Was That You?
"Was that you?"
"Hold on a second."
He stepped away to make a call, then returned. "Looks like it's been handled cleanly, but be careful. I'm worried."
What was he talking about? On a bright spring day, I was getting scolded by my brother at a reservoir in Hwaseong. It was about Russia, obviously. I figured I couldn't hide it from him anyway—he'd probably figure it out even if I tried. But he genuinely seemed to know nothing. Maybe I shouldn't have confessed after all.
"But you did it?"
What the hell was he talking about now? I'd lost count of how many times I'd pulled my "I have no idea" face today. His next words nearly made me lunge at him.
"What exactly did you learn in Mexico?"
You sent me there! Don't tell me you had no idea what you were doing. I spent five months getting beaten up—hell, even killing people! And now you're asking what I learned? I stared at him in disbelief until he finally caught my expression and changed the subject.
"It'll be hard to link it back to you."
I didn't need to hear the rest. He really hadn't known.
After the rare family gathering, I returned to Suwon. The authorities didn't seem to have flagged me yet, treating the Bongdam incident as separate, so I decided to focus on the organization. The Filipino nationality change for Uiri-nam had made me realize I'd been neglecting the members. Still, in this line of work, ignorance was often safer. I started questioning my own management style. Even if they were in it for the money, had I been too detached while we were all growing together? I resolved to pay more attention starting today—though it would still be one-sided. Truthfully, I preferred it if the lower ranks didn't know much about me. If I got caught, the whole organization would collapse.
I asked Deputy Director Ha for the logistics department's personnel roster. He sent it immediately. The file looked like something straight out of an FBI drama. Last time he'd just thrown together sloppy résumés, but this time it included school ties, regional connections, blood relations, even social networks. All of it was on his subordinates. Even the kids I'd interviewed were in there. I wondered if my own profile was somewhere in the stack.
Reading through the profiled data, the variety was staggering—from schoolyard thugs to people who could pass for elites anywhere. Why was this guy even working with us?
Name: Sun Jae-hyuk
Gender: Male
Age: Born 1989
Family: Parents, younger sister
Education: Seocho Elementary – Seo-il Middle – Whimoon High – Seoul National University, Sociology
Traits: Top delivery volume among new hires, first in line for promotion to assistant manager, top sales after promotion. Maintains an elite sales network through school connections.
Strengths: Good looks, elite aura, strong regional and alumni ties.
Weaknesses: Strong sense of elitism, overly ambitious, not particularly loyal to the organization.
"Deputy Director Ha, about Assistant Manager Sun. Why's he working with us?"
I couldn't help asking. The reply came quickly.
"His family went bankrupt."
Apparently Sun's household had been quite wealthy until he was in university. The subprime mortgage crisis wiped them out. By the time he graduated, things were so bad he'd drifted around before ending up with us.
"By the way, since we're talking about him…"
Was there a problem? Having a sharp subordinate must be making the deputy director uncomfortable.
"Go ahead."
"He's asking if we can source other products. Is that possible?"
The Haman Factory, currently on hiatus, flashed through my mind.
"Could you look into what's trending these days—style, feel, effects, that sort of thing?"
That afternoon, a proposal arrived. It was written with the precision of a government report—introduction, body, conclusion all neatly in place. One page, instantly clear. The title was clever: New Product Launch Proposal (Tentative: bluesunday). Blue Sunday? A quick search revealed "blue" could also mean melancholy. The concept was intriguing. I'd never worked a regular job, but apparently Monday mornings were the worst for office workers. Lately I'd seen shorts saying "Monday morning, you bitch!" with surprisingly creative comments underneath. Sunday evenings weren't quite as bad, but still unpleasant. The proposal explained the name was ironic. They wanted to position it as a weekend item to relieve workplace stress. The expected effects listed no lingering aftereffects—nothing noticeable on Monday—maximum awakening effect, short duration of one to two hours, and the higher the addictiveness, the better. The next requirement proved Sun's sharp mind: repeated short-term use should trigger strong nausea or aversion. He wanted customers hooked but unable to binge. Smart. He claimed the goal was customer health and welfare. It aligned perfectly with my own management philosophy.
I began remote research with Min-hee and her brother. Research suited me. Talking with Yeoni, his sister, made me feel like an alchemist. It was a relief to have someone who actually understood. Trying to explain the same things to the Vietnamese guy would take all day. No wonder the old Chinese called it "knowing the color." Blue was straightforward enough. Since it would be a powder, shape wasn't an issue. To maximize the awakening effect, I'd need to increase the phenethylamine content. But how to shorten the duration? I skipped my Noryangjin academy classes and spent the whole day obsessing over it.
Lately I'd been having Noryangjin aftereffects—the girl in the bright yellow sweater with the short hair kept popping into my head. She was pretty. What was her name? The other night I'd even gone to the bathroom in my sleep. Embarrassing. And in one hand she'd been holding a book titled Pharmacology. Ah, maybe the answer was in there. I headed straight to a bookstore near Noryangjin and bought every relevant textbook from introductory to advanced. The cashier gave me an admiring look as I carried five volumes to the counter. I'm not a pharmacy student, you know. I opened the intro volume at a nearby café and started reading slowly, English dictionary at my side. Why was everything in English except the investigation reports? The Vietnamese guy's English skills came to mind.
I must have spent about a week camped out in that café. While Flashmob was busy with deliveries and English study, his completed shipment had raised the temperature. It felt like he was rushing to withdraw the yuan and collect his fee, which didn't make me happy. Then the long-awaited message from Nakamura arrived.
"GB, I trust you've been well. The spring breeze is pleasant. Please take care of your health during this changing season."
Same old businesslike tone. I replied in kind.
"Where are you these days? That downtown Tokyo area we visited was lovely. If you have the chance, we should have dinner there again."
Ten minutes of small talk later:
"I received the previous shipment safely. Your craftsmanship is excellent."
Approval, then. Even I thought I'd followed the instructions well. If it hadn't passed, the recipe would've been at fault, not me.
"Haha, thank you. Hearing that makes me want to take even better care of my people."
"That's why I'm contacting you. Would continuous OEM production be possible? Building a new manufacturing line inside Japan is proving difficult."
I was still developing new products, and I didn't even have a steady source for raw materials yet. I'd only been worrying about how to move those 300 kg. If the new stuff tested well, I could keep producing. But business was about give-and-take.
"I'm sorry, but I still lack domestic infrastructure. Handling surplus volume is difficult."
"Then let's do it on a paid raw-material supply basis."
I pretended to think it over while quickly looking up the term on my phone. They would supply the raw materials, take the finished product, and pay only the difference. If they took a lot of raw materials, they'd either pay for them or settle later with product. Sounded good for me.
"Yes, let's do it that way."
We moved on to price negotiations, but I had no real feel for it. I'd only agreed to OEM because they asked; making money wasn't the main goal. I was just an ordinary citizen who could live off grass if I had to. So I only negotiated volume and postponed the price discussion.
"Please deliver everything manufactured by the end of this month. I'll contact you about next month's volume afterward."
I set the pharmacology books aside for now. It was time to study costing from the ground up.