The Martial Artist Who Arrived First Class (4)
The CCTV feed had returned to normal.
As if nothing had happened, the central control room's camera oversight had concluded.
Lee Yeon's gaze fixed on the screen showing the hallway outside the room where Jang Cheon was staying.
Maybe?
Since she'd been the one to summon him, perhaps the chairman had met with him.
But so what if they had? Or hadn't?
They were people who had nothing to do with her anyway.
Kwon Hyeok-su was right. Unnecessary curiosity only invited trouble.
Then, movement appeared on the screen.
It was the hallway outside Park Gwang-cheol's room. A woman draped in mink entered his door. She looked vaguely familiar, and upon closer inspection, Lee Yeon recognized her as a celebrity she knew.
The corner of Lee Yeon's mouth curved upward.
Going in at this hour meant an obvious relationship.
With women knocking like that, no wonder he's so full of himself.
As the woman inside the room shed her coat, her voluptuous figure came into view.
"What brings you to summon me?"
"You gotta spend New Year's with your Hwa-ran, right?"
"Hilarious. Everyone's busy with award shows and all that come year-end."
"Your instincts are spot on. That's why I can't let you go."
"Please, just dump me already. Don't you ever get tired of me?"
She was Hwa-ran, an actress under Park Enter. She'd started as an idol in a girl group, briefly earning titles like Sexy Queen and CF Queen, before transitioning to acting.
Put harshly, she'd peaked; more kindly, she was delivering mature performances fitting her thirties.
She didn't bat an eye at the attendant in the room, greeting him warmly instead.
"Long time no see. You've lost even more weight, mister. Makes sense—no room to gain any with the boss piling on the work from dawn till the dead of night, throwing tantrums. I can picture it."
"Not at all, ma'am."
As the attendant flinched at the bullseye, Park Gwang-cheol drained his glass and spoke up.
"Hey, don't look so flustered—it makes it seem real."
"My apologies."
"Whatever. Get on with the report you were about to give. So? You really got an invite to the year-end party?"
"Yes, sir."
"That young punk? What's his deal getting an invite?"
"We haven't dug into his qualifications yet..."
"He's a real Murim guy?"
"Yes. The genuine article. Passed the BST at a very young age, it seems."
"Fights pretty well, huh?"
"Name's Jang Cheon, age 34."
"Thirty-four? That bastard looks way younger than he is."
Hwa-ran chimed in.
"What bitch are you studying to fuck this hard?"
"Not a bitch—a guy."
"Then he's the guard dog for some chick. Who's the girl?"
"Doesn't matter. You don't need to know. Next!"
The attendant's report continued.
"He's been living abroad, just returned from the Blari Republic this time."
"Blari? Isn't that a warzone?"
"Civil war broke out, but it ended the day before yesterday."
"Huh? Really? You knew about it?"
Park Gwang-cheol turned to Hwa-ran.
"Blari? What's that? Some new trendy spot?"
"Our Hwa-ran's charms are overflowing."
Park Gwang-cheol pulled Hwa-ran in for a kiss; she twisted away, scowling.
"Ugh, booze breath. Get lost."
"Keep going."
"Known to have traveled dozens of countries before that too."
"Bastard's got miles stacked up. What else?"
The attendant hesitated, glancing nervously.
"That's all the info we have on him."
"That's it? A Murim wanderer jet-setting everywhere? You shithead, I could call the airport myself and find out."
"Well... beyond this, the info's locked down."
"Unlock it! I'll take responsibility. Tell that shitty privacy law to fuck off."
Park Gwang-cheol's voice rose, but the attendant shrank further.
"Sir... we don't have the authority."
"Not ours—use Group Intel!"
"Already did."
"And still couldn't?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Just got a 'can't' response."
"Group Intel stonewalling us? Intel chief's your second brother's line, right?"
"Doesn't seem like it."
Park Gwang-cheol's eyes narrowed.
"Well, look at that. Thinks he's hot shit just 'cause he's Murim."
Hwa-ran laughed, teasing him.
"What now, Mr. Park CEO? Can't handle losing a dick-measuring contest."
"Damn right."
Park Gwang-cheol pulled out his phone, scrolling for a number.
"You're insane? What time is it?"
"What time? If he won't pick up, he shouldn't take my money."
Hwa-ran made a face like she couldn't stop him, but he hit call anyway.
"It's Park Enter. Sorry for the late hour. Yeah, doing well? Got a favor—look up someone for me. Got a lock we can't crack. Name Jang Cheon, 34, entered from Blari Republic yesterday. Ah, been busy lately. Haha, let's grab a drink soon. You mentioned your son likes It Girls? Of course I remember. Bring him out, have the girls join for dinner. Haha, yeah. My treat."
Park Gwang-cheol's cocky flaunt of connections froze on his face.
"What? Even you can't pull his file? No, no. I'll handle it. Nah, nothing big. Yeah, yeah. I'll call again."
He hung up, face hardening completely.
Hwa-ran quickly stood.
"Your humble servant will bathe and purify herself."
Do what she would—he'd already shoved her from his mind.
"What the hell is this guy?"
It had started half from fondness for Lee Yeon, half jealous curiosity about the guy.
"This ain't a joke anymore."
The next morning, Kwon Hyeok-su entered the operations room in high spirits.
"Mission cleared, huh?"
He grinned brightly.
"Thanks to you. Wife's a wife, but the kids loved it."
"A capable subordinate's gotta protect the boss's family harmony too."
"Hahaha."
Then the situation arose.
Beep-beep.
At the warning tone, both their eyes snapped to the beeping screen.
A car was pulling up to the residence entrance. The adjacent screen showed its license plate.
"Intel Agency vehicle."
"What?"
Kwon Hyeok-su jolted at his subordinate's report. The Intel Agency was at the heart of Korea's state power.
"Why are they here?"
He glanced at Lee Yeon, but she had no clue either.
The car halted at the residence front; a man stepped out. Various CCTV angles captured him.
"Activating facial recognition."
Kwon Hyeok-su cut in.
"No need. I know him."
Lee Yeon asked.
"Who is it?"
"Intel Chief Jeong Yeong-gi."
"What? The chief himself?"
She whipped back to the screen in shock.
Jeong Yeong-gi looked far too affable for his power—like a neighborhood baker, not the head of intel.
He entered the lobby's small cafe, waiting for someone.
A man walked in: Jang Cheon.
Watching Jang Cheon join him, Lee Yeon said,
"Why's Intel contacting Jang Cheon? The chief who barely shows his face even to our chairman came personally."
Kwon Hyeok-su shrugged, clueless.
He told her,
"You know most sweet fairy tales turn out brutal on closer look?"
Said playfully, but dead serious.
Lee Yeon stared at Jang Cheon onscreen.
"That's why women are trouble. Dangerous guys just look sexier."
"Agent Jeong."
Jeong Yeong-gi was inwardly startled by Jang Cheon's words.
"You remember me."
"I never forget a face I've seen once."
"Right, that's you. Ah, I'm chief now."
"Congratulations."
"What congrats? Just waiting to retire. Thirteen years since we met?"
"Fourteen."
"Time flies. But you? Anti-aging pills or what? You look the same."
Jeong Yeong-gi eyed Jang Cheon calmly. Face unchanged, but his aura was utterly transformed.
"No word, so I thought you were dead."
"Came close."
"Why return?"
"That's my question. Why seek me out?"
"Had to see your face after so long, now you're back."
"Not that—the real reason."
Jeong Yeong-gi revealed his true intent.
"To warn you. Be careful. Folks here remember that old business. Now they've got power even I can't touch."
A beat, then Jang Cheon asked,
"How do you think I've lived these 14 years?"
His subtle expression unnerved Jeong Yeong-gi.
"You don't mean...?"
Jang Cheon stood first.
"Good seeing you after so long. You're busy—head back."
"No! If you came back for that, just leave! More people will get hurt."
Jang Cheon smiled faintly.
"Revenge needs passion. Don't worry—I'm here for work."
"Really?"
Jang Cheon betrayed no emotion. Jeong couldn't tell truth from lie.
"Jang Cheon."
He turned slowly. Their gazes locked in the air—Jeong's burning, Jang's ice-cold.
"Next time, let's have that drink."
Jang Cheon bowed and left the cafe.
Then, Jeong's earpiece buzzed.
Jeong Yeong-gi chuckled wryly. Self-mockery.
Instead of answering, Jeong stared out the cafe window at Jang Cheon by the distant elevator.
Back then, he was a gust... now...
That gust had swollen over 14 years into an unfathomable tornado.
Jeong drained his coffee and rose.