Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Killbangwon (4)
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Hotel Florence main entrance.
A single black luxury sedan glided to a smooth stop.
Director Seo Myung-hee pulled her sunglasses from her leather clutch and slipped them on. Even behind the dark lenses, her signature icy glare cut through undiminished.
“Hey. Hold up a second.”
Seo Taehu called out to her driver, who was moving to open the rear door like always.
“Director?”
“Don’t open the door. Just wait. Stay put right there.”
The half-open car door clicked shut once more.
Tense silence hung in the air.
It took nothing more than that awkward quiet to drain the blood from a man.
By the time sweat pooled in his palms and soaked into the legs of his suit pants, the driver—choking on the suffocating weight of it all—finally ventured a word.
“Uh, Director. If I may ask… what’s going on?”
“Hand over your phones. Work and personal. You know exactly what I mean.”
In the rearview mirror, the driver’s pupils trembled.
Pale as a lamb led to slaughter, he stammered in a way he never had before.
“D-Director…”
“So it’s true. You’ve been tattling every little thing about my youngest to him. What’d he offer you? Cash? A promotion? Some skirt?”
For the past few months, this driver had been secretly feeding Han Hwa-gi details of Seo Taehu’s schedule. His tail had been stepped on far sooner than he’d imagined.
He squeezed his eyes shut, abandoning all hope, and forced his lips apart.
“My deepest apologies, Director. I… I must’ve lost my senses for a moment.”
“What excuses does a dog who’s forgotten his true master have left to bark?”
For over a decade, he’d served her with a loyalty bordering on stupidity.
Yet in these times, with the throne’s fate hanging in the balance, even that devotion had crumbled to dust.
Anger, pity, betrayal, and sorrow knotted in Seo Taehu’s chest.
She let out a brief sigh, then issued her final command in a voice colder than steel.
“No need to stick around. Turn in the car and go write your resignation. You’re not seriously expecting me to keep a rat like you on payroll forever, are you?”
With a sharp click, the car door swung open.
Unlike usual, Director Seo Myung-hee opened it herself and stepped out.
The black sedan idled there for a moment before vanishing from sight.
“Whew. What a mess. The underlings are already squirming this hard.”
Factional infighting among the rank-and-file over the next Chairman spot was nothing new.
Seo Taehu already knew the presidents of Heavy Industries, Construction, and Shipbuilding & Marine had thrown in with Han Hwa-gi.
But this—a lowly driver with zero ties to the group’s top brass picking sides?
The sands of control were slipping through her fingers, spilling into chaos beyond her grasp.
“The throne’s rightful heir. Guess I don’t have much time to mull it over.”
Frustration drew her eyes skyward.
Dark clouds choked the heavens, mirroring the storm in her heart.
Her eldest grandson, rocketing upward like a comet—terrifyingly swift, yet still wobbly on his feet.
Her youngest son, competence aside, firmly planted on steady ground.
Even Director Seo Myung-hee couldn’t rush this call. Caution upon caution was the only path.
Breath escaping toward the clouds, she stepped into the hotel and muttered to herself.
“Two months to go… and the foundation’s already groaning. Turns out playing Empress Dowager from behind the bamboo curtain ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
* * * *
At that very hour.
In a Gangnam room salon, another set of foundation stones squeaked and rattled with boisterous fuss.
“Oh! Oh my, if it isn’t our Vice Minister! It’s been far too long. Please, come on in.”
Ammunition Heavy Industries President Park Han-i bowed repeatedly, rubbing his palms together.
Construction President Na Deok-sul and Shipbuilding & Marine President Seong Won-sik bent at angles nearing ninety degrees.
The stern-faced Ministry of National Defense Vice Minister.
This silver-haired pillar of authority claimed the center seat as if by right.
“Ahem. You didn’t have to go setting all this up…”
“Just a humble little spread, sir. Enjoy it at your leisure—that’s reward enough for us.”
Last winter, he’d wrapped up his stint as division commander and retired as a reserve lieutenant general—now Vice Minister of National Defense.
With full sway over every bureaucratic lever in the Iraq military procurement deals, Park Han-i was staking his life on tonight’s schmooze.
Glasses clinked. In a flash, whiskey glowing liquid gold filled a tumbler cradling round ice.
Park Han-i’s reflection shimmered in the crystal clear glass.
He shot to his feet, snapped to attention, and threw a salute before the Vice Minister.
“You remember—I was out of Yellow Dragon Division, your last posting back in the day, right sir?”
“Oh yeah? Well, look at that. Guess President Park and I go way back.”
“Way back? Hell, it was like serving under you myself! So tonight, let me give you a salute with some real snap!”
The salon girls flanking the Vice Minister suddenly found themselves watching a middle-aged clown.
Humiliating as it was in front of broads his daughter’s age, Park Han-i was that desperate.
One slip here, one sour note with Han Hwa-gi… and his study-abroad girl could end up slinging drinks in a joint like this. The nightmare that kept him up.
“Private Park. Han. I. Saluting Vice Minister! Loyalty! Integrity!”
His bellow rivaled any active-duty grunt.
Staging this clownish drill-sergeant bit, his real thoughts ran like this:
‘Goddamn… Entertaining the bastard and saluting to boot. This ain’t no Defense Vice Minister—it’s Room-Bang Vice Minister…’
Laughter erupted from the girls right on cue.
Oblivious to his inner monologue, the Vice Minister ate it up.
Savoring the thrill of a corporate titan groveling at his feet, he tilted the whiskey bottle toward Park Han-i.
“Hah… Me, getting a full salute from our stellar President Park? Hope I’m worthy.”
“How could I half-ass a salute to the pillar of our forces, sir? Bottoms up first—together!”
The mood had ripened to perfection, all warmth and cheer.
Time to wrap the entertainment gig.
A flashy karaoke number faded out, ushering in an odd hush.
Ammunition Construction President Na Deok-sul broke the ice on the real business.
He signaled the girls to clear out, then bowed toward the Vice Minister till his head nearly kissed the table.
“Vice Minister. Truth is, Ammunition Group’s staring down the barrel of a crisis like never before. Which is why we’re begging for the one kind of help only you can deliver.”
“You’ve heard the Iraq mess, I take it. That Strategy Director Han Seo-jun? Kid’s running wild, no sense of up from down.”
He’d somehow already sniffed out the group’s dirty laundry.
Na Deok-sul’s lips curled at how damn quick on the draw the guy was.
“That Iraq procurement contract at the heart of it. Hand that to some foreign outfit via the insurers, and it’s a straight shot to national security hell, yeah?”
“Catastrophe waiting to happen. I won’t stand for it. Least of all from the ‘guy’ who rigged it that way.”
“Spot on. Which means… the Ministry’s gotta step in and handle that ‘guy’ proper.”
Ministry-level smackdown on Strategy Director Han Seo-jun—criminal complaints included.
No one spelled it out blunt here. The vibe humming between them said it all.
Apple crate in the Vice Minister’s trunk. Post-retirement advisor gig at Heavy Industries. Standard script.
A few knowing nods later, the raucous laughter roared back.
Park Han-i, master of ceremonies, hoisted his glass sky-high.
“So, for our Vice Minister carving out this precious time, mind if I fire off one last toast?”
“Hahaha! By all means. Your antics are a hoot anytime, President Park.”
Lighter now than during that salute stunt, Park Han-i pressed on.
Sanctions on Han Seo-jun would swing the scales hard toward Finance Headquarters Director Han Hwa-gi.
And that’d vault him past crisis into founding-father status.
Daydreams like those made playing fool a small price.
“See… they say every brat needs a good whack with the rod. No doubt in my mind you’ll play the stern master this round, sir.”
Comedic patter laced with a bony plea.
The suited jester hammered home the call: smack Han Seo-jun with power’s switch.
“When I yell ‘Han Seo-jun!’, all you fine folks holler back ‘Pants down!’ loud and proud.”
Laughter exploded around the room.
Even the Vice Minister cracked up, lifting his glass.
“Hahaha… You scamp, Park. Alright, we’re in.”
Lights from the spinning mirror ball showered rainbow hues. His heart hammered in sync with the shifting colors.
At last, greed’s crimson bathed every face as the room’s fever pitched toward climax.
The fat clown’s gravelly roar filled the space.
“Han Seo-jun!”
“Pants down! Ass! …Hold up. Wait a sec.”
-Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
The Vice Minister’s phone wailed like an air-raid siren.
No off-the-shelf gadget—this screamed special-issue emergency gear.
“Huh? Colonel Park? What’s the deal? Emergency line for this?”
Park Han-i seethed—the buzz he’d built now fizzling flat.
But his scowl froze to stone, face draining white, at the Vice Minister’s bellow.
“Saudi? No—those Iraq-bound weapons vanished there?!”
Park Han-i’s eyes lost focus, pupils jittering.
Dread climbed from his toes, snaking up his spine to chill his neck.
“Weap-weapons? You mean… that last shipment? Armored cars included?”
“Quiet down. Shit’s uneasy enough already.”
Shipbuilding & Marine President Seong Won-sik pressed a finger to his lips.
Every nerve locked on the static crackle from the emergency comms.
The hush shattered with the Vice Minister’s agonized roar.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean!”
Heavy Industries, Construction, Shipbuilding & Marine presidents went sheet-white.
The Vice Minister’s follow-up flew light-years past their puny reins.
“Saudi prince launching a coup?! With our weapons?! What the fuck—get me intel yesterday!”