The Bitter Headshot
The headshot was deeply unpleasant. That hollow thud and the ringing in my ears. A curse slipped out before I could stop it. The moment I was hit, the radio crackled to life announcing the end of the exercise. That marked the conclusion of our refresher training with the Philippine security team.
When we assembled at the farm, the atmosphere was foul. Team Leader Kim was hurling curses at his men until he spotted me and fell silent. The Philippine team stood frozen, visibly tense. Upon returning to the security headquarters, I found a buffet spread laid out for the returning team. Alcohol was flowing; it felt like a festival. One group that had handled the afternoon defense stood stiffly to the side. I walked over, thanked them for their hard work, and asked them to do their best next time. Only then did the tension ease, and they loudly declared there would be no more killing incidents in the future.
The household staff joined in the celebration, and the mood was genuinely pleasant. The highlight was the awards ceremony. The outstanding squad award went to the neighboring East Squad, while the top trainee honor went to a friend from Brown Squad. The citation mentioned bonus points from the supply retrieval drill and outstanding performance during the VIP exercise. That was the guy who had landed the headshot on me.
The excellent trainee award went to Nipper from our squad. He had scored highly in survival training and CQB. Apparently he had brought back five tokens from the survival exercise. He had a talent for hunting. Squad leaders, however, received no recognition. When I asked Camio about it, he mentioned penalties—squad leader penalties. I had assumed we would receive extra compensation for the extra hardship, but that was not the case.
It struck me as odd until I heard the next part. Our usual salaries were already high, and the instructors felt the squad leaders had not performed particularly well. Camio stated it plainly. That day I handed out cash envelopes to Team Leader Lee and the instructors before returning to the hotel.
When I asked when the Korean security team would begin their training, I was told they would undergo a week of refresher training before being sent back to Korea. The next day I said goodbye to my brother and returned to Korea. The moment I turned away from my nephew, I already missed him.
Five months passed in a flash. When I entered the house, Secretary Ko, Cheol-min, and Madame Lee greeted me warmly. After exchanging greetings, I thanked them for watching over the place in my absence. They all smiled softly. It really was good to be home.
After spending a day or two settling back into my Eunsu routine, I realized I had to return to school. I had left in such a hurry that I missed the final exams. Checking my transcript, I saw nine credits marked F. To make up the credits I would need to take summer courses. I had received an academic warning. I had expected it, yet it still left a bad taste.
With the organization growing larger, I needed to be more careful. I resolved to focus on my studies. Registration was still open, so I signed up for the maximum allowable credits. Still, when would university ever end? I had just finished my second year.
Tomorrow I was scheduled to visit Miju in Jeongeup. Secretary Ko had already briefed me on the situation while I was abroad, but I wanted to see it for myself. The Seoul office that had housed the original research lab had been closed and everything consolidated in Jeongeup. The research facilities had also been relocated there. When I asked why, he explained there simply were not enough people left.
Only seven or eight researchers had remained at the lab. After the professor collapsed, several had left for various reasons. When pressed, the issue of equity came up. The professor’s shares were supposed to be transferred to us as part of the acquisition, but establishing the foundation had run into complications. The professor’s siblings were pressuring the remaining students over the matter. The students had apparently tried to coax the professor into signing over his assets, and when that failed they began causing trouble—showing up unannounced, making scenes, hurling insults, disrupting experiments, and even calling the police.
University and graduate students did not have particularly strong mental fortitude. The other researchers eventually grew disgusted and abandoned the lab. Kind-hearted Miju had withdrawn into the lab after being hurt by people. With only one or two researchers left and the lab moved to Jeongeup, the presence of security seemed to have stopped the harassment, though the trauma remained.
Fortunately, Miju still had a close senior colleague who was keeping the production line running, though research had largely come to a halt. Only the production line was being maintained.
“Secretary Ko, this is personal, but how should we handle the factory situation?”
“Mr. Chairman, our organization’s funds are already invested there. This is no longer a private matter.”
His tone was frighteningly formal. “Shall we take care of it?”
Scary. The next explanation clarified that it was not the kind of “taking care of” I had initially feared. Accountant Kim’s team would handle things in a way that Miju and her senior colleague would not be able to refuse. They would cancel the stock acquisition contract, distribute shares equivalent to the inheritance portion, then carry out an equal paid-in capital increase that the other side would be unable to participate in. If they waived their subscription rights, their ownership percentage would drop until they could do nothing. After dragging things out for a few years, they would realize the shares were worthless and give up. Then we could make a low offer and acquire everything without issue. Even if they refused the offer, we would simply withhold dividends and operate the company ourselves.
“We will proceed with the research foundation through the welfare center. The center has grown large enough to provide that level of support.”
“Do it that way.”
“How much capital increase are you considering? A smaller amount might allow participation.”
“We can claim we are purchasing nearby land and inject around two hundred billion won. At forty percent, that would be eighty billion. They probably do not have that kind of money.”
After dilution, with current capital at thirty billion, their one hundred twenty billion investment at the new total of two hundred thirty billion would leave them with roughly five percent. Convertible bonds could dilute them further. When I asked where the money would come from, he simply said we had GBC. I approved the plan.
The senior colleague would be installed as the nominal president while Miju… I told him to handle it as he saw fit. I was not sure I should get directly involved. In truth, I still needed to decide tomorrow whether to tell Miju to quit or to continue. After months apart I missed her, and hearing what she had been through made me worried.
I left early the next morning, alone—or so I thought. Cheol-min and Secretary Ko attached themselves to me, insisting I could no longer travel without protection. Whether in Korea or abroad, security personnel would always accompany me from now on.
After roughly two and a half hours we arrived. Jeongeup Station came into view in the distance. We were almost there. Nothing much had changed since my last visit, except the old SK sign had been replaced with another company’s name. The surrounding lots had been cleared, yet no other companies had moved in besides ours.
Near the factory, I saw many people moving about, including foreigners. Apartment-style dormitories were under construction near the entrance. When I approached the guard post, the guard asked my business. I said I had come to see a researcher. When asked for a name, I gave him Miju’s. He told me to wait and stepped inside to make a call.
“I’m sorry, but for security reasons you’ll need to park out front and return. One of our staff will come to escort you.”
Strict. On second thought, it made sense that a pharmaceutical company would not want random visitors wandering around. After I parked, Secretary Ko and Cheol-min underwent the same inspection and parked beside me.
Five minutes later two carts arrived. One was driven by Miju; the other by a different woman who approached Secretary Ko and Cheol-min. They had come to pick them up. The woman spoke to Miju.
“Song Team Leader, who is this?”
“A guest.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“He’s handsome. I hope a guest comes for me someday too.”
The sudden compliment left me oddly pleased.
“Have you been well?”
Her face was gaunt. It was not an empty remark—she had truly lost weight.
“Yes. How about you, Oppa?”
“I had to leave suddenly. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m the one who couldn’t contact you much. I’m sorry.”
We spent what felt like ten minutes apologizing to each other.
“You haven’t eaten yet, right?”
“No. It’s almost lunchtime. It’s too far to go out and there’s nothing nearby, so let’s go to the cafeteria.”
“All right. Let’s eat together.”
“Okay.”
Her voice lacked strength. I told her about my time in Europe, omitting Valentin and Gonzales. She listened quietly.
“How have you been?”
“I’ve just been doing research. Research is fun.”
“That’s good. Nothing difficult?”
“The professor hasn’t been well. He’s in the hospital.”
“Is that so? Is he better now?”
“No. They say he doesn’t have much time left.”
The conversation stopped. Five minutes of silence passed before Miju suggested we go eat. The cafeteria had few diners, yet the food looked decent. Watching Miju sitting dejectedly across from me, I had no appetite. I ate mechanically. Miju merely poked at her food.
There was a coffee vending machine by the tray return. She bought one and handed it to me. Outside the cafeteria stood a simple table and chairs. She suggested we sit for a moment.
“It would be nice if there was a café nearby, but this is all there is.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Miju.”
“Oppa.”
Our words overlapped. I told her to speak first.
“Oppa. Let’s stop seeing each other.”
“It’s not because I dislike you. I’m not in a position to meet anyone right now.”
“And I want to finish what the professor left behind.”
“You’re too good for me, Oppa. And… I’m sorry.”