Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: Steps Into Darkness
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Hwan-in arrived at the house left behind as an inheritance from his parents and paced the living room, mulling over the details of his next plan.
His thoughts were brief, and his actions swift.
After grabbing a few USB drives from the study that had once been his father's and was now his own, he called up one of his scant contacts—a reporter friend working in the social affairs section of a fairly prominent media outlet.
"Hey, long time no see. How've you been?"
"Not good."
Hwan-in's contact arrived in the stereotypical reporter getup. Yu Han-seong, one of the few people he could call a friend, set his hefty camera down on the table as he took a seat across from Hwan-in, his eyes widening in surprise.
"What? Something bad happen?"
The friend before him was blunt and tight-lipped, but he never spoke nonsense—always sticking to facts.
He wasn't shallow in knowledge, had a sharp eye for society's underbelly, and never crossed legal lines.
If such a friend said he hadn't been well, it meant something major had gone down, and calling him over likely tied into it.
That hunch proved right as Yu Han-seong heard words that made him doubt his own ears.
"I want to blow the lid off Saman Trading's corruption."
Sure enough, the evidence his friend produced was a massive scandal bomb even Yu Han-seong, who'd been digging through social affairs stories for years, had never encountered.
If unleashed properly, it could shake the foundations of Saman Trading, a solidly established corporation.
"This... how the hell did you gather something like this? You're just a mid-level HR rep. How does a rep get their hands on intel this high-grade?"
"Someone treats their computers like titanium vaults. Plus, I've got my own ways."
"Figures. You've always been freakishly resourceful..."
Even back when they'd all get caught messing around by the teacher and chewed out, Hwan-in somehow always slipped away unscathed.
But his friends never got mad. If anything, they liked it. After getting scolded, he'd pop up out of nowhere with kimbap or tteokbokki treats.
The teachers' take on Hwan-in? Quiet but kind-hearted, obedient, good student.
As Yu Han-seong reminisced about their school days, he checked the memory card's contents on his tablet.
Hwan-in watched him for a moment before pulling a brown envelope from his briefcase and setting it on the table.
"What I need from you is to turn this into a story at the exact time I specify. The prep materials and whistleblower details are all in here."
"Hmm..."
Inside the envelope was a photo of an ordinary-looking salaryman in his mid-40s, along with some basic personal info.
According to Hwan-in's follow-up explanation, he'd picked a random homeless guy and fabricated it.
"This isn't bad material for you either. Depending on how you play it, you might even get 'journalist' slapped in front of your name."
"..."
Yu Han-seong pulled the memory card from the tablet, glanced around the secure hanok-style private room, and let out a relieved breath.
Then, after wetting his throat with some water from the carafe, he spoke cautiously.
"You're right. The sheer volume is absurd. If you hadn't brought it yourself, I'd be ripping you a new one for trying to peddle stitched-together rumors and tabloid crap."
He'd written issue pieces now and then, but they were borderline exclusives at best.
His actual exclusives? Meh, nothing to write home about.
But this was different. Dropping this as an exclusive would carve a real milestone into his career, no doubt.
Imagining his future as the reporter who broke the exposé, Yu Han-seong felt his heart race hot for a moment.
But that was it.
He shook his head to clear the fantasy and spoke with a hardened expression.
"If this blows up successfully, it'll cause a storm. At minimum, the president, VPs, and execs' heads will roll. Maybe literally."
This kind of bomb wouldn't just toss a couple people to the curb. Blind stabbings could happen.
He shifted his gaze from the USB to Hwan-in.
This guy got things done when he set his mind to it. If he said he'd expose the corruption, he'd pull it off no matter what.
So he had to warn him. Because they were friends.
"Once you leak this, the conglomerate's dirty hands will hunt the whistleblower like bloodhounds. If you're caught, your life's on the line."
"I know."
"Good. But you have no idea just how bad the risk is."
The memory card's contents were so deep and vast, it begged the question of how he'd gathered it.
And that depth made it a lethal weapon not just against Saman Trading, but their partners, affiliates, and even the parent group.
Corporations do "excessive" CSR.
They "overpunish" employees caught in scandals.
Everyone knew it was an open secret—to mitigate backlash by touting philanthropy during public apologies.
Saman Trading followed the playbook to a T.
Squeaky clean above water, filthy corruption below.
Abuse of power for no-bid contracts, kickbacks via deliveries and permits, undue pressure, improper solicitations, vested interests, executive negligence fueling local graft, illegal brokering, subcontractor graft, accounting fraud, embezzlement, tax evasion, bid-rigging, info broker violence.
Every dirty trick in the corporate book, with evidence tying the president, two VPs, managing directors, and department heads.
Once out, public outrage would tank the stock—not just a plunge, straight to hell.
Associated firms would face suspicion too.
The business world ran on blood, school, and regional ties.
Ranked 149th? Upper crust, mingling with the elite, swapping briefcases worth tens of millions.
It'd unravel like a vine-wrapped pumpkin, dragging accomplices in droves.
Would the gold, diamond, titanium vaults let wild boars or moles trash their fields?
"You know it too. They're like Celestial Dragons. They don't let insolent scum who defy them slide. They'll bury you by any means."
He leaned forward over the table, whispering as if afraid of eavesdroppers.
"And it's not just them. Shareholders losing fortunes in the crash won't sit idle. They'll dig up the leaker and retaliate, whatever it takes."
"..."
"Don't count on cops or prosecutors having your back. Whistleblower laws? Bullshit. Leaking informant info is the ugly truth of our society."
Hwan-in listened silently to Yu Han-seong's earnest advice, moistened his lips with cold water, and spoke quietly.
"I know. That's why I'm blowing it all open."
"...All of it?"
"Yeah."
Yu Han-seong was speechless. He glanced at the memory card and USBs beside it, swallowing hard without realizing.
Then it hit him.
The memory of those thugs who'd tried using the quiet, friendless Hwan-in as their errand boy—suddenly half-paralyzed vegetables, dropping out of high school.
A chill ran down his spine, just like back then.
Knock knock knock.
A knock at the door, and the server entered to lay out their pre-ordered dishes one by one.
The conversation naturally paused, resuming after the server said, "Enjoy your meal~" and shut the door.
"Uh... do you really have to go this far?"
"They're the ones trying to bury me first. Even worms writhe when stepped on—imagine a human."
"You're the only one lopping heads off for getting stepped on."
Yu Han-seong sighed deeply, his eyes darkening.
"You've got a plan, right?"
"Leaking through other channels too. Various outlets, staggered timing."
Yu Han-seong's eyes followed Hwan-in's gesture pointing to the memory card and three USBs in sequence.
"A massive scandal will keep them too busy elsewhere for a while."
"Hiding in the meantime?"
Hwan-in nodded faintly, and Yu Han-seong sighed again, slipping on his plastic gloves and reaching for the appetizing seasoned crab.
"Someone who gathered this wouldn't act recklessly... Fine. What do I blow open?"
"Leak USB contents to reporters you somewhat trust, in bits. The more it spreads, the better. Use the memory card exclusively. If attention locks on you, feed them the homeless guy's info."
"So I'm basically your breakwater?"
"You won't be in danger."
The real whistleblower was already dead, after all.
Hwan-in stared at Yu Han-seong, whose face twisted in complicated thought.
If official media clout wasn't needed, he wouldn't have shown his face to a friend.
But without Yu Han-seong, this wouldn't detonate spectacularly.
At least he was known among friends as loyal.
A social affairs reporter who'd thrown himself in to cleanse the elite filth with his pen—Hwan-in had weighed that and trusted him.
"Mr. Justice Reporter, you'll follow the whistleblower protection laws, right?"
Hwan-in quipped, picking up his utensils. Yu Han-seong burst out laughing. "Of course!"
Hwan-in smiled too, sharing lighthearted war stories from his hellish office days. Yu Han-seong forgot their heavy talk, cracking up over school tales as they ate.
After meeting Yu Han-seong, Hwan-in fed him minor leaks while distributing materials to online-connected reporters.
The self-righteous justice warrior types.
The pay-for-post-anything hacks.
Famous YouTubers handling business rumors, Twitch and Afreeca streamers, YouTubers too. Even right-wing and left-wing BJs tying business to government policy to bash the ruling party—scattered feed and data everywhere.
Yu Han-seong, vetted through tests as trustworthy, got the face-to-face handoff.
The rest? Anonymized. IP-hopped across countries like stepping stones to virtual emails, queued for sequential sends.
Launch in two days.
Even if recipients hesitated, suspecting fakes, they'd jump on once Yu Han-seong lit the fuse—can't lag in a blaze.
With dynamite rigged to the giant Saman Trading's torso, Hwan-in quietly sorted his affairs, subtle enough not to alert anyone.
Not flashy—just looked like a casual trip.
Parents' inheritance and insurance weren't small, and he wasn't one for waste or luxury, so all his salary was banked.
Tangibles secured to survive a decade-plus absence.
Around-the-world banked funds for decades of leisure—no money worries.
"..."
Packing a small travel bag, Hwan-in's eyes drifted to the table's little frame.
A beaming young couple. And a blank-faced kid version of himself between them.
Gazing at his seemingly picture-perfect parents, Hwan-in disassembled the frame and pocketed the photo.
He packed the rest leisurely, scanned the room... then opened the bedside drawer, grasping a slightly worn silver Multi-Tool.
His survival-camping, bushcraft-obsessed dad had saved allowance for a year for this 7.6 million won Swiss platinum-gold alloy model.
Second-guessing adding dad's heirloom to the bag, he pocketed it instead and surveyed the house.
Unchanged since his parents' passing.
Minor consumables swapped, but not a floor mat different—exactly as before they died.
Yet it stirred no emotion in Hwan-in.
His heart felt hollowed out.
"..."
Would he feel something if he'd been normal?
Fingering the Multi-Tool in his pocket, he checked the time, donned his coat, and left.
Kang Ha-yeon glared at Hwan-in, who'd summoned her to a coffee shop near her place, as if she could devour him.
She'd spent the day agonizing over vengeful ways to crush him painfully, cruelly from society.
Then this enemy called out of nowhere—her mood was foul.
Leaning back, arms crossed, legs folded, she lifted her chin to look down at him naturally.
Her model-esque poise drew glances from other patrons.
Savoring their envy, she spoke coldly.
"If you're here to apologize, too late. I've never even taken a hit from my dad. You think slapping my cheek and acting like nothing happened flies?"
"Kang Ha-yeon. I'm a man with nothing to lose."
His contextless words furrowed her perfectly arched brows.
"What do you mean?"
"You've heard of psychopaths."
"That's you? Are you threatening me now?"
Ignoring her outrage, Hwan-in said his piece.
"My parents drilled it into me: hurt others, and the law hurts you back. So I've lived minimizing harm to others."
Something about this man made her want to shut him up, but his flat intonation glued her lips shut.
"But... avoiding harm doesn't mean others avoid harming me."
"..."
"One day, a classmate bullied me for no reason. I asked Dad: 'What if I stay still and they start it?'"
His steady, toneless voice stirred unease in her.
"Dad said: Watch what they do. Remember it. Then retaliate last."
"Wh-what..."
"Mom walloped his back for teaching a kid such a 'great' lesson."
Click. His iced Americano bottle cap unscrewed.
Her heart pounded with dread—the sound felt like her own neck twisting.
This sensation... from childhood zoo trip with parents.
"Parents died in a car crash seven years ago, so no more asking. But I take it as: repay in kind."
Tiger enclosure, roar echoing, terror gripping her.
Prey before predator.
"If you bury me in society, I'll accept. Luckily, inheritance lets me coast forever."
Casually sipping his iced Americano, he chilled her fingertips and toes.
Heart hammering, nape prickling, legs weakening.
Words wouldn't come—lips sealed like glue.
His eerily serene voice pierced her.
"Kang Ha-yeon. Poke a mad dog, it bites your hand. Poke a madman... what happens?"
He stared into her eyes.
"I'll repay you in kind. You said you'd ruin me socially, so burying you six feet under seems fair trade."
"..."
"If I don't get caught, no issue. If I do... a few years inside, then leisurely life. Got the funds."
This man meant it.
Having sized up countless men, gifted her father's eye for sincerity versus fakery, she knew instinctively.
Her gut screamed: touch him, and you're doomed.
Spot-on instinct.
Just a beat too late.