Building a Conglomerate in Another World-Chapter 299: The Rails of Tomorrow

July 12, 1899 Shanghai — East Asia Cooperative Railway Project Headquarters

The midday sun glinted off the metal rails laid down across the outskirts of Shanghai, where the first leg of the East Asia Cooperative Railway was beginning to take shape. Cranes moved with slow precision, lifting steel beams onto elevated concrete supports. The rhythmic pounding of hammers and shouted orders filled the air. Laborers from all three nations—China, Korea, and Japan—worked side by side under the banners of peace.

Inside a modest but bustling administration building just off the site, Hesh Corporation engineers and regional representatives crowded around a long table strewn with blueprints, timetables, and weathered maps. At the head of the table sat Frederick Kane, Amerathian-born and the Chief Technical Officer of the East Asia Cooperative Development Program.

He adjusted his spectacles as he flipped to the next set of design schematics. "The coastal section from Ningbo to Busan is progressing smoothly, but we're running into terrain complications on the inland route through Manchuria. We may need to revise the grade limit or consider tunneling options."

Minister Zhang Mingyuan, now the Qing Empire's chief liaison to the project, leaned forward, his eyes tired but focused. "Tunnels would add months, perhaps years, and cost more than the emperor is comfortable with. But the symbolism matters. This project isn't just a railway—it's our signature on a new era."

Frederick nodded. "Then perhaps we compromise. Use bridges and cuttings where we can. The Hesh team can absorb part of the cost. President Hesh gave us broad discretion—he wants this finished. Not for politics, but for posterity."

To his left, General Lee Sang-hoon, wearing civilian dress for the first time in months, tapped the map where the railway would enter the Korean Peninsula. "The southern stretch through Gyeongseong and beyond will be finished by autumn. Our engineers have been retrained by your company, and your equipment has made our timelines possible."

"And the Japanese leg?" Zhang asked, turning to his right. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

Colonel Kenji Saito, a sharp-eyed officer turned infrastructure overseer, gave a respectful nod. "On schedule. The Kyoto–Osaka line will link with the new port railhead in Nagasaki. We'll be ready to receive the international connection by next spring."

Frederick smiled faintly. "Then we do the impossible, gentlemen. We connect East Asia not by treaty—but by track."

July 20, 1899 Gyeongseong (Seoul) — Hesh Corporation Local Office

Amid the pleasant bustle of the newly rebuilt capital, the Koreans had taken the lead on urban reconstruction. Tram lines extended across the city, and electric lamps lined the main boulevards, powered by a new generator facility donated by Amerathia. What was once scorched ground was now a symphony of brick, steel, and optimism.

Inside the Amerathian-funded local office of the Hesh Corporation, marketing banners in Hangul, Japanese, and Mandarin hung from the walls: "Build the Future Together" — with the three national flags side by side.

A small crowd of schoolchildren gathered outside the glass windows, watching with curiosity as engineers reviewed their survey data. Inside, Ji-woo Park, a young Korean graduate from the Hesh Engineering Fellowship Program, gave a quiet tour to visiting educators from Tokyo University.

"Each of these models," Ji-woo said, pointing at a scaled track prototype, "reflects the terrain variation simulations from Suwon to Incheon. We've developed soil-stability algorithms using Amerathian techniques and modified them for our local geography."

One of the Japanese professors, an elderly man in a navy-blue haori, smiled in admiration. "It seems your generation will build what ours only dreamed of."

Ji-woo bowed. "Thank you. We're trying to prove that modernity need not erase heritage—but enhance it."

As they walked out into the open-air courtyard, Ji-woo paused. Overhead, a crane slowly swung a concrete arch segment into place for a future overpass. It bore the Hesh Corporation logo on one side—and the emblem of the Korean Royal Government on the other.

"This is how we remember peace," he said to no one in particular.

July 29, 1899 Tokyo — Imperial Science Pavilion

The Japanese government had launched its own education reform initiative, partly in response to Amerathia's influence, and partly to secure its regional footing. Inside the newly established Imperial Science Pavilion, exhibits on steam engines, telegraphy, and rail infrastructure drew thousands of visitors daily.

General Haruto Okada, now a national hero and a reluctant public figure, had been invited to open a permanent display titled: "The War That Changed Us — 1898."

He stood before a hushed crowd that included schoolchildren, foreign dignitaries, and veterans in polished dress uniform.

"This exhibit is not to glorify war," Okada began. "But to remind us of what war costs—and what it demands from those who survive it."

He gestured to a large scale model of the East Asia Railway, a gleaming miniature line connecting Tokyo, Seoul, Pyongyang, Beijing, and Shanghai. "This project, built with the blood of the past and the hands of the living, is our answer. Not just to the last war, but to the next one—should it ever come."

The audience applauded, not loudly, but respectfully.

Okada turned to leave. His duty now, he knew, was not to fight—but to ensure his people had no need to.

August 5, 1899 Washington, D.C. — Presidential Office

Matthew Hesh sat with his children in the garden behind the Presidential Residence. Arthur played with a wooden train set, each car carved with symbols from one of the East Asian nations. Sophia sat nearby, drawing a picture of a train crossing a bridge with a sun overhead.

Amber brought out tea, setting it gently beside her husband.

"They really like trains," she said, amused.

"They represent something to them," Matthew replied, watching his son push the wooden engine forward. "Movement. Progress. Maybe even peace."

Collins appeared at the garden gate with a file tucked under his arm. "Sorry to interrupt, sir. I have the draft of the Pan-Pacific Trade Accord. Korea and Japan have already signaled approval."

Matthew rose and took the file. "We're building something bigger than war now. It has to last."

"Are you attending the ribbon-cutting in Pyongyang next month?" Collins asked.

Matthew smiled. "Yes. Not as President. Just as someone who promised they'd see it through."

August 20, 1899 Pyongyang — Grand Station Construction Site

The new Pyongyang Central Terminal was nearly finished. Its grand arched roof bore stained glass windows depicting cranes in flight, steam trains in motion, and farmers harvesting rice—symbols of rebirth.

Captain Edward Harris, now working full-time for Hesh Corporation as regional project liaison, supervised the final inspection. He stood with General Lee, Colonel Saito, and Minister Zhang—unlikely allies, now comrades of peace.

A banner hung overhead, waiting to be unfurled.

It read in bold letters: "A Continent United — One Rail, One Future."

The whistle of a train echoed in the distance—the first ceremonial engine approaching from Seoul, decorated in white and gold.

As it arrived, a boy in a school uniform held out a single ticket.

"Where to?" Harris asked, amused.

The boy smiled. "Wherever it goes."

Harris smiled back. "Good answer."

And with that, the world continued forward—on rails forged by war, and repurposed by hope.