The Seven Star Opportunity
I got the call from the welfare center and immediately reached out to the North Korean flag uncle. No matter how many times I tried, there was no reply. Last time when things got urgent, he’d been blowing up my phone nonstop. I started worrying—maybe he couldn’t scrape together the money and had been dragged off to the Aoji coal mines.
After waiting a few more hours with no response, I told the security team to hold off on ammunition expenditure for now and stick to routine training. Damn… where the hell was I supposed to get more ammo? I wondered if there were any arms dealers on Skylight, so I wandered through the communities, but this place was all about drugs. No mention of weapons anywhere. Posting something like “looking for guns” felt too risky anyway. What if someone who knew me reported it—“That guy’s asking for weapons”?
While I was lounging around the Noryangjin apartment, a TV news segment caught my eye.
The report went on to detail Mr. A’s colorful history. He was the first-generation boss of the Seven Star Gang, formed in central Busan in the late 1970s. Though long retired from the front lines, he was still referred to as the boss within the organization. He had ties to various political issues and major interests in Busan and Gyeongnam. During the “War on Crime” in the 1980s, he was reportedly a top target for arrest and endured considerable hardship.
This had to be the same family I’d done the cocaine deal with. I hoped there wouldn’t be any problems. The ID alone made it obvious it was them, didn’t it? And Sevenstar in Busan—what else could that mean? His identity was crystal clear. In this line of work, you couldn’t stay completely disconnected from the syndicates.
The other day when I was talking with my executives, they said I was one of the lucky ones. I’d had protection from the U.S. military contacts and senior figures from the start, so I’d grown big fast. Cases like mine were rare. Especially building a manufacturing network this quickly. They said people like Yangcho were incredibly valuable—most folks never recognized a 35.3-degree raw gem when they saw one. Almost everyone started by taking product from an organization, ended up tied to it, and either tried to break away once they got a little bigger and got crushed, or stayed subservient, paying tribute until they got caught.
I’d heard the same thing. Korea’s traditional syndicates apparently hated drug dealers. Couldn’t say why. Until the next day, I had no idea this news would have anything to do with me.
Ah… Sevenstar’s timing couldn’t be worse. The news from yesterday flashed through my mind the moment I saw the message.
This guy really expected me to read his mind without any context. I asked for a concrete explanation, and he made me an offer. A money-lending proposal. He said he was preparing for war—he had the men and the guts, but no cash. Problem was, I didn’t have money either.
When I gave a lukewarm response, he added another condition.
Sorry, but I couldn’t make this call alone. I called an emergency executive meeting. Director Jo and Executive Ha both expressed concern. The Seven Star Gang was currently the hottest case in South Korea—if we got involved, we’d be dragged in too. I completely understood their worry. The moment I got the message, I’d thought the same thing: we’d all get arrested together.
Still, after thinking it over, something felt off about walking away. Back when I was studying for the GED, history class had drilled the concept of “fishing in troubled waters” into me. Couldn’t we operate like a third party, like a shadow? I asked for their advice. We’d only provide the funds, take every possible collateral, keep everyone safe, and stay completely hands-off. Honestly, losing a bit of dirty money wouldn’t be the end of the world, right? Why did it feel like the welfare center was calling me a thief again? My ears itched.
What did that mean? I looked it up—“a house on top of a house,” an organization above an organization.
“Yes. Create a fictional figure. Say the decision came from there. Then have someone else handle the actual work while you remain only as the introducer.”
“How about Deputy Park in Haman?”
Yeoni? Why would that sweet girl…
When had she expanded her team? Yeoni was sharp. Okay, let’s give it a shot.
What kind of loyalty was that…
The summer heat showed no signs of breaking, which meant autumn wasn’t coming either. The weather still hadn’t turned. It was neither hot nor cold—the perfect season for activity—yet I was stuck in a lecture hall. I wanted to go out with Miju.
“You all need to experience how actual trade happens. This website is run by the Korea International Trade Association and contains a lot of trade-related information.”
“Another useful site is the one operated by KOTRA. You’ll find actual spaces where buyers and sellers meet.”
Hmm… the official version of Skylight. There was a time when I operated between 36.5 and 36.6 degrees too.
“Here, you might even find opportunities.”
“For example?”
“Let me demonstrate with paper. If you go to the buyer side and search ‘paper,’ thousands of results come up.”
Same with Skylight—search “cannabis” and thousands popped up.
“And if you go to the seller side and search ‘paper,’ you’ll get thousands of results there too.”
“If you connect these two parties, what do you get?”
What else? A 5% commission.
“Would the student over there like to answer?”
“Commission.”
Shit, why was he asking me? I’d answered without thinking. I’d messed up.
“Oh, correct! What’s your name, student?”
“Choi Eunsu.”
“Extra points for you!”
Extra points were nice, but I didn’t want to stand out.
“That’s right. Just by connecting two trading parties, both sides benefit, and eventually people start doing this professionally. That’s the origin of today’s trading companies.”
“But what happens when the internet develops and the parties have more information?”
“Middlemen who take commissions become unnecessary. Why? Because they can trade directly.”
“So how do trading companies survive?”
They either manufacture directly or set up subcontractors.
“Next week’s assignment!”
“Not a paper. I want you to think. You can do research or ask your seniors.”
“That’s all!”
“Ah, and there are two teams doing the separate assignment. You probably don’t know what to do yet.”
“Try working on it with today’s class as reference.”
“I already told you everything, didn’t I?”
Then the professor vanished like the wind—either someone was chasing him or he had a lunch appointment.
“Hyung, I think we shouldn’t have agreed to this.”
Our team approached me, muttering. “Myungjae, if it doesn’t work out, let’s just take the seasonal semester again, lol.”
Yunjeong chimed in with something that sounded halfway between advice and sarcasm. But I already knew what the professor wanted. If we did this well, it could actually make some money.
At the class rep’s suggestion to grab lunch, I packed my bag and sent a message to Gonzales.
Was this even something a student could pull off? I’d just have to go for it. We could work out the details later.