Chapter 214
Chapter 214
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 214
Chapter Title: Those Leaving, Those Staying, Chaos (2)
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The six of us lined up to strike a triumphant V-for-victory pose. The acquisition of [Motors Eyes], which had sparked the whole affair in the first place, proceeded smoothly right there on the spot.
The [Peace Track] project followed suit. It was little more than a ceremonial gesture, but even the ribbon-cutting completion ceremony in Jerusalem wrapped up without a hitch.
What a whirlwind schedule it had been. I thought everything had come to a happy close.
That is, until the call came in from Uncle Kim Won-cheol.
“Ha, talk about impeccable timing. How does he always call right when things wrap up?”
I hit the answer button without hesitation.
Uncle Kim Won-cheol had bolted back to Korea at lightspeed just when things were at their toughest. His actions had struck me as a bit off, so I let a hint of reproach slip into my voice.
Of course… behind it all lay mountains of problems I knew nothing about, piling up like they were suffocating him.
“Yeah, everything’s done here. I’ll be heading back soon. What if you just up and vanish like that?”
-Chairman, that’s not the issue right now.
Uncle Kim Won-cheol’s voice sounded more subdued than usual.
Was it that raspy tone?
A strange chill raced up my spine to the top of my head… making every hair on my body stand on end.
As if bracing myself to face the wave of despair crashing down any second.
“What are you talking about…?”
-We don’t have time. So I’ll make this quick. The Director’s health isn’t looking good. Her personal physician says…
Uncle Kim Won-cheol dove straight into the heart of it, like he was being chased by something.
And the tragic news that followed… froze me in place on the spot.
-Whew, pancreatic cancer. She’s got maybe three months, six at the outside.
“……!”
So this is what it feels like when the shock hits too hard.
My mind went blank—no gasp, no lament, nothing. Just numbness.
Everything he said after that was a blur, hard to process. He raised his voice now and then, trying to snap me out of it, but my head, stuffed with chaos, shut out the world.
-Chairman! Hey, Chairman! You hearing me!?
“Hoo… Yeah, I hear you. Coming around now. Go ahead.”
-Good, snap out of it. And the really serious part… haa, hate to say this right now, but.
Uncle Kim Won-cheol trailed off, hesitating. Like he was forcing out something tough to say.
I bit my lower lip hard and gripped my thigh with my free hand until the blood drained away, eyes wide, steeling myself for the next wave of despair.
“Tell me. I’m fine.”
-Alright… That Han Hwa-gi guy. Looks like he’s getting paroled. Her dying wish, apparently.
* * *
The third floor of the west wing building at Anyang Prison is a special place.
Every morning at 6 a.m. sharp.
Nestled in the mountainside, the prison corridor stayed pitch-dark, the morning sun unable to peek over.
Far off, the clack of a guard’s boots echoed, followed by lights flicking on one by one. And with that glow came the dull metallic clangs into the ears of half-awake inmates.
-Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
The guard patrolling the corridor.
The heavy baton in his hand smacked against the bars, producing an unpleasant, eerie racket.
That explosive sound, paired with the guard’s bellow from a vein-bulging throat, drenched the concrete floor in terror.
“Get up, you piece-of-shit criminals! Now!”
“Ow, sorry!”
The creeping fear seemed etched into the inmates’ bones.
Even the sleepiest knew that when the clanging stopped, the baton was headed straight for their gut.
“Up! Up, you bastard! Hah, look at this lazy sack. Still not reformed, huh?”
“N-no, sir! No, Guard! I reflect and repent every day!”
-Don’t give me that… You need the stick. Morning, so let’s keep it light. Palm out, now!
Brutal violence drew pained groans from the inmate’s lips.
A young gangbanger’s hand now bore a deep purple bruise courtesy of the guard.
Having circled the left side of the third-floor corridor lined with cells on both sides, he hit the turnaround point at the end and pivoted right.
The ferocious demon from moments ago vanished; now he wore the gentlest smile.
“Heh heh, good work. Congressman Kim, rough night?”
The former regime’s Kim, in for five years on bribery.
He responded casually, as if used to the guard’s two faces, lodging a light complaint.
“Ay, cold night. Heating’s crap—old guys like me can barely make it through winter.”
“Try a hot water bottle in a pet bottle under your blanket. I’ll tell the work detail to prep it.”
“Heh heh, thanks. Knew you were solid.”
Terror to lowlife crooks, lapdog to the monied and powerful.
That was daily life on Anyang Prison’s third floor.
Having greeted the right-side inmates warmly, the guard paused at the last cell.
A six-man dorm, occupied solo. The man’s name:
“Good morning, Headquarters Director Han. Any discomfort overnight?”
Han Hwa-gi, former Ammunition Group Finance Headquarters Director.
His sharp, icy gaze remained unchanged from his days outside.
Hard to believe he’d been handed nine years.
“No need. Get to your rounds.”
Leaning against the wall, not even glancing out, Han Hwa-gi waved him off dismissively.
For any regular inmate, that’d earn a reprimand, but the guard bowed politely and added softly.
“Yes, sir. Anything you need, just say the word.”
The guard turned away.
Tension sweat? Despite the winter chill, a fat bead glistened on his forehead.
He’d dealt with big shots for over a decade inside, but Han Hwa-gi was special.
“What eyes… Can’t underestimate him.”
“Hey, guard.”
Heard the mutter?
Han Hwa-gi called from his seat.
Luckily for the tense guard, no scolding intended.
From inside the bars, a bundle of black cables and a cell phone extended.
“Charger’s busted. Bring a new one, and top off the battery while you’re at it.”
“One moment, sir. Right away!”
Using a cell phone in prison marked Han Hwa-gi’s unique status.
He’d once been heir to Ammunition Group, and Seo Taehu’s wide reach across business, politics, and bureaucracy kept eyes on him.
“Uh… Headquarters Director Han? Call for you.”
So this incoming call was especially significant. In more ways than one.
“…Bad luck this early.”
Han Hwa-gi’s face twisted the instant he took back the buzzing phone.
He answered with contempt dripping from his voice.
“Kim Won-cheol, what do you want with me?”
Then came the dry report: Seo Taehu’s pancreatic cancer diagnosis.
“What…!”
Kim Won-cheol on the other end didn’t drag it out either.
His voice uncharacteristically businesslike, sticking to essentials.
-You’re her blood, so prepare yourself. Don’t get your hopes up.
“Cut the crap.”
-Whew, you might get out for the deathbed and funeral. See you soon.
Call ended.
Han Hwa-gi clutched the phone, its dying battery dimming the screen, staring into space and muttering.
“Pancreatic cancer, huh…”
A sinister smile belied any grief for his dying mother.
“Leaving me a big inheritance before she goes.”
Toss—the phone arced over the bars mid-sentence.
The guard caught it like a ball. Han Hwa-gi spoke.
“Hey, guard.”
“Y-yes, Headquarters Director Han!”
“Afternoon, set up a spot to chat with the left-side guys.”
The sunlit right side for the wealthy and powerful. The shadowed left, facing north mountainside, for those eking out the dark life.
“Those gangster punks? Sir, why bother with those brutes…?”
“Even brutes have a top dog who’s different.”
Han Hwa-gi bellowed toward the dark left.
“Hey! Joo Gwae-yul! You and your whole line up top! Afternoon meet!”
The solemn third floor, silent as mice, burst like a pinpricked balloon at his words. Cheers erupted.
“Whoa! What’s this big event so early in the year!”
“Kuh, top dog meets the scary top dog? Won’t be bored this New Year’s.”
Clang, clang, clang. Inmates banged bars and whistled.
The flustered guard swung his baton to calm them.
“Quiet! Shut your traps, you bastards! Now!”
Amid the uproar.
On the left corridor’s end—the prime spot for underworld heavyweights.
Joo Gwae-yul, Iljeong faction boss, gray-streaked beard giving him a kindly old gent vibe. He slicked back his hair and grinned.
“Heh… God doesn’t play dice, my ass. All lies.”
Han Hwa-gi, who nearly claimed Ammunition Group’s throne.
And Han Seo-jun, current Chairman, most responsible for locking him here.
Seeing Han Seo-jun’s face in Han Hwa-gi’s beyond the bars, Joo Gwae-yul chuckled at fate’s joke.
He turned to the top seat in the heavyweights’ cell.
“Ain’t that right? Teacher Jo.”