The 1-Ton Transaction
I decided to knock out the equivalency exams back to back. The reason was simple: the high school equivalency test looked easy enough. Whether it was the middle school or high school version, what mattered was resolve, not difficulty. The students and teachers around me said that with my attendance record, failing was basically impossible.
"A young guy like you working this hard? You'll pass on the first try."
I also decided against preparing for university entrance exams. My accountant had already moved fast. The ten-page business proposal he put together in PPT form was, in my opinion, flawless. From the project objective on the first slide to the expected outcomes on the last, it was a complete plan.
Project Objective: Smooth landing in South Korea.
From that objective alone, I was certain the project would succeed. The name alone felt hot. The representative would be the accountant, whose name was Kim Woojung. Since everything was legal, I could use real names. After working in this line of business for a while, mentioning real names still felt strange.
The organization was simple: a representative, a general affairs department, and a media department. Currently there were five people, and that was when I understood the accountant's real intention. Everyone except me was his family. The two in general affairs were his daughter and wife, the media department was me and his son, and the representative was the accountant himself. Woojung was sharing the risk with me as well.
Anyway, the company name was Newpia Media. A combination of "New" and "Utopia." It looked decent, so I approved it. It gave off a slight mafia vibe, which made me hesitate for a moment, but I accepted it anyway.
Operating costs were set at 100 million won per year. Even after thinking it through, 100 million seemed cheap for five employees plus various operating expenses. When I asked for a recheck because the financial plan looked off, he said he wanted to invest part of it himself and generate revenue while running the company. It felt serious, so I agreed. From a safety standpoint, having him shoulder some of the risk was good for me.
The best part was that if anyone looked into the company, the target would be his family, not me. That suited me perfectly. If problems arose later, I could just say I knew nothing.
Using the company for laundering was fine, but he warned me not to touch management decisions. I was taken aback until he continued.
"It's all right for you to discuss the goals you want, but anything beyond that—especially company direction, article angles, advertising methods, or financial status—is off-limits."
The sudden formal speech from the accountant felt burdensome, but since it was what I wanted—or rather, what I didn't know—I nodded.
After a preparation period, we decided to establish the company on January 1 of next year as the founding anniversary. Before that, I just needed to pass the high school equivalency exam and wait.
Meanwhile, I returned to the time when I was searching for a hideout and began traveling across the country again. They called it "book stands" or something in Noryangjin. After finishing the middle school exam, there was a one-month break. The high school class would start in a month, so they told me to come back then.
With the free time, I reported the Japan matter to my brother. He said it was a good idea, so I was looking into it as instructed. I hadn't wanted to, but after hearing his reasoning, it seemed necessary.
"It's a show of trust."
What kind of trust? I stared blankly at his face until he explained further.
"Weakness. And a favor."
According to him, Japanese people especially hated showing their weaknesses to business partners. They also disliked asking for favors. Asking already damaged their pride, and they hated the burden of having the favor granted. I had made a one-sided request without any agreement. Then came the line that made me realize I had to go through with it.
"There might not be a next time."
I had to do it. He was a valuable client. I asked my brother for advice on how to proceed and also consulted the Vietnamese guy from the manufacturing division. I had hoped the Vietnamese guy would handle it, so I hinted at it, but he refused, saying he only dealt in pure marijuana. I had to research factory conditions, plan the logistics from receiving the goods to manufacturing and reverse-exporting, and figure out every detail. My head felt like it was going to explode. He said he would provide the recipe, but all I had ever done was follow notes, so I would probably need help. I heard there were good hair-loss medications coming out these days. For now, I would handle this shipment myself. If more orders came in, I would figure out how to recruit people.
Thirty minutes later, a message came from Nakamura.
What I heard next made me gasp.
I was so stunned by the quantity that I couldn't reply. Thinking the conversation had ended, he wished me good health and left.
One ton of phenethylamine? How much product could that make? This was bad. I had no money. I would need to see the recipe, but the amount required to maintain credit would be enormous. I would have to cover part of it myself, and with the cash I currently held, it would be far from enough.
Left with no choice, I sent an SOS to my brother.
"Brother, something big happened."
"Nakamura contacted me. He said the quantity is one ton. I don't even know how much that would produce, but the price must be huge. I don't have the money."
He left me on read. In the end, to prepare for an unknown payment amount, I started pressuring the logistics division. I wasn't asking them to sell more, just to send me the collected funds. These guys were surprisingly capable. Or maybe they had collected plenty of spoils from the war on drugs, because the volume had increased 1.5 times compared to before I went to Cancun. Of course, the Shinan and Yeongcheon farms had also supplied well. So I sent a root of ginseng, a specialty of Hamyang County, to the candle-shaped guy in Shinan and the nameless younger brother in Yeongcheon. It looked like a human face, so the price was in the triple digits. My spending had grown quite a bit.
A few days later, several abalones were delivered to my hideout. I made a nourishing soup with the leftover ginseng, a native chicken, and the abalones. It was delicious. After combining all the collected funds from various places, I had about 2 billion won. It felt like just yesterday I was living on 200,000 won.
The following week, Nakamura contacted me again.
My brother had negotiated directly without telling me. Thank goodness.
Nice. If I only made 7 kg, the rest was mine? The client had suddenly turned into a subcontractor. Well, a subcontractor was still a client.
After finalizing the schedule and terms with Nakamura, I continued traveling across the country. The chosen location was Haman, Gyeongsangnam-do. It was a warehouse next to an agricultural industrial complex. It met all the conditions, so I decided on it.
All drugs smelled bad during manufacturing. Chemicals were like that. Especially with phenethylamine, toxic gas was produced during production. Inhaling it indoors caused the same effect as being under the influence of the drug. Ventilation had to be excellent, and filters had to be used to exhaust it outside, so densely populated cities were difficult. The area also needed to be the kind of place where people would just think "it smells bad" if they caught a whiff while passing by. Since the main trading partner was Japanese, accessibility to Busan Port was also important.
That was why I chose an agricultural industrial complex in Haman. It was within two hours of Busan, no operating factories within 200 meters, and there was a large waste incinerator nearby, so the area itself had a moderate smell. I made the decision.
Then I made a call. To whom? The real estate broker. Through the real estate corporation I had established last time, I purchased the warehouse and land via the broker. After I paid the commission and fees, he came down enthusiastically, handled the transaction, reported it, and even took care of the registration.