Day of National Bankruptcy (1)
It felt a bit odd for me to say this, but Asia—especially Korea and Japan—was a place with an exceptionally strong, yearning fantasy about Westerners. Thanks to that, the combination of a British passport, perfectly prepared documents, and my constantly active Charm was of immense help in getting Pavel and me through immigration. Of course, the fifty-pound note slipped quietly between the pages of my passport to grease the immigration officer's palm helped even more.
Upon beholding the face of Her Majesty the Queen, who seemed to smile as if saying, "Hehe, it's still me," the immigration officer's eyes went wide as saucers. He looked up at me, and I merely responded with a shrug. Fifty pounds was about eighty thousand won at the current exchange rate. Considering the cost of living in South Korea at the time, its actual purchasing power was bound to be far greater than what eighty thousand won suggested.
My first taste of South Korea in November 1997 was even more depressing than I had heard. The impending economic collapse and the anxiety of the IMF bailout—which, in the original history, was only a few weeks away—manifested as a palpable, bleak chill the moment we stepped out of the airport. But if there was one difference, it was that Stalin's butterfly effect, or whatever it was, had left its mark on this peninsula as well.
The television mounted in a corner of the airport oozed a dizzying flavor of authoritarianism. If Margaret Thatcher had served five consecutive terms in the UK, I suppose this man was her Korean equivalent. Forget the 15th presidential election; backed by the Yushin Constitution, the 12th president was still sitting in the Blue House, now in his thirty-fourth year of rule.
It was too early to judge whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. The Yushin President, who had survived an assassination attempt and ultimately secured his eighth term. What kind of impact would this man have on overcoming the 'national crisis'?
But what mattered most to me was not his domestic policy, but how he would serve as a pawn in my grand plan to bring down Moscow.
Since we would be staying for quite a while, we couldn't just hail taxis every single day. Naturally, our choice of transportation turned to a rental car. Since we couldn't expect the systematic computerization of the modern era—unless dealing with high-value industries like luxury hotels or finance—securing a vehicle had to be done on the spot at the airport. This, too, was a matter of minutes with my looks and Charm.
The only slightly bothersome thing was the subtle difference in how people treated Pavel versus how they treated me. I leaned in and whispered in Pavel's ear.
“Does it bother you?”
“I cannot say it doesn't, Miss. I never expected to receive such strange looks even in the land of my grandparents.”
I nodded gently at his honest admission and comforted him. I switched our language to Russian so no one around us could understand.
“Well... what does it matter what others think? Ever since Father brought you into the syndicate, we've been family.”
The gaze directed at mixed-race individuals is typically a convoluted mix of envy and contempt. Because of that ambiguity, the two emotions are often indistinguishable in practice—even when people are staring out of pure curiosity.
“You were also the one who reached out to me when I was covered in nothing but mud, Miss.”
“Yes, I was.”
“Please do not worry. It is nothing serious. I have been used to these looks for over twenty years.”
“If you say so. But if it ever gets unpleasant, you must tell me immediately, okay? I'll chew them up and swallow them whole.”
Chewing them up and swallowing them was not a metaphor. As long as there were no witnesses and no CCTV cameras, my shadow beast, Schattenmaiden, was the perfect tool for making a person or two vanish without a trace.
Of course, I couldn't just keep a rotting corpse stored inside forever. Just like how I dealt with that playboy IRA mage I devoured in the back alleys of Londonderry, I would eventually have to dump the body in the Han River. There was absolutely no way suspicion would ever fall on me anyway.
After leaving the airport without any trouble, we climbed into our rented Mercedes-Benz S-Class. When it comes to cars, the ones you're used to driving or riding in are always the most comfortable.
After driving through the city streets for a few minutes, a wide, expansive river opened up before us. The water, kissed by the setting sun, sparkled with brilliant ripples of light.
Turning my gaze away from the sunset, the chaotic dust of the mortal world immediately caught my eye. The source of the commotion was the bustling Mapo Bridge to the east.
“It is a good thing we did not head that way.”
“Indeed.”
Judging by the flashing red and blue sirens, I could guess what was happening. Despite the desperate attempts of those nearby to stop and restrain him, a faint silhouette plunged headfirst toward the water. The slow fall gathered speed, ending only when it crashed into the river, kicking up a burst of white foam.
Compared to the scale of the commotion, the splash was pitifully small. Come to think of it, my contribution to that leap might not have been entirely zero, even if it was minuscule. Suddenly, I recalled what the syndicate's treasurer had said back in London just before this business trip. He had put it like this:
“Retail investors always buy at the top and sell at the bottom. The biggest reason is their lack of information and basic economic knowledge. After all, if it's information they know, then the entire world already knows it, don't they?”
“Well, that's what makes them apes.”
“Apes... Is that another term of your own invention? I suppose they are no different, throwing their entire fortunes into a bear market without a single thought.”
I had unintentionally infected my subordinate with a term from the future, but it wasn't really a problem. In any case, as the treasurer had so accurately pointed out, the retail "ants" and "apes" were always destined to be toyed with by market manipulators. That was why the corpses of ants would only pile up on the frozen Han River. Only this twisted history would know just how many people would be driven over the edge this winter.
Frankly, it wasn't my concern. After all, I had traveled back in time and figured out how to escape being an ant.
I just have to become the market manipulator.
Yes, a truly flawless solution.
For this trip, we planned to stay long-term at a hotel I had booked in advance somewhere north of the river. In the midst of frozen consumer spending, a five-star hotel in the heart of Seoul was more than eager to welcome foreign guests who spent money like water.
However, a bit of confusion arose during the reservation check-in.
“So, for Miss Yerina Bronska and Mr. Pavel Nikolayevich Tsoy, would one room be fine?”
“Pardon?”
“Huh... just one?”
“Oh, wait, wasn't it one room with two beds...?”
I tilted my head in confusion at first, but the mix-up was simply because the clerk had mistakenly assumed our request for two rooms was for a single twin room. They had assumed we wanted one room with two beds.
It was a silly misunderstanding, but on second thought, sharing a single spacious suite seemed much more practical. After all, Pavel and I would be staying here the entire time we were in Seoul. It would be a hassle to constantly open and close doors and move back and forth just to discuss our plans. Moreover, it was a good option in terms of finding ways to avoid any CCTV cameras that might be installed in the hotel corridors.
Since we would be sharing, we would need a larger space. After readily upgrading to a suite and unpacking our bags, I began reviewing the list of potential Korean collaborators we had compiled beforehand.
According to the intelligence and treasury departments' prior investigations, the most suitable candidate to act as our puppet president was the CEO of a trading company on the verge of bankruptcy. The company was called Cheonma Sangsa. Despite its precarious state, both its headquarters and the CEO's private residence were located north of the river, making them easily accessible from our hotel.
We had already acquired as many shares of Cheonma Sangsa Co., Ltd. as we could while back in London. While other foreign giants were only interested in the larger conglomerates higher up the food chain, a mid-sized company like this was well within our syndicate's capacity to absorb. The fact that there was no rival to wage a fierce battle over shares and voting rights made Cheonma Sangsa an even more attractive prey.
Pavel, who was reviewing the documents, let out a sigh of relief.
“It is a great relief that the syndicate's leadership holds British citizenship.”
“Indeed. Otherwise, setting up paper companies would have been a nightmare. Delis and Lazarev's workload would have easily doubled.”
Holding British citizenship made it far easier to establish shell companies in the British Virgin Islands, a notorious tax haven. Combined with a bit of financial engineering to tangle the investment structure, quietly securing nearly half of the company's shares without anyone being the wiser was child's play.
We had even considered moving the syndicate's holding company to the independent nation of Ireland in the near future, once our influence grew. Although Ireland's reputation as a low-corporate-tax haven wouldn't truly take off for another five years, we could probably accelerate that timeline by a year or two if the syndicate exerted its influence.
Of course, we can't let our guard down just yet.
The current Korean stock market, teeming with strategic investors who couldn't care less about actual financial investment, was practically a lawless wasteland. It wouldn't be surprising if some absolute bastard tried to swoop in and snatch a majority stake in this company out from under me. If that happened, I would have to swallow my anger and look for another candidate.
Plan B wouldn't be easy either. No matter how well we hid behind tax havens, companies that could be swallowed up right under the nose of the Securities Supervisory Board (the predecessor to the Financial Supervisory Service) didn't just grow on trees.
The syndicate was in a different position than foreign investment firms, which could shamelessly gobble up falling companies like autumn leaves. When you have to tread carefully, the intervals between your moves naturally grow longer. Thus, finishing everything with a single, decisive strike was the best course of action.
There was no need to wait until tomorrow. As soon as the documents were ready, I headed straight for our target's private residence.
“Wow, it looks like these people live in an entirely different world.”
“Though some of them might not starting tomorrow. Still, they are bound to be much better prepared than the middle class and below.”
The target's house was located near Hannam-dong, a wealthy neighborhood. Although his company's growth had stalled just short of becoming a major conglomerate, it seemed it was still more than enough for the CEO and his family to live in a three-story house with a garden in an affluent district.
Our target, Ham Cheon-ho, had not yet returned home. He was likely at his office, racking his brains with his directors for a way to overcome the crisis. Pavel and I parked our car on the main road as if we were visiting an old friend, and boldly rang the doorbell of the residence.
“...”
Hmm.
“No answer.”
If they had just opened the door, I wouldn't have had to resort to extreme measures. Oh well. After checking the angles of the security cameras, I used their blind spot as cover and slipped my shadow beast through the gap in the gate.
To put it crudely, it wasn't much different from a petty thief sliding a wire hanger through a milk chute or mail slot to unlock a door. It was just that my method was far more elegant and supernatural.
As we stepped past the gate and into the garden as naturally as if we had been invited, we ran right into a highly alert housekeeper. Clutching a mobile phone in her hand, she was rushing somewhere, shouting shrilly at us.
“W-Who are you, and how did you get in here?! Did you pick the lock...? Don't come any closer! I'll... I'll call the police!”
She seemed to have dialed 112 on the keypad, ready to press the call button at any moment. If she was going to press it, she should have done it sooner. With a faint, cold smile playing on my lips, I 'commanded' the housekeeper in Korean.
“Stand still. And throw the phone over here.”
“...?”
Yes, she must be shocked. Her body was moving on its own, compelled by some inexplicable urge to obey the command of the platinum-blonde girl standing before her. Handing the phone I caught out of midair to Pavel, I made my request to the housekeeper as confidently as an invited guest.
“I'm here to see the president. Would you mind showing us inside?”