December 25, 2030

  Rumble… Gamamusa fed grass into the grinder. The machine slowly churned, pulverizing the grass, and Gamamusa climbed a ladder to pour the collected material back in. The Russian investors, initially skeptical, regained interest. The investor in the middle, arms crossed and unimpressed, spoke. “(Russian) What’s this? Just a farm machine for grinding hay for cows?” Park Sung-jae shook his head. “…This machine mimics how cows digest grass. We added components mimicking cow saliva and designed it to chew and regurgitate like a cow.”

  The investor remained unimpressed. Park Sung-jae glanced at his name tag. “…Dmitry Grekov, from the Wagner Group. You were involved in defense corruption during the Ukraine conflict, weren’t you? It’s well-known your soldiers went without supplies—a tragedy. With our invention, no one would starve on the battlefield.” Dmitry smirked mockingly. “…You’re good at screwing people over, huh? Even brought a broken machine.” Park Sung-jae flushed. He glanced sideways. Ko A-young, just arrived with Baek Hyung-jin, was moving the broken grinder off the stage. Baek Hyung-jin and Jang Cheol-dae, pushing Jang Cheol-jin’s wheelchair, glared at Park Sung-jae.

  Dmitry looked at the other two investors, who averted their eyes, startled. “…Looks like I’m the only one here with real money. Fine, tell me. Why should I invest in a grass-eating machine? If we have bread, why eat grass?” Park Sung-jae was speechless. Gamamusa climbed down the ladder and answered. “Can you eat cake without bread, Mr. Grekov?” Dmitry frowned. “…Obviously, since cake’s made from bread, no bread means no cake.” Gamamusa nodded. “…Exactly, Director Dmitry.”

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  Gamamusa grabbed a handful of grass from a plastic bin and showed it to Dmitry. “This is grass. It looks worthless, but grains are grass seeds, and potatoes or sweet potatoes are grass roots.” He grinned. “Without grass, there’s no bread, no rice, no potatoes, no sweet potatoes. Without grass, we’d all have starved long ago.” Dmitry looked annoyed but listened. “You know grass is far more abundant than grains or root crops. More food is a good thing—how could it be bad?”

  Dmitry, seeing the logic, nodded. “…But doesn’t that apply to our enemies too? If they capture this machine, they’d have food as well.” Gamamusa’s lips curled into a smile. “…Mr. Grekov, you’re not seeing the big picture… heh…” Dmitry stayed stone-faced, but the other investors flinched at the sudden laugh. Ko A-young sighed. “…Here we go again. His professor syndrome’s kicking in.” Gamamusa paused, turned on a projector, connected it to a computer, and stepped onto the stage. The projector lit up a wall with a map of Russia.

  “…This is a map of Russia. As you can see, most of it is vast grasslands.” The investors looked puzzled. Dmitry listened silently. “…If Russia’s sprawling plains were turned from wastelands into food-producing regions, 17 million square kilometers could become densely populated. The U.S. is about 10 million square kilometers, with roughly 3.7 million used for crops. Russia’s arable land could be five times that.” Dmitry, hands cupping his chin, stared at the map. “…So what if food increases? Wouldn’t that just make us a farming nation?” Gamamusa grinned. “…Not at all. Russia would become an unprecedented superpower in human history.”

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