Chapter 101
Chapter 101
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 101
Chapter Title: Han-ASEAN Camp (1)
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“Secretary Kim. Has the Defense Acquisition Program Administration’s final review come in?”
Unlike his gaunt appearance, the President handled business with crisp efficiency.
And Uncle Kim Won-cheol answered my tossed-out question with the same straightforwardness.
“It’s in. Those DAPA bastards will launch even a gum stuck to the floor if the President gives the word. Automatic pass.”
The Defense Ministry’s new weapons development project.
No—now called the ‘Hawk-Eye System.’
Bureaucratic procedures? As if they’d ever existed. The relevant ministries, starting with DAPA, wrapped everything up at near-lightspeed.
“That’s handed off to the staff now, so our Chairman doesn’t need to worry about it. The real headache’s something else, right?”
“You’re telling me. The President hung this bizarre deal condition on us, and it’s making my head throb.”
A bizarre deal condition.
Divvying up the prime cut of meat that was Cheolhwa Group. No, even more critically, the top-priority mission of not rubbing the prickly President the wrong way.
“I’m at a loss on how to even approach it.”
“It’s not just about selling the Hawk-Eye System to Southeast Asian countries.”
“Exactly. That alone wouldn’t give him enough juice to boost his image. He wants something big enough to make the public go ‘wow!’”
An utterly baffling puzzle.
And annoyingly, the answer key wasn’t written in friendly Korean.
The model answer lay somewhere in Southeast Asia, head bowed and hiding amid answer sheets scrawled in over ten languages.
“Sigh, we yanked out a tuft of nose hair from a sleeping President with tweezers—what can you do? Even if it kills us, we’ve gotta go.”
“No one’s dying. I thought it was revenue, but it turned out to be seed money. Though I’d pass on that ending too. For now…”
Tap, tap, tap. Me, lost in thought, drumming the edge of the desk with my fountain pen.
The President I’d met days ago was even more bold than I’d imagined.
Government-backed interest reductions, massive deregulation, tax breaks.
Everything the Ammunition Group would need post-Cheolhwa acquisition to rise as Korea’s top defense contractor—he’d promised it all.
Of course, those promises were a noose around my neck too. Fail to deliver what he wanted, and he’d yank the favoritism leash hard.
‘Sell whatever you can. You keep the money, the people get pride, and I…’
The President’s words brushed past my ear like an echo.
Finishing his unfinished sentence with my own mouth, I uncapped the fountain pen in my hand.
‘Get the approval ratings.’ Very well. He was dead set on grabbing the priciest prize.
The fountain pen spun with a ping.
If only a sharp idea would strike like the nib at the tip—instead, they just circled frustratingly on the surface.
This was when I needed a creativity pouch.
Right there before me, gleaming under the lights: the forehead of that hunchbacked sage. No, Uncle Kim Won-cheol’s creativity pouch.
“Hmm? Something on my head?”
“You look like you’ve got an idea—don’t keep it to yourself, spill it.”
“Heh heh heh. Ever since you met that Ham Chae-eun woman, you haven’t asked me squat. See? In the clutch, you always come back to me.”
Pfft. Yoo Se-na the aide, who’d been holding back a laugh behind me, finally burst out.
Dragging this out would just hurt me. Raising the white flag, I pressed Uncle Kim Won-cheol for a quick answer.
And the response that followed.
“Let’s see. Our Chairman’s twenty-six now. Face value, you could cosplay as a college kid no problem.”
“…Is that a compliment?”
“Ha, being young is the best. Anyway, for intel, nothing beats legwork.”
“Legwork, huh.”
“No need to go far. Just like with that Yoo Se-na aide last time.”
Yoo Se-na’s broad shoulders, mountainous and tense, flinched at the mention of legwork.
Come to think of it, she’d been through the wringer lately.
Infiltrating Kim Beom-ho and Seo Yun-ji’s pleasure den as a cleaner, or posing as a gambler at a Chinese casino, that sort of thing.
-Swish.
A single sheet of paper placed on my desk.
Uncle Kim Won-cheol, who’d been chuckling at Yoo Se-na’s reaction, pulled a poster from a drawer.
A typical government-made poster, with characters of various races laughing and arm-in-arm.
“Han-ASEAN… college student camp? You’re telling me to join this? After we’re all graduated?”
“Yup. Just bluff you’re a grad student. Hide your identity—who cares if some foreigners know you’re a chaebol chairman.”
“Fair point, I guess.”
Hosted by a Ministry of Foreign Affairs affiliate, the event seemed unremarkable on the surface.
-This event aims to promote exchanges between Korea and ASEAN nations.
-We seek participants to build friendship among the youth through cultural exchanges between college students from each country. We hope for widespread support.
Noble words, like some religious scripture.
The poster read like a typical extracurricular for job-hunting students eyeing overseas sales gigs.
At least on paper.
“But why the sudden push for this random extracurricular?”
“Heh heh heh. It’s all about who shows up. The Southeast Asian kids attending? They’re…”
A grin that bared his healthy gums wide.
That new gold tooth from the dentist recently, bottom front—its sparkle hit my eyes hard.
“Gold spoons. The golden children of that country’s elites. Kids of high officials and nobles.”
“ASEAN nobility heirs…”
“Most students from there are upper crust, and anyone with the means to come to Korea? Definitely from lofty families. That give you the picture?”
The event was right around the corner, but squeezing in a spot wouldn’t be too hard.
If push came to shove, extra slots as a sponsor. List Ammunition Group as a backer.
I was starting to come around. Spotting it, Uncle Kim Won-cheol grinned wider, gold tooth flashing brighter.
“Who knows? Like with Ham Chae-eun, you might snag something big. Heh heh heh. Kids are always closest to their parents, after all.”
* * * *
Golden hues weren’t just captivating at Ammunition Group HQ.
Bangkok, Thailand’s capital.
Roads radiating from the Grand Palace like spokes. A short walk north revealed the Thai government complex.
The Byzantine-style stone building wasn’t grandiose, but its beauty alone commanded presence.
“Like a pigeon in a cage.”
A middle-aged man hid behind curtains inside a third-floor window.
His stern face stared blankly at the guards outside.
Bayonets on their shoulders guarded his life—but could pierce his heart anytime, those military appendages.
“Prime Minister, Prime Minister?”
“Ah, yes. Sorry about that. I was lost in thought. Where were we?”
Click. He yanked the cord, sealing even the faint curtain gap.
Thailand’s Prime Minister Ing Tak.
In coup-prone Thailand, he was a rare civilian elected by ballot.
Overwhelming support. Public hopes—all aimed at him.
“Hoo…”
Yet despite that legitimacy, he always seemed to glance over his shoulder.
His hands trembled as if voicing his anxiety in real time.
Only after lighting a thick cigar of strong tobacco leaves did the shaking subside.
“We were reporting on the military internal control plan details, sir.”
The secretary kept his voice low, lest birds of day or rats of night overhear.
The young man’s eyes sparkled like the Golden Temple, full of faith in a new era.
Until the Prime Minister’s deflated sigh leaked out.
“…Enough. Let’s not discuss that now.”
“Prime Minister?”
“Later. We’ll handle it separately, once the political situation stabilizes.”
Ing Tak refused firmly—and painfully.
Arms crossed, eyes shut, the Prime Minister seemed utterly frustrating to the secretary.
He’d raised his voice, after all, this man so cautious.
“Prime Minister! The country’s stable. Early in a high-approval term is the only time for this!”
“I know.”
“You know?! If we keep dodging this, another coup will—!”
-Thud!
Ing Tak’s fists slammed the desk.
“Yes! Those wolf-pack military bastards could rise up in an instant! In a year! A month! Hell, maybe right now!”
Powerlessness, emptiness, and… self-loathing.
Head bowed low, his trembling shadow swallowed by negativity.
Once it all poured out, only a pathetic middle-aged man remained.
Deflated like a punctured balloon.
“…I know. Someday, I’ll collar those mad dogs. But.”
Shouldering the bundle of reality versus ideals.
Balancing on a tightrope, he carved words like stone, each heavy.
“Not now. If I bare my heart to their fangs without protection, it’s meaningless. Your plan included—everything.”
“Prime Minister…!”
“Leave me. Just for a bit…”
He waved the secretary out. Only after long ticks of the clock did he open the window.
Gray smoke billowed out instantly.
His ashtray, piled with cigar butts, alone spoke for his heart.
“Civilian control of the military… Someday. It will happen.”
A dream he craved, yet couldn’t grasp.
Shaking his head to clear it, Ing Tak turned to documents out of habit, washing away torment.
And fate’s prank: one paper caught his eye at once.
“ASEAN Summit… Right, hosted in Korea.”
A homeland as pitiable as his own, decades under military boots since founding.
And… now, scars vanished—no trace even if you scoured.
Gazing at the northern peninsula’s jutting tip across the sea, Prime Minister Ing Tak murmured.
“Come to think of it, my daughter went to Korea the day before yesterday. Some… college student camp?”