The Vice President's Bitter Betrayal

A few days later. Seongil Pharma headquarters, vice president's office. A middle-aged man was gulping down top-shelf whiskey while staring out the window. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Seoul's glittering nightscape sprawled beneath him, but inside, his heart was burning black.

"Damn it... where the hell did it all start going wrong?"

His name was Jo Sang-hun. Grandson of the founder of Seongil Pharma, one of Korea's leading mid-tier pharmaceutical companies. Born with a silver spoon, he'd grown up without a care in the world. He'd studied abroad, solidified his position through arranged marriages. Everything had seemed like a smooth ride.

But reality was merciless. The company his grandfather built and his father expanded began crumbling in his generation. They failed to read the shifting tides, botched new drug development. Upstarts surged ahead, shoving aside their core products. And his family? An even bigger mess. His wife and kids, oblivious to the company's decline, blew through money like water.

They teetered on the brink of bankruptcy. Checking the Han River's water temperature multiple times a day—that's how desperate it got. Then, salvation appeared: Keter Bio Tech.

"We'll invest. Form a tech partnership, forgive your debts."

He thought they were saviors. But there was no such thing as a free lunch.

"Those goddamn Japs..." Jo Sang-hun gritted his teeth and slammed his glass on the table.

The company survived. No—it ballooned grotesquely. Stock prices soared, revenues multiplied dozens-fold. Better than their golden age. But it was no longer the Jo family company.

The CEO seat went to Sato Kenji, dispatched from Keter HQ. The board filled with Keter cronies. Jo Sang-hun got pushed to a hollow vice president title. A figurehead, rubber-stamping approvals, drawing a salary like any employee.

"My company... handed down three generations..."

They shut him out completely. Under the guise of "new drug development," they built a massive Plant 2 in Paju, Gyeonggi Province—and wouldn't even tell him what went on there. His private investigations turned up chilling cargo manifests, but he had to keep his mouth shut. Complain, and he'd lose even that empty VP seat.

So he endured, groveling on scraps, clinging to vain dreams of reclaiming the company someday.

But then.

"That stupid bastard son of mine... ruined everything."

Jo Sang-hun clutched his head. His son, Jo Min-hyuk. Oblivious to his father's struggles, the punk strutted around like hot shit once the company grew. And that fool finally caused an incident. A drug party? Fine, whatever. But dragging in minors and getting caught?

"Damn it, he takes after his damn mother."

Part of him wanted to abandon the kid. Kick him off the family registry. But he couldn't. Not out of paternal love.

If the police nabbed his son and traced the drugs to Seongil Pharma's new product? Keter would cut ties without mercy.

"The VP acted on his own." They'd pin it all on him, bury him. Hell, burial would be lucky—with those guys, it'd be a staged suicide, case closed due to "deceased."

So he covered it up. Bribed the police chief, hired thugs to silence victims. Tried to smother it quietly.

But it wouldn't die.

"Goddamn it... what the hell are these guys?"

The opponent? Some no-name loan shark outfit. JH Consulting? One of those sleazy joints littering Teheran Road. He figured they were just money-lending thugs. But their moves were no joke.

Not just fists. They rallied victims for a class-action suit, leaked scandals to the press, even neutralized his bought cops.

Over one employee's family? The whole company mobilizing like maniacs? Do gangsters have that much loyalty these days!?

It defied corporate logic—a mad obsession. Seongil stock tanked, and HQ (Keter) pressured him: "Handle it properly."

"Ugh..." Jo Sang-hun popped antacids like candy. His stomach felt like it was perforating from stress.

This trajectory ended in doom. Jail or purged by Keter.

Bzzz— bzzz— His phone vibrated on the table. Caller ID restricted.

"Reporters again..." He snatched it irritably. Pointless, but yelling might vent some steam.

"Fuck off!! I said no interviews! All of you, scram!"

The voice from the receiver was low, calm—and strangely familiar.

"Wh-what? Who the hell are you?"

"...!"

Jo Sang-hun froze. That bastard. The thug who crippled his son, dragged him into this hell.

"You son of a—!! How dare you call here! You think I'll let you live? I'll hire people to rip you apart—"

"Wh-what...?"

Cold sweat trickled down Jo Sang-hun's spine. He'd been uneasy. Sato hadn't picked up since morning. The board just said "wait."

"You... what do you want? Money? How much?"

"Join... hands?"

Click. The line went dead.

Jo Sang-hun stared blankly at his phone. Could be a trap. But... no choice. Staying meant death by Keter.

"Ticket..." His trembling eyes fixed on the safe. Inside: records of Plant 2 he'd secretly gathered, Keter's secret ledgers.

His only card to survive.

"Fine... if it's going down... I won't die alone."

Poison glinted in his eyes. He staggered to the safe.

11 PM. XX Scrapyard on Seoul's outskirts. Eerie moonlight pierced the stacks of wrecked cars.

Screech— A rusty gate creaked open. A hunched man slipped in: Vice President Jo Sang-hun. He scanned nervously, heading deeper.

"You've ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arrived."

In the open yard's center, Jang Hyun-soo lounged on a battered sofa. Beside him loomed a massive figure in a fedora and coat—like a living shadow. The immovable bulk radiated pressure; Jo swallowed dryly despite himself.

"Hey, the deal's solid, right?" Jo spoke first, voice cracking.

"Goods first."

Jang extended a hand impassively. Jo pulled a thick envelope and USB from his coat, tossing them on the table.

"Here! Plant 2 blueprints, Keter's bribes to branch offices! Now save me like promised!"

Jang scanned the docs wordlessly. Jo fidgeted, ranting.

"I'm innocent...! Those Japs stole my company—I ate shit for years! Selling some drugs? Big deal? Look at what I built!"

Whiny self-pity. Jang felt oddly calm watching. Trash. Ditching his kid to save his skin, still whining about himself.

Compared to himself—staking life for his daughter—this man was beneath contempt. Laughable, even.

"This it?" Jang closed the file coldly.

"Huh...?"

"Too thin. Think this gossip hits Keter?"

Just blueprints and bribes. No knockout punch.

"N-no! That's all I could get! I can't waltz into that plant—security's insane..."

Jang's gaze iced over.

"Disappointing. Deal's off."

"W-wait! Hold on!" Jo lunged, clutching at Jang's leg.

"Th-this! This is gold!" He yanked a crumpled file from his inner pocket.

"Special cargo list for the plant..."

Jang unfolded it.

"...!"

Jang's brow furrowed. Not just chem trials. People. Orphans and homeless as guinea pigs?

"Ha... what the—"

"S-see? Strong, right? Just from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠docs, but probably real. Those Japs did Unit 731 crap, love human experiments!"

Jo squirmed, dodging blame—groveling tone now.

Jang pocketed the goods, stomach turning.

"Fine. We'll take this."

"The money? The deal!?"

"Not enough."

"Need a smoking gun. Plant interior footage, drug samples."

"What? You're crazy! How?!"

"You're VP. Fake an inspection. Then, final payment."

"You conning bastards! That's not the deal!"

Too late. He'd handed over intel, boarded the betrayal ship. Jump now? Keter kills him. Ride it? Ant hell with Jang.

"Choose. Die here, or..."

Bang—! A sharp crack split the night.

Thud!

"Guhk...!" Blood erupted from Jo's chest. He gawked at the hole.

"Wha... wha...?"

Before comprehension—

Bang-bang-bang-bang—! Gunfire rattled. Jo's body shredded like swiss cheese, collapsing dead. A traitor's end.

"Shit! What the—!?"

Jang ducked instinctively. Bullets tracked him. Unavoidable range, timing.

Squelch—!

A fleshy impact—not on Jang, but the massive shadow shielding him. Abhos sponsor. Using its body as a bulwark.

Far off, atop a construction crane. A sniper in shadows scoped the scene.

"Damn, what the hell?"

Clear hit. Yet the giant tanked it barehanded. No flinch, no fall.

"Awakened? Enhancer type?"

Sniper clicked his tongue. Unforeseen variable.

"Switch ammo. AP rounds. Pierces tanks—even hunters lose their heads."

He reloaded deftly, barking at his prone spotter.

"Hey, range and wind again."

"..."

"Hey? Don't space out!"

Irritated, he turned—

"Huh...?"

Eyes widened. Spotter gone. Vanished. Just a pooling bloodstain where he'd lain.

"What... when...?"

Chirrr... chik. A chilling rasp behind. Too mechanical for beast, too wet for machine.

Sniper turned slowly. Saw it: crane's end, moonlight glinting off compound insect eyes, a grotesque silhouette twisting human form.

Reverse-jointed legs. Massive scythe blades on forearms. Abhos sponsor, hunter type.

"Hiiik...!"

Sniper shrieked, fumbling for his pistol. Too late.

—!

No whistle of air. His vision spun. Headless body tumbling from the crane. Consciousness snuffed.