Chapter 161
Chapter 161
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 161
Chapter Title: 79. Flashback
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The leader of the terrorists who attacked the Incheon government facility was captured shortly after the brief but intense second cold snap had passed.
During a freezing night when the thermometer dipped to minus 30 degrees, government forces raided Shelter 13, uncovering key evidence including multiple mortars, and arrested the shelter director, Eom Nak-su, on charges of rebellion.
The uncommon name Eom Nak-su was unfamiliar to me, but his face, revealed in the arrest footage posted on PaleNet, struck me as oddly familiar.
Where had I seen him before?
My network of contacts isn't particularly wide or deep.
At best, it's people from school, but looking back over my time at school—my dispatch to China—and my brief stint as an instructor and on the front lines, I'd never crossed paths with him even once.
So where could it have been?
Maybe at one of John_nenon's meetups, but he wasn't among the pitiful attendees at that first shabby gathering.
He's not the face of that diligent m9 guy grilling meat like crazy in that scene either.
Even if I did spot him at a later meetup when crowds grew larger... well.
Would I seriously commit to memory a face glimpsed in a bustling crowd?
Not my style.
Memory is our weapon, so it must always stay sharp—that's one of Jang Gi-young's few sound teachings. I don't waste energy memorizing every random face in a crowd.
If anything, it's worse now than back then.
So maybe someone I met while doing survival gigs right before the war, scraping by with day jobs?
After the bunker was nearly complete but before the war broke out, I bounced between odd jobs.
I preferred places that paid in cash, since creditors could seize bank accounts.
A person has to eat warm meals, after all.
Sure, the bunker had stockpiled food, but dipping into it before the war even started felt like denying my own preparations.
So I had to work.
But what kind of work?
As a former hunter, the obvious path was leveraging that experience in related fields.
Honestly, with my resume, I could've out-earned most white-collar pros.
But those jobs get conscripted the moment war hits.
Had to find something else.
The joke of a hunter resume? Outside hunting, it qualified me for zilch.
Education-wise, treated like a middle school dropout. Military service? Deemed a total no-show.
Blame the special nature of hunter academies, but good luck finding anyone who cares about explanations.
Anyway, no bank access, middle school grad, draft dodger—the options were limited.
Jobs that hired easily and spat people out just as fast.
I sifted through help-wanted ads, tried various gigs, and bolted when it sucked. "Chuno"—chasing runaway slaves in old terms, but in reality, it means ditching part-time jobs, small companies, or factories.
Fastest chuno? A barbecue joint.
This younger "master" girl shows me how to scrub the grill with a steel sponge—greasy, charred, face blank as a machine stripped of emotions. More robot than human.
Scared I'd end up like that, I mumbled something about needing a smoke and bolted without looking back.
Boss had three CCTVs in the kitchen—one reason for the chuno epidemic.
Worked a cafe briefly too. Kids way younger than me strutting as "masters," subtly dissing me—mood killer. Chuno'd. Wonder if those punks are even alive now?
Longest stint? Gas station. Two whole months.
Gas stations don't care about age.
They want sticky reliability over youth.
Mine was a top-3 banger in Korea. Cars poured in, like a thousand a day.
Secret? Cheaper gas than rivals, plus one of Korea's only two state-of-the-art auto washes.
Boss had a connected senior in the oil game, buying wholesale cash to undercut prices.
Wasn't about gas profits.
Low prices lured 'em in; the wash bay raked in cash from suds.
Cash for washes, naturally. Lines snaked dozens deep—my job shoving cars into the bay.
"Keep it comin' straight! Yeah~ Stop! Gear to neutral! Sir! Neutral, please! Neutral!"
Courtesy? Barely mattered.
Folks chase pennies on gas, not smiles.
Once, nearby stations slashed prices to starve us out. First time I realized our spot could go ghost-town.
Boss had classic black-company vibes.
Hiring style, especially.
Didn't prize talent or diligence first.
Sure, those helped, but his fave? Folks with nowhere else to go.
Stick a straw in the desperate, pay 'em scraps like 3 mil won a month, pocket nine figures yourself. His MO.
Looking now, Eom Nak-su's mug matches that boss—blurry vid, but cheeks hollowed out from plump? Yep. That jutting shovel jaw, sleazy youthful villain vibe—spot on.
Imagining a selfish, greedy, brutal sleaze-ball boss turning rebel leader against tyranny? Entertaining as hell.
Perfect for killing boredom in my time-rich void.
PaleNet hyped his heroism—no ratting under torture—but motives? Zilch.
NationNet: Shelter 13 director, armed by legion faction, led Christmas Eve gov assault. Captured. End.
Scoured PaleNet corners for deets on him. Slim pickings.
Just: hot-tempered, hasty, Gyeongsang dialect.
Our boss? Ulsan area, loaded family—dropped uni, they gifted him the station.
Wife's side loaded too. Learned market vendors handle big cash then.
Anyway, Eom was domineering, rough on underlings.
Quirk: hollered gibberish before names to summon ya.
Did it to me. Chuno vet like me? Charged him right away.
"This shit's unbearable. Fuck this!"
Ripped off uniform, slammed locker, lit a smoke by the pumps. Manager (his under-slave) pleaded: stick it out a few days.
Broke, I gritted: one more day. Luckily, Eom eased up on me after—called me Mr. Park.
Greedy, rude, bully to weak, kiss-up to strong—ugly, but as a small biz guy? Competent.
"...Went bust three times. Parents bailed twice, in-laws once. 'One last shot' hit big. Can't believe it myself."
Three bankruptcies? Tough to rebound, funds aside—spirit breaks.
Harsh on staff, but obsequious to his "hyungnims."
Raced to Busan at 2 a.m. for a distant relative's grandma funeral—over 90.
Not mom-level grief.
Ruthless with people, sharp with cash though.
Unlike dodgy payers nickel-and-diming, he tossed 200k bonuses to decent folk.
This Park snagged one—model employee.
Wife's home-cooked feasts? Top-shelf sides.
Whatever else, success undeniable.
Did that biz savvy forge him into rebel boss?
But even as director, why attack gov? Can't square it.
And torture-proof hero? Not the Eom I knew.
Something triggered him.
He had a high-school son. Meh student, no ambition. Dad no ivy dreams.
Sharp kid though—kept polite distance, knew we'd bolt.
Son sacrificed to gov policy?
Boss doted insanely on the boy.
Break-room booze-up, wife’s snacks, him sloshed: still burns in memory.
"Ain't sendin' the kid to college. Back in my day, degree meant respect. Now? Cash rules. Rich kid's nobility, poor's scum. I'll set him up with a station.
Teach 'n pull strings—who knows? Might out-earn me?"
Son killed by gov? Could twist his money-lust to rage.
Mid-fantasy, PaleNet drops: rebellion sparked by kid.
"..."
Boss indeed.
Lifelong user, grinding desperate souls like parts, fattening on scraps—war strips all, claws to shelter director spot.
Loses kid, becomes revolutionary firebrand.
We parted well, I recall. Month pre-war.
Got tip from casual junior: China's war soon.
Didn't know his source then—now sure: my old classmate Gong Kyung-min.
Last gift to a ghosted pal.
Eom, fond or valuing my trouble-customer skills, tried keeping me.
"Manager Park."
Promoted behind my back. Pay same as part-timers.
Suddenly wise-old-man eyes, staring void, dead serious:
"Real big money? Biz. Docs? Work till ya drop, hands-on with people. Big leagues? Money works for you.
Underlings grind like auto shops— that's real dough. Wanna try? I'll teach. Schools don't.
Director? 3.5 mil."
Real hook? My trash resume.
No-bank, dropout, no-service me? Prime trapped prey.
Still, felt he lowkey respected my chops.
Didn't pitch mentoring to prior chuno bait manager.
Grateful-ish: "War's coming soon. This year."
Sincere. He smirks: "Manager Park~ Doomsayer, huh?"
Laughs me off.
Last words.
Three rises, but fourth bankruptcy doomed him.
PaleNet: Eom executed behind military tribunal an hour ago.
Motive: missing daughter on evac fleet.
"Daughter...?"
Not the boss?
Rush cabinet, dump apple-box docs, hunt old contract.
Found it.
"...Jang family, huh."
Wrong tree, but fun detour.
Killed a day nicely.
After Defender sibs yesterday, Rebecca and daughter bolt my turf sudden-like.
End of 79. Flashback