Chapter 135
Chapter 135
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 135
Chapter Title: What Happened in Serto (6)
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Back in Korea.
The moment I stepped out of the Incheon International Airport gate, the first thing I saw was Kim Won-cheol, a white hanji band wrapped around his expansive forehead.
"Welcome back, Chairman!"
"What's with that bizarre dialect?"
Kim Won-cheol cackled with satisfaction at my dumbfounded expression.
True to his fickle temperament, which shifted like boiling porridge, his half-baked act wore off quickly. The white band he promptly removed vanished straight into his pants pocket.
"Well, while you were in New York, Chairman, that witch hag worked me like a damn slave. Just imitating some lowly servant's speech from a historical drama."
It was something that had to be done, but not urgently so—yet impossible to avoid altogether.
The grandmother, having staked her claim firmly, continued her grueling march through stacks of documents alongside Kim Won-cheol for days on end, even at an age pushing eighty.
"It was like being a salt flat slave—no joke. I was half-tempted to change my name to something like Kim Dae-sik or Kim Chun-sik."
"No need for a full name change. A courtesy name would suffice. Teacher Chun-sik Kim Won-cheol has plenty more work ahead."
"Ooh, no way."
Kim Won-cheol flailed his outstretched hands dramatically, making a needless fuss.
After leaving the airport and climbing into the car, I prompted the exemplary ace slave, Teacher Chun-sik Kim Won-cheol, to recount the recent events.
"You've heard the news, but things at the UN wrapped up nicely."
"Nicely? Hell, you turned the whole world upside down. The domestic papers are so used to you flipping them inside out that they just shrug it off now."
Thwack. He pulled an English-language foreign paper from the net pouch on the front seat and showed it to me.
A foreign article headlined in massive letters: 'Uighur Girl: I Was There!'
The girl's teary-eyed image against the UN General Assembly's signature green marble backdrop was perfect clickbait. Especially... for Islamic countries.
"As expected, our sandy friends are pretty pissed."
Flip. The second page showed furious crowds from various Islamic nations raising hell in front of the Chinese embassy.
All the follow-up reactions were unfolding exactly as predicted. Even the Malaysian intelligence tied to [Shanghai Capital] over the Kra Canal.
"Even the extremists backed by the Malaysians flopped hard—flat on their backs."
"More like they lacked any justification before faith even came into play. Everything worked out. Anyway..."
Vroom. The signal turned green, and the engine roared to life.
Truth be told, I'd planned to crash for a day or two after arriving in Korea, but someone's sudden summons had torpedoed my sweet vacation.
Far off, beyond the antique Gyeongbokgung Palace, hazy blue-tiled roofs came into view.
The lady of the house, ensconced in the master bedroom, seemed to have a lot she wanted to discuss with me lately. Even calling via satellite phone from the plane.
*Han Chairman must carry a magic wand around with him or something.*
The president's cheerful voice had greeted me the moment I picked up.
As a VIP spectator in the front row, he appeared quite pleased with the script and direction of this little play.
*You're too kind, Mr. President.*
*Too kind? You set the stage so our diplomatic channels could move freely. I'm already getting some entertaining reports.*
Grunts came through the phone. Probably that golden retriever named Bok-sil sprawled at the president's feet.
Flip. Whether he'd set aside petting the dog to grab some documents, the president soon began briefing me on what he'd heard.
About the typhoon my single pebble from New York had whipped up in Beijing.
*It's chaos over there. The bloody storm you ignited is raging through China's political circles?*
* * * *
Beijing, Zhongnanhai.
James Wang, the director, habitually headed toward Minister Zhang's residence. But a sudden dizziness made him recall his actual destination.
"...Right. That place is already as haunted as a ghost house."
Overnight, Minister Zhang's home had turned into a wasteland that could be called cursed without batting an eye.
The sturdy iron gate hung half-open on crooked hinges, and the yellow police tape strung by Public Security hinted at the old Beijing fox's fate.
"Ruined. Utterly ruined—nothing else fits."
James Wang picked up a shard of shattered black tile from the ground and examined the engraved pattern.
A five-clawed dragon, its talons sharply extended. The imperial symbol, reserved solely for emperors, seemed to scream at him.
That power belongs not to some political mentor of the mighty, but to the mighty themselves.
"That's why I spared you. James Wang, you wouldn't have realized."
A short distance from Zhongnanhai in Beijing.
James Wang prostrated on the stone floor. Looming over him was the General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party, a burly figure like a pre-modern warlord, twiddling his trademark mustache as he spoke.
"It was the perfect chance to erase that weasel-like old monster from central politics forever."
"......!"
"That geezer got greedy. Thought he could puppeteer everything from the shadows indefinitely."
The bloody stench from central politics was thought over—but the real carnage was in the sequel.
The General Secretary, who had beheaded even his own political mentor, slowly addressed the trembling James Wang.
"The Belt and Road Initiative continues. And for now, [Shanghai Capital] will remain the public face internationally."
"General Secretary...?"
"With those South Korean bastards likely to be a thorn going forward, it makes sense for you—the man who's faced them—to hold the post, loser or not."
For some reason, the General Secretary intended to keep using James Wang.
In Beijing's core, where tangled political threads formed an utter mess, the General Secretary issued a quiet final order to the director—who couldn't even tally the math—and departed.
"The Kra Canal project stays on hold for now. Bide your time in seclusion until further directives."
* * * *
"Truly, you've done so much. Chairman Han Seo-jun."
The voice from the phone sounded half-choked with emotion.
"I don't even know how to thank you properly for going this far..."
"No need for that."
With the distinctive Thai-accented English lilt, Prime Minister Ing Tak expressed his gratitude. Adding a remark that stirred... trauma-like memories.
"Ahem, so, about this... Are you still in touch with my daughter, by any chance?"
"Minnie? Why do you ask...?"
"Haha, if you're amenable, Chairman, I fully support whatever develops between you two. That is, in the serious man-woman sense."
"......"
A chilling Saudi flashback hit me instantly.
Glancing sideways, Kim Won-cheol was already grinning wider than usual.
"Whoa, Chairman. You're a total hit with the young ladies..."
His low chuckles began. I waved him off like shooing a local broadcast, then resumed my discussion with Prime Minister Ing Tak.
The Kra Canal—and I'd blown away Malaysian interference from the southern headache. So Ing Tak seemed eager to offer ample compensation.
"...Thus, regarding several infrastructure projects under Thai government auspices, we'd like Ammunition Group to take operational rights."
"Infrastructure projects...?"
Things like port operations to be built alongside the canal upon completion, plus related development.
Ing Tak was practically itching to hand me a gift-wrapped bundle optimized for foreign currency earnings.
"Ammunition Group's construction prowess was more than proven in this Kra Canal project."
"This is much appreciated on our end too."
"Compared to what you did for us, this is the least we can do..."
As our mutual flattery heated up faces, the call neared its end.
Time for parting words. As I lined up a polite close.
"But, uh... one concern I have to mention."
"Yes?"
Dread and anxiety laced Ing Tak's quivering voice.
Had some new roadblock popped up? My heart pounded wildly—until his kindly tone reached my ears.
"Oh, nothing to do with the Kra Canal."
"Phew, that's a relief."
"A different issue... but it's weighing on me. I have to tell you."
After ample pause—enough to cook underripe rice—he finally got to the point.
The bombshell from his lips had zilch to do with Thailand, but it was hugely critical for Ammunition Group's future: a domestic matter.
"Gangs. Korean organized crime expanding into Thailand. Intel says their dirty money flows... toward Ammunition Construction."
* * * *
"Hmm... Damn, this ramen broth's flooding the Han River level. Huh? Hey, you rotten punk, can't the maknae here even boil ramen worth a damn?"
-Clang!
A sturdy metal ladle met a sturdy idiot skull in a ringing harmony.
The yellow-haired man relentlessly berated the dragon-tattooed runt all over his body.
"Ow! Hyung-nim, my head's already mush, and you keep whacking it—it's gonna get even dumber!"
"That's something to brag about, you dimwit."
"But Hyung-nim, that guy in the corner room—don't we gotta feed the computer dude too?"
"Forget it. No perks for a rude bastard we dragged back from running."
A rundown condo on the outskirts of Bangkok, Thailand. The two gangster-looking men slurped watery ramen—overfilled with broth—and eyed the corner door.
One electronic lock, one analog padlock on the door.
"The server's done anyway, and the laundering routes are mostly wrapped. That guy's..."
Beyond the door, IT developer Mr. Park groaned, beaten to a bloody pulp.
Trembling like an aspen at the gangsters' voices seeping through the crack.
"Now, real soon! This guy's off on a world tour. Piece by organ. Heh heh heh."