Chapter 115
Chapter 115
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 115
Chapter Title: Connecting the Pacific and Indian Oceans (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Southern Thailand separatist warlord.
Hassan, the leader of the "Muslim Independence Struggle Group."
Walking through the heart of Bangkok, he stared blankly at his reflection in a mirror while waiting for the signal.
A short stature barely scraping 160cm. Dark, patchy skin. A tacky turban on his head and shabby clothes.
He looked like the epitome of a rural Muslim from the southern provinces—the kind the Thai central government relentlessly targeted with discrimination and oppression.
"Hey, you there!"
And as if to prove that point, trouble came knocking right away.
"You little shit... Ignoring a police check? You've got some balls!"
A fat man in a police uniform.
He placed his hand on his pistol holster and yelled at Hassan.
"...Me?"
"Who else looks suspicious around here? Get over here now. You got ID on you, right?"
At the mention of ID, a chill ran up Hassan's spine.
In his pocket was a crudely forged fake ID.
Suppressing his pounding heart, Hassan showed the fake ID to the cop.
Was it sheer luck?
The cop, who seemed to have bad eyesight, fiddled with his glasses, adjusting the focus back and forth.
After checking it, he tossed the ID back at Hassan's chest.
"Figures, some southern hick. What brings a desert ghost-worshipping bumpkin like you to the capital, Bangkok?"
"......"
"Why'd you crawl up here? Answer me!"
Hassan's original plan had been to come quietly, finish the job, and slip away just as quietly.
But the insult to the god he believed in—the god believed in by the people under his wing.
A man who lived solely on faith, Hassan couldn't just stand there and take it submissively.
"...Don't blaspheme God."
"Hah, listen to this guy?"
The cop drew the baton from his left side.
Was he openly trying to humiliate and demean him?
He prodded Hassan's stomach with the blunt end of the baton, stepping forward one foot at a time.
"What, you rejecting the government's assimilation policy? You one of those Islamist terrorists?"
"......."
"I asked if you're a terrorist. Answer!"
As the cop advanced, Hassan had no choice but to back away step by step.
Drifting away from the crosswalk area, his back finally hit the hard wall of the hotel building right beside him.
Satisfied that he'd intimidated him enough, the cop wore a smug expression.
Seizing the opportunity, he figured. He holstered the baton and pulled out a pair of metal handcuffs.
"You little shit, this won't do. Come with me for a bit."
"No! What did I do?"
"Let's run a test today. See if your desert ghost comes to save you when I beat you with this stick."
The cop was blatantly trying to pin anti-government suspect charges on him.
If it went well, it'd be a merit for promotion; if not, beating up one southern hick wouldn't cause any issues.
"This can't be...!"
Hassan panicked at the absurd crisis.
If dragged to the station, not only would the fake ID be exposed, but his real identity could come out too.
To make matters worse, he was near a luxury hotel crawling with patrolling cops—he couldn't run anywhere.
'This is bad... Of all times.'
As his agony dragged on, the handcuffs drew closer. With no other options, Hassan squeezed his eyes shut.
But just as he thought this was the end, a voice cut through the darkness.
"Hold on!"
"What the—? Uh, what's the matter, sir?"
Pale skin. Neat build. A luxury watch on his wrist and a suit made of fine fabric.
Anyone could see this man was Thai upper class or a foreigner. He approached Hassan slowly and grabbed his wrist.
Then, the mysterious man addressed the cop.
"That's my servant who works under me. What's the reason for detaining him?"
"Damn... Stepped in shit."
The cop, who'd greedily bitten off more than he could chew and landed in a bind.
True to the law of the jungle—strong against the weak, weak against the strong—he replied to the mystery man in a fawning tone.
"Lately, those southern separatist bastards have been terrorizing left and right. Orders from above are to round up anyone suspicious."
"Misunderstanding. He's just someone who helps with our company work."
"Yeah, but with guys like this, we gotta investigate first..."
The cop tested the waters, pushing back a bit.
A few bills slipped into his pocket, and he instantly turned meek.
"Let's keep it simple. Nice and easy for both of us."
"Ahem, technically we shouldn't... But ignoring your good intentions would be rude. Well, then."
The situation resolved smoothly.
With one last embarrassed threat, the cop sauntered off on his way.
"Hey, I'll let it slide this once! Don't make it obvious you're a southern Muslim and watch yourself."
Relief washed over Hassan, mingled with humiliation.
His fists clenched so tight his palms hurt. In his heart, he vowed.
He would absolutely, absolutely break free from those Thai central government bastards.
And to do that... He could easily join hands with this shady Chinese guy standing beside him.
"...You alright? You're Hassan, the commander, right?"
"I owe you an unexpected debt of gratitude. Seems I should start our first meeting with thanks."
Despite being strangers, they recognized each other instantly.
The mysterious Chinese man extended his hand to Hassan without hesitation for a shake.
While uttering words devoid of even a feather's weight of sincerity.
"No big deal. It's nothing. We always give the best treatment to our future partners."
"Best treatment, huh."
"Let's head inside and talk. Oh, sorry for the late intro. I'm Yan Long, head of investment at Shanghai Capital."
The two crossed the crosswalk toward the luxury hotel in the next block.
As they passed, the signal light switched from green to red.
And beneath that signal, a woman who had watched the entire scene.
"They plan even tighter than that. Do all Chinese guys operate like this?"
She was Yan Long's local collaborator in Thailand.
Having tipped off the cop from afar that Hassan looked suspicious, she muttered to herself, recalling Yan Long's act moments ago.
Then, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Seeing the [Transfer Complete] notification and the short attached message, her face lit up.
-Good work. Negotiations should start off easy from here. Sent a bit more than promised, so keep this under wraps thoroughly.
* * * *
"Goddamn... If they'd just left me alone, I'd have forgotten and moved on. That vicious bastard's dead set on sucking me dry to the bone."
Lee Taek-gyu, former president, who'd been drifting aimlessly through Southeast Asia for months since disembarking a smuggling ship.
Ruined by casinos in Guangzhou, which dragged his whole life into the abyss, he could never set foot in China again—the place he'd once called home.
"That Ninggi-ri... Just thinking of that riot still makes my heart drop."
Still, with his tenacious survival instincts, he managed to scrape by even in this foreign land with no connections.
The problem was that the foreign land happened to be Thailand—among all Southeast Asian countries, and specifically the southern region.
"Just how many jobs does that rotten Han Seo-jun have? Chaebol chairman, gambler, and now spy movie director too?"
Lee Taek-gyu grumbled, his lips protruding, but when he thought about it, the deal wasn't bad.
He entered through the door into a spacious pool villa. A world away from the dingy motel he'd been crashing in.
A comfortable life in exchange for acting as a local intel gatherer.
Flopping onto the bed, former president Lee Taek-gyu began reviewing the report he'd submitted recently.
-Analysis of Recent Chinese Capital Inroads into Southern Thailand and Their Expanding Influence.
Pages flipped one by one with saliva-slicked fingers.
Data analyzed through quantitative methods from on-the-ground voices he'd heard and felt directly.
True to a man who'd risen to president of a major corporate affiliate, Lee Taek-gyu's report was solidly structured.
"Heh, masterful penmanship, masterful. Even I say so myself—no amateur could produce a report like this."
Rolling around on the vast bed, former president Lee Taek-gyu. Staring blankly at the ceiling, a strange exclamation slipped from his lips unbidden.
"That Han Seo-jun's one hell of a weirdo, for real."
The former boss who'd turned enemy, and now hovered in some vague cooperative limbo.
Just recently, Lee Taek-gyu had gotten a call from him, and the voice lingered in his ears like an echo.
'Soon, Chinese capital will move into the southern Thailand region where you are.'
As someone familiar with both China and Thailand, Han Seo-jun clearly intended to use him as an intel source.
'Uh, Chairman. What's that supposed to mean? Why would those Chunjang bastards come to this backwater?'
'You’ll know soon enough without explanation. Keep a close eye on things and send regular reports. That's all.'
'Chairman! Chairman? Hah, hung up just like that.'
But... the chairman already seemed to know plenty to use him as an intel source.
As if he'd had a prophetic dream and peeked into the future.
"...Felt like he straight-up predicted those jjajang guys would show up here with bags of cash."
Doubts aside—there were more than one or two—Lee Taek-gyu had decided to bury them in his heart.
On the table, the morning paper rolling around featured the reason for his decision, in an article.
-[Breaking] Ammunition Group Chairman Han Seo-jun Played Key Role in Suppressing Last Military Hardliners' Coup Attempt. Prime Minister Yingluck Expresses Expectations for Future Cooperation with Ammunition Group...
Even here in Thailand, far from home base, Ammunition Group and Chairman Han Seo-jun were growing untouchably massive.
Gazing blankly at their skyrocketing success, any revenge or rivalry in Lee Taek-gyu's heart had long vanished.
"Ah, screw it! Goddamn... Better just live simply. No point clashing with that monster—might as well take the crumbs and get by."