"Goddamn It! That Maggot Refused to Come Along?!"
"Goddamn it! That maggot-like bastard refused to come along?!"
"...Yes, Chairman."
"Get down!"
A man closer to old age than middle-aged dropped silently to the floor, and the elderly man called Chairman picked up a golf club and stood beside him. No one knew where this old geezer got his strength from, but he swung the solid metal club without mercy.
Then—thwack! An impossible impact rang out from human flesh.
"Kgh...!"
"What! Is! The fucking! Reason! I! Pay you money! For?!"
"Urgh! Ack! Gah! I'm sorry, Chairman!"
"Hoo! If you're sorry! You should've! Dragged! That fucker! In front of me! By any means!"
After about ten full swings like a madman, the chairman wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and caught his breath. The man, dark red liquid dripping from beneath his black suit pants, kept groaning but held his prone position. It was superhuman willpower.
"We finally tracked down that bastard's location, and I want to drag him here right now, kneel him, and chop off his limbs—but at least for today, that's impossible."
"I have nothing to say, Chairman."
"But you did put surveillance on him, right? You're not some rookie planner who wouldn't even manage that."
"Yes. We even sent people and cash to the gangsters in that area to scrape up every bit of info. He's definitely wiped his identity clean. He can't leave Korea no matter what."
"Good. That's how it should be. Of course it should. That scum not only turned my precious grandson into a half-cripple but is living a normal life on top of it. As long as dirt doesn't cover my eyes, he ain't escaping Korea."
And he won't escape my hands either!
The chairman shouted that, tossed the bloodied golf club aside, and dismissed the planning director from the office. Deep down, he wanted to hand this to his competent secretary chief instead of the future strategy planning director, but the secretary chief had been abroad for a year handling important business. The replacement was a highly capable young talent. Recommended personally by the secretary chief, this guy was shockingly his own brother—and he clicked so well with the chairman that stepping in as deputy was a breeze. His elegant speech and manners from the first meeting commanded instant favor, yet he maintained perfect decorum, making the chairman think, 'As expected of the secretary chief's brother.'
"So, what's your take on this, Deputy Chief?"
The deputy, who oddly called himself "Ya-gob," smiled faintly and replied.
"He'll come crawling on his own two feet. He's not just touched Young Master Park Dong-hyun—he's gone after the kids of high-ranking folks too. Surveillance eyes are everywhere now, and even the smuggling brokers have been warned not to take him. Once he realizes he can't escape Korea—or your hands, Chairman—he'll come prepared to atone for his sins, begging for mercy. That's my cautious guess."
"Ha! Mercy? I ain't giving that goddamn fucker a speck of it! Even if Dong-hyun's just the runt of our family, he's still Park Han-jeong royalty with my blood! Touch my noble lineage, and he'll pay the price."
"Wise words, sir. The key is he'll come on his own, bow before you, and gladly take his punishment. That's how it looked in the 'fate' I foresaw."
"If it's your divination, I trust it. In the past year, your eyes for fate haven't been wrong once."
"I just luckily took what my brother was meant to have. It's more than I deserve. But if I can use it for you, Chairman, I won't hold back."
"Don't excite this old man too much. Even worrying about my grandson, if I can't help laughing from joy, it feels like sinning."
"My apologies."
Park Han-jeong waved it off casually and reclined on the wide sofa. His seventy-plus-year-old body recalled his second son's youngest grandchild. An immature punk, sure, but the cutest by far. No talent for business, so to keep him out of fights with his rough-headed brothers, he'd planned to set him up with wealth right after adulthood—that was Park Dong-hyun. But then came the news that his pampered youngest had ended up half-crippled in a university hospital alongside some elite kids. Park Han-jeong felt his blood surging backward.
Daring to touch H Group's royalty. And not some clueless foreigner—a Korean!
"I gotta catch that bastard, rip off his limbs, cut out his tongue. Useless cops couldn't nab him, so I'll do it myself and punish him. Right?"
"Absolutely correct, sir."
"That's where you'd have been a lifesaver. Cops couldn't secure a shred of evidence and let him slip—then you track him down. I can't thank you enough. When this ends, I'll reward you properly."
"Just trust and use me freely, Chairman. That's more than enough."
"When an elder offers, don't refuse—take it. You deserve it."
Ya-gob bowed deeply, poured pre-prepared wine for Park Han-jeong, and just smiled. His eyes already saw the approaching fate.
"I said make a cross, not summon me to the making spot."
"But they say for this stuff, the client has to see it in person. The maker's a stubborn artisan type—won't craft anything imperfect without the client inspecting."
"Fuck's sake."
I left the office early morning, met up with S-man, and headed to this custom wood-processing shop. I figured a cross was just two planks nailed together, but apparently not to them.
The workshop before a Gyeonggi mountain was decent-sized for a one-man operation. Proof they obsessed over log quality, type, pouring heart into even small orders. None of my business, but the guy insisted on seeing my face first or no dice, so here I was.
"Whew, you can do this with wood."
S-man, born with a silver spoon, knew his crafts. Grew up around luxury—odd if he didn't.
"Check this drawer cabinet's grain. Seamless, pristine pattern. High-end—not easy to find even in fancy stores."
"They just leave high-end shit outside like that?"
"I'm curious too."
"'Cause it ain't high-end. You the Seoul folks ordering the wooden cross?"
A man emerged from inside, gruff-toned. We nodded.
Rumors said a real-deal woodpecker who hammered world trees—wonder if he'd nail that guy.
Ohhh! Thrusting into the living wood-grain hole! O(dong)na(mu)holeeee!
'Vulgar.'
Jesus' nail holes exist—why thrust into mere wood? Half a life wasted.
"Inside's even more impressive. So many wood crafts in a solo shop...!"
"How much for one?"
"Hand-processed log crafts take tons of work—prices skyrocket. Starts at hundreds minimum."
"For wood?"
"Logs vary wildly in type, size, quality, shape—no fixed price. Premium stuff's hard to source abroad; maker handles sourcing to finish."
I only knew paulownia, oak, pine for processing.
"Customers, come see samples first?"
"Need samples for one cross?"
"Wood's the body, core material's the soul. Matters a lot."
S-man and I stared blankly at the small cross sample the owner pulled out.
Log: Ebony Wood
Core Material: Phoenix Feather
Effect: Fire Resistance +10
"I'll make you customers the finest magic cross!"
To go to Hgwarts, first craft the magic cross! One Potter, S Weasley!
I vulgarly got hard right there.