The Goal (15)

The next day, I was training with the security team on the hill behind the welfare center. Team Leader Lee showed up with PTSD from Cancun, rubber gun in hand. It was four against one—him versus Eun-seong and the younger guys. Watching from the sidelines, I had to admit experience still counted for something. The team leader toyed with them. His pistol work was sharp. Even when it became three-on-one, he dropped all three with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠controlled bursts. If he was that good, why not make it four? They all rushed him anyway, and he went down to a practice grenade. Solid tactical drill.

Feeling competitive, I asked the team leader if I could join. He agreed without hesitation. When I suggested we split into teams, he just said one-versus-five was fine. The result? I used everything I had learned. Five wins out of five. Who would dare underestimate human-wave tactics? In the first round I sent all four charging while I flanked from behind. Second round I charged and let the others flank. By the third match he was still refusing to acknowledge it, but on the fifth he took my sniper round and it was game over. After that he finally admitted defeat.

When we came down from the training ground, a message from Gonzales was waiting.

??

Of course I knew him. Our soda guy. The world really was small.

How deep was this guy in the game? At least his humility hadn't changed. I could learn from that.

Flash Mob's old line about reputation being worse than infamy crossed my mind, but I kept the business manners going.

Typical Busan guy—straight to the point.

I hadn't known he was that close with them either.

We were the ones making it. My gut twisted. Handing it over felt wrong. I couldn't let that happen.

I used the line I'd coordinated with Vice Director Seon.

??

I gave orders to the security team and asked them to make the delivery. Then I went straight to Director Jo and told him about the conversation with the soda guy.

"Other things might leak as rumors, but what about the part about reaching the prosecutors?"

Director Jo just smiled.

"Looks like it worked. I spent some money."

??

When ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I asked for more details, he explained that the current administration was pushing hard with their "war on drugs," but momentum was fading over time. With the opposition making so much noise, he had bribed them—not to remove our products from the investigation entirely, but to push less important, non-lethal items to the back of the line.

"Does that make us legal?" I asked innocently.

He laughed. "Once it comes out of the cabinet, they can't stop it. At least we've secured one safety net. No harm done, so it was the right call."

I must have been too sensitive about prosecutor and police investigations. If Director Jo was this confident, maybe I didn't need to worry so much. Still, staying sensitive was probably how you survived long-term.

Two days later—

The amount was huge.

Ah… so that's what "market rate" had meant. I remembered him saying it when we discussed the goods and terms last time. I hadn't done much—just carried a suitcase and ran an errand.

This summer passed without ever feeling like summer. August brought half rain, and when the rain stopped a cool breeze blew through. Before I knew it, the biggest advantage of being a student—vacation—was over, and the new semester was approaching.

The second semester students were two or three years older on average. The returning students had arrived after military service, and they looked like full-grown men. Whenever two of them got together they talked about the army, which was funny. They kept saying things like "You guys don't know the army" and "How many times have you even fired a gun?" or bragging about being elite soldiers. It was ridiculous, but I didn't bother correcting them. After all, I was the exempt older brother.

Today's class ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was Trade Practice. My favorite professor, Jo Young-woo, took the mic.

"Welcome, everyone. I see some familiar faces from last semester and a few from a few years ago."

The usual orientation began, but this semester he introduced a new format.

"Those taking my class for the first time might find this unfamiliar, but I intend to treat this as your first step into the academic field of trade studies."

"Unlike introductory courses that aim for familiarity, this semester's goal is to help you take your first steps as practitioners or scholars and show you the direction forward."

"Therefore, I will evaluate you on two tracks."

The mention of grades made the students' eyes light up. Grade slaves, the lot of them.

"The first is the academic track—midterms, finals, and assignments—like other courses. This will be curved according to the school's designated ratio."

"The second is practical work. You've probably thought at least once since last semester about what trade actually is—assuming you've taken my class."

Of course, Professor.

"You'll conduct actual trade with foreign countries. Whether you succeed or fail, the experience itself—failures and successes alike—will be evaluated through sharing what you learned."

"Honestly, I prefer the second option. Students who choose it will receive the highest possible score using the discretion granted to me by school rules, as long as they don't drop the course."

"But if you half-ass it or produce no results, request it from me and I'll give you the lowest score or an F. Check the syllabus for details."

"This week is the add/drop period, so think it over. Once it ends, I'll upload a file. Choose your evaluation track then. That's all."

As students gathered their things and stood up, the first-year class president approached.

"Hyung, what are you going to do?"

Hmm…

"Me? I'll have to think about it."

"Myung-jae, Yun-jeong, and I are planning to do the group project together. Want to join?"

Why?

"You're the top student. Help us out ^^"

What was this? Free riding? He kept following me and asking, so I agreed. What could go wrong?

I regretted those words the next week. The kids were way too serious.

"I don't think the professor just wants us to do some secondhand trading with foreign countries as a carrot."

"Probably not. Doing just that and saying 'we sold it well' would feel too cheap."

"So we have to actually find suppliers and buyers like we learned last semester? Secure containers, file customs declarations?"

"How are we supposed to do that?"

Listening, I realized it was time to give the kids some guidance. After all, we'd gone in a circle and come right back to where we started. And I didn't have time.

"Let's sit in on a few more classes and ask the professor for direction."

That ended the meeting. Why? Because a request had come in from the welfare center.

What followed was a supply request from Deputy Director Ha. Ammunition resupply for the security team. Only one new member had joined, but training volume had increased dramatically. They had nothing left except emergency stock. They were using rubber rounds as substitutes, but it wasn't the same as live fire, so they were short on ammo. I told him I'd look into it. Maybe I should contact Mr. Flag…