Going Dark
After wrapping up the deal with North Korea, I returned to my daily routine. What did I do? The usual—tending to the organization. Training the crews. With Chuseok approaching, I checked in on the hashish supply line. The Vietnamese guy had apparently come to his senses and only requested what he could actually handle. About time. He also reported that business was still booming. He’d used the money I gave him to clear the urgent debts, planned to settle the rest with the Chuseok shipment, and was eager to send living expenses back to Vietnam. I handled the Vietnamese line and the welfare center as well. Watching the construction site and training ground take shape, it was clear the welfare center had become our organization’s second official base.
After that disastrous donation event, I paid a visit. Director Jo was the main figure, Executive Ha was there too, and several deputy directors who used to work under them had taken up positions. One of them said he had a knack for growing plants and volunteered to run the third farm. I thanked him for offering to help even after leaving the organization. Whether it was genuine aptitude or raw talent, within a few weeks Candle had finished the handover and returned to Shinan. I reminded him to be careful with fire as a civilian and sent him off with a wild ginseng root.
I stayed behind and trained the Eun-seong family. Close-quarters combat and firearms instruction. Eun-seong struggled a bit without his arm, but his athletic sense was decent and he handled melee work fine. He turned out to be surprisingly good with an axe. Still, the physical penalty couldn’t be ignored—mainly the blind spots it created. Even so, he was capable of holding his own now. The rest of the crew got three weeks of practice until each could pull their own weight. We drilled them hard; there was no other way to learn. Honestly, the Eun-seong family members were indistinguishable from ordinary people unless you knew about their disabilities. The only real issues were psychological. Eun-seong told me most of them had been traumatized by childhood abuse. I didn’t ask for details. I didn’t want to get emotionally involved.
That was how we spent our holiday, Chuseok, looking after our people. A month later, when I reviewed the sales report, I felt a chill. Line Manager Sun’s growth rate was absurd. Doubling month-over-month? My gut told me it was time to hit the brakes. This wasn’t sustainable. An accident was inevitable. My mistake. I hadn’t expected it to sell this well. If the prosecution or police started targeting us, the whole organization could be swept up. The moment I finished the report, I contacted him.
“Line Manager Sun, do you have a moment to talk?” —GB(37.9)
“Yes, I’m free. Go ahead.” —PowerSun(36.8)
“You’ve been working hard building the distribution network.” —GB(37.9)
I started with praise. After all, he’d been grinding day and night for the organization. Once I’d made that clear, I got to the point.
“Why don’t you take the team on a workshop?” —GB(37.9)
I recommended team bonding and gave additional orders. We were going to flood the existing sales channels with North Korean product and Haman Factory product under the guise of a year-end corporate push—essentially a half-price fire sale. I told him to dump one or two months’ worth of inventory into the network and then go dark. He asked why, since sales were strong. I called it a performance bonus and told him to take the trip. Explaining further would have been pointless, and I was too anxious to waste time.
I also reached out to the Philippines and requested a guide. I offered to cover all expenses. For a two-month plan they quoted fifty million won. I paid without hesitation. I instructed Line Manager Sun to develop new products while in the Philippines. Blue Sunday was about to become a true Gloomy Sunday. It was time to hit and run.
I notified Executive Ha as well. Blue Sunday supply would be cut off, so he needed to clear current stock as fast as possible. Then I ordered the Haman Factory to shut down the production line. What choice did we have? Better than everyone getting arrested. I could feel Yeoni’s disappointment.
We were trying to slip beneath the surface like a submarine, leaving only the periscope exposed. Executive Ha voiced his concern. When I asked, he said abruptly cutting off Blue Sunday after supplying it for a month would cause serious backlash—nothing like before. I countered with the growth numbers. Even the police would have noticed this. I was making a preemptive move because I could feel the organization about to be wiped out. After consulting with Director Jo, he said,
“Some of them won’t listen.” —Hamo-hamo(37.0)
He thought we needed to decide a direction—either discard them or make them obey. When I asked him to explain both options, he said discarding meant cutting off product so the sales network would separate from us, while making them obey meant demonstrating our superiority and forcing compliance. Either way, the teams that refused to listen would have a hard time. I wasn’t happy with either choice and kept stalling, but Executive Ha pushed me to decide. In the end, I chose to let them drift away naturally by stopping supply rather than stepping in directly to enforce obedience.
“Let’s discard them.” —GB(37.9)
I had no idea how those words would be interpreted. Not until the following month.
The hurricane that followed the war on drugs had landed on the peninsula. Watching the news, I didn’t think “it finally happened.” I just thought it was business as usual. “War on Drugs” had been the new administration’s slogan from day one. Still, if even the United States couldn’t stop it, how could we? I figured it was the same old story, the same old headlines.
But when several clubs were shut down after raids and famous celebrities were paraded in front of the prosecution’s cameras, I realized this time was different. Opposition media called it a smokescreen to hide the administration’s incompetence; ruling-party outlets called it justice served. I didn’t care either way. My own survival was all that mattered.
Around the time the media frenzy died down after two or three weeks, I received Executive Ha’s report.
“Cleanup complete.” —Hamo-hamo(37.0)
Cleanup of what? The next day, the Seoul Central District Prosecutors’ Office held a major press conference, displaying the spoils of the war on drugs.
“Good afternoon. I am Choi Eun-kyung, Deputy Chief Prosecutor at the Seoul Central District Prosecutors’ Office.”
“We are currently investigating a large-scale drug distribution and sexual crime network originating in Gangnam-gu, as well as collusion between entertainment establishment owners and police.”
“In the process, we identified an organization involved in drug trafficking and arrested approximately twenty drug offenders. We are focusing on the process of bribes paid by owners and police, particularly to well-known celebrities.”
“We will do our utmost to conduct a thorough investigation so the public can feel reassured, and we will root out the problem completely. For details, please refer to the press materials we have distributed. I will now take questions.”
“Yoo Dong-geun from Hanmaeum Ilbo. How were you able to apprehend the drug organization? Please explain in detail.”
That question sounded like it came from a government mouthpiece. When the deputy chief prosecutor began explaining while holding up a printed organizational chart, I knew the whole thing had been prepared in advance. And that chart looked awfully familiar. Except for anyone above deputy chief level, it was basically our organization’s structure. The resemblance was too close to be coincidence. Supply routes, distribution channels, even command lines. Of course, the welfare center, farms, and factory—the manufacturing side—were missing. They had lumped everything together under “suppliers.”
That was when I confirmed Blue Sunday was officially finished. Because the press materials listed it by name.
“Recently this organization primarily distributed marijuana and synthetic cathinones. Their high-quality marijuana was especially popular, while the synthetic cathinone was known by the street name Blue Sunday. Although this new drug is less lethal to the human body than other narcotics, it is unlicensed and highly addictive. We believe the organization developed and distributed it themselves.”
“Based on an anonymous tip and on-site investigation, the prosecution was able to dismantle the entire organization.”
When reporters asked about political connections, the prosecution cut the briefing short, citing time constraints and directing everyone to the distributed materials. I wasn’t listening anyway. I had just realized what “discard” had actually meant.