Chapter 146
Chapter 146
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 146
Chapter Title: If You Cut the Washing Machine's Power (4)
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Gangnam, Hoon's office.
The glass ashtrays were already overflowing with two full loads of chain-smoked cigarettes.
In the stuffy, unpleasant haze filling the office, Hoon's figure—hands clasped and pressed to his forehead—was reflected on the glossy conference table.
“…….”
Hoon looked far more menacing than usual. His bloodshot eyes stared into empty space, as if Nak-gu were right there before him, alive and vividly berating him like some hallucination.
‘Hoon, get every last one of your guys together right now. All those bullet-sponge bastards—bring every damn file on them!’
‘Nak-gu… Hyung-nim?’
Moments earlier, Nak-gu had burst into the office in a panic.
He tried to hide his left pinky finger, hastily wrapped in bandages, but his urgent voice cracked as he laid into Hoon.
‘You idiot… haven’t you snapped out of it yet? You think this is the time to play dumb?’
‘Hyung-nim, calm down first. That officetel on the outskirts of Bundang with the Ammunition shell company—I heard the gist of it, yeah?’
‘Calm down? And you know about that, but you’re telling me to calm down?’
His face pale as a ghost, Nak-gu seemed to be spiraling into full-blown panic.
Was it the ingrained habits of a thug who’d lived by violence?
Clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly, unable to rein in his emotions, Nak-gu finally grabbed Hoon by the collar and yelled.
‘Hey, you punk! If we’re pointing fingers, it’s partly your fault for letting your crew run wild!’
‘…Nak-gu Hyung-nim?’
Nak-gu’s hand, once robust, now looked frail and pathetic.
Thin veins bulged on the back, trembling uncontrollably. A tremor born of desperation—he had to survive this crisis, no matter what.
And that tremor led to one reckless misstep.
‘Hoo… So hand over the personnel files on the punks under you. Just for a bit.’
‘…You serious right now?’
‘You little shit! I’m not touching your rice bowl, so quit your nagging!’
Nak-gu had torn through the office like a storm.
Demanding every scrap of personnel data that formed the backbone of Hoon’s organization, he’d left with lingering suspicion when told it would take time—as if he had some urgent next errand.
“…It’s about time to screw him over.”
Now, slouched in his chair, Hoon replayed that whirlwind memory.
His gaze settled on the inner office wall, pocked with dozens of embedded cleavers. Finally resolved, he rose from his seat.
Then he started making a call somewhere.
“Yeah, Big Hyung-nim. This is Hoon. Got something to report, so I rang you up.”
A low voice from the other end—Joo Kweryul’s.
Hard to believe he’d just weathered a major storm; he sounded utterly composed. As if he’d been primed for this exact moment.
Which was why Hoon could finally voice the decision he’d made.
“Money laundering. Not some low-end construction gig that went bust this time—I’ve got a solid new washing machine to run it through.”
Down below the office window, Hoon stared at Nak-gu’s retreating figure, the man’s panic stripping away his reason.
Gazing at him like just another hole-riddled wall pierced by cleavers.
“Big Hyung-nim, ever heard of… Bitcoin?”
* * *
“Whew, intense stuff.”
The scolding didn’t end with just hollering from the podium with a soju bottle in hand.
No matter how much I poked around half on purpose, half by accident, the Chairman was still the Chairman. Every word and action carried weight and authority.
Especially in a situation like this, where I’d made an official site visit.
“No way you’re planning to tie every name on this list to breach of trust, right?”
Maybe there were more people than expected.
Kim Won-cheol scratched his head as he flipped through the thin stack of papers, stapled at the upper left corner.
I just nodded lightly and opened my mouth while gazing at the sunset between the massive concrete husks.
“If the Audit Team’s investigation flags suspicions, I won’t go easy on them.”
Lazy, incompetent, brain-dead types. They weren’t hiding far away.
They were clustered right under our noses, in Ammunition Infrastructure’s domestic construction division.
Just like those hideous remnants… the officetel buildings.
“Big corporations turning into money-laundering fronts for gangsters. We need to handle it thoroughly and cleanly—rip it out root and stem.”
“Yeah, this mess was bad. The execs need a wake-up call. Domestic construction isn’t some pit stop on a career path.”
Kim Won-cheol untied his hardhat strap and stared off toward the horizon beyond the western mountains.
“So here’s the thing.”
After a brief pause, he shook his head and tossed the question my way.
“Don’t you think it’s time we pull back? We’ve done the initial roast—let that showboat prosecutor Park Eun-ji handle the rest of the cooking.”
The Iljeong Faction led by Joo Kweryul.
Gangsters clawing their way from the shadows into the light. Did we really need to push the purge all the way?
From a pure profit-loss standpoint, bowing out now made sense. Ammunition Group wasn’t some justice league or investigative agency.
But…
“Hard to trust Park Eun-ji a hundred percent. Better to stick around and keep eyes on her till the end.”
“Backstabbed out of nowhere…? Depending on the prosecution’s moves?”
“Less that, and more…”
I raised two fingers into the air—index and middle. First, I wagged the straight index finger as I spoke.
“More precisely, it’s slipping out of our control that worries me. Like leaving a kid by the water’s edge.”
“Yeah, some loose-cannon prosecutor’s stray rock could crack Ammunition Group’s skull by the pond.”
“And…”
Trailing off, I started wagging the middle finger in the air.
Against the backdrop of desolate sand-swept winds behind my hand, I recalled something from prison before my regression.
A reason why I had to tie off this lingering mess once and for all.
* * *
‘Huh? Warden, you got beat up again? Those Iljeong Faction guys that full of themselves?’
‘Nah, Chairman Han.’
The warden often came back from labor duty roughed up by Iljeong Faction inmates.
He’d puff up, insisting he was from that world too, but one snack and soda from me, and he spilled everything.
Wiping bread crumbs from his lips with his sleeve.
‘Kuh, those dog-dick bastards… I’ll give ’em hell one day.’
‘Eat first, talk later. But man, those Iljeong Faction guys are getting rowdy lately. Weren’t like this last year.’
‘Yeah, it ramped up this year. They act like the whole prison’s their turf. Their outfit’s got their backs, they say.’
There was reason for the Iljeong crew strutting around in that palm-sized prison.
Stuffed deposit accounts from the organization, corrupt guards turning a blind eye, the unspoken hierarchy that followed.
The warden’s griping shifted to tales of their so-called “Chairman”—a guy who’d raked in piles of dirty cash, laundered it into clean money, and climbed into the legit world.
“No way a gangster’s swimming in that much cash. Their boss ain’t some mid-tier corp owner.”
‘Dunno. But from what I overheard the goldbricks muttering, those private toto runners struck it big with some Bitcoin bullshit.’
‘Bitcoin… Oh, that thing the papers say’s skyrocketing lately?’
Bitcoin.
Dirty cash from illegal online gambling funneled through Ammunition Infrastructure’s domestic construction, landing safely laundered at the end.
I’d planned to dip into crypto eventually, but the connection formed faster than expected.
This situation bridged past memory fragments to the present. Which meant… I couldn’t just knot it off here.
Straightening the wagging finger, I steeled myself again. Joo Kweryul, kingpin of the Iljeong Faction. Time to tail this shadow-dweller to the bitter end.
“And?”
Kim Won-cheol stared at me innocently, a question mark hovering over his shiny pate.
I chuckled softly, pulled out my wallet, and pressed a coin into his palm.
Visualizing the intangible digital coins that would dominate years from now.
* * *
Southern Gyeonggi, Bundang outskirts.
A rusty iron sign reading [Black Dragon Construction] hung over the office.
Traces of frequent visitors suggested it doubled as a meetup spot. There, Nak-gu—eyes bloodshot—clung to someone’s pant leg.
With the hand where his pinky was half severed.
“Just a sec, Team Leader! We can sit and hash it out, right?”
“What’s to hash? I told you our HQ’s a madhouse.”
The man stood in a jacket emblazoned with Ammunition Infrastructure Domestic Construction’s blue logo.
Called Team Leader, he shook off Nak-gu’s pleading grip.
“Internal purge is imminent. Chairman’s got his kill list out—slashing from execs down to department heads in domestic construction.’
“So we brought a new plan to smooth it over—hear us out just once…”
“Nah! No new deals now.”
Head in hands, he brushed Nak-gu off coldly.
Sudden internal audits hit even Black Dragon Construction—famous for fat envelopes—hard. No room for fresh schemes.
Straightening his collar, the Team Leader gripped the door handle, turning back for one last word.
“Tch, in the end, it’s a win for you guys, ain’t it? Those mid-payment skips from your buyers.”
“Well, that’s because…”
“Ammunition HQ’s eating it all. Heads hurt enough—let’s call it here. Don’t complicate things; my neck’s on the line.”
“Wait, hold on! There’s circumstances—!”
Slam. The door shut without hearing excuses. In the empty, dingy office, only Nak-gu knelt, dazed.
“They won’t just leave me hanging like this… not Big Bro.”
His left pinky throbbed dully.
His chest tightened just as much. Hope seemed gone.
Like every gangster’s endgame—to be discarded like a worn-out rag.
-Ding-dong.
The grandfather clock in the corner tolled. Steady, yet funeral-like in its despair.
And in that moment, Nak-gu’s pocket phone lit up.
“…Who’s this?”
Cornered, with the clock’s ominous gong echoing, Nak-gu answered a call from someone who might spring him.
“Han Seo-jun… Chairman? Of Ammunition Group?”