Chapter 227
Chapter 227
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 227
Chapter Title: Money Lord (2)
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From four years ago until just before his return to Korea.
In Nigeria, where only the strong survived, the most important thing for Han Seo-hu, exiled there, was an unbreakable will.
“Eeeek!”
In the middle of the jungle at the mine site, he could endure even swarms of venomous insects charging in during an outdoor lunch amid dirt-caked hands.
“What the hell! Why are these hornets crashing our meal?!”
“Ahh, killer bees, huh. Shoo, shoo!”
While eating, Han Seo-hu dunked his head into muddied water laced with heavy metals and trembled violently.
Only after the workers finished spraying insecticide could he lift his head, soaked in crimson sludge.
“Aigoo, you’re fine, just fine. Nobody got stung.”
“No, killer bees! Don’t they kill you if they sting?!”
“They’d kill ya if they stung, sure.”
The killer bees retreated into the distance, their wings buzzing loudly.
Staring blankly at the sight, a local mine worker said to Han Seo-hu.
“Workin’ here’s worse pain for me anyway.”
“...”
This place in Nigeria was where Ammunition Group sent those who’d crossed them, like exiles.
Credit card debt, bankruptcy, divorce—the triple crown.
Self-mocking as a life failure, the mine worker exhaled cigarette smoke and continued.
“Might as well get stung eatin’ lunch and die quick—get some payout, nice and easy… That’s Nigeria for ya.”
“Damn it… Huh?”
But no time to wallow, as another wave of disaster rolled in.
Roughly forged automatic rifles in hand, dark-skinned men charged toward the mine office.
“What, what? Why are those black guys coming with guns?!”
“Aw, here we go again.”
“Again? What do you— Aaaah!”
Bang bang! Bang! Rat-tat-tat!
Flames spat from the black rifles held by the black men.
Single-shot? Not even an option—they hosed bullets like they grew on trees.
“Crazy! Why the shooting?!”
“You’ll see if you look.”
And on the opposite side.
Equally rifle-armed East Asians.
“Clothed beasts, black devils!”
Not Korean mercenaries from Ammunition Group—harshly tattooed East Asians shouted in a different language.
“Chinese…? What’re they saying?”
“Somethin’ like beasts in human skin, them black monkeys.”
“Well… fair enough.”
“Monthly ritual. The jjajangmyeon crew scrappin’ with the local warlord. Thought this month’d pass quiet.”
Huddled behind a container office, trembling, Han Seo-hu.
“Die! Fucking yellow monkey!”
The gunfire raged on, the skirmish heating up. Shouts erupted from the Nigerian warlord’s side too.
“Black monkey or yellow monkey, they’re all monkeys to them.”
“I got that much!”
“Thought you were thick-headed. Hey! Young master, over here. Quick.”
Seemed like old hat to them. Sensing danger, the local worker grabbed Han Seo-hu’s wrist and crawled away.
“Damn… Talkin’ death by bees earlier, now he’s scramblin’ to live.”
“What can ya do? Wanna die or not, gotta live.”
Hiding behind a distant rock, the worker panted, cigarette dangling from his lips.
“No matter how hellish life gets, hang on and there’s hope, right?”
“Hang on… and there’s hope?”
Was it the acrid gunpowder stink?
Oddly enough, those words struck Han Seo-hu deep.
That night, he couldn’t sleep, pondering survival in Nigeria.
* * *
The answer to his dilemma was simple.
“Chinks, forward!”
“You nuts? Young master got a screw loose?”
The Chinese who’d shown up at the mine yesterday with automatic rifles, clashing bloodily with local warlords.
Whatever, he’d befriend them no matter what.
“Forward! Ain’t like they’ll shoot holes in heads of guys bringin’ booze and snacks!”
His cheeky charm worked—the Chinese boss took a liking surprisingly quick.
“Ha! You exiled too? Hell, Nigeria ain’t a criminal colony.”
Shared purge from their old outfits bonded them fast.
“Unbelievable. What kinda booze is this?”
“Just industrial alcohol mixed with local banana juice. Tastes like Korean fruit soju.”
“Kh, trash booze, but kinda grows on ya.”
Four years slipped by like that.
Weekly Friday drinks now reached their finale.
“You’re gettin’ off exile soon? Timing’s a bitch. I’m outta this shithole next month too.”
“Headin’ back home, sir?”
“Shanghai. Word is James Wang’s got the organization patched up.”
Hands clasped over a mahjong table littered with booze bottles.
They’d grown close.
Tears welling, the Chinese boss hugged Han Seo-hu fiercely.
“Dunno when, but hope we meet again. Sharpen’ our teeth on bigger game.”
“Of course, Boss Wang.”
Thus, Han Seo-hu left Nigeria for Korea.
Bowing to his much younger cousin who’d jailed his father and brother, he thought inwardly.
“This… is my chance!”
A chance.
To seize Ammunition Group—or at least rip off a leg to swallow whole.
“What kinda gangsters got this much cash! A trillion-scale deal, no need to pull funds from Shanghai!”
Even when Joo Gwae-yul and Jo Seok-gu snatched control mid-game, Han Seo-hu didn’t quit.
From reckless punk to patient predator lurking in the grass.
Waiting for the jungle wind to shift.
“And Seo-ho hyung…? Ha! Who’d think that desk-jockey loser’d be useful. Heh heh heh.”
Han Seo-hu bared his hidden claws without hesitation.
Before his father, Han Hwa-gi, in dire straits.
“That powerhouse with cash… the Money Lord is…”
The missing 650 billion won—or more.
A massive backer his father, life on the line, couldn’t refuse. A solid lifeline.
“China’s [Shanghai Capital]. Talks are already in place.”
* * *
Han Hwa-gi stared wide-eyed at Han Seo-hu.
Panting, he killed the video call on his phone, sank into his chair, and murmured.
“[Shanghai Capital]… How’d you connect with them, Seo-hu?”
[Shanghai Capital].
A card he’d considered. But linking up? No easy feat.
Past rejection during Ammunition Group succession war.
Beijing’s political quake.
Seemed impossible. Was impossible.
Until his worthless second son appeared.
“Father. I didn’t idle in Nigeria. Jungle to desert. Suffered, suffered hard, and learned.”
From brat to man with grit.
Maybe even better than his eldest. A knight for the battlefield ahead.
“Otherwise, I’d crawl the swamp bottom like nameless bugs and die without a whimper.”
So Han Hwa-gi lifted his chin, expression softening a touch.
“Speak.”
“Plenty of Chinks in Nigeria.”
Han Seo-hu spilled his four years’ tale as coffee cooled in its cup.
By evening, sun dipping beyond the hills, his abridged saga neared its end.
“That’s how it went, Father.”
“So James Wang regained influence at [Shanghai Capital]?”
“Pretty much. And I’ve got the line to reach him. Opportunity, right?”
Opportunity.
In a pinch where released gangsters could sway things, a financier and shield.
“James Wang, James Wang…”
“So, give me the shot—I’ll head to China anytime.”
His youngest, now beside him, voiced exactly what Han Hwa-gi wanted to hear.
As if reading his mind.
“With that big power’s capital backing us, those Independence Day pardon thugs won’t dare swing knives at you.”
* * *
“Catch your breath? Seo-ho oppa’s a total wreck now.”
Ammunition Group chairman’s office.
Clink. Seo-hee unnie smiled, setting down her teacup.
She pointed at the newspaper on the table and continued.
“FSS probe’s done, now prosecutors haulin’ him in? Grippin’ hands with JL Savings Bank’s Jo Han-cheol.”
“Well, Han Seo-ho was never the sharp type anyway.”
“True. Seo-ho oppa’s kinda… scholarly? Can’t handle beyond manager level. But.”
“But?”
“Seo-hu oppa’s the big-swing type. Reckless and crude, sure.”
“Figures. Survivin’ Nigeria says it all.”
Han Seo-hu.
Seemed more mature post-Nigeria.
Probably badmouthing his brother to Uncle right now, shoving him aside.
Sensing my unease, Seo-hee unnie asked cautiously.
“But… why give Seo-hu oppa the China exec role? Doesn’t fit at all.”
“Grandma never lost interest in her grandsons.”
With that, I pulled a stack of papers from the drawer.
Grandma’s personal secretary had gathered four years’ intel on the grandkids.
-[Han Seo-hu] Nigeria Report
“Seo-hu hyung mostly mingled with Chinese locals there.”
“Chinese… You don’t mean…?”
No need to spell it out. [Shanghai Capital].
Seo-hee unnie, who knew Ammunition Group’s finances cold, paled.
“If [Shanghai Capital] comes knockin’ again… that’s heavy pressure.”
“No worries. Han Seo-hu’s ransomware material too.”
“Huh?”
“Punk traits don’t vanish. And punks know punks best.”
I grabbed my phone.
Can people change their nature?
Philosophical test time—button by button.
Had Nigeria’s hell tamed our punk Han Seo-hu?
“Kim Beom-ho. Time for our K Group same-age punk to shine.”