The Hitex Acquisition War (2)
3:05 a.m.
I checked the time and walked back through the situation in my mind. Everything was so identical that for a second I nearly lost my bearings, but then I confirmed it—no reality-check totem on the table, under the chair, or even in my pocket. Certainty settled in.
This is the future, five minutes ahead.
That actually worked in my favor. Right after the tip-off to the Financial Supervisory Service, Seonkang Group would be scrambling at full speed. Calls and messages would be flying.
I had already given Seon Kangsik the “interesting story” he wanted—the investment tip I’d promised as payment for dragging him out at this hour.
“The news should be out by now.”
“What news?”
“The investment I mentioned. Alimall’s announcement should have dropped by now.”
“Alimall? That Chinese company?”
I simply nodded, offering no further explanation. Seon Kangsik still eyed me with suspicion, but he picked up his smartphone anyway.
“What announcement? There’s nothing here.”
Of course there wasn’t.
“Have you checked Bloomberg or Reuters?”
“Hmm… nothing. Look here, you aren’t lying to me, are you?”
Irritation had crept into Seon Kangsik’s voice. I deliberately let out a long, weary sigh—the sound of a man dealing with someone dense.
“May I have your phone for a moment?”
He handed it over reluctantly. The instant our hands brushed, I eased my grip. The phone slipped and hit the floor.
“Ah—sorry.”
“Watch what you’re doing!”
“My apologies. Fortunately there’s no scratch.”
I picked it up with perfect calm and opened a portal site. Naturally nothing came up, but I pretended to search a few more times, then arranged my face into a look of sudden realization.
“I miscalculated the time difference. You’ll have to wait a little longer.”
I returned the phone. Seon Kangsik powered it on, checked the screen, and wiped it with a few quick strokes of his thumb.
“Dropping it for no reason… tch. Just how important is this that we have to confirm it through the news—hey, why are you getting up all of a sudden?”
I rose, sliding the swapped phone into my inner pocket. I had everything I needed. There was no reason left to stay.
“I need the restroom.”
“In the middle of this?”
Seon Kangsik looked incredulous, but he didn’t try to stop me. A moment later I was out of the conference room.
I don’t have much time.
The second Seon Kangsik noticed the phones had been switched—the second he started to doubt me—I would be thrown back out of the future.
I entered a password I’d learned from some other future. The lock opened. Good.
This isn’t a burner. It’s under his own name. He’ll have deleted anything sensitive—but wiping every last trace is hard, especially when someone suddenly snatches the phone like this.
I started with the calendar and notes apps.
Clean.
Almost no important meeting schedules. Age, maybe—he used a paper planner, or his secretary managed everything.
Next: email, call recordings, messages, one after another. Live communication meant a higher chance that something important had survived.
There would have been a lot of talk when the futures investment tanked.
I set a date filter for right after the losses. Scanning the records from that period, one name stood out.
Kim Wonhong.
The person Seon Kangsik had messaged more than anyone else at the time.
This is the broker.
I kept searching with every keyword I could think of—Kim Wonhong, investment, gas futures, fund, loss… Direct conversations had all been deleted, so I focused on backup files and the trash.
I don’t need airtight evidence.
I wasn’t building a prosecution case. Court-admissible proof wasn’t required. What I needed were fragments—counterparty names, amounts, the broker’s real name. Incomplete details that would still ring true to anyone who actually knew what had happened.
Then it started.
The pixels warped and began to ripple.
He’s onto me.
Seon Kangsik had realized the phones were switched and was starting to suspect me. No time. I tore through the backup files. Fortunately he hadn’t scrubbed those—material was still there.
He’d recently made the loss whole.
While stuffing 100 billion won back into the hole, Chairman Seon Kangsik had liquidated personal assets and transferred them into a company account.
Every time I flicked the screen, the image split and overlaid itself. Fractures spiderwebbed up from under my feet. I was about to be ejected.
But I couldn’t look away. One last piece of information—just that—
Loss amount: 123 billion won. Counterparty: Director Kim Wonhong, IB Division, NB Securities. Source of funds…
A smile touched the corner of my mouth.
The paper company’s account number came up.
“Found it.”
And then—
I opened my eyes.
Chairman Seon Kangsik was already badgering me.
“One minute. If it isn’t interesting, I’m leaving.”
Having already secured what he wanted from the future, Lee Jaseung was feeling generous. He kindly shared the investment tip.
“Yahoo is going to sell its stake in Alimall.”
“And?”
“Secure the shares and take the profit, or put them to business use—either way, it works in your favor, Chairman. Look into the rest yourself and decide.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes. Not very interesting, is it?”
“?”
“Then my minute’s up. I’ll be going.”
“What?”
Lee Jaseung walked straight out of the conference room, and Gil Donggyu scrambled after him. Seon Kangsik jumped to his feet, jabbing a finger after them.
“Y-y-you insolent little—!”
The meeting collapsed, of course. The joint acquisition fell apart. But the investment information Lee Jaseung had mentioned…
…It was real?
Rumors began circulating that Yahoo’s management was debating whether or not to sell its Alimall stake. Seon Kangsik revised his assessment of Lee Jaseung.
“No manners, that one—but not completely useless after all. Ahem!”
The meeting had supposedly been about a joint acquisition, yet that part of the discussion had gone nowhere. Then again, everyone was more interested in the funeral rice than the memorial tablet itself…
…Wait.
Seon Kangsik felt something was off. His “funeral rice” had been the investment tip.
Then why did Lee Jaseung even come to the meeting? What was he trying to get out of me?
Lee Jaseung sank into thought.
How should I use this information?
The simplest option was exposure. Dump everything into the open and Seon Kangsik would face an embezzlement investigation—and drop out of the Hitex acquisition fight on his own. But that wasn’t what Lee Jaseung wanted.
The fallout would be too heavy. Nothing but wasted energy.
There were no eternal friends—and no eternal enemies. They were competitors in this acquisition battle, but they might cooperate later. Seonkang Group was the fifth-largest chaebol in the country. There was no reason to antagonize them beyond what was necessary and throw away future collaboration.
Just enough pressure to force him out of the acquisition war.
True pressure doesn’t destroy the other party completely. It leaves them with something still to lose, so the anxiety never stops. It drains their mental strength without end. To do that, you had to walk a careful line—enough to knock Seon Kangsik out of the race, but too ambiguous to trigger a full legal investigation.
It wasn’t that hard. In the present, his actions created variables; in the future, those variables appeared already updated. Which meant—
I can run simulations.
Not merely watching the future, but creating variables in the present and checking the results in the future. Building a kind of feedback loop.
I’ll need a reporter.
Conveniently, he knew one—the reporter he’d met during the Yuseong Securities affair. He remembered going to the victims’ office and proposing the class-action suit to that woman.
She works at some small online paper, as I recall.
For this job, a scrappy internet outlet was better than a traditional newspaper. A place where clicks mattered more than fact-checking. Somewhere Seon Kangsik’s pressure wouldn’t stick.
What was her name again?
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Nothing. On a hunch he checked the spam folder—and there she was.
Right. She’d been so annoying he’d blocked her.
Money News.
A five-person economic online paper, and among its staff, reporter Cho Miyeon was known as “the woman obsessed with page views.” Clicks only. Ads only. Sensation only. The rage-bait fanatic’s current chase was the Hitex acquisition war.
Never thought Lee Jaseung would get mixed up in this too.
She’d first met him during the Yuseong Securities crisis and, with his help, run the class-action suit. Afterward she’d tried to slip in interview requests; he’d ignored every one.
Tch. I have his number and still can’t get through. Maybe one more try?
That was when the call came from Lee Jaseung.
"Reporter."
“Huk!”
The sound burst out of her as Cho Miyeon shot up from her seat.
"Could we meet at two a.m. on Friday?"
“Yes! Yes yes yes yes!”
Of course she had to meet him. Connections like this you grab with both hands. Only after firing off the reflexive yes did she check the time.
Two in the morning?
Deep night. Cho Miyeon arrived at Makers, was shown in by a staffer, and took a seat in the conference room.
This has to be about the Hitex acquisition, right?
She wasn’t a fool; she had a rough idea why Lee Jaseung had called her.
He needs a megaphone. Judging by what he’s done so far, this won’t be anything ordinary—how many hits am I about to pull?
Whatever he asked for, she’d write it well. Around the time she made that resolution, Lee Jaseung opened the door and walked in. Cho Miyeon stood at once and bowed.
“Hello, sir.”
“It’s been a while. Please, sit.”
Lee Jaseung gave a slight nod and went straight to the point.
“I asked you here because I’d like you to write an article.”
“What kind of article are you looking for?”
“Chairman Seon Kangsik’s embezzlement.”
“!”
Cho Miyeon’s eyes lit up—not because the story was too big, but because it was the moment she had dreamed of.
A bomb like this!
“Embezzlement? Are you trying to denounce Seonkang Group over the Hitex acquisition?”
Without answering, Lee Jaseung checked his wristwatch once, then continued.
“I’ll give you the source. In exchange, you write only what I tell you to write. Do you accept?”
It was less a request than a command, and yet a smile spread across her lips. The woman obsessed with page views was living up to the name. Journalistic pride? A sense of mission? Those were secondary. First you had to eat. What she wanted was one thing only: more clicks. More ad revenue.
“Of course! I’ll write whatever you tell me.”
Lee Jaseung’s mouth curved.
“Glad we’re on the same page. Then draft it here before you leave.”
“Here…?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. Of course I can write it here.”
Thinking him a truly strange man, Cho Miyeon still nodded. What did the writing location matter? The exclusive was what counted.
Lee Jaseung handed her a prepared folder. Inside, materials were neatly organized. As Cho Miyeon reviewed the documents carefully, her fingers began to tremble. Something that looked unmistakably like paper-company account information was right there. Most of it was masked, but the first few characters were enough to get the idea. She swallowed hard.
“Th-the account info… This is a paper company account, right? Is this real?”
“Does that matter?”
“Well, I still have to verify—”
Lee Jaseung gave a short, dry laugh.
“If I tell you it’s real, do you have the ability to confirm whether that statement is true or false?”
“Excuse me?”
“Look, Ms. Cho Miyeon. People call you the woman obsessed with page views. How about you don’t take interest beyond that—and just care about page views, the way you always have.”
His voice was soft, but the warning inside it was clear. Cho Miyeon managed an awkward smile.
“Ah, I was just curious. So touchy… Fine. I’ll write it as is.”
“Good thinking.”
Using the materials, Cho Miyeon drafted a tight first version and showed it to him.
“Will this do? It still needs final approval, but unless something major changes, it won’t stray far from this. If you want, I can upload it today.”
Lee Jaseung checked his watch. The hour to enter the future was approaching.
If this article goes out as written, how does the future change?
Three in the morning. In the blink of an eye, Lee Jaseung stepped into the future.
A future several months ahead.
In the same conference room, Cho Miyeon was sitting just as she was now—except she looked unsettled.
“I got summoned for questioning by the prosecutors. They grilled me on how I knew about the paper company account. I didn’t mention you. What are you going to do?”
“So Chairman Seon Kangsik’s embezzlement problem led to an investigation?”
“That’s why I was at the prosecutor’s office, yes?”
“The intensity was too high…”
“What? Can we maybe be on the same page about what you’re talking about?”
After that exchange, Lee Jaseung returned to the present. Cho Miyeon was still waiting with her laptop open, watching for his reaction.
“Well? Is it okay?”
“No. Soften the tone.”
“Soften it?”
Lee Jaseung pointed out a few sentences.
“Instead of ‘paper company,’ say ‘counterparty’ or ‘related company.’ Soften the account information as well, and change the framing from an accusation to speculation.”
Cho Miyeon’s face clouded with confusion.
“Like a rumor mill piece?”
“Exactly. Write it just like that—like a rumor mill.”
“Then it won’t lead to an investigation, will it? Weren’t you trying to force an embezzlement probe so Chairman Seon Kangsik couldn’t enter the acquisition fight?”
Lee Jaseung lifted his gaze and simply looked at her. Meeting the warning in his eyes, Cho Miyeon muttered and nodded.
“…Fine. I’ll mind my own business and do as I’m told.”
Chairman Seon Kangsik’s office.
The chief secretary came running in a panic.
“Chairman! Chairman!!!”
“What is it?”
“The embezzlement story has broken! Internet papers especially are putting up articles like this at high speed.”
What the chief secretary held out was an online news piece.
“Of all times?”
The timing was strange. Seon Kangsik frowned, but he didn’t take it too seriously.
“Rumor mill chatter has been circulating in the financial sector—someone just wrote one of them down. With the Hitex acquisition ahead of us, keep the noise down. Put pressure on that paper too.”
“Sir, this doesn’t look like an ordinary internet piece. The account matches exactly.”
“What?”
This time he read the article properly.
A high-ranking figure at Seonkang Group is believed to have recently transferred a substantial sum overseas through a domestic securities firm. The funds are estimated in the range of 100 billion won, and appear to have been routed through a related counterparty during the transfer.
[@Masked account information photo]
“This account they call a ‘counterparty’—isn’t that the paper company account?”
…It was. Only part of it was visible, but it was still recognizable. Seon Kangsik’s face twisted into something ugly.
“Who.”
“It appears to be an insider. We contacted the broker as well, but he claims he doesn’t know either. He’s still trying to get a handle on the situation.”
“Find out who did this—immediately!”
With that level of detail, the story changed. This wasn’t a simple rumor; it was an actual information leak.
Dangerous.
Gooseflesh rose along the back of his neck.
What if this gets bigger?
In M&A, trust with creditors and unions was absolute. If an embezzlement scandal went public, his reputation would crater overnight. If the Financial Supervisory Service and the National Tax Service opened investigations, the banks would hesitate to lend…
Even the path to raising the acquisition funds could close.
If he had been the sole acquirer, the creditors might have waited to some degree—but right now there was a powerful rival in KG Group.
KG Group.
Once the thought reached that far, he felt he knew who was behind this.
“It’s Lee Jaseung.”
“Sir? Lee Jaseung? Even so, he couldn’t possibly know the paper company account details. Wouldn’t this be an insider?”
An insider tip was the more rational explanation. But a powerful premonition pressed in.
“The person who benefits most from an embezzlement scandal breaking right now is the KG side.”
“But if Lee Jaseung leaked the information… why didn’t he go all the way? He could have released everything.”
“Hmm.”
Lee Jaseung knew the account information and still published only a fragment. Where had he sent the rest?
“What’s the chance this information also went to the prosecutors and the Financial Supervisory Service? Do you think an official investigation is about to start?”
“Hard to say. He might be waiting to detonate it at the very end of the acquisition fight.”
“First, plug the prosecutors and the press, and draft a response strategy…”
But then another thought arrived.
What if Lee Jaseung releases something else?
What Lee Jaseung knew. At what moment, and how far, he would detonate it. Seon Kangsik had no way of knowing any of it.
His eyes fell on the article again.
[@Masked account information photo]
Only a few letters and numbers. Someone glancing at it might take it for a composite or fake news. A nameless internet paper. A vulgar, sensational gossip piece. Meaningless to investigators and to the public—except for one person who would recognize it exactly.
Lee Jaseung’s target had never been the prosecutors, the public, or the media.
It was Seon Kangsik himself.
The moment he understood that, the message Lee Jaseung had embedded in the article became unmistakable.
This work is a work of fiction. All characters, groups, place names, and events appearing in this work are entirely fictional and have no connection to anything that exists in reality. Specialized knowledge described herein has also been reconstructed and adapted for the story and may differ from actual information.