Chapter 192
Chapter 192
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 192
Chapter Title: Chapter 192
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 192
Chapter Title: A Flower Blooms Amid the Ashes
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📰 Anonymous History Buff (Views: 37,821) Has anyone heard those 'backstories' floating around lately about the Taesung Group chairman? I could've just brushed it off, but something felt off, so I dug into some sources. Anyone remember the phrase 'Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere' popping up in newspapers from the early 1940s? Those ads that always seemed to run alongside articles pushing conscription and forced labor... I stumbled on a list of prominent figures from the Gyeongseong area during the Japanese occupation, and spotted an intriguing name. Cheon ** ** (real name Ch**) Yep, the exact same hanja characters as the founder of today's Taes** Group. Of course, it could just be a coincidence—same name, different person. But what caught my eye was that this guy was listed in the rather heavyweight 'Korean Capitalists Association' back then. Even more intriguing: his name shows up on the list of donors for the 'National Defense Bonds.' Sure, it might've been voluntary. Maybe just patriotism in tough times for the country. But... What was the real purpose of those National Defense Bonds? And was that 'voluntariness' truly born of pure free will? Don't we owe it to history to at least question that? Anyone know the details on how Taes** Group built its initial capital, or the background behind its explosive growth in the 1950s? Am I the only one getting this nagging, uneasy feeling? Could dismiss it as just some random tale, but history sometimes casts shadows we never see coming. #TaesungGroup #ProJapanese #History #Mystery #Bait Attachments: (Scans from Japanese occupation-era newspapers, partial prominent figures list) 💬 Comments — HistoryLover Whoa? — CuriosityMax Something smells fishy here? Anyone got more details? — IAmPatriot Don't spread this crap around! That's defamation! — TruthSeeker Hard to chalk this up to coincidence. Even the hanja for the founder's name matches... — Huh?? So what, we starting a Taesung boycott now? — Anonymous History Buff (OP) ↳ Reply I'm not making any definitive claims here. Just throwing out a 'what if' to spark some thought. History needs to be examined from all angles. A small, empty room that would one day become his child's nursery.
In that dark space, the only light came from the laptop screen, casting a pale glow on Park Seon-woo's face.
He had pulled up the post Han Yura had shown him, staring at it on the screen.
His fingers trembled.
This was slander.
A malicious fabrication cooked up by someone to attack his father—to attack Taesung.
Every ounce of his scholarly experience screamed it.
But... but...
He scrolled down the mouse wheel, zooming in on the black-and-white photo attached to the post.
Amid the prominent figures donating to the 'National Defense Bonds,' one man smiled faintly.
The figure alleged to be Chairman Cheon Myeong-hwan's grandfather.
He looked just like him.
Uncannily like his father in his youth—so much so that he couldn't deny it.
Park Seon-woo bit his lip hard without realizing it.
A metallic tang of blood spread between his teeth.
He had devoted his life to those who perished under Japanese rule without even leaving a name.
Uncovering their unjust lives, amplifying their silenced voices—that was his calling.
And now, what if his own roots, his own blood, connected him to their oppressors?
Three stark letters burned into his retinas, searing his soul on the monitor screen.
Pro-Japanese Collaborator.
No way... no way... no way...?
He muttered it like a mantra.
Denying it, denying it again. But the man in that black-and-white photo bore a ruthless resemblance to his father—and to himself.
Suddenly, a long-buried memory surfaced.
His student days, brimming with fiery passion for national history, young and reckless.
The day he stormed a prominent politician's office—known as a 'collaborator's descendant'—grabbed the man by the collar, caused a scene, and ended up in a cold holding cell.
Back then, he had no doubt: justice was on his side. Pure, unadulterated rage.
At the end of that memory, Park Seon-woo opened his mouth without thinking.
"...Fuck."
The crude curse—one he'd scarcely uttered in his life—echoed lowly in the empty room.
He turned his head away, unable to face the screen any longer.
His gaze drifted to the bookshelf lining one wall.
Materials he'd compiled through sleepless nights of research.
Papers from revered scholars, dozens of history books crammed with underlines and notes.
His life, his convictions, his everything.
And now, all of it could be exposed as hypocrisy.
A hypocrite who pontificated on others' histories without knowing his own roots.
With a trembling hand, he swept the towering stack of research papers from his desk to the floor.
Crash.
The sound of papers crumbling weakly felt like his world collapsing.
In that small room lit only by the monitor's glow, the documents containing his life spilled out futilely across the floor.
He stared blankly at the scene.
In that instant, countless faces rose like heat haze from the scattered papers.
The faint visages of history's nameless 'somebodies' who vanished without a trace.
And the greedy mugs of those who sold out the nation yet thrived for generations.
The two roots he had devoted his life to distinguishing, recording, and condemning began to blur together before his eyes.
Good and evil, victim and perpetrator, purity and arrogance.
All boundaries melted away, dissolving into a hazy gray ash.
The eyes of a scholar who had chased the unjust lives of history's nameless now wandered into the darkness for the first time, seeking his own 'roots.'
As if entranced, he sat back down at the laptop.
His fingers shook, but they didn't stop.
National History Compilation Committee database, archives of every newspaper and magazine from the colonial era.
Even the online collections from Japan's National Diet Library.
He dove in like a madman.
His grandfather's name, his great-grandfather's name.
The names of small trading firms that might have been Taesung's precursors.
He poured every related keyword into the search bars.
Please, let nothing come up.
Let this all be some vile liar's cheap fabrication.
He prayed desperately—even as he frantically hunted for proof.
To condemn his own life, his beliefs, and the name he would pass to his unborn child.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Lee Soo-hee's car glided silently along the highway.
The rear seat, fully partitioned from the driver's compartment, brimmed with a different kind of noise.
Slurping, licking sounds—crude and obscene.
I gazed lazily at the passing scenery outside the window, surrendering to the electric tingles radiating from between my thighs.
How much time passed?
With a ping, the tension snapped, and everything inside me poured out.
Soon after, gulp, gulp—she swallowed every drop.
The soft tickle of her hair against my thigh lingered briefly before pulling away.
Han Yura lifted her head, casually wiping her glossy lips with a wet wipe, and asked in an irritated tone.
"I could've gone alone. Why'd you tag along and make things annoying?"
I kept staring out the window, replying languidly.
"Mm... wanted some pork soup?"
"Bullshit, you moronic pushover."
Her barrage of insults was aimed at me for chasing her all the way to Busan to buy a mid-sized factory—150 billion won, not small but not huge either—that supplied parts to Taesung Heavy Industries.
Nothing clever came to mind in response, so I just shrugged and changed the subject.
"What’s Park Seon-woo up to these days?"
"Gone radio silent."
Han Yura answered indifferently.
"Hmm... so he’s totally out."
"Park Seon-woo was pointless anyway, except pissing off that old fart Cheon Myeong-hwan."
"Yeah, true... but I had this gut feeling he might pull off something huge."
"Hmph..."
Han Yura snorted dismissively, uninterested.
I dropped the topic and got to the point.
"Anyway, how’s the subcontractor share acquisition going?"
"Grabbing them all at market price for now. Burning through all the API profits, but it’s not just one or two—lots of unlisted companies, so exercising shares will take more time."
She checked the figures on her tablet PC as she spoke.
Whenever she handled this stuff, she turned into a machine that spoke in numbers.
"How much principal do we have now?"
"Just shy of 1 trillion."
"Including overseas?"
"Yeah. After liquidating the overseas APIs in one go and shifting to domestic, our overseas funds are under 100 billion."
"When do you think the Double Dragon Motors acquisition battle kicks off?"
Han Yura furrowed her brow at my question.
"Mm... still up in the air. That old geezer might’ve sniffed out my games—he’s clamming up even in meetings."
"Tch... need to wrap this before the Double Dragon fight starts..."
I clicked my tongue softly and turned back to the window.
By conventional wisdom, big corps dominate their subcontractors.
But could a big corp exist without them?
Not stabbing Taesung in the heart.
Clogging the hundreds, thousands of blood vessels feeding it first.
I looked back at Han Yura, my voice cold.
"Once the Busan factory deal wraps, move straight to the next target. No time. Crush them with cash if you have to—secure enough shares to choke Taesung Heavy Industries within two months, no matter what."
She didn’t blink at my firm order, just pointed out the reality.
"Funds?"
"..."
"...What’s our return rate right now?"
"14.7%."
Han Yura answered without a second’s hesitation.
A miraculous monthly yield topping 100 billion.
But to block the giant’s hundreds of vessels, it was woefully short on both time and money.
I chewed my lip.
I needed it faster. More money.
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