Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Ho-cation at Ilseong Hotel
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Humans aren't machines.
If you've worked hard, it's only right to rest.
I was just thinking it was about time to take a day off and relax leisurely. That's why I'd prepared to spend the night at Ilseong Hotel—known as Korea's finest—with Im Yun-ah.
They call it a ho-cation.
A portmanteau of "hotel" and "vacation," referring to spending your break holed up in a hotel.
"We're heading out."
The Rolls-Royce Cullinan glided smoothly the moment I settled into the back seat.
I leisurely took in the streets of Seoul while savoring the coffee in my hand. Americano really is the best for tasting coffee's true flavor.
In the heart of the city.
The streets cutting through the forest of skyscrapers echoed nonstop with the hurried footsteps of passersby.
Each rushing toward their own destinations, they moved like perfectly calibrated parts in a vast machine. Salarymen in suits wrapped up crucial deals on phone calls synced to their brisk strides, while college kids in jeans and hoodies clutched drinks in one hand and flipped through notebooks with the other to double-check their class schedules.
"We've arrived. Would you like to check in first, sir?"
"Sure, why not? Take your time parking, Yun-ah."
"Understood."
Normally, you'd hand off a luxury ride like this to the valet.
But my Cullinan was no ordinary Cullinan. Im Yun-ah, my full-time bodyguard, had hidden defenses throughout the vehicle.
In America, she might've stashed pistols or rifles under the rear seats, but who could carry firearms here?
So, she'd opted for simple self-defense tools instead.
True to its reputation as the top hotel, the lobby's floral decorations caught the eye right away. Those probably cost tens of millions of won.
It was a few years back.
The Saudi crown prince stayed here and gave a thumbs-up, praising the hospitality. Lee Sun-young, the youngest daughter running Ilseong Hotel, even earned high marks from her notoriously picky father, the Ilseong chairman—impressive for a woman.
She'd graduated from a top overseas university too.
And her mind was as sharp as they come.
"How may I assist you?"
A beautiful woman at the counter smiled as she spotted me.
Wow, no wonder it's run by the top conglomerate.
Handling guests without a single flaw took real skill.
"A suite for one night, please."
Suites come in all varieties.
Some are open to regular folks, while others are reserved strictly for heads of state and VIPs worldwide.
I didn't qualify for those, so I'd have to settle for something a notch down.
Honestly, Jin Seol-hwa could snag the presidential suite if she came from the States, but right now, I was just Starlight's CEO.
Ilseong Hotel was Korea's premier lodging, spun off from the chaebol's number-one affiliate.
No pushing this place around.
"Confirmed."
Im Yun-ah handled the payment midway.
The price was staggeringly high—beyond imagination.
A single swipe drained an amount that'd make your eyes bulge.
But...
It was worth every penny.
The cityscape hit you the second you stepped in.
The panoramic view through the window formed a perfect harmony, like a painting come to life.
And that was just the start.
A plush sofa sat by the window for relaxed viewing, so soft that sitting down nearly lulled me to sleep.
"Wh-whoa..."
"Please calm down, sir."
Sorry.
A loser like me should've experienced places like this ages ago.
Even with trillions in assets, I'd been too swamped grinding schedules to truly unwind. My hobbies? Investing in companies to balloon my wealth or splurging on dream cars.
I stared blankly out the window for a while.
Then my stomach growled.
"Shall we grab something to eat? I'm starving."
"I'll call the hotel."
"Nah. Since we're here, skip the hotel food—let's hit the streets for something tasty."
And so we ended up at a food market.
No one with money eats expensive stuff every day. My gut wasn't lined with gold; if others raved about food, it tasted great to me too.
Honey pancakes, croquettes, pig's feet, giant dumplings—you name it.
Food everywhere.
"Dig in, Yun-ah."
"Alright."
Im Yun-ah took a bite of her pancake and started tearing up on the spot.
"Wh-what? Why's that girl crying?"
"Her guy's abusing her on a date or something?"
"Should we call the cops?"
"Nah, don't get involved. You'll just get hurt. Keep walking."
Damn!
Passersby were staring.
Was it that worth crying over?
"This is delicious."
"...Pardon?"
Of course the pancake was delicious—what else?
"During USSOCOM training, I went two weeks without food plenty of times. Ate bugs off grass, tree bark too."
"..."
"And right before you'd die, they'd toss you a single slice of bread."
Fair enough.
Our special forces had that hellish "survival ration" training too—starving cadets for a week or two to teach survival in the worst conditions. Brutal difficulty.
And the instructors? Grilling meat in front of the starving trainees.
Torture, plain and simple.
'Ugh...'
Suddenly, my appetite tanked.
But quitting now would just hurt me. So I wandered around, stuffing whatever into my stomach.
True to a market, every dish imaginable at dirt-cheap prices.
An old lady selling tteokbokki waved me over for a taste. She was so insistent I took a bite—and it was chewier, cleaner than the local stuff.
I shoveled it in like a possessed man until my stomach churned.
"Sir, hold on a moment."
Spotting the issue, she dashed to a nearby convenience store, grabbed some digestive meds, and popped them in my mouth.
Mm, feeling better already.
This is why execs keep secretaries glued to their side.
"Your body belongs to the company, not just you," she said, leading me to a bench. She sat at the edge and patted her knee.
"When your stomach's upset, sleep is the best medicine. Rest your eyes a bit."
"Huh? Where?"
I looked around—no decent spot in sight.
"Right here."
She kept patting her knee.
Was she offering a lap pillow?
Eh, no big deal.
Honestly, Im Yun-ah and I were basically living together already. She worked out in front of me wearing just a towel after showers.
A knee pillow wouldn't make my heart race or anything.
"This is comfy."
The weather was perfect—not too hot, not too cold.
A gentle breeze rustled now and then.
I felt refreshed, like I could float to the sky.
"Is it? As an ex-soldier, it's not as soft as other girls'. Please keep that in mind..."
Despite her words, my eyelids grew heavy.
Lately, I hadn't slept past dawn. Worried if Starlight's next project was on track, or how Selig's new drug dev was going in the States.
Jin Seol-hwa said clinical trials for the ALS treatment had kicked off, and I was dying to know the details.
Without flying over myself, gauging progress was tough.
'Jin Seol-hwa will handle it. She always has...'
Oh yeah, Jin-seong's Starcraft tournament was right around the corner.
Commentators, casters, reporters—even the finals stage—all locked in. Nearly 380 streamers participating, so scheduling was a nightmare.
He must be exhausted.
A few days ago, I heard he donated a giveaway Benz E-Class from a minigame to an orphanage and needy neighbors. So impressed, I sent 300 million in bubble gifts.
Money well spent.
People like him need to rake it in for the country to thrive.
"Just an hour."
"Got it."
I closed my eyes in comfort.
Ah, if only the world stopped forever like this...
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ After a solid nap, my upset stomach was completely gone.
Was sleep really the best medicine, like Im Yun-ah said?
As dusk settled, kicking back in the luxury suite with the massive TV sounded perfect.
Or maybe the "spa bath" the YouTubers raved about—I wanted to soak my weary body.
"What the hell are you doing? How much time have I given you, and you still can't get it done? Are you insane?"
"S-sorry. The external invite is still..."
"When did I order that, and it's not done? You trying to get fired?"
Slap!
A sharp crack echoed through the hotel, raw with fury.
A boar of a woman was snorting and fuming, the apparent culprit.
A few good Samaritans stepped in, but her backing must've been heavy.
It only made things worse.
"Do you know who I am?"
"!"
Most guests at Ilseong Hotel were business types.
Probably didn't want to cross her.
But not me.
"Yun-ah, handle it."
"Yes, sir."
To Im Yun-ah, elite of America's spec ops, everyone looked like civilians. She swiftly grabbed the boar's hand mid-swing for another slap.
"And who the hell are you?"
"Enough."
"What? What'd you say?"
"The person I serve says you're disturbing the peace."
"!"
The boar's glare turned to me.
I flashed a wide, gummy smile—couldn't grimace at a stranger.
Seemed friendly enough, right?
Not to her. Her eyes screamed she wanted to tear me apart.
Eek, scary.
"Who are you?"
She demanded my identity, so I answered.
"Just passing by."
"...What?"
"And who might you be?"
At that, the slapped woman stood and tried to intervene.
"This is the granddaughter of Mirae Distribution."
Mirae Distribution.
An affiliate of Mirae Group, around rank 25 in the business world.
Related to the chairman's family by cousin, but now independently run.
Awkwardly tied to the group but not quite.
'Wait, Mirae Distribution?'
Rings a bell.
Ah!
In a recent call with Jin Seol-hwa, she mentioned if we entered Korea, one distribution firm was top priority to devour.
Where was it again?
I pondered, then gawked at the boar in shock.
The world really is small—I never dreamed we'd cross paths here.