Chapter 24
Chapter 24
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: Triumphal General (1)
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“Damn it… What the hell are we supposed to do now? Just sit here like idiots and let them chop our heads off?”
Park Han-i, president of Heavy Industries, hadn’t smoked in nearly ten years.
These days, even the whiff of tobacco smoke made him gag.
But right now, in his hands—shaking wildly like aspen leaves—was a cigarette trailing lazy puffs of gray smoke.
It was Na Deok-sul, president of Construction, who had personally lit it for him.
With a click, the metal Zippo lighter snapped shut, and he spoke up.
“Fuck… Isn’t there some way to drum up 90 trillion won in sales right now? Park, any bright ideas, hyung?”
“Hey! If I knew that, would I be sitting here like this? Cut the bullshit!”
Park Han-i snapped at his junior, Na Deok-sul.
He seemed unable to control his emotions amid the tidal wave of sheer terror crashing over him.
“Huh? If you don’t have anything, just shut up—why take it out on an innocent guy?”
“My head’s about to roll off my neck any second now—how the hell am I not supposed to lose it? Haa…”
Dizziness and nausea rose from the cigarette after so long without one.
Park Han-i flung the half-smoked butt onto the office floor.
His shoe heel ground it viciously into the carpet.
“That little rat bastard Han Seo-jun… He’s gonna get us all killed.”
No one had foreseen the Saudi prince’s rebellion. And the unimaginable scale of defense sector sales.
The presidents of Heavy Industries, Construction, and Shipbuilding & Marine—whose military supply deals for the Iraqi army were leverage to hide their dirty secrets—now had dark shadows etched across their faces.
“The real problem… is something else.”
Seong Won-sik, president of Shipbuilding & Marine, sat on the sofa nearby, his leg jittering nonstop.
Eyes squeezed shut, words like a death sentence slipped from his lips.
“Prosecutors are pushing for 15 to 20 years. Actual sentence? Probably over ten… Fuck.”
“No way, Seong! What kind of horseshit is that? You telling me I can’t even see my daughter get married? Who fed you that crap!”
Park Han-i’s eyes bulged like saucers, as if struck by lightning.
Na Deok-sul, sitting across from him, scratched the back of his head and answered the anguished cry.
“Ah, hyung. Seong’s brother-in-law is a lawyer. Retired from the bench a few years back. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh… Right. Wait a sec. So with a former judge on it, shouldn’t the trial go easier?”
Seong Won-sik shook his head gravely.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
His palms, slick with sweat, covered his face through the metal frames of his glasses.
“Haa… Breach of trust, embezzlement, accounting fraud. Full trio, and the amount’s over 500 billion won. Tough sell. And on top of that…”
If the Iraqi army supply contract shifted to the insurance side, the Iraq seawater desalination plant deal would face fallout too.
Of the three presidents gathered here, Seong bore the heaviest legal burden.
His half-mad eyes held no trace of their usual sharp glint.
Just rotten, murky emptiness.
“If we three get indicted… Han Seo-jun will already have seized real power. No leniency, no deals—nothing.”
“Goddamn it… We gotta find some way out.”
A chilling dread crawled up Park Han-i’s spine.
At this rate, they were livestock headed to slaughter. He couldn’t just roll over.
Head bowed, he chewed his fingers raw.
His jagged nails—ragged like speed bumps—now stung like thorns as flesh showed beneath.
“Ow, that hurts.”
Park Han-i yanked his finger from his mouth, frowning.
Was it the pain?
In that instant, a faint ray of light pierced his mind.
A slim possibility, however shallow.
He slammed the desk and spoke.
“That’s right! We still have this!”
* * * *
“Come on, listen up. You gonna just stick your necks on the chopping block like good little lambs?”
“No, hyung. You saying we bolt? Where to? China? Singapore? Or way down in South America?”
“Shut up, you idiot. That’s for punks with petty slush funds. We… gotta make our stand right here on Korean soil.”
With most assets tied in real estate, fleeing abroad wasn’t an option.
Park Han-i pulled an old flip phone from his pocket.
His trembling fingers stabbed the buttons, dialing.
-Ring! Ring!
The impersonal ringtone echoed from the speaker.
As if to reclaim every groveling moment at once, his throat bobbed fiercely.
“Pick up, damn it… Take my money, now take my call.”
His prayer-like mutter filled the room pitifully.
And then—a familiar voice from the phone reached the three presidents’ ears.
“Ah, President Park Han-i? What’s up?”
“Minister. Sorry to call so late. It’s urgent. That thing we talked about… Push it through as fast as possible.”
The Defense Ministry vice minister, with whom he’d shared a boozy night at a room salon.
He’d greased his palms plenty and played the fool at banquets.
The minister would prove his worth now. He had to. No choice.
Or so Park Han-i thought—alone.
“Late? It’s only 3 p.m. here… Oh, right. Nine at night in Korea. Heh heh.”
“Minister?”
Even in the sweltering summer, a fierce chill—born of fear—seemed to blow through.
A hush fell around the three.
The vice minister sounded abroad. Six-hour time difference.
It didn’t take long for the construction vets to name the country.
“Saudi Arabia… Minister, you in Saudi?”
“Park, don’t take this wrong—listen. The Blue House wants to tout this as an achievement. Elections are coming up.”
“What the fuck is that bullshit!”
The vice minister flipped their deal like a pancake, blaming superiors.
Park Han-i raged, but the minister droned on, voice cool as carved stone.
“Don’t get mad. It’s a 90-trillion-won deal. Biggest defense export since Dangun.”
“Kim! The booze you guzzled from me’s worth 900 million! How can you—!”
“Hey now, no need for that. Anyway, orders from above.”
Park Han-i was speechless at the gall.
Tinnitus rang in his ears from the shock.
Then, amid the shrill whine like a flute, a woman’s voice.
-Vice Minister. His Royal Highness Crown Prince Bin Salman requests your presence.
“Oh, uh. Got it. One sec.”
The attendant’s notice cut him off.
Before Park could speak, a cough and abrupt end.
“Ahem, state business first—no hard feelings. Gotta go.”
“Hello? Minister Kim? Kim! He hung up? That crazy old fuck!”
Park Han-i’s face flushed beet red.
Seong Won-sik and Na Deok-sul went ghostly pale by contrast.
Question mark over his head, Park barked at them.
“What? You two not pissed?”
“Hyung… The minister’s not the issue. Look at this.”
Na Deok-sul shoved his phone forward.
One glance at the bright screen, and Park’s fury deflated instantly.
Like a rowdy prisoner handed his execution date.
-[Urgent] Tomorrow 07:00 a.m. Group morning meeting scheduled. Strategy Director Han Seo-jun attending.
“Fuck… It’s really over? Just like that?”
* * * *
Inside the Strategy Office.
Even at this early hour, it buzzed nonstop.
Not just the 90-trillion-won defense contract.
The separate promise from Bin Salman in the car that day demanded attention too.
“Yoo Se-na, Manager? How’s the holding company approval for [Cocoa Bank] coming?”
“Results should be out next month.”
“Once the date’s firm, tell your father the deadline. Bundle it with the Bin Salman investment.”
Bin Salman, who’d seized all real power in Saudi.
One of his vast authorities: directing the sovereign wealth fund.
Hundreds of trillions in Korean won under management.
I’d secured his investment for [Cocoa Bank]’s funding gap.
“That’s wrapped up, then… Deputy Director? Ah, on a call.”
Kim Won-cheol grabbed the sudden landline mid-task.
Sweeping back his thinning hair while talking, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Oh man, Vice Minister worries… I’ll pass it straight to our director, no sweat. What? You wanna talk direct?”
Right after the Saudi prince’s rebellion, as Ammunition Group took the Saudi military modernization lead, Defense sent a handler pronto.
I’d figured a few staffers, not the vice minister himself jetting there.
Kim Won-cheol covered the mouthpiece, wheeled over.
“Looks like the vice minister uncle wants to whisper sweet nothings to our director.”
“Not sweet nothings—probably cozying up on cronies-in-power stuff. No time, hand it over.”
I took the receiver.
My greeting barely out, the vice minister’s effusive voice exploded.
“Oh, our Director Han! This is Defense Vice Minister Kim Geun-chul. You’ve done a splendid job.”
Unprompted flattery gilded my face.
My role in the foreign coup? Buried under the massive results.
After the praise dragged on, he got to business.
“All government procedures are cleared. Path’s wide open—just keep marching.”
“…Thanks. I’ll remember the help.”
I gave a bored reply—didn’t want entanglements.
Generic thanks, but he took it different.
His voice thinned with urgency, then—like steeling for a big ask—he broached another topic.
The tale of a betrayer that sparked Ammunition Group’s internal purge.
“Oh, state service—no thanks needed. But… a personal matter now.”
“Personal?”
“Yes. Um… Did you know what schemes the presidents of Heavy Industries, Construction, and Shipbuilding & Marine were up to?”