Reckless Challenge and Overwhelming Retribution

It was an IDW-formatted file titled Reckless Challenge, Overwhelming Retribution, so opening it on an Android phone was hardly difficult. One tap on the downloaded file launched the viewer application, which smoothly rendered a clean, professional document layout. The smartphone’s display DPI was far higher than that of a typical computer monitor, rendering the fonts exceptionally crisp and elegant.

Still, before he could read the contents, Yoo Jae-won had one final step. The file was password-protected. It didn’t use a single static code; instead, the password was dynamically generated according to a specific algorithm tied directly to the document’s filename. He studied the name, then entered a precise twelve-character string of mixed-case letters, numbers, and symbols.

The document named Urgent Report: Latest North Korean Developments was barely a full A4 page long. Yet, just as the intelligence team leader had promised, its contents were gravely serious.

Second Artillery Command? The name sounded like an ordinary artillery unit that simply lobbed shells. One might imagine towed guns of various calibers, the multiple rocket launchers North Korea boasted about, or anti-aircraft batteries. In reality, the Second Artillery Command’s true core strength was strategic missiles. From the Nodong to the Taepodong, Hwasong, and Kwangmyongsong—short-range ballistic missiles all the way to intercontinental ones. It was the unit responsible for North Korea’s most important asymmetric weapons: its strategic missile forces.

Chen Liangyu himself carried considerable weight. China was a one-party dictatorship with no opposition, but the Communist Party itself was riddled with factions. If current President Hu Jintao led the Communist Youth League faction, Chen Liangyu was the legitimate heir of the Shanghai Gang. He was Jiang Zemin’s personally favored successor.

So Jiang Zemin is moving behind the scenes?

Jiang Zemin had ostensibly handed over all power to Hu Jintao when he relinquished his military authority, yet Hu still could not act entirely freely. Many members of the Politburo Standing Committee—the true center of Chinese power—still answered to Jiang Zemin. The odds that Jiang had orchestrated Chen Liangyu’s visit to North Korea were therefore extremely high. Had Hu Jintao sent the delegation himself, he would have chosen someone from his own Communist Youth League faction. There was no reason to send a member of the rival Shanghai Gang, much less Jiang Zemin’s favorite, Chen Liangyu.

Moreover, the fact that Kim Jong-il had met Chen immediately upon arrival and then toured the Second Artillery Command with him the next day carried enormous implications. From South Korea’s perspective, it would be ideal if this were merely a goodwill visit to strengthen ties between North Korea and China. Yet given the current international situation, neither country had the luxury of leisurely friendship-building.

“A real missile provocation?” Yoo Jae-won muttered.

China was cornered. It had been convenient while their state-sponsored crackers operated in the shadows, earning dirty money through every underhanded method imaginable. But now that the United States had exposed their crimes to the entire world, it had become a national humiliation. On top of that, the Qing Dynasty bonds issue had exploded.

The United States, sensing China’s extreme sensitivity on the matter, had begun a full-scale campaign to demand redemption of the Qing bonds. They started openly purchasing them on the open market. The justification was simple: China’s long-standing refusal to honor redemption requests from individual bondholders was wrong and undermined global financial trust. Therefore, the U.S. would now represent those holders in negotiations with China. Bondholders were asked to grant the American government power of attorney. In return, if the negotiations succeeded and China paid, the U.S. would take an agreed-upon percentage as a service fee.

There was nothing for the bondholders to lose. Their certificates had been on the verge of becoming worthless paper. Now, thanks to American intervention, they at least had a path to partial—if not full—recovery. The U.S. government, meanwhile, gained both leverage against China and a handsome commission. It was a win-win policy.

Furthermore, the news triggered a flood of long-forgotten Qing bonds out of safety deposit boxes and old drawers. The volume surged dramatically. Listings that had trickled onto platforms like P-Market and eBay had suddenly vanished after the U.S. government’s official statement. The market was holding its breath in anticipation.

Naturally, among the bonds entrusted to the American government were those collected by Yoo Jae-won. He had amassed them aggressively before giving Al Gore the crucial hint. Their current estimated value exceeded roughly one hundred billion dollars.

The more bonds were entrusted to the United States, the greater the pressure on China. No matter how much China boasted of being the world’s factory, running massive trade surpluses and rapidly expanding its domestic market, a sudden debt of several hundred billion dollars would be an unbearable burden.

“Missiles? Where did this talk of missiles come from all of a sudden?”

It was President Park Sang-kwon. He had noticed Yoo Jae-won’s expression grow deadly serious while reading the message and couldn’t help asking when the ominous words “missile provocation” emerged.

“Ah, it’s like this.”

Yoo Jae-won paused briefly, then gave the two presidents a concise explanation of the chain of events that had begun with America’s demand for Qing Dynasty bond redemption. Although the Korean intelligence team was outperforming the National Intelligence Service, their lead was only a day or two at most. In a few days everyone would know anyway. If sharing the information now could help the two presidents, that was enough for Yoo Jae-won.

“Qing Dynasty bonds? You’re saying that matter has reached all the way to North Korea?”

“What happens now? Does this ruin the World Cup?”

Both men still associated North Korea with the fierce ideological confrontations of the 1980s, so their questions came out rather dramatically.

“If North Korea has any sense, they won’t let it go that far.”

North Korea’s current situation was incomparable to the past. There had been no “Arduous March,” and beyond inter-Korean economic cooperation, they were steadily achieving 4-percent growth through special economic zones. The Kaesong Industrial Complex and Mount Kumgang tourism brought in steady monthly revenue. Iron ore and coal exports were strong. They had even built an automobile factory called Pyonghwa Motors. In just one month, the completion ceremony for the light-water reactor—product of the Geneva Agreed Framework—was scheduled. The reactor’s output would be 1,000 megawatts, a considerable scale. While that would be insignificant for South Korea, in North Korea—with its limited industrial base and low electricity consumption—one reactor could supply power to Pyongyang and most other major cities.

Outside Pyongyang, residents still relied on Chinese solar panels to light their bulbs; once the reactor operated properly, that problem would be cleanly solved. Most importantly, improving relations with the United States would soon see Pyongyang’s liaison office upgraded to a full embassy.

In such circumstances, any clumsy provocation on China’s behalf could turn all these gains to dust. Logically, Kim Jong-il would never authorize a missile provocation. Yet Yoo Jae-won could not be certain. Normal people made rational decisions. The leaders of North Korea had never operated within the bounds of normalcy.

The one silver lining was that there was no need to worry about nuclear provocation. When construction on the light-water reactor began, the Yongbyon experimental reactor had been shut down and later destroyed under strict IAEA inspection. With Al Gore as president instead of Bush, there had been no “axis of evil” rhetoric, and the Clinton-era agreements had been faithfully maintained.

Perhaps this incident could serve as a useful opportunity to confirm how much North Korea had truly changed from its past. At the same time, a firm conviction settled in Yoo Jae-won’s mind: he could not let China off the hook for clumsily prodding North Korea while doing nothing to clean up the mess they themselves had created.

“That was hard to hold back.”

There was one more document from the intelligence team. It concerned Choi Jae-young and his wife. Curious why the problematic third child had never been born, Yoo Jae-won had been startled by the sudden news of their separation and asked for details. This file undoubtedly contained that information.

He had opened the North Korea-related document at the café because it had public implications, but this one was purely personal. He had planned to examine it after returning home once the gathering ended. However, the meeting with the two presidents had run long. Signs of it turning into a drinking session had begun to appear, so Yoo Jae-won excused himself early and left.

Although he was now an adult and could drink without issue, his style differed completely from theirs. He preferred one or two beers or a glass of wine, whereas they started with whiskey and mixed flawless bomb shots. Moreover, the contents of this file were particularly sensitive, so upon returning home, Yoo Jae-won quietly entered his study and turned on his Android phone.

“What kind of melodramatic mess is hidden in here?”

It was only natural to wonder. The internal affairs of chaebol families always surpassed television dramas. Still, confirming the facts was important, so he mentally prepared himself and entered the password.

A brief delay followed while the encryption was processed. Once unlocked, text filled the entire Android smartphone screen.

“Huh?”

Yoo Jae-won made a strange sound as he read. The document’s contents differed significantly from what he had expected. Given that Ilseong Group ranked third among South Korean corporations (behind ID Group and Mirae), he had anticipated an appropriately scandalous story. Chaebol family matters were notoriously complicated. Mirae Group alone possessed an incredibly tangled family tree.

That was why he had assumed Choi Jae-young’s separation would involve sensational details. Yet the file contained nothing particularly salacious.

“Economic problems, of all things.”

The document ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clearly stated that the root cause of the couple’s breakup was the IMF crisis and the subsequent sale of Ilseong Electronics. No chaebol had been spared the shockwaves of the IMF that had struck South Korea. Ilseong had scrambled desperately to repay short-term foreign debt. On top of that, Yoo Jae-won had released a flood of Ilseong Electronics corporate bonds—denominated in dollars—driving the company to the brink of bankruptcy.

At the time, Choi Jae-young had also worked frantically to raise money. When it proved too difficult, he had turned to his wife’s family, the Daesung Group. They had been able to provide some funds, but far less than expected. Meanwhile, Daesung had been aggressively buying up real estate that had plummeted in value during the crisis. They had even snapped up distressed assets that Ilseong had been forced to sell at fire-sale prices.

After that revelation, the relationship between Choi Jae-young and his wife—which had been reasonably amicable despite their political marriage—deteriorated rapidly. They began sleeping in separate rooms, and now their separation had been officially formalized. The intelligence team stated with certainty that once an agreement on asset division was reached, the divorce would follow immediately.

“Hmm. It’s melodramatic, but not the spicy version I expected.”

After reading the entire file, Yoo Jae-won clicked his tongue. From the early 21st century onward, chaebol families ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had become staple material for melodramatic television dramas. The worse the family’s internal rot, the more ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠extreme the stories. The owners of the Korea Daily had been particularly notorious—tax evasion, economic crimes, sponsorship scandals, affairs, and even drugs. Their mess had been so severe that when the Korea Daily finally declared it could no longer continue and announced its closure, netizens reacted with more comments about “just deserts” than about “media suppression.”

Compared to that, Choi Jae-young’s situation lacked any real heat.

“Still, when you think about it, I’m the one who caused their split.”

When he had released the Ilseong Electronics bonds, he had never imagined it would lead to the couple’s separation. In that sense, the root cause of their marital collapse was Yoo Jae-won himself. One could even call it revenge. Yet the fact that he seemed to have erased the very existence of Choi Jae-young’s third child left a somewhat unpleasant aftertaste. The man had been destined for ruin anyway, but preventing a child from being born was an entirely different matter.

“Yeah. Let’s eat.”

Right on cue, a soft notification chime sounded as Tiffany’s ID Talk message arrived. Yoo Jae-won shook off the lingering discomfort and stood up from his chair.

The next day, the Lunar New Year holiday ended. Early in the morning, Yoo Jae-won and his wife received farewells from his parents, uncle, and other relatives before heading back to Seoul. Fortunately—or perhaps disappointingly—the urgent North Korean intelligence report did not materialize into any unusual activity from the North throughout the entire holiday.

In truth, this was only natural. Although Chen Liangyu’s visit had been sudden, translating it into concrete action required time. Yet Yoo Jae-won had come from an era in which a single presidential tweet could produce a summit meeting and the push of a button could send missiles flying. The difference in perceived speed of events struck him once again.

At the very least, it seemed there would be no local provocations before the light-water reactor became operational. Even so, complacency was dangerous. The mere fact that major figures from both China and North Korea had moved meant this matter would not simply fade away without consequence.