Game of Thrones
The man who once dominated the Game of Thrones with overwhelming charisma, subduing his retainers and party elders alike, was nowhere to be seen. In his place sat a country grandfather completely taken in by a quack. “Aigoo, Grandfather. Get a hold of yourself.” At Yoo Jae-won’s sigh, Jeon Myeong-heon’s gaze flickered back into focus.
Was the presidency really that desirable? The seat would force him to absorb every explosive aftereffect of military dictatorship. Yet Jeon Myeong-heon, who had watched lesser men seize control of politics and the economy through that single title and had suffered greatly because of it, still carried deep scars of victimhood. With the polls eliminating any other path, Jeon Jae-jun’s tip must have sounded irresistible.
We really need a proper intelligence team!
That was why Yoo Jae-won had assembled the strongest civilian information unit he could muster to keep Jeon Jae-jun in check—only to fail. Civilians were still civilians; they could never match a well-organized state apparatus. Once this affair ended, he resolved to build an intelligence organization rivaling even America’s. No—perhaps he could begin right now. If Jeon Myeong-heon swallowed Jeon Jae-jun’s proposal whole, Yoo Jae-won would have no reason to remain emergency committee chairman.
“Hmm!” Jeon Myeong-heon groaned under the weight of his dilemma, torn between Jeon Jae-jun’s appeal to personal ambition and Yoo Jae-won’s data-driven strategy.
Father! There’s no time!
Jeon Jae-jun was equally impatient. In his eyes, the only reason they were wasting time on such a golden opportunity was Yoo Jae-won.
“Jae-jun, come up to Seoul immediately. I need to hear your report in person.”
Jeon Myeong-heon’s decision was a compromise. He still had too much attachment to abandon Plan B outright, yet he could not ignore Yoo Jae-won either. Summoning Jeon Jae-jun to Seoul simply postponed the final choice.
“I’m sorry. It’s too big a matter to dismiss lightly.”
He offered Yoo Jae-won an awkward apology.
“Understood.”
Yoo Jae-won nodded calmly. Judging by Jeon Myeong-heon’s expression and the faces of his retainers and party elders, the game was already over. There was nothing he could do when they swallowed poison without realizing it. Politics truly was difficult. He possessed memories of his previous life, ample funds, and a reasonably solid organization, yet he had never once reached first place in the polls. Doubling the previous numbers was remarkable, but who would acknowledge it?
“Then I’ll return this evening. We’ll decide for certain then.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jeon Jae-jun’s journey from Ulsan to Seoul would take roughly five hours, so they agreed to reconvene at night.
“I suppose I should stay out of politics from now on.”
After seeing off Jeon Myeong-heon and the others, Yoo Jae-won returned to his seat and muttered the complaint. The effort invested far outweighed the meager returns. Working with people who refused to listen was maddening. Managing the tightly organized ID Group and then taking charge of the Tongil National Party, barely a year old, felt like an impossible gap.
“Aigoo.”
Even drained, he did not neglect his duties. Sitting before the computer again, he logged into the Tongil National Party’s dedicated page and began answering the accumulated reports and inquiries. He handled the ones marked “urgent” or “important” first, but none were truly serious. Most concerned illegal campaigning by rival parties—mere child’s play compared to the Chowon Bokguk incident. Of course, by twenty-first-century standards they could warrant disqualification, yet under the current judiciary, convictions were impossible.
Ring ring!
While he was deep in work, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
Chairman! This is Busan.
The Busan election headquarters. He recognized the voice at once. They had never met in person, but daily chats and calls with regional party organizations since the campaign began had made the caller feel familiar. Busan, though. Had the Busan branch only now learned of the Chowon Bokguk matter? Reality far exceeded his expectations.
It’s about a strange tip. Someone claiming to be a Chowon Bokguk employee just called. He said high-ranking officials from Busan came for blowfish soup today and talked about something suspicious. While serving, he overheard them plotting illegal election interference.
Again, the Chowon Bokguk incident. Yet this was the complete opposite of Jeon Jae-jun’s situation. Yoo Jae-won, who had been holding the receiver loosely, immediately straightened and focused.
After the guests left, he felt uneasy. He noticed strangers loitering around the restaurant, so he fled. Then those strangers followed him. He escaped into the hillside slums of Busan, shook them off, and called us. He says he can testify about what happened at the restaurant and is asking for help. We didn’t know what to do, so I’m calling you directly, Chairman.
The same cursed Chowon Bokguk case. But the opportunity now before Yoo Jae-won was entirely different. Jeon Jae-jun held an illegal recording that could be twisted into an illegal wiretapping frame and turned against them. A witness, however—especially one making a conscience declaration—changed everything. Lieutenant Lee Ji-moon’s whistleblowing on military absentee ballot fraud during the April general election had delivered a decisive blow. That single act had helped the Tongil National Party secure over forty seats. If the Chowon Bokguk scandal came through a conscience declaration rather than a wiretap, it would become a guaranteed winning card.
Yoo Jae-won’s heartbeat quickened, yet his caution remained. He did not accept the offer immediately.
“Could you tell me the man’s name?”
When he had visited Chowon Bokguk last time, he had signed autographs for the owner and every employee, asking each their name so he could personalize the messages.
Just a moment. I have it written down… Yes! His name is Baek Gang-ho.
Baek Gang-ho. Of course the name was familiar—a young man in his mid-twenties who had just finished his military service, with a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones. Despite his sharp features, his voice and manner had been remarkably innocent. Now that he thought about it, he even remembered the voice. The polite exchange during the autograph session had been ordinary, yet the excited tone lingered in memory. Another voice rose alongside it—the recording Jeon Jae-jun had played earlier. The sound of a sliding door followed by “Would you like to order?” had unmistakably belonged to Baek Gang-ho.
At this point, it was impossible to imagine the situation as an Agency for National Security Planning fabrication. If it were, he would have to admit the ANSP surpassed even the CIA. Yoo Jae-won made his decision at once.
“Understood! I’ll send someone right away.”
The Special Team he had dispatched to Busan to manage the Chowon Bokguk incident was still there. Though the ANSP had reduced them to chasing chickens, their moment had finally arrived. Yoo Jae-won obtained the whistleblower’s identity and current location from the Busan headquarters chief, then immediately called Hwang Jae-hong. Normally he would have sent a message via computer, but this was an emergency; calling their mobile phones was faster. He could not risk calling the Special Team’s phones himself, however—notes could hide the sender, but calls could not. Hwang Jae-hong. The Special Team was his organization, and he had safety protocols in place, so the indirect route was correct.
After giving instructions to Hwang Jae-hong, Yoo Jae-won suddenly thought of something and picked up the phone again to dial.
At the same time, two men sat inside a heavily tinted Excel on a stakeout. They belonged to the Special Team and had been assigned to monitor Jeon Jae-jun’s private organization. Their task was simply to gather accurate information and report it to Hwang Jae-hong. Though not blood brothers, repeated missions had turned them into sworn siblings. This contract differed greatly from previous ones, yet the generous pay and low difficulty left them highly satisfied. They had even been provided a car with a car phone and ample activity funds. The autonomy was also considerable; no one nitpicked their methods. Unaware that the client—the original contractor—had failed to protect Jeon Jae-jun, the two men hoped such missions would continue.
While they were chatting, the car phone rang.
“Hyung-nim, it’s ringing.”
The phone between the driver’s and passenger’s seats trilled.
“A call at this hour? Must be the boss.”
It was too early for team members to report. The only person who would call was the boss above them. The broad-shouldered man in the passenger seat nodded and carefully answered.
“Yes, Team One here.”
The man called “hyung-nim” listened, startled at first, then nodded repeatedly, his expression growing grave. The younger man in the driver’s seat, who had been eavesdropping, also stiffened. The call lasted less than a minute, yet the atmosphere flipped completely.
“We’re finished.”
Hyung-nim summarized Hwang Jae-hong’s message in a single sentence. Jeon Jae-jun had slipped past their surveillance and the incident had broken; Hwang Jae-hong could terminate the contract. More than ten professionals had been assigned, yet they had lost track of Jeon Jae-jun. Worse still was the second order that followed: secure Baek Gang-ho and bring him to Seoul. On the surface it sounded simple—they had abducted people many times before. The problem was that Baek Gang-ho was being pursued by the ANSP or the Defense Security Command, or, at best, the police security division.
“Huk. The ANSP?”
The younger man in the driver’s seat jumped. Even the Special Team’s work carried a shady edge, but compared to the ANSP they were fireflies before the sun. The ANSP stood at the apex of state power. They were being asked to snatch someone the ANSP was chasing? They would rather return the money they had received than attempt it. How many people had been dragged to the ANSP and returned half-crippled?
“Hyung-nim, are you going to do it?”
The younger man’s question received no easy answer.
“They’re offering ten times the amount.”
“What? Ten times just for bringing him in?”
The fee for monitoring Jeon Jae-jun had been twenty million won—already an enormous sum. Ten times that was two hundred million. The first prize of the housing lottery these days was one hundred fifty million; this was fifty million more. It was enough money to change one’s station in life, worth risking everything for.
Ring ring.
While they were deep in thought, the phone rang again. This time the hunch was clear. President Hwang would not have contacted only Team One. Teams Two and Three, who had received the same proposal, were calling to discuss.
Hyung-nim, did you also receive that absurd proposal from President Hwang?
His intuition had been correct. The caller was the leader of Team Two, nicknamed “Choksae” for his sharp instincts.
“Yeah.”
There was no point hiding that he had received the offer.
You taking it?
“What about you?”
Hyung-nim, how can small fries like us go up against the ANSP? Our team is backing out cleanly.
“Hey, even so, a man’s got to have some integrity!”
Integrity, my ass. We have to stay alive first.
The line went dead. It was slightly disheartening. Their organization had always been loosely held together like grains of sand, but he had not expected it to fracture so easily. What troubled him more was that similar calls kept coming—more teams withdrawing.
“Hyung-nim, what are we going to do?”
The younger man beside him was visibly tense. With two teams already gone, anxiety filled the car.
“We’re doing it. If you’re too scared, get out now.”
The younger man looked startled for a moment, then his expression shifted to one of hurt.
“I’m not leaving you behind, Hyung-nim. Let’s just do it.”
A faint smile finally appeared on the older man’s face. He had decided to accept Hwang Jae-hong’s orders because the client had hidden nothing. Even though the ANSP detail had been omitted from the new directive, Hwang Jae-hong had disclosed every risk. Moreover, behind Hwang Jae-hong stood ID Group Chairman Yoo Jae-won, a man whose power surpassed even the National Intelligence Service and the Blue House. At his age, this was no ordinary connection. The money was tempting, but the chance to link with someone above the heavens made accepting the job an even firmer resolve.
“Let’s go! We don’t have time to waste.”
Once the decision was made, there was no room for hesitation. The Excel roared to life and shot forward like an arrow.
Around the same time, a Grandeur was speeding down the highway—the car carrying Jeon Jae-jun, who had departed from Ulsan. Three people rode inside: the driver, a secretary, and Jeon Jae-jun himself. The interior was quiet because Jeon Jae-jun was on the car phone.
“Honestly.”
A few minutes later, Jeon Jae-jun let out a small grumble and hung up. They had just left Ulsan and entered the Gyeongbu Expressway. Driving this highway always lifted his mood. The future Group had built this monumental achievement, and imagining himself as its master never failed to please him. That pleasant feeling had been thoroughly ruined by the call that arrived moments ago.
The caller had been Yoo Jae-won. Yoo Jae-won’s calls were never particularly welcome; the more prominent Yoo Jae-won became in Jeon Myeong-heon’s eyes, the smaller Jeon Jae-jun himself appeared. Yet the content of this call was astonishing. A witness had emerged in the Chowon Bokguk incident and was being pursued by suspicious individuals—possibly the ANSP or the police—and Yoo Jae-won wanted Jeon Jae-jun to secure the man and bring him to Seoul. Jeon Jae-jun had tried to ask for more details, but the call had dropped due to leaving the coverage area.
“A witness, of all things.”
Jeon Jae-jun’s excitement deflated instantly. The recording he had obtained was supposed to restore the presence he had lost to Yoo Jae-won. Now something even stronger had appeared. It was not yet in his hands, however, and the witness was on the run. He would have to wait and see.
“Ah, I didn’t even ask for the name.”
“What name, sir?”
The secretary in the passenger seat reacted to Jeon Jae-jun’s muttered words.
“Ah, never mind. Father is waiting, so drive a little faster.”
Jeon Jae-jun changed the subject, his eyes turning cold. Because the call had dropped, he had neither the name nor the location. Of course, he had no intention of cooperating with Yoo Jae-won’s request. If he could have obtained the witness’s information, he would have immediately reported it to the police and had the man arrested. The regret was bitter. Waiting helplessly for the outcome was maddening.
Yoo Jae-won’s agonizing wait peaked after sunset. Before the Special Team could even begin the rescue operation for Baek Gang-ho, more than half of them had declared they were quitting. It was the result of his choice. If he had not told them that the ANSP or the Defense Security Command was pursuing Baek Gang-ho, they would all have joined. But Yoo Jae-won had instructed Hwang Jae-hong to explain the full situation to the Special Team. The matter was of such critical importance that any clumsy approach could backfire disastrously; he wanted the team to move with genuine commitment. As expected of a hastily assembled unit, half had dropped out. Yet his trust in those who remained had only grown.
Still, relying solely on the Special Team felt insufficient, so he had also sought help from Jeon Jae-jun. As a National Assembly member and Jeon Myeong-heon’s son, Jeon Jae-jun’s very existence carried weight that even ANSP agents could not easily disregard. Even minimal assistance would be valuable. Unfortunately, the call had been cut off midway, and subsequent attempts to reconnect had failed. He could not tell whether Jeon Jae-jun had been properly persuaded. In the end, he contacted the Busan regional party headquarters and requested their cooperation with the Special Team. Now all that remained was to wait.
“Hoo, my blood is boiling.”
Fortunately, Yoo Jae-won was not the only one burning with anxiety. He had immediately informed Jeon Myeong-heon of Baek Gang-ho’s existence. Jeon Myeong-heon, who had been campaigning in Seoul, immediately rearranged his schedule and returned to party headquarters. Together they had done everything possible from the central office. They had even reached out to the Democratic Party to probe for information.
“Why isn’t that brat Jae-jun answering his phone again?”
Candidate Jeon Myeong-heon grumbled while drinking cold water, clearly agitated. He had ridden an emotional roller coaster all day—crushing disappointment at the poll results, excitement at Jeon Jae-jun’s call, bone-deep chill from Yoo Jae-won’s cold analysis, and finally the unexpected appearance of a witness. If they could secure the witness safely, the game would be over. Yet hours had passed with no word, and he could not understand why.
Ring ring.
At that moment the phone rang. Every gaze in the office converged on the single device as if by agreement. A quick exchange of glances decided who would answer. As always, it was Yoo Jae-won.
“Hello?”
With trembling hands, Yoo Jae-won lifted the receiver and answered as calmly as he could.
Ah, Jae-won, my boy! It’s been a while.
Despite having braced himself, the voice on the other end nearly made him drop the phone in surprise. He had expected Hwang Jae-hong. At worst, Jeon Jae-jun. Instead, the caller was someone entirely outside his predictions.
“Mr. President?”
President Roh, who had not contacted him since last year, was calling personally. Even Candidate Jeon Myeong-heon, who had been listening, looked startled.
Jae-won, I’m hurt. Are we really the sort of people who can’t even make a single phone call? Besides, suddenly acting so friendly.
The only contact since the end of last year had been a single courtesy call; they were not close enough for private camaraderie.
“No, of course not. Still, I’m very curious why the busy Mr. President would call me personally.”
President Roh seemed to understand the situation and went straight to the point.
Ahem. It’s nothing much. I just wanted to tell you that the person you’re waiting for isn’t coming, no matter how long you wait. So there’s no point wasting time—why don’t you get some rest? You have plenty of work to do yourself, don’t you?
The president’s words were brutally direct. Yoo Jae-won did not need to search for hidden meaning.
It’s a shame to see you wasting time on something already finished. In your own words, shall we call it game over?
Not only had the Special Team failed to secure Baek Gang-ho, but every piece of related information had fallen into the Blue House’s hands. It was no exaggeration to say the game was over.
“Don’t tell me… they killed him?”
Yoo Jae-won asked hollowly.
Huk! What kind of horrifying talk is that in the era of civilian government? They’ll be released after a simple investigation.
President Roh replied, genuinely shocked. If Baek Gang-ho had died because of this incident, it would have weighed heavily on his conscience. At least that burden was lifted. At the same time, an enormous sense of futility washed over him. He had never imagined that the Game of Thrones he had been sprinting through for over a month would end so emptily. Jeon Myeong-heon was so stunned he could only gape. His aide was no different. With Baek Gang-ho gone, every possible path for Jeon Myeong-heon to ascend had been cut off.
Yet Yoo Jae-won did not fall into despair. From his perspective, they had merely entered the true final stage.