George Bush’S Great America [EN]: Chapter 1

George W. Bush’s Great America – Episode 0 (1/377)

< Episode 0 >

Liquor burned its way down my parched throat.

What good is graduating with honors from the Department of Public Administration? All I do is end up working construction.

What good is reading the newspaper? All I end up doing is manual labor.

These days, even the newspaper is unreliable. I just end up looking at the news on my smartphone.

“MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!!!”

Thanks to the smartphone’s volume being cranked all the way up, Donald Trump’s voice boomed through the room.

Startled, I quickly turned down the volume. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe just frustration, but I nudged the volume back up a little.

The video I thought was news was actually an edited compilation of Donald Trump’s speeches. ViewTube [a fictional video platform similar to YouTube] seemed to have automatically moved on to the next video.

“I want to be like that, too.”

Pax Americana! [Latin for “American Peace,” referring to a period of relative peace dominated by American power]

The leader of the most powerful country in the world!

Who on earth would say no to that?

The more I watched, the more depressed I became, and I reached for the bottle again.

“Huh.”

Empty. The bottle was empty.

Damn it. Nothing was going right.

I thought about buying more, but all I could see was a swaying room and a thinning wallet, so I just lay down.

If I sleep like this, I’ll definitely wake up with muscle aches.

Who cares.

And so, Kim Gap-hwan fell asleep, drunk.

* * *

“Hit.”

What woke me from my sweet slumber was the sound of children practicing their English pronunciation in unison. But the thought that there was no way children would be in my dorm snapped me awake.

I frantically looked around and, sure enough, there were children. The problem was that they weren’t just any children, but Westerners – a mix of white and black kids.

Not only that, but someone was filming with a camera, and there was someone who looked like a bodyguard and a teacher next to them.

The place was definitely a school, but it was an American-style school that I had only seen in Hollywood movies.

My perspective was also strange. I was definitely sitting down, but it felt like I was wearing height-increasing shoes. My height is 168cm [approximately 5’6″], which is slightly below average, so I was often teased by my friends, which made it even more noticeable.

“Steel.”

The clothes were also different. My undershirt was gone, and I was wearing a neat suit. It wasn’t that I didn’t own a suit; I had a gray one that I’d bought with a lot of effort for job interviews in my early 20s. But what I was wearing now wasn’t just any suit – it was an expensive-looking one.

“Plane.”

Whether they had practiced beforehand or that was just how they were taught, the children all greeted me in unison.

Still not fully grasping the situation, I returned the greeting with a smile.

Suddenly, a bodyguard rushed over and whispered something in my ear.

“Mr. President, America is under attack.”

What?

Why is America under attack? Has anyone been brave enough to touch America since 9/11?

China? Russia? Or has North Korea finally gone crazy and launched a missile at America?

No. There’s no way.

Unless they were openly suicidal, no one would dare touch America.

Wait a minute. Mr. President? Did they just call me Mr. President?

So, I’ve become the President. Is that what they’re saying?

I’m the President?

Let’s put everything else aside and assume that I am the President. Then, which country’s President am I? They wouldn’t tell the President of another country that America was under attack, would they? And it’s even less likely that the President of another country would be attending a class at an American school, so I must be the President of the United States.

The situation was very confusing and embarrassing, but it felt too real to be a dream.

But what if it was a dream? Haven’t I always wanted to be President, even in a dream?

Then the only thing left to figure out was which President I was.

“What year is it today?”

“It’s September 11, 2001, Mr. President.”

The bodyguard answered as if it was a strange question, but it was an important one for me.

2001. And September 11th.

What that meant was clear.

“The homeland has been attacked for the first time in nearly a hundred years.”

I had become George W. Bush, the 43rd President of the United States.

“Call a meeting of the National Security Council. Immediately.”

George W. Bush was criticized for spacing out for seven minutes straight because he was worried that the children would be scared.

Of course, I had no intention of following in his footsteps.

“Let’s get moving.”

Yes.

To make America great again!

From the moment I gave the order, everything was swift. The bodyguards began to explain the situation, and another bodyguard led me out of the classroom.

I didn’t close the classroom door properly as I hurried out, leaving a gap. Through that gap, the children’s cheerful voices leaked out and struck my ears.

“Hit!”

“Steel!!”

“Plane!!!”