Ch-6 “Unity in Chains”

The scene shifted drastically—from the chaos and screams of the Red Wolfs' downfall in Texas to a cold and calculated silence of another kind.

Thousands of miles away, across oceans and continents, the world looked… normal. But it was only a façade.

This was South Korea, or rather, what remained of it.

It hadn't been conquered in the way most wars unfolded. There were no missiles fired, no tanks rolled into cities. No sirens, no evacuations. Instead, there had been a silent agreement—a carefully orchestrated surrender in the name of peace. In truth, North Korea, backed by the United Nations, had absorbed its southern counterpart into a single regime under a new, terrifying order.

A chilling alliance had been forged.

And nobody could speak of it.

In the capital, beneath towering holographic billboards flashing propaganda, nestled a pristine college campus—clean, efficient, lifeless.

Inside one of the sleek classrooms, rows of uniformed students sat at identical desks. The white lights above cast sterile glows on their emotionless faces. There was no chatter. No laughter. Just the mechanical tapping of smartboards and the murmurs of forced learning.

Among them sat Gyumin Rakchan, a tall, sharp-eyed student with a quiet rebellious streak, and his girlfriend, Areumseo Jihyeon, whose intelligence was only rivaled by her ability to blend in.

The two of them looked like everyone else on the outside. But inside—they burned.

Today's lecture wasn't math. It wasn't science. It was a lesson in submission, cloaked as a class on "World Economics: The Currency of Unity."

The teacher, Ms. Nari, stood tall with rigid posture, her uniform decorated with UN and Northern insignia patches. A faint smile tugged at her lips—not out of joy, but out of practiced loyalty.

She tapped the screen behind her, and a glowing symbol of the TGACS currency rotated in the air. Golden. Digital. Intrusive.

"Class," she began, "as you are all aware, the world once suffered a devastating curse—the curse of division. Nations hoarded power, currencies clashed, and economies collapsed. But everything changed when our glorious United Nations, alongside the visionary leader God Kimaru Jong Han, stepped forward to unify our broken planet."

Her voice was honey-sweet. Too sweet.

"The solution was simple, yet revolutionary. One global currency—TGACS, short for 'The Global Assembly Sponsered'—a beacon of stability for the cursed world. No longer do we deal in rupees, yens, or dollars. We now share one language, one wallet. Isn't that beautiful?"

The students answered in perfect synchrony, like well-oiled machines:

"YES, MA'AM!"

A soft mechanical chime played through the room's hidden speakers. Their compliance had been recorded.

But beneath the chant, Gyumin's fists curled beneath the desk.

He hated this.

He glanced at Jihyeon. Her lips moved in sync with the others, but her fingers subtly traced something on her tablet:"They're watching. Eyes front. Stay calm."

Gyumin's heartbeat steadied. Even in this cage, she was his anchor.

Ms. Nari continued, her tone swelling with artificial pride.

"And remember, class, our world was not saved by chance. It was rescued by visionaries—by those who dared to lead when the old world crumbled. God Kimaru Jong Han stood among those chosen by fate. A divine leader, appointed by history to rewrite destiny."

The students chanted again. Louder this time.

"LONG LIVE OUR GOD!"

Outside the classroom, a military drone hovered silently, scanning the buildings. Inside, cameras blinked in quiet corners. Facial recognition software tracked every flicker of hesitation.

The walls had ears.

The chairs had eyes.

And the students?

They were prisoners wearing smiles.

But in the last row, Gyumin whispered without moving his lips:

"This isn't education. It's a factory. A machine."

Areumseo didn't reply. She didn't have to. Her eyes, glassy and still, said enough.

Beneath this system of order, something was rotting.A quiet resistance was forming.And across the world, from Texas to Seoul, the pieces were moving.

History was about to be rewritten—again.

But this time, not by the UN.

By the forgotten.

By the silenced.