A Lucrative Partnership

"Sandro. How about we partner up?"

"What kind of absolute bullshit is that?"

"You don't know what a partnership is?"

"Of course I know what it is. I just don't have any reason to partner with you."

"Isn't there a limit to how much money you can make selling women here anyway? Work with me, and I'll make you a real Bahala Na."

"What are you talking about? Human trafficking is incredibly lucrative. And we handle plenty of other operations besides that."

"Keep doing all of that. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Do it all, but help me out a bit in exchange. I'll make sure you're well compensated."

"What do we need to do?"

"First, I need to see what you're capable of. I have to know if you're worthy of being my partner."

"Our capabilities?"

"I need to know how good you are before I can trust you with my business."

"You've got a lot of nerve for a kid. We're the best in the Philippines when it comes to getting things done."

"Everyone says they're the best. They just can't prove it."

"Untie this first."

Sandro, who seemed to have calmed down a bit, asked to be untied. I walked over and unraveled the ropes binding him. Subduing someone of Sandro's caliber was child's play for me, so I didn't hesitate.

Sandro sat up properly and began to speak in earnest.

"So, what do you want?"

"Fake IDs, alias bank accounts, and Marian."

"I don't think Marian falls under 'capabilities.'"

"I'll buy Marian."

"You're really whipped, aren't you? The IDs will take at least a week. But I can give you the account right now."

"Really?"

"It's an account we set up for money laundering a while back. It's completely clean, never been used. You can use this."

"Is that so?"

Sandro handed over a slip of paper with the account details written on it.

"Nice. Then I should show some sincerity too."

I pulled a pouch out of my Inventory and opened it.

"$100,000 for Marian is too steep. Let's call it $50,000. The rest is your retainer and hospital bills for your boys. That should be more than enough, shouldn't it?"

"I don't love it, but since it's our first deal, I'll take it."

I handed over $100,000 to cover Marian's ransom, the fake IDs, and the bank account fees.

"See you in a week, then. Let's go, Marian. Grab your passport."

Marian and I grabbed her passport and headed straight to Macau. Much later, Sandro would scream in rage upon realizing his stashed cash was missing, but there was nothing he could do about it.

After ending the call with La Fei, I looked at Marian. She still looked completely dazed, unable to process the situation. It must have been an incredibly long day for her.

In the morning, I had said my goodbyes. By lunchtime, we had broken into the gang's headquarters, grabbed her passport, and walked out. Then we boarded a flight straight to Macau. And now, she was told she was a free woman.

Marian was struggling to keep up with the dizzying pace of events.

We sat down to eat at a high-end steakhouse in Macau.

"They say this place is pretty good, even by Macau standards."

"It's delicious. You can't even compare it to the food in the Philippines."

Marian offered a bright, genuine smile.

"Do you regret leaving the Philippines?"

"No. I don't have any family left anyway. If I'm going to wander, I'd rather be by your side."

"Mmm... I can't stay with you, Marian."

"What do you mean?"

Marian slowly set her fork down.

"Exactly what I said. As you wished, I bought you and saved you from that hell. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠My role ends here."

"But I came all this way trusting only you."

"I've secured a place for you to stay and someone to protect you here. Learn the ropes from them first. If you find out the work isn't for you, you can learn something else or go live somewhere else. You are free now."

"I don't want to... I want to be with you..."

"We are different. I live my life, and you live yours."

"But I have to pay back my debt to you."

"You don't have to."

"I will! I'll earn the money and pay you back, so please let me stay by your side. I'll work hard, I'll do whatever you tell me to do. Please don't abandon me."

"I'm not abandoning you. We are simply going to live different lives. I can't drag you into mine."

"You're not dragging me in. I'm the one choosing to be with you."

We bickered back and forth for a long time after that. Me insisting we couldn't be together, and Marian desperately pleading to stay. It was a tense, parallel argument with no middle ground.

But I had no intention of keeping Marian with me. Pulling her out of that hell was the extent of my responsibility. Everyone must live their own life. You can't truly live if you are constantly leaning on or depending on someone else. That applied to both me and Marian.

I wasn't casting her out; I was helping her stand on her own two feet.

Marian couldn't even touch the steak she had been so excited about, tears dripping silently onto her plate. I worried for a moment if I should hand her a tissue, but fortunately, there was a thick, luxurious napkin set before her. High-end restaurants certainly had their perks.

We sat in silence for a long time, watching the steak grow cold between us.

. . .

I stopped the taxi in front of The Golden Lotus and watched Marian walk inside. I had given her the black business card I received from La Fei, and the guards at the entrance waved her through instantly. She carried her single bag tightly in her hand.

I headed to the London Hotel, retrieved the bag of money, and stayed there for the night.

The next day, I took a ferry to Hong Kong to deliver the narcotics requested by the contact in the Philippines. This transaction was just as simple—I only had to leave the package at a designated hotel. It was effortless.

Shortly after, $50,000 was deposited into the alias account I had received from Sandro. They had requested express delivery, and they certainly paid well for it. Combined with the $30,000 I had received from La Fei the day before, I had made $80,000—over 100 million won—in just two days.

Well, if I included the travel time to the Philippines, maybe it wasn't exactly two days. A week, perhaps?

It made me reflect on the nature of money once again.

There was a time when I starved because I had no money. I went hungry day after day. I lived without electricity, without running water. As a soldier, making even 2 million won a month was a struggle. The salary All Day Guard had offered me as a team leader was 70 million won a year.

Yet, by delivering illicit substances using my Inventory, I was pulling in 100 million won in a single week. And that wasn't even a price I had demanded; it was simply what they had offered to pay.

And they kept asking: "Can we ask you again next time?"

That meant the demand was astronomical. They wanted my help because these transactions would keep happening. Perhaps that was why they had priced my services so generously.

I began to ponder seriously.

What should I do with my life? Should I return to Korea and look for a normal job? Submit applications, write self-introduction letters, and prepare for interviews? Or should I learn a trade, or prepare to open a fried chicken joint?

Or should I continue wandering abroad like this, delivering drugs for a living?

It was illegal. It was dangerous. If I got caught, it meant an immediate twenty-year prison sentence.

A flurry of thoughts tangled in my mind. Nothing was set in stone, but one thing was absolutely certain: whatever I chose to do, finding a legitimate job that paid 100 million won a week would be virtually impossible.

Money wasn't everything, but it was hard to find anything quite as important. Dreams? Hope? A future? A vision? If I had possessed any of those, I wouldn't have joined the military in the first place. I would have chased them.

I didn't know. For now, I would drink. I could think about tomorrow, tomorrow.

I sat in a bar in Soho, Hong Kong, sipping strong whiskey.

. . .

I stopped by the Philippines to retrieve the newly minted IDs. One was a Philippine passport, and the other was Indonesian. Both were incredibly sophisticated and well-made. They easily passed inspection.

"By the way... did you happen to take our money?"

"Huh? What are you talking about? What money?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Sandro suspected me because of the missing cash. It was a natural suspicion. I had been rummaging near the cabinet that day, after all.

Yet, he couldn't pin it on me. A thick roll of cash would have bulged immediately, and the clothes I had been wearing that day weren't suited for concealing that kind of bulk. I hadn't been carrying a bag either. Furthermore, I had sat there chatting for a long time before leaving. If I had stolen the money, I would have bolted immediately.

"The money was gone right after you left that day."

"Was I holding anything when I walked out? I only took Marian. And if I had stolen your money, would I have come back here?"

"I... I suppose not?"

"Here, take this."

I quickly handed over a stack of bills to shift the subject. $20,000. It was a substantial sum.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"What's this?"

"The balance for the IDs. And didn't you say you lost your money? Use this for operating expenses. We're partners, aren't we?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Even though I was merely returning a portion of the money I had stolen from him, Sandro looked deeply moved. I could practically see hearts in his eyes.

By returning Sandro's stolen money to Sandro, I had bought Marian's freedom, secured fake IDs and an alias account, and won Sandro's absolute devotion. Truly, money had to circulate to do its job.

"How are those guys? The ones who got shot?"

"They say they'll be fine as long as we keep the wounds clean."

"Take good care of them, Sandro. Taking care of your people when they're down is how you build real loyalty."

"Got it. Don't worry."

"I'm off, then."

"Are you heading straight back to Korea?"

"No. I think I'll stay here for about two more days before I head back."

"Want me to set you up with a girl?"

"No, I'm good. I'd rather just be by myself."

I booked a luxury resort on Alona Beach and spent the next two days entirely within its confines. I spent the time contemplating my future, getting massages, and swimming. I didn't step foot outside the resort. I didn't want to risk running into someone who might strike up a conversation, the way Marian had.

I rented a room in a goshiwon. Why? Because I didn't have a home.

The neighborhood I used to live in had been demolished for redevelopment. Until now, I had lived in military barracks and company dormitories. But I had discharged from the military and resigned from the company. I could no longer stay in those places.

A goshiwon was the perfect option for an unemployed guy in his twenties. It allowed me to register my address, and it was incredibly cheap. They even provided free rice, kimchi, and instant ramen. There was no window, but compared to my past, it was a luxurious environment.

Actually, I had planned to rent a place with a jeonse deposit. I had saved every penny of my military salary, and the cash stashed in my Inventory was substantial. I had more than enough to secure a decent apartment.

Despite that, I chose not to because I was away too often.

When I first returned from the Philippines, I stayed in motels. I had nowhere else to go. But motels were highly inconvenient. A single night was fine, but staying for several days made me self-conscious about the people coming and going, and it was uncomfortable in many ways.

While I was dealing with that, Kevin, the drug supplier in the Philippines, contacted me. He asked for one more favor, with Hong Kong as the destination. Just in case, I had contacted La Fei as well, asking if she needed any product since I was heading that way. La Fei had been thrilled, repeatedly begging me to bring some.

So, I had traveled to the Philippines once more. By the time I returned, over ten days had passed.

Since I was away so frequently, I wondered if committing to a jeonse was really the right choice. The place wouldn't be maintained, and I'd have to keep paying utility bills for an empty apartment.

Crucially, I didn't know when or where I might move my job or residence, so signing a two-year lease felt burdensome. Motels were uncomfortable, and one-room apartments were expensive.

Then, I found the goshiwon. One bed, one desk. That was it. The bathroom, kitchen, and shower were all shared. My body barely fit, filling the entire space. It was incredibly cramped.

Yet, this tiny space felt comfortable. When I lay down, it felt as though this small room was entirely mine. A space of my own, free from any disturbance. I liked that.

Even though the smell of grilled ribs drifted up from the restaurant on the first floor, even though the sound of doors opening and closing echoed every three minutes, even though rustling sounds could be heard at all hours, and even though shouts of "Keep it down!" rang out constantly, I still liked it.

I could hear the sounds of people living.

"What? You motherfucker? You done talking?"

"No, you crazy bastard, can't I even walk? You bitch about walking, you bitch about the computer keyboard being too loud, you bitch about me breathing! If you're going to be that sensitive, go live in the mountains!"

"Did you just speak informally to me, you little shit?"

"What, I can't even talk now? You won't even let me speak?"

"Look at this punk."

"Who the fuck are you calling a punk? Stop flapping your gums and let's throw down. What, you scared?"

"Ha... Fuck. Scared? No suing for medical bills? Deal?"

"Deal."

"Get out here, you son of a bitch."

The sounds of people living echoed through the goshiwon.

It felt as comfortable as being home.