Sandro Group

"Boss. Bohol is completely secured."

"Good job. You've worked hard."

"Are we moving on to Cebu next?"

"Send a few of the boys over first just to test the waters."

Sandro lightly patted his subordinate's shoulder. He had been expanding his territory at a breakneck pace lately. He no longer used the name 'Bahala Na.' It had been completely replaced by the 'Sandro Group.'

The Sandro Group was now the undisputed, top-dog organization in Bohol. It was only possible because of his fiercely loyal men and the massive funds backing them. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠They absorbed the smaller gangs and utterly crushed the larger ones. Now, it was practically impossible for anyone to do business in Bohol without the Sandro Group's permission.

If the Sandro Group didn't allow it, a business could neither open nor stay afloat. Having seized absolute control of the distribution networks, the Sandro Group supplied everything from alcohol to raw ingredients. Nothing was delivered to any establishment that lacked their blessing. The underworld was firmly in the grip of the Sandro Group.

The sole reason Sandro poured so much energy into this expansion was because of Alex.

The lunatic who had suddenly shown up one day, demanding to buy Marian. The madman who had walked right into a gangster's office holding Marian's hand and brightly asked how much she was.

Sandro had thought he was just a simple lunatic, but he turned out to be far crazier than expected. When Sandro had tried to tame him like a mad dog with a club, he had been subdued in a split second instead.

But Sandro had seen it in that brief moment. The way Alex didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. Yet, he had deliberately aimed for spots that wouldn't kill.

Sandro had realized then: This is a man I can never defeat with raw force. Even while shooting, Alex had been completely relaxed.

No one knew what kind of life he had lived, but it was clear he had survived some kind of hell. He never spoke of his past. He only lived in the present, never dreaming of the future. That made him look a bit unstable. Like a man living only for today. Like a man with no tomorrow.

But Alex had brilliant ideas and money. He never hesitated to spend either. He had thrown bags of cash at Sandro just to pay for the medical bills of the shot gang members, handing over the money without a second thought. Yet he never made unreasonable demands or tried to lord over them.

Then, out of nowhere, he had suggested a partnership in the tourism industry.

And what about when he bought Emerald Canyon and Lumina Lake? Who in their right mind would have thought to buy those places with cold, hard cash? Everyone else just thought they were public spaces anyone could use. Buying them was a stroke of genius, and Candy Tour quickly became the best travel agency in Bohol, owning two luxury resorts.

Sandro was perfectly content and happy with his role as General Manager of Candy Tour. Of course, he didn't particularly like the name 'Candy Tour,' but that didn't matter.

The men were highly satisfied too. Regular monthly salaries, bonuses, social security insurance—and the occasional thick stacks of cash thrown their way. The crew took immense pride in their Candy Tour uniforms, refusing to tolerate even a single speck of dirt on them.

But Alex was different. He never wore the uniform. Nor did he wear a suit to look like a dignified CEO. He always wore shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a fedora, claiming it was the ultimate tourist look.

He had stayed here for over a year, yet he still called himself a tourist. Truly a madman.

That was why Sandro felt anxious. He was worried that once the "tour" was over, Alex would just leave. Worried that if Alex felt there was nothing left to see, he would abandon this place. Just as he didn't dream of the future, he seemed to have no lingering attachments here. He looked like someone who could drop everything and vanish at any moment.

Until Sandro had practically forced him to move, Alex had lived in the tiny, single-room shack he first rented when he arrived, eating the same cheap packed lunches as the employees. Even as the boss, he never expected or demanded special treatment.

He was raking in astronomical amounts of money, but he used most of it as capital for other businesses or distributed it to the staff. He seemed completely detached from everything. Sandro had never seen him buy anything for himself. Not money, not people, not power—he clung to nothing.

It kept Sandro on edge. Because he looked like a man poised to vanish at any second.

Alex existed at the very center of their world, yet Alex himself behaved like an outsider. Alex was loved by everyone, yet he seemed entirely oblivious to it.

So Sandro wanted to show him. You are precious to us. You are our family.

Sandro resolved to make Bohol a true home for Alex. A place where he could lean back and rest whenever he was tired, a sanctuary where no one could ever touch him. No matter what terrible crimes Alex might have committed, even if he had killed people and was on Interpol's Red Notice list...

Sandro would make sure he could live in peace, at least here in Bohol. We will protect you. That was Sandro's sole focus.

That was why he had taken absolute control of Bohol. Sandro was happy living alongside Alex. He wanted to stay with this crazy bastard. Doing crazy things with a madman was fun. He wanted to preserve this happiness.

Is this really okay?

Everything was going too well. This wasn't my intention, so why was it turning out like this? Things were drifting in a direction I had never anticipated. I didn't know why.

I was a jobless loser. A high school graduate living in a cramped goshiwon. A failure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who couldn't last five months at a security firm after discharging from the military. I had no real skills. I lacked social grace ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and had no outstanding talents. I was just a courier who happened to luck into a supernatural ability called Inventory that no one else had, using it to deliver drugs to scrape by. That was me. A loser delivering meth.

And now, I couldn't even do that anymore.

The immigration office had flagged my travel patterns as suspicious and slapped me with a Code SSSS designation. Out of necessity, to keep smuggling drugs, I had to create a plausible cover. A job that would let me travel back and forth overseas without raising eyebrows.

A travel agency.

I set up travel agencies in both Korea and the Philippines. I had no intention of making money from them. I just needed proof to justify my frequent international flights. But it would look weird if I set up an agency and had zero clients, so I decided to run it normally, not caring if it ran a deficit. I was just using it to mask my smuggling routes.

But the travel agency was thriving.

Thinking we wouldn't be competitive just following existing tour routes, I had bought Emerald Canyon and Lumina Lake. They became massive hits. Countless people flocked here every single day just to see them. I capped the daily tour limit at a hundred people, but several times that number tried to book. Half of those slots were reserved for tourists coming straight from Seoul.

In the midst of all this, I bought two resorts. One five-star resort, Vicente Palace, and another currently under construction, the Emerald Resort. Hosting the tour guests at our own resorts brought so many advantages. It cut costs and allowed us to manage rooms with extreme efficiency. Especially for a tour like ours that included an overnight camping trip at Lumina Lake, we didn't have to leave the rooms vacant for that night, making it incredibly efficient.

Once the unfinished Emerald Resort opened, we'd be able to utilize both, making operations even more seamless. Since running the resorts, the cash flow had improved dramatically. Profits had soared.

Then Dae-hoon contacted me.

Feeling bad for Dae-hoon, who was struggling to find his footing even in Gunsan, I built him an online gambling site, GoGo Casino. I set this up separately with my own money, completely unrelated to Candy Tour. Just so he'd have some pocket money. But why the hell did that take off too? So much cash flooded in that we had to launder it. We were barely managing to wash it using cryptocurrency transactions through TrustBit.

I even practically fell into owning an arms smuggling ring.

Every single day, new things were happening. To a degree that even I found hard to handle. Lately, I couldn't even calculate how much I was earning. By the time I finished counting, more money had piled up. I wanted for nothing. I was overflowing with wealth.

But...

But was this really the life I wanted?

Did I even have a life I wanted?

I looked in the mirror. A young man in a Hawaiian shirt stared back at me. A young man who looked like a tourist, but carried an underlying anxiety.

I asked the reflection: Is this really the life you wanted? Is this place really where you belong? Is this your home?

I couldn't answer.

If I left this place, would I find my home somewhere else? Will the life I wanted be waiting for me there?

I couldn't answer that either. When I didn't even know what kind of life I wanted, a mirror couldn't give me the answer.

There was no answer. I just got through each day. Living as an outsider, day after day.

.

.

.

Hearing his real name after so long made him momentarily confused. Living solely as Alex, being called Gong In-bae felt bizarre. It felt as though he had been drifting through the clouds, only to be violently dragged back down into the gutter the moment his name was spoken.

A name he hadn't heard in ages. Hearing his father's name made the gutter feel even filthier.

As soon as the call ended, a flood of memories rushed into his head. Unpleasant memories he thought he had forgotten, or hoped were forgotten, resurfaced relentlessly.

Getting punched and kicked for no reason just because his father was in a bad mood was a daily occurrence. Flipping the dinner table, throwing things, smashing every single object in the house. One day, his father had lunged at him with a knife, screaming that he hated looking at his face ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠because he resembled his mother. Terrified, In-bae had fled into the freezing winter night barefoot. His soles had split open, leaving him suffering for a long time. When he ran away, his father tied him up and beat him with a belt. Starving, drinking tap water, rummaging through leftover scraps...

All those memories choked him. He thought there might be at least one good memory, but no matter how hard he searched, he couldn't find a single one. The more he thought, the more his stomach churned with nauseating, disgusting recollections.

If there had been even a few decent memories, he would have gone to hold a proper funeral. But those memories simply did not exist.

He picked up the phone to call them back and refuse the body. But he couldn't bring himself to press the call button. All he had to do was make the call and say he was relinquishing the body, and it would all be over. Yet, he hesitated.

He didn't even understand his own mind.

When he was a child, he was simply terrified. As he grew a little older, he did everything he could to avoid him. Once he turned twenty, he lived as if the man didn't exist. And now, that man had suddenly burst back into his life. As a corpse.

He could just refuse the body and go on living his life, but his heart wouldn't let him. He didn't know what emotion this was. At the very least, he wanted to see the end. He wanted to see with his own eyes just how miserably the man had died. Perhaps he wanted to gloat, to show off how successful he had become.

Whatever the reason, he decided he would return to Korea and hold a funeral.

But he had no intention of doing it well. He fully intended to make it as pathetic and miserable as possible. The altar would hold nothing but a bag of cheap snacks and a single bottle of cheap soju. That was the kind of funeral he envisioned for his father. Shabby, destitute, and utterly pathetic. Something that would make anyone who saw it grimace.

His father didn't deserve to drink much alcohol anyway. If he drank too much, he'd probably just throw another violent tantrum in the afterlife. Since In-bae had been weak, his father had beaten him as he pleased. He didn't know if his father would be able to do that over there.

So, I'd better make sure you behave yourself.

With those thoughts, Gong In-bae set off for South Korea.