Carving a Name in History
Countless Joseon and Goryeo folk had lived and died just like that. Unknown. Nameless.
Most people around the world met the same fate. Only the famous ones lingered in history. The rest just turned to dust. Born from the earth, returning to it.
Hanyaseong wondered if he might one day shoot to massive fame. He did crave a spot in the history books, after all.
Playing the shadows in the underground economy with a 5 quadrillion asset portfolio, then exploding onto the scene as the world's richest man—basking in global spotlight—didn't sound half bad.
Mansour, the oil prince, was always bragging about his wealth. His family's total assets hit 1 quadrillion, which made them famous. A mere hundred billion barely got you in the door.
You needed to crack the trillionaire club just to make a name—and even then, you'd be at the very bottom.
Above every rich man loomed richer ones, endlessly. No wonder they clawed so desperately to climb higher—always someone lording over them.
It was like that old lament from a guy pulling in 100 million won a year: "Compared to those making 500 million, I'm just a commoner."
The Mansour clan was loaded, sure—but families richer still dotted the world like stars. To truly stand out, you'd have to claim the top spot: a 5 quadrillion empire.
Tired of the subway hassle, he grabbed a cab home. By then, it was pushing 10 p.m.
True to her word, Senior Choi Yujin gifted him her pussy one more time.
She stripped naked on the bed, clothes flying off in a heap, then dove under the covers and burrowed in like a shy kid.
In moments like these, even Senior Choi Yujin turned childlike. Hanyaseong's mood ignited; he shed his own clothes and slipped under the blanket after her.
Time was running short on their promise.
Hanyaseong stood tense in front of the hotel, eyes locked ahead.
He'd known Senior Choi Yujin came from money, but beholding the colossal hotel up close hammered home just how obscenely rich her family was.
Ordinary folks hear "owner of a 1-trillion-won market cap" and shrug—it's abstract, unreal. They just think, "Eh, rich guy."
To them, owning a multi-billion-won building marks you as truly wealthy. A Gangnam apartment in the tens of billions? Real baller. Annual salary hitting 200-300 million? Set for life.
A 1-trillion market cap hotel owner? Hard to grasp.
Hanyaseong had been the same—until now, staring at the beast of a building. This was real wealth. You'd need a hundred hundred-billion buildings to afford something like it.
Her father held 40% of the shares, she'd said—putting his net worth around 400 billion. Senior Choi Yujin owned 5%, making her a 50-billion heiress.
Shares, market caps—he didn't sweat the details. But seeing the hotel's sheer presence made it click. Building owners worth tens of billions? Small fry next to this. They couldn't even dream of crashing this party.
"Hoo."
Hanyaseong exhaled sharply, straightening the casual outfit she'd picked: clean, sharp, with an air of mature IT professional.
Meeting her father had him weirdly on edge. He'd skipped breakfast over it.
The whole cab ride felt like courting a girlfriend—or begging for a father's blessing to marry.
Way too jittery. He cracked open one of those yellow berries—the ones that calmed him like a natural sedative—and popped it.
Chest steadying, he strode toward the grand entrance.
Guests, tourists, foreigners drifted in and out. Luxury foreign cars pulled up; men in crisp, European guard-like uniforms hopped out to valet them.
A haven for the elite, worlds apart from common folk. That's what the hotel felt like.
Hanyaseong felt a twinge of intimidation, but he pushed through the main doors anyway.
First time in a place like this. He'd seen them in dramas, but reality hit different.
Gawking around the lobby, he headed to the appointed café.
He claimed a window seat. A sleek waitress approached with the menu.
"We'll order when the others arrive," he said, sending her off.
Her black skirt hugged a plump, provocative ass under the white shirt. It swayed like it was teasing: "Welcome to hotel café asses—your first time?"
With her dad being a playboy, had he sampled her too? A strange envy stirred as Hanyaseong sipped water and checked his watch.
Still 40 minutes till showtime. Too early?
Bored, he scanned the café. Foreigners, Chinese- and Japanese-looking types. Everyone exuded refined elegance. Nothing like market vendors in their casual duds—these folks screamed class, quiet money.
Time dragged. He hit the restroom midway. Spotless. You could nap on the floor.
Even the interior screamed luxury—leagues beyond public toilets. Rich people vibes, for sure. The bathroom alone dripped prestige. No wonder it felt off from dingy inns.
He even pissed more carefully, scared of splashing.
Ten minutes to go—his phone buzzed. Senior Choi Yujin.
"Where are you?"
"In the café. You?"
"Just arrived. Be there soon."
She hung up. Moments later, she swept in—not her usual free-spirited casuals, but something poised and proper. Meeting Dad had her dressing demure.
"Here!"
Hanyaseong waved from his seat. She spotted him and approached.
"Ugh, you're killing me."
She plopped down, already venting.
"Why?"
"You went way too hard last night. I barely survived."
"Oh, that?"
Last round, missionary style—he'd pounded her pussy relentlessly. Push-up position, maybe 200 thrusts. She'd begged through tears, sobbing her pussy would break.
He'd railed her mercilessly; she'd squirted like a fountain, keening in ecstasy. Legs wobbling, she'd barely made it home.
That was the complaint.
"Miss, you're here?"
The waitress approached, hands at her navel in a deep bow to Senior Choi Yujin.
What, is she a maid? It felt oddly feudal.
"Long time, sis. Coffee for me."
"Yes, miss."
She glanced at him; Hanyaseong ordered.
"Cola for me."
"Right away."
She retreated with uncharacteristically prim steps—wary of the owner's daughter. Classic employee plight: "Yes, miss" even in modern times. Felt straight out of Joseon.
The hotel ran like a feudal fiefdom. No wonder chaebol heirs strutted like kings—everyone bowed and scraped, inflating their egos.
Senior Choi Yujin was basically nobility here.
Not that it looked bad on her.
"Dad's coming soon. Be good."
"Got it."
Time ticking down, tension spiked. Damn, why so nervous?
Throat parched, he chugged the cola.
"Oh, there's Dad."
Senior Choi Yujin glanced at the entrance and stood. Hanyaseong bolted up too, heart hammering.
A burly man in his early fifties strode in—built like a tank, crew cut, black suit, shoulders like boulders from some workout regimen. Pure beast-mode charisma, piercing eyes.
His stride was restrained, or he'd pass for a mob boss shaking down the street.
The male manager and pretty waitresses bowed deeply.
The owner of Seoul's 1-trillion-won hotel—a gangster-sized CEO—returned their greetings with a subtle smile, eyes appreciatively scanning the waitresses' figures.
One look screamed "ladies' man."
"Dad, here."
Senior Choi Yujin waved. Hanyaseong swallowed hard, standing rigid.
The big man spotted her, nodded, and closed in on their table.
