A Smart Disposition
Lumen’s primary clientele consisted of hunters and businesspeople. That was why security always remained a top priority.
Hunters could cause incidents. Businesspeople’s safety could be threatened. A dedicated security team existed for precisely those reasons—and the staff now rushing over belonged to it.
“Director! Are you all right?!”
The security team’s faces were deathly pale as they sprinted forward, shouting. It was not an expression any employee of Lumen—widely regarded as the world’s finest hotel—should ever wear.
“……Director?”
Yet their cries provided an immediate explanation for the panic. Whether Lumen’s actual director was present here was another matter entirely.
“They’re talking about me.”
“Really? Butler Ju, you’re a director of Lumen?”
“I am officially registered as one of Lumen’s directors. Our Gaju is the chairman.”
Having delivered the brief explanation, Butler Ju straightened his collar as though it were nothing at all—while still keeping his foot planted on the AP Guildmaster.
“Y-you’re a director of Lumen?”
Having missed the word “Gaju” in the quiet exchange, the AP Guildmaster latched onto “director” alone and broke out in a cold sweat. Lumen was no mere hotel. It was a conglomerate spanning the entire hunter industry. Picking a fight with a director of such an enterprise was, for the master of a mid-tier guild, pure terror. He had essentially committed an original form of guild-wide suicide.
“That’s right. I am a director of Lumen. And the person you just insulted is our chairman.”
The revelation that Jeong-Hoon was the chairman—already overwhelming enough when it was only a director—made the guildmaster’s eyes fly open. Moments earlier he had shouted, “What are you, the chairman of Lumen?” He had yelled those exact words at the real chairman.
“Do you have anything to say?”
Butler Ju had no intention of forgiving him, but he was willing to hear an apology if one was offered. The guildmaster, however, simply stared with wide eyes and gave no response.
“Do you need time to gather your thoughts? You don’t have much of it.”
“……Uh, Butler Ju? This guy’s passed out.”
Watching the guildmaster faint at the mere appearance of the chairman after already being unable to handle a director, Jeong-Hoon let out a sigh. If a guildmaster had this little spine, AP Guild was in serious trouble. He turned his gaze to the man who had been taking the beating.
The battered man staggered to his feet, then slung the unconscious guildmaster over his shoulder.
“Chairman, I apologize for the discourtesy committed within Lumen.”
Whether from tension or pain, his voice trembled faintly as he spoke. With the guildmaster on his back, he managed only a small bow of the head.
“This one’s more of a talent than his guildmaster.”
Impressed by the far calmer response compared to the unconscious leader, Jeong-Hoon nodded, then surveyed the surroundings and spoke.
“Shall we call an ambulance for now? Both this man and the guildmaster look like they need a hospital.”
As though wrapping up the incident, he gave the order. Butler Ju bowed toward Jeong-Hoon, then turned to the arrived staff.
“I will personally escort the chairman. Call an ambulance at once.”
At the word “chairman,” the employees cast furtive glances at Jeong-Hoon. They had already heard it, yet their expressions made it clear they still could not believe it.
“What are you doing? Move.”
The sharp reminder set them scrambling into action—though they continued stealing glances and gauging Jeong-Hoon’s mood. Even as elites working at the world’s premier hotel, having an unfamiliar chairman suddenly appear before them was more than enough to put them on edge. Failing to respond instantly to a customer’s incident was already cause for anxiety; the fact that the director and chairman had stepped in first only deepened their terror.
When Jeong-Hoon woke the next morning, he moved from the bed to the sofa and promptly lay down again. No one pointed out that he had gotten up only to lie back down. Yesterday’s training had left him so mentally exhausted that he had no desire to move at all. Simply managing to turn on the television while sprawled out counted as considerable effort.
“Have you risen, sir?”
Butler Ju appeared behind him and asked. Jeong-Hoon nodded and opened his half-closed eyes.
Hearing the familiar guild name in the news, Jeong-Hoon tilted his head.
“……Butler Ju, isn’t that the guild of the guy from yesterday?”
“Correct. The only official measure available to us as a hotel was membership revocation. We revoked the membership privileges of every AP Guild member.”
Still half-asleep and dazed, Jeong-Hoon took a sip of the morning tea Butler Ju offered and pieced the memories together. After loading the guildmaster and guild members into the ambulance yesterday, he had paid the matter no further mind. He never expected to hear about the man on the news the very next day.
“So the person who got beaten filed an internal report?”
“……That individual is still receiving treatment in the hospital. The whistleblower was a different guild member.”
At those words, Jeong-Hoon turned to look at Butler Ju. The face was the usual unreadable one he had grown accustomed to—yet he read something in it all the same.
“Quite the coincidence that a whistleblower just happened to appear.”
“Yes. A coincidence.”
The timing left no room for any interpretation other than that Lumen had moved behind the scenes. Lumen was a hotel that catered to hunters and executives. The only official retaliation such a hotel could take was the revocation of membership. But the mere fact that it could operate a business targeting hunters and executives in the first place meant it possessed hidden power. The detailed knowledge Butler Ju possessed about the internal report was surely part of that hidden strength. No—there was no need to ask. Butler Ju had clearly arranged the whole affair.
“Guildmaster Yang is currently cooperating fully with the investigation and has reportedly admitted to all charges.”
“……That’s life without parole.”
Clicking his tongue at the list of charges rolling across the news, Jeong-Hoon was more surprised that the man had confessed so readily. As a hunter, he would be sent to a hunter-exclusive prison. There he would spend the rest of his life serving a sentence of life without parole—and still the guildmaster had admitted everything without a fight.
Aside from the assault on a subordinate, most of the charges related to corruption. Life without parole for that seemed excessively harsh, but it was because the AP Guildmaster was a hunter. Hunters were superpowered individuals essential to the modern world. They enjoyed various privileges—and the greater the privilege, the heavier the punishment for crime. Simply enjoying privileges would only leave Non-Awakened people with a sense of relative deprivation that needed to be soothed. Looking at those factors, once the AP Guildmaster’s guilt was confirmed, life without parole was all but certain.
Of course, he could hire lawyers and attempt to secure a reduced sentence. Even then, the best outcome would likely be life imprisonment with the possibility of parole review. That was how severe the punishment for hunters—no, for superpowered individuals—truly was. Superpowered criminals who wished to avoid such heavy sentences poured enormous sums into hiring lawyers, which was why actual convictions were rare. In the present situation, an acquittal for the AP Guildmaster looked impossible, though parole eligibility might still be attainable.
“Is this whole display of his just an act of deep remorse? The evidence is so solid he can’t escape with an acquittal.”
“That will not happen.”
“You’re going to use the family’s power to lock in a conviction?”
“No. I mean the other party will have no desire for that outcome. He will, in fact, be terrified of being released.”
Butler Ju’s words made Jeong-Hoon’s brain refuse to process them; he nearly dropped his teacup.
“Because it is preferable to dying. Or are you finding life itself regrettable?”
“I’ve never thought anything like that!”
The way Butler Ju spoke made it sound as though an affirmative answer would result in Jeong-Hoon being turned into something that was no longer among the living. Jeong-Hoon shuddered.
“Is the family even capable of something like that?”
“……The family as it exists now exists for the purpose of enabling our Gaju to do whatever he wishes.”
Jeong-Hoon had heard similar words before, yet they struck him entirely differently this time. They no longer sounded like mere wealth or power, but something far more fundamental.
“And so, Gaju—do you have anything you wish to do today?”
Reading the weight on Jeong-Hoon’s mind, Butler Ju spoke to change the atmosphere. Jeong-Hoon seized on the shift and nodded.
“You’re right. Nothing immediate. Though there is one thing that bothers me.”
Savoring his morning tea while carefully choosing his words, Jeong-Hoon recalled the previous day’s incident. The staff who had failed to recognize him at all until Butler Ju introduced him as Lumen’s chairman. It was understandable enough—yet Butler Ju, the personal physician, and the head maid had all known him before they ever met.
“Yesterday you introduced me as the chairman rather than the Gaju. Is that a secret even from Lumen’s employees?”
“Was that the thing that bothers you?”
“No, I just got curious while talking about it.”
Having no particular desire to cling to the title of Gaju, Jeong-Hoon quickly denied it. In truth, the title still felt awkward on his tongue.
“That is because even Lumen employees are not vassals of the family. Only those of manager rank and above among Lumen’s personnel are family vassals.”
“So Lumen itself isn’t the family—it’s the family’s front. Meaning that apart from core personnel, no one knows about the family. Got it.”
In other words, Lumen contained both ordinary employees who knew nothing of the family and true vassals who had belonged to it from the start. Questions about why the family could not openly reveal itself rose in his mind, but Jeong-Hoon decided not to dig further for now. He simply guessed that it was closely tied to the “dangerous circumstances” Butler Ju had mentioned.
“Then what is it that bothers you?”
“Ah, it’s nothing major. Doesn’t it seem strange that the staff know the director’s face but not the chairman’s?”
It was not vanity, yet Jeong-Hoon considered it an important issue. He had been told he could do whatever he wanted—yet he had suddenly become the Gaju and the chairman of Lumen. He had not yet adapted to the position. In that state, he found himself being led around by Butler Ju’s words. It was not that he distrusted the butler; rather, he believed many people needed to recognize his status if he was to move freely.
“I shall prepare a major announcement.”
Realizing that Jeong-Hoon’s first desire was to reveal himself as Lumen’s chairman, Butler Ju’s expression grew resolute. Jeong-Hoon had inherited everything of the family upon becoming Gaju, yet no inauguration ceremony—other than for the Gaju position itself—had been held. It was not that such a ceremony was unimportant; it simply could not be held.
The previous Gaju, Jeong-Hoon’s great-uncle, had built Lumen and countless other public faces of the family without ever placing himself at the forefront as representative. Knowing his own lifespan was short, he had contented himself with paving the road for the next Gaju—Jeong-Hoon. That was why he had left the representative seats of those enterprises as veiled figures. The plan had always been to announce that Jeong-Hoon had been the representative from the beginning. That way, a young man who had only just become an adult would not be dismissed as a lucky upstart, but would instead be seen as a man of deep schemes who had deliberately remained hidden.
That was why Butler Ju had called it a major announcement rather than an inauguration.
“Preparing that is going to keep you pretty busy, isn’t it?”
“I will ensure our Gaju need not concern himself with any of it.”
“No, that’s not the issue. If Butler Ju is taking personal command, it means today’s training might get cancelled.”
The genuine delight that crossed Jeong-Hoon’s face at the realization that there would be no one to oversee training if Butler Ju was occupied was unmistakable. He understood its necessity and had never voiced complaint, but Butler Ju’s training was brutal. Starting yesterday it had expanded to include firearms and every form of self-defense, making it even worse. The joy of a possible day off brought a smile to his lips—only for Butler Ju to shake his head.
“Gaju, allow me to state with absolute certainty that no such thing will occur.”
Crushing Jeong-Hoon’s hopes cleanly, Butler Ju answered with a smile.