Expansion's Price
I told Baccarat hyung that instead of running around like some low-level thug, I'd hire him and all his boys as full-time employees. He thanked me about fifty times and was gearing up for another round when I finally told him to stop. Then I asked him to send over simple résumés for his younger brothers. It hit me then—this was what survival looked like. No special skills, no education, but the organization mindset was rock solid.
In the Philippines, the majority of the population is Catholic, so abortion is banned and specialized obstetric care isn't widely available. Local culture places heavy emphasis on family size, and sex education barely touches on contraception. Tourism money flows into low-wage sectors, pushing workers into the entertainment industry and driving up birth rates.
I gave Team Leader Lee separate instructions. Absorb the local group, build a presence on the ground, train them, and keep them under surveillance—that was the role I wanted. The hotel acquisition I handed off to a professional: Kim the accountant in Yeouido. I wish I had half his talent. He showed up with the contract in just a few days. Apparently he had a contact at the Philippine Investment Promotion Agency. I asked about foreign investment out of curiosity, and he explained that every country's investment agency has dedicated officers for each nation—essentially the elite of that country. Same here in Korea. Top local talent studies abroad at the best universities, then gets lured back with high salaries. Korea's Philippines desk, for example, is staffed by a Korean who graduated from the top university in the Philippines. When I asked how he knew the guy, he said they were Seoul National University classmates. A Filipino SNU graduate. Elite, all right.
They even offered low-interest loans—government funds, supposedly. I turned it down, worried that taking on debt would put me under a creditor's microscope. He tried to talk me out of it. Why refuse free money? Everyone does it, he said. The more I listened, the more it made sense. When foreigners bring capital into the country, the government extends these conveniences. Since it was a peso-denominated loan rather than foreign currency, it wasn't a major burden on their end either. I told him to proceed and checked our cash position. We were tight. Once the deal with the American military types closed next month, we'd have some breathing room.
It occurred to me that even if Ali hyung brought product from Afghanistan, we'd have to hand it all over just to stay afloat. "I'll negotiate," our accountant Kim said, and he came back with a clean deal from the Philippine Investment Promotion Agency: a peso loan covering fifty percent of the contract price at national bond rates, title transfer upon twenty percent down payment, and the balance due within six months. They accepted any currency for the down payment—dollars, yuan, yen. The only thing that annoyed me was that they wouldn't take won. That would have made things simpler. We knocked the price down significantly: eighty-five million dollars. Roughly a hundred billion won. Team Leader Lee had worked hard for it. He collected the cash locally through the Sky app and paid the relevant agency. It was the first time I'd seen SkyBank try to reject a payment. I wish I'd seen the look on their faces in person instead of just reading the report. For some reason the Philippine Investment Promotion Agency seemed thrilled, according to the update. When I saw the English-language honorary citizenship certificate and the ownership documents, it finally felt real. I was now the owner of a hundred-billion-won hotel. Of course, it wasn't under my name. James, apparently.
I told the executives to use any spare funds to pay down debt and maintain the status quo. We'd expanded too aggressively. It was time to focus on internal organization. They nodded. We'd taken on a lot in just a few months—the farm expansion, the Haman Factory, and now the Philippines project. I wanted to rest, but the world wouldn't let me.
That déjà vu feeling again. Hadn't the last message started exactly like this? I had no choice but to contact Yeoni about whatever came next.
I held off replying since I didn't know what was going on. Why was he suddenly begging for his life? Yeoni got back to me a few hours later. She said the exact situation needed more digging, but there had been an incident. From what she'd pieced together so far, their luck was terrible. During the nationwide tour, we'd heard that Number One and Number Three were each backed by the yakuza and Russian factions respectively, turning things into a proxy war. Over time the situation had stabilized, but the war hadn't ended—small skirmishes kept breaking out. Then a fight between a Number Three affiliate in the entertainment sector and the yakuza left casualties. The key detail: one of the dead was the son of a yakuza executive. That executive had sworn bloody revenge, and full-scale war had erupted. It was the Sarajevo incident all over again—the spark that started World War I. Yeoni reported that it was decision time, but she didn't know what to do.
I ordered her to gather as much information as possible and headed down to the welfare center. I needed to meet with the executives to sort this out.
"It's simple. Either walk away or get involved."
Director Ha made it sound easy. I asked Director Jo for additional intelligence—the scale of the yakuza organization, the Russians' situation, and details on both factions in Busan. Yoon hyung showed up with the files before I even finished asking. His preparedness was impressive. The four organizations weren't large. The Russians barely had anyone on the ground. When I looked skeptical, Director Jo explained.
"Korea has excellent public security in this regard."
"This is already a significant presence."
According to him, Korean police kept close watch on foreigners—especially from Japan, Russia, China, and Southeast Asia—who tended to cause trouble. Nine out of ten incidents led to immediate crackdowns. International members of groups like the yakuza, mafia, or triads, particularly those on Interpol lists, were monitored from the moment they entered until they left. Korea really was something else.
According to the data Seong the employee had compiled, the Japanese side had about twenty people, the Russians around ten. Number One's side had forty, Number Three's about thirty. Maybe I'd watched too many movies—the scale was smaller than I'd imagined, which gave me some confidence.
"But those are just the core members we've identified. If they call in mercenaries, the numbers could reach the hundreds."
"Some of those mercenaries might be people like us. Don't underestimate them."
Fair enough. That was how they maintained their grip in a city of over five million. "From what I can see, it doesn't matter who wins—we won't suffer either way, right? Both Number One and Number Three are our clients."
The next day I realized how complacent that thinking had been. Why? Because Park the deputy had been captured. Damn it. Once I became directly involved, I couldn't think straight. I alerted the security team to go on emergency footing and asked Director Jo and the IT team to locate him. Then we waited for negotiations. They would have kept him alive. If he'd been killed, it would already be war. I'd learned that lesson last time—show weakness in this world and you're finished.
I went up the hill behind the center to borrow equipment, intending to join the operation myself. The level of preparation was on a completely different scale from the mission with Eun-seong. These people treated it like actual war, not some corporate conflict. Last time we'd done an arms deal with a reliable supplier, so I'd passed the contact to Director Ha. Apparently they'd made additional purchases. Not only were there more guns, but support equipment had increased dramatically. Was that a flashbang? Watching Deputy Team Leader Bu practically vibrating with excitement amid the tension gave me another wave of déjà vu. What was wrong with these people?
Busan was too far from the welfare center, so we moved out in three vans. I tried calling en route but got no answer. "Request location tracking." Who was I talking to? Through the wireless mic, I was speaking with Seong the employee back at the center. Something about voice services—satellite-based communication, apparently. One reason we hadn't deployed immediately was that I wasn't familiar with the gear. From the mic to the tracking functions and even the friend-or-foe identification system. I'd need to carve out time for proper training later.
We'd left the center and were passing through Changnyeong when the call came. The phone vibrated. Unknown number. It was the phone they'd asked for my number on.
"Hello?"
Beep.
"We've got him in the Noksan district of Busan."
The world really was convenient. "Boss? Sorry we have to meet like this." "I should've bought you a drink and introduced myself properly over some sake." What kind of bastard was this? "Who is this? Why are you targeting us?" "Buy us some time—the signal's dropping. We can triangulate." "We'll take care of you later. Just back off from Busan. All that fence-sitting must be chafing pretty badly by now." Fuck. They knew everything.