"
"…I can't deny that."
"Bastard!"
"It was in the requirements! In case of emergencies…"
"In a country where worse things are already beyond every doorstep?!"
After a long scuffle, they agreed to weld a plug into the barrel and add this line to the Amazon listing: In accordance with the manufacturing country's laws, measures have been taken to prevent live ammunition from being used.
"…What a shame."
"Tsk!"
At Byungho's glare, Jinho shrank back.
As they continued talking, an elderly woman entered the smithy.
"Is the blacksmith lad here?"
"Welcome!"
"These are seed potatoes. Store them in your warehouse."
"Yes, ma'am."
After she left, Byungho looked at Jinho anew.
"You seem close with the elders?"
"We help each other out."
"Why use your warehouse?"
"I handle sensitive chemicals for forging, so I built it carefully. It's good for storing seeds and fertilizer."
"Let me see."
Under his sharp gaze, Jinho led him to the storage sheds.
The first shed held stacks of steel plates.
"Lots of scrap?"
"Spring steel is best for blades. I'm a regular at the scrapyard."
"Open the other one."
Inside the second shed, chemicals were neatly stored.
"Why does a forge need these?"
"For etching decorations and other processes."
"You bought them legally?"
"Want to see the receipts?"
Despite Jinho's protest, Byungho warned him:
"If you cause trouble, I'll personally bury you."
"…I won't."
"A guy making homemade guns?"
"…."
As they stepped outside, a strong smell lingered.
"Which house spread so much manure?"
"My field."
"…You're farming now?"
Jinho laughed awkwardly.
Half the roughly 500-pyeong field held solar panels; the other half was covered in manure.
"What's it for?"
"Well… a nitrary…"
"A nitrary?"
"To try making potassium nitrate."
"…Why?"
"To test the Kentucky rifle properly, I need gunpowder. It's hard to get…"
"You bastard! That's beyond cover-up territory!"
Byungho grabbed his collar again. He wasn't pale simply because of gunpowder.
Three days earlier, an agent from the National Intelligence Service had briefed the detectives.
It concerned potential domestic activities of Islamic terrorist groups.
After Osama's death, extremist groups were operating independently. Though no organization had been found in Korea, the situation was dangerous due to large numbers of undocumented workers from Pakistan and Southeast Asia.
Many suffered unpaid wages, abuse, and exploitation. Growing resentment could lead to homegrown terror cells.
The agent explained how nitrogen fertilizer mixed with fuel could create powerful explosives, referencing incidents like the Oklahoma City bombing.
With farms full of fertilizer, fuel tanks, and trucks—and rumors of harsh treatment of foreign laborers—the risk was real.
They also warned of links between brokers, organized crime, and undocumented workers.
The detectives nodded gravely. For national security, it was a crucial matter.