You Dare Play Territorial Games?
Yu Jinhyuk walked out of the airport on a VIP pass and glanced back over his shoulder.
He'd only just realized it. The private jet's price tag had included every VIP airport service for the next ten years.
Just how wonderful a thing is money?
He found himself enlightened once again—to this world's one truth that never changed.
He had only been enjoying the outside air for a moment when a luxury sedan rolled up ahead of him and stopped with a squeal of brakes.
"Jinhyuk!"
Cheon Seyeon leaned out the passenger window. From the driver's seat, Jin Yunho offered a slight nod of greeting.
"Hello!"
Jinhyuk returned the greeting cheerfully and climbed into the back. Even after the door shut, the car showed no sign of moving. He looked up to find both of them staring at him.
"You're sitting right in front of me and it still doesn't feel real. Jinhyuk, did you actually save the British royal family?"
"I wasn't exactly trying to save the royal family. It just... kind of happened. Oh, right—Team Leader Jin Yunho, thank you. I got out peacefully thanks to you."
He'd been headed for his original destination, Incheon International Airport, when Jin Yunho had contacted him. A crowd was waiting at Incheon, the team leader had said—if at all possible, come in through a different airport. So he'd changed course mid-flight. Cheongju, while he was at it. It had been a while since he'd been home.
"Jinhyuk. When you took the team leader's call, you were still in the air, weren't you? You were on your way to Incheon. How did you end up at Cheongju Airport just like that?"
"I received a bit of special treatment."
He decided not to mention that he'd acquired a brand-new private jet worth five hundred billion won. He'd save that for a surprise brag later.
"Special... treatment."
Jin Yunho and Cheon Seyeon looked at each other. What kind of special treatment let you rewrite a flight path in the middle of the sky? Well. If Jinhyuk said so, then that was that.
"We'll get going. Yesan first."
"Yes. Thank you for even coming out to meet me."
"No need for thanks. This is more comfortable for me as well."
"So who exactly is waiting for me that badly?"
"Primarily the broadcasting networks and the corporations."
"They wouldn't recognize me even if we ran into each other."
"No, they wouldn't. I doubt they expected to identify you on the spot. They were hoping to pick up even a small lead, that's all. A male player in his twenties or thirties who entered Korea from the UK. Affiliation unknown, climbing floor unclear."
That a Korean government agency was hiding the Runner was an open secret. If anything, the complete absence of anything suspicious could itself put him on a list—that possibility couldn't be ruled out.
"Ordinarily I would have told you to come through Incheon. But there were a few groups that concerned me, so I reached out."
The Player Hunter Bureau was, without question, the most powerful institution in the country. Spiriting one person out of an airport unnoticed was nothing to them. The problem was the dangerous parties who might notice them doing it.
"People from Russian and Chinese intelligence were there. No matter how carefully we handle things, those are organizations we cannot afford to take lightly."
"The people coming after me keep getting bigger."
"They would. This time it was the British royal family. It even affected international diplomatic cooperation. And—this is only if you don't mind my asking."
"Go ahead. Speak freely."
Jin Yunho tapped the steering wheel once or twice with a finger, then continued, choosing his words with care.
"Did something happen in Japan? We spotted someone unexpected at the departure hall. Sato Tsubasa, a key lawmaker of Japan's Innovation Party. We confirmed it was an unofficial schedule."
Sweat beaded along Jinhyuk's back. A lot had happened. Things he couldn't tell even Jin Yunho.
"I did smack around a Hosaka family acquaintance at an exchange gathering. Nothing that should've involved a member of parliament, though."
"I see."
Jin Yunho nodded. The word yakuza hovered at the edge of his lips, but he chose not to voice it. Yu Jinhyuk, the Runner, had put Korea's steel industry—which had been on the verge of collapse—back on track. Anything that might even sound like an interrogation was a word too far.
A Japanese member of parliament, huh.
Jinhyuk let out a quiet sigh. His popularity was growing, whether he'd asked for it or not.
"How are the Ziyou folks doing?"
He asked after the Ziyou people who'd gone to Yesan, as much to change the subject as anything.
"Well. They're quietly proceeding with the relocation. If they all moved at once, they'd attract attention. You'll probably be able to see them as soon as we arrive."
Jinhyuk put up a thumb. It hadn't been that long since he'd last seen them, but he found himself curious all the same. What would those unexpected immigrants look like, settled into his hometown village?
Yesan Nonghyup, right in the middle of town.
"Why won't you rent it to me? I'm a farmer in Yesan too, you know."
Yu Mancheol, Jinhyuk's father, shook his head as if he couldn't make sense of any of it. As part of the national agricultural support program, Nonghyup provided farm households with the machinery they needed. So Mancheol had come to borrow a tractor and a harvester in time for the harvest—only for the Nonghyup employee to wave him off outright, saying it was impossible. He'd been doing it for days now.
"I borrowed them just fine up through last year. I'd at least like to know why it's suddenly not allowed."
"Haa. A reason? What reason would there be. Ah—they're all out. There's no farm equipment available for rent."
"Then what do you call those?"
Mancheol pointed at the parking lot. Several machines sat there in plain sight, doing absolutely nothing.
"They're all already reserved."
"Reserved by who, and until when?"
"Oh, for crying out loud! Give it a rest already! Give it a rest! I'm the staff in charge here, and I'm telling you no!"
"What's all this racket, with so many people watching?"
An old man approached with his hands clasped behind his back, a group in tow. The employee who had been barking at Mancheol a second ago bowed with sudden, impeccable courtesy, as if none of it had ever happened.
"You've arrived, Chief."
"Aye, aye. You've been working hard, Deokgu. How's your father doing?"
"We get by just fine, with the chief always looking out for us."
"Good, good. So what's the problem?"
"Even though the equipment isn't available for rent, he just keeps demanding we hand it over."
"When did I ever demand you hand it over?"
"Now, now. That's enough."
The village chief clicked his tongue and walked over to Mancheol.
"Mancheol. There's a process for these things, and an order. What do you think you're doing? And you still haven't paid the development fund, have you?"
"I already paid this year's share."
"That was paid to the previous chief. New man in charge means you pay again."
"A development fund isn't something you pay to an individual. Does that even make sense? And don't tell me you're blocking the equipment rentals over the development fund?"
"Blocking? Who's blocking anything? You heard him. Everything's already reserved."
Mancheol closed the mouth he'd been about to answer with. He had a fairly clear picture of how this was going. He had lived here a long time, and he still wasn't free—not from the territorial games the old local clique had been running for years.
I thought that had mostly died out.
A serious miscalculation. The moment a new chief took over, the old vice had lifted its head again. He was reminded, all over again, what kind of place this was: a region where even the most blatant, unreasonable conduct was treated as a matter of course, because the invisible authority of one man—the village chief—ran far too deep.
What could a nobody like you possibly do?
Watching Mancheol stand there unable to say a word, the village chief drew a thin, ugly smile. The rest of the villagers had already tucked their tails. And yet this one man, this stubborn mule Yu Mancheol, had dug in his heels to the end and refused to pay the development fund.
You think you're the only clever one who doesn't pay?
It wasn't that the others didn't know it was unfair. They paid because they knew exactly what kind of ugly treatment they'd get if they didn't. So how much more of this would the stubborn mule have to swallow before he quietly admitted defeat?
"Mancheol's watermelons used to be so plump and full of seeds. Looks like we won't even get a look at them this year. Tsk, tsk."
The village chief tutted, the mockery plain in his voice. Nothing to be done about it. He'd just have to keep stepping on him until the man learned to heel.
"Haa."
Mancheol let out a sigh. The employee and the chief were all in it together anyway. There was no point saying anything more. He was just about to turn and leave when—
"Dad."
Jinhyuk came walking over, waving.
"Jinhyuk? What brings you here without so much as a call?"
"You Mancheol's boy? I'm the village chief here—"
Jinhyuk walked right past him as if he weren't even there, heading straight for his father.
"I heard you were here, so I came. What are you up to?"
"It's nothing."
"Now, now, it's hardly nothing. Perfect timing, actually. Why don't you pay your father's development fund for him."
Once again, Jinhyuk did not look at the village chief. A perfect, unbroken ignore. He couldn't have done otherwise. Before arriving in Yesan, he had already heard the whole story from his mother, Kim Minji.
He had talked down a mother who looked genuinely ready to go buy gasoline, then come straight to the Nonghyup. And as it happened, the timing was perfect. He'd already prepared something as an act of filial piety anyway.
"That elder is speaking to you and you won't even loo—"
"Dad. Did you come to rent farm equipment? You don't need to rent any."
"Don't need to rent any?"
"I bought some on the way here."
"Huh?"
Mancheol still had no idea what his son was talking about. Instead of explaining further, Jinhyuk pointed toward the parking lot. Every gaze in the place followed his hand as if pulled along a string.
A deep, throaty roar of engines filled the air, and then they appeared: the latest-model tractors and combine harvesters, along with an array of precision farming equipment. In both function and price, they existed in an entirely different league from the machines sitting in the Nonghyup lot.
"Those are the ones you said you wanted, right? American-made. I looked it up—apparently the most famous brand out there."
"W-well, that's true, but..."
Mancheol swallowed. A kind landowner had given him land, and the fields had gotten bigger, that much was true. Even accounting for that, these machines were absurdly overpowered for a private farm.
"W-wait! Hey, Deokgu! Is that government support too? If it came in, you should've told me first—I'm the village chief!"
"Got a taste of money and gone senile, have you? Government support? I bought these with my own money."
Had he caught that from Kancho? Language he didn't normally use had come flying out. In any case, he handed over the purchase receipt and went on.
"Don't even look at them. They're privately owned."
He drove the point home, then walked out of the Nonghyup with Yu Mancheol.
"Son. Those things cost over two hundred million won apiece. Where did you get that kind of money?"
"I didn't take out a loan, so don't worry. I got a good item this time and came into some money. Use them as you please."
"Even so, something this expensive..."
Mancheol walked over and ran his hands across the tractor and the rest of the equipment. Whatever his mouth was saying, his eyes were sparkling with a frightening light. The corner of his mouth kept twitching, too. The holy trinity of farm machinery—the three sacred treasures any farmer would covet. And not just any: the finest in the world, sitting right in front of him. How could he not be delighted?
He's over the moon.
Jinhyuk watched the sight with deep satisfaction, then turned his head.
A luxury sedan came racing in from somewhere and slammed on the brakes. A middle-aged man burst out of the car and sprinted into the Nonghyup. Most likely a Yesan Nonghyup executive who had just taken a call from the Nonghyup Central Federation's audit department. He wouldn't know that the call had originated with the Central Player Hunter Bureau.
What century do they think this is, pulling territorial games?
Jinhyuk snorted and started walking with his father. Tonight, he intended to throw a meat feast to celebrate the new farm equipment.