Chapter 197
Chapter 197
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 197
Chapter Title: A Flower Blooms on the Ashes
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A flower blooms on the ashes.
Most people make the same mistake.
They think a conglomerate's 'power' comes from 'money'.
Far from it. That's just the shell.
A conglomerate's true power comes from the invisible 'trust'.
The consumers' trust that their cars won't suddenly accelerate uncontrollably.
The investors' trust that their stocks will rise someday.
The financial sector's trust that the company won't go under.
And the government's rock-solid trust that they form the backbone of the national economy.
All this time, I've just been poking holes in that massive dam called trust.
Cracking the public's trust with rumors of them being 'pro-Japanese collaborators', shaking subcontractors to crumble market trust.
And yesterday, through Park Sun-woo and Cheon Hye-yeon, I blew up Cheon Myeong-hwan's deepest, sturdiest trust—his 'family', the final dam.
A company without trust is like a sandcastle.
No matter how much money it has, one wave washes it away.
I could hear the sandcastle he'd built over a lifetime slowly crumbling.
Taken one by one, they might just seem like waves breaking against the breakwater of 'trust' that the conglomerate has built over decades.
Taesung is a dinosaur with the stamina to weather crises like that.
But this isn't just one wave.
I'm simply toppling the three pillars holding up his kingdom all at once.
The first is 'operational trust'.
Starting from Busan, I'm buying up the veins running through every corner of his body—the subcontractors one by one.
I won't break contracts, but they won't be obedient slaves anymore.
They'll charge for every little custom, pull legal work-to-rule by barely meeting quality standards.
Invisible sand will keep piling up in Taesung's production lines, driving costs sky-high.
The second is 'market trust'.
Even now, Choi Yang is spreading the virus that 'Taesung is the legacy of pro-Japanese collaborators' across the internet.
The public is furious, launching boycotts.
The name 'Taesung', the brand that old man polished his whole life, now becomes synonymous with 'traitor' in scarlet letters.
Sales plummet, and costs to restore the image skyrocket.
And the last, the most fatal: 'governance trust'.
I've put his son and daughter right in the middle of the world stage.
Children turning in their father.
What could be a clearer 'owner risk' than that?
Investors will turn away, foreigners pull funds.
It's the surest proof his kingdom is rotting from within.
Operations creak, markets turn their backs, governance shakes at the roots.
How will credit rating agencies view a company facing all three disasters at once?
The moment they slap 'speculative grade' next to 'Taesung's' name, the game is over.
By year's end, 2 trillion won in corporate bonds he has to repay.
To him with dried-up cash flow, that's a death sentence.
I just have to pick up the tastiest chunks of the fallen dinosaur's flesh at a bargain.
Normal M&A doesn't go this far.
Even if they trash it to buy cheap, they only break it down to a 'salvageable' level—that's the unwritten rule.
No one wants meat that's rotted away.
Cheon Myeong-hwan slipped there.
That old fox believed that at the end of this mudslinging war, I'd want the 'Taesung' name value.
His rigid assumption that I'd 'preserve' Taesung's value.
Dragging out time while eyeing that chance in his complacency—that's the old man's fatal mistake.
Has he realized it now?
That I don't want Taesung.
I'm just a 'mad dog' who wants to show the world what happens if you mess with me.
And Taesung is merely the sacrificial example chosen.
...
The gallery was silent, as if it existed solely for these two people.
Rail lights pouring from the high ceiling delicately illuminated the massive abstract paintings on the white walls.
Only the click of their heels echoed across the glossy epoxy floor, filling the space.
Cheon Hye-yeon stopped in front of a painting in rough, dark tones.
It was a work of black-red paint layered violently, like a bloodstain that hadn't dried.
"Do you like art, Reporter Lee Eun-young?"
Without taking her eyes off the piece, she asked softly.
Lee Eun-young glanced back and forth between the painting and Cheon Hye-yeon's profile.
"Yes. It's intense. Almost like looking at Taesung Group's situation these days."
At the reporter's smooth segue, Cheon Hye-yeon just gave a faint smile.
She slowly moved toward the next piece.
This reporter was no ordinary player.
"Many see you as the 'symbol of reform', Executive Director. But some say it's more... personal."
"Revenge."
Cheon Hye-yeon preempted the word from the reporter's mouth.
Lee Eun-young didn't falter, smoothly keeping pace.
"...You spent some time in the Philippines, Executive Director. The industry largely views it as exile. Forgive my directness, but... isn't the deepest root of all this payback for that time? A daughter's intensely personal revenge against her father."
At the sharp question, Cheon Hye-yeon stopped.
With her back to the reporter, she stared at a painting—a single point of light on a dark canvas.
The brief silence felt like affirmation.
"Of course, it was painful."
Her voice echoed low through the empty gallery.
"Being cast out by my father... that loneliness can't be fully explained. I couldn't sleep without alcohol every night."
She slowly turned, surveying the entire gallery.
Her eyes held a sad, distant look, as if recalling being cast out by a gigantic father figure.
"But that time gave me something vital: 'distance'. From afar, I could see the true face of the 'Taesung' painting my father had devoted his life to—a seemingly perfect one. Not just the shining success, but the stains hidden behind the canvas and the rotting frame too."
Cheon Hye-yeon faced the reporter squarely—as one human to another.
Her eyes no longer held sadness, but resolute determination.
"So if you're asking if this is revenge... maybe it is. But it's the revenge of a daughter who loved her family's 'painting' too much to watch it rot away. Cutting out the decayed parts, restoring it to a proper picture. That's what I'm doing."
For a moment, Lee Eun-young was speechless.
Before the logic that reframed the emotional word 'revenge' as the noble task of 'restoring a damaged artwork', no rebuttal held water.
Cheon Hye-yeon quietly turned back to the painting.
"Shall we see the next one?"
She had perfectly reclaimed control of the conversation.
Lee Eun-young faltered briefly, but a pro is a pro.
Regaining her composure, she followed. In the short silence heading to the next piece, the reporter struck again sharply.
"Impressive philosophy, Executive Director. But restoring a massive 'work' like Taesung requires more than philosophy. Vast capital and market trust. The market sees your actions as a declaration of war. Stocks are volatile daily, and word among credit raters is Taesung could go on 'negative watch'."
Finally side-by-side with Cheon Hye-yeon, Lee Eun-young landed the final blow.
"Group trust shaken, value plummeting. Is this too part of the 'restoration' process?"
Cheon Hye-yeon stopped. As if she'd been waiting for the question, she smiled softly.
"Of course. The most important—and painful—process."
She gestured to the painting before them, thickly layered so its original form was unrecognizable.
"Reporter, to restore a great masterpiece, you first strip away decades of cheap, glossy varnish and accumulated grime. From afar, it might look like vandalism, even devaluing the painting. But that's the only way to reveal the true masterpiece beneath."
Her voice was quiet, yet it dominated the empty gallery.
"The current stock price, credit rating... that's the 'varnish'. The illusion of value built on corrupt practices I mentioned. We must strip it all away to find Taesung's true, healthy value. The pain is temporary. The restoration will be eternal."
Lee Eun-young couldn't press further.
Cheon Hye-yeon had perfectly packaged every negative economic fallout from her actions as an 'essential step in great restoration'.
The interview was over.
Cheon Hye-yeon turned back to the painting, explaining as if nothing had happened.
"This piece is from the 1970s, when the artist's solitude was deepest..."
Lee Eun-young could only silently take notes.