Chapter 221
Chapter 221
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 221
Chapter Title: Ransomware(5)
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The young president of JL Savings Bank, Jo Han-cheol. At just thirty-one years old, he didn't look like the kind of man who fit that hefty title.
"Then, Uncle, please handle it yourself."
"Hey now! Didn't they tell ya to call me Director Park here at the company?"
A president in name only, with an awkward air about him.
Jo Han-cheol, whose frail appearance made it hard to believe he was the son of a mob boss who ruled the Honam region. He responded meekly to the man called Director Park, who was covered in dragon tattoos.
"Ah... sorry, Uncle. No, Director Park."
"Jesus, what a punk."
The door creaked shut.
Director Park, with his rough features, slumped onto the sofa and immediately lit a cigarette right there.
His gravelly voice delivered advice that wasn't quite advice.
"Listen up, Han-cheol. Ya gotta keep your wits about ya. While the big boss is doin' his time, you're the one holdin' things down here, got it?"
"Y-Yes, of course."
"We ain't fully gone legit yet. Can't let us slide back to those days managin' room salons like some lowlife punks. It's on you to keep it together, Han-cheol. Ya understand?"
He roughly ruffled the young man's hair, then left the room with a look of concern.
Thud. Only after the heavy wooden door closed did Jo Han-cheol sink into his chair with a short sigh.
"Hoo... they just drain the life outta me. Uncle and the rest, but the worst is—"
Honam's largest organized crime syndicate, the Snow Faction.
Even though they'd slapped on the mask of JL Savings Bank, that rough nature hadn't gone anywhere.
Not just the underlings, but even the top dog himself, boss Jo Seok-gu.
"Father..."
A few days earlier, Jo Han-cheol had rushed to Anyang Prison after an urgent call from Jo Seok-gu.
In the visitation room, Jo Seok-gu—his eyes gleaming with murder despite the drab prison uniform—spoke to his son like this.
'Ain't much longer now. Just hold it together without screwin' up till August.'
"Father?"
'Gonna get that Liberation Day pardon, so till then, just do what I tell ya, Han-cheol. Don't fuck it up.'
Jo Seok-gu poured the smuggled whiskey into a paper cup. The golden liquid glugged down his throat greedily.
"Kuh, hits the spot. Anyway, just sit tight. Someone's comin' down from Seoul—a big shot—so treat 'em right.'
"From Seoul? Father, what the hell are you scheming this time?"
Jo Seok-gu snorted dismissively at his son's anxious voice.
Having downed the entire bottle of whiskey in no time, he leaned in close with his flushed face and opened his mouth.
'Bottom-feeder mob stigma. Time to shake it all off and climb into the central elite, don't ya think?'
"So, that's why JL Savings Bank..."
'Local yokel bosses can't quench this thirst!'
Bang!
Jo Seok-gu slammed the empty bottle on the table. His grip on the neck didn't loosen, and cracks spiderwebbed across the base with grinding sounds.
'This is our chance to swap identities altogether. Yours, Han-cheol. And even my soon-to-be grandson's.'
"Father..."
'A bright red opportunity's lyin' right there. Only a fool wouldn't devour it. You ain't even got teeth yet, boy.'
Tap, tap.
Jo Seok-gu drummed his front teeth with his fingernail. With that, he got up from his chair and left.
Drunk on booze, desire, or something unknowable.
'Tough tendons? Daddy'll rip 'em out for ya. You just swallow 'em down.'
And now.
In the president's office at JL Savings Bank, Jo Han-cheol recalled his conversation with his father.
"If I can't even take what's handed to me... I'd deserve the retard label."
He pulled a business card from his pants pocket, one his father had given him.
A vivid red flame logo. And next to it, tropical fruit shapes in yellow and black. The owner of that card was none other than.
"Han Seo-ho, eldest son of Advisor Han Hwa-gi... maybe a guy just like me?"
He looked up, and through the window, he spotted a man approaching—Han Seo-ho.
Feeling a strange camaraderie with someone who'd grown up under a similarly ambitious father, Jo Han-cheol greeted him with a vague sense of kinship.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Han Seo-ho."
"I'm Jo Han-cheol."
Of course... neither of them, mere proxies, would decide anything right there.
"Before we get into details, let's have you chat lightly with my father first. I've got it set up."
A large monitor connected to a mobile phone.
After a few bursts of static cleared, the screen sharpened.
And there... Jo Seok-gu's face appeared, grinning brightly while holding a blood-dripping handsaw.
-Looks just like yer daddy. You Han Seo-ho?
-Kwaaaah! Spare me, spare me! Forgive me, Boss Jo!
Han Seo-ho's face went pale as a ghost.
Dripping in blood, Jo Seok-gu perched on a wooden pallet near the workshop and spoke with his signature hearty laugh.
As if determined to burn the image into the viewer's mind forever.
-No time to waste, so let's wrap this up quick. Gotta slice off this fucker's big toe nice and clean today.
* * * *
"Hoo... how's there a guy like that in the world?"
An hour later.
Han Seo-ho stepped out of the JL Savings Bank headquarters. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if even glancing back was too horrific, and dove into his car, collapsing inside.
"Chopping off toes without batting an eye! What the hell was Father thinking, dealing with a psycho like that..."
His own ten toes clenched involuntarily.
But suddenly, a nagging doubt hit Han Seo-ho. That severed toe etched in his memory was already rolling on the floor, much like his status as the Ammunition Group's eldest grandson.
"Well, gotta be that level of crazy to pull him in as an ally."
A long sigh escaped him.
Han Seo-ho buckled his seatbelt tighter than usual, started the car, and replayed Jo Seok-gu's words from the monitor.
-Go in there and sort out the Ammunition Group's control structure, best ya can, quick as ya can. It's all cross-shareholdings, so just find the loops—won't cost as much as ya think. Lemme see... roughly.
Jo Seok-gu, sawing through the man's toe while calculating.
With agonized screams as his backing track, he'd reached his conclusion.
-About one trillion won.
One trillion won.
Compared to the Ammunition Group's scale, it seemed modest—unconfirmed, but it offered at least a sliver of hope.
In the trembling car, shaking like his own body, Han Seo-ho slipped on gloves over his gripping hands and muttered.
"Eight hundred fifty billion through JL Savings Bank's cooked books. Plus one hundred fifty billion from Joo Gwae-yul's garlic field slush funds. Adds up, theoretically."
Was it the perfect glove fit?
Or the rough estimate calming his mind?
Han Seo-ho's shaking hands steadied.
"Missing out on the Ammunition Group chairman's throne is a shame, but..."
Racing down the highway in his beat-up old car.
Fire lit in Han Seo-ho's eyes.
Four years ago, his life had been severed like that toe. He'd claim compensation for it, no matter what.
"If I can't have it, I'll smash it to pieces and take scrap value at least."
* * * *
Ammunition Group headquarters, chairman's office.
"Looks like we need to brace ourselves. In all sorts of ways."
Kim Won-cheol approached and spoke to me, his face etched with deep worry.
And after hearing his follow-up report, a heavy shadow fell over my own face.
"The doctor's saying it's severe. Probably this week or next... hoo, that's how it'll go."
"Haa, got it for now."
Grandma, facing her final moments.
Surely... during that last hospital visit, she'd poured out every last bit of her strength.
In the instant she collapsed, her face showed more relief than despair.
Of course... what came next would be on the survivors.
"If Grandma passes, things'll blow up right after the funeral, right?"
"Pretty much. Han Hwa-gi's reactions scream he's got something up his sleeve. Problem is, we don't know what."
Uncle's scheme.
Uncle was cunning as a viper, crueler than anyone... making him the biggest threat to me.
But.
"I have a rough idea."
"Huh? How?"
No one can plan, execute, and achieve everything alone.
That's why I remembered.
Before my regression, in prison, all those people I'd seen. How they dragged each other into smarter crimes.
"Prisons aren't called 'schools' in slang for nothing. Uncle probably..."
And likely.
Uncle's transformation had happened there too.
"He spotted his chance in there. If he gets out—when he does—what moves he'd make next."
"Hmm..."
"And those moves are usually closer to the illegal, shadowy side. Aide Yoo Se-na."
I beckoned Yoo Se-na inside.
She handed me the prepared documents.
"Chairman, it's ready."
"Thanks."
A thin stack of papers in my hand.
It listed the heavyweights from both the light and shadows, all incarcerated on the third floor of Anyang Prison.
"Funny thing—most of the real players with pull are holed up in Anyang Prison."
"Uh... hold on, hold on. You mean...!"
A name flashed by like lightning.
Kim Won-cheol seemed to feel the chill crawl up his spine too.
A shadow heavyweight. One with leverage Uncle could use. That name was.
"Joo Gwae-yul. He's in there too."
"That mob geezer has more unrecovered crime proceeds? What the hell's he planning?"
"It's not just Joo Gwae-yul alone. We need more intel."
Even if his hidden profits hit a thousand billion won—two thousand at most.
Not enough to flip the Ammunition Group.
So... Uncle had another card up his sleeve.
One I hadn't seen, and if it stayed hidden, it'd stab me from the flank for sure.
"So, I'd like your help, Aide Yoo Se-na."
She nodded reluctantly.
The one who knew these dark worlds best. From Honam to Myeongdong, long gone legit now—he'd help me again.
We'd been bound in shared fate for ages.
"Let's move. To Myeongdong."