Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Bamboo Feet Being Pulled Back (2)
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Hotel Florence, the topmost floor, in the small office tucked away deepest inside.
Only the raspy voice of an old man occasionally echoed in the room bearing a plaque that read [Clan Chairman's Office].
"Yes, yes. Of course. I've always respected your decisions, Director. You've always made such wise choices, so naturally, I should trust and follow this time as well."
Han Deok-sul, the Honorary Advisor, sat in the central seat of honor as if it were the most natural thing in the world—even though he wasn't the clan chairman—conducting his phone call.
His responses came like an old man solving a complex equation, mask firmly in place.
"Don't worry. Our clan association always thinks only of the glory of the group. There can't be any opposing factions—nor should there be."
His expression was the polar opposite of the words spilling from his mouth.
Only after shadows fell across the deep horizontal wrinkle between his brows did the call finally wrap up.
"Heh heh heh... I'm truly grateful for your trust. Then, we'll meet later. I'll hang up now."
The instant he set down the phone, his smiling face evaporated like smoke.
His son, Han Hyeong-min, the Clan Chairman, who had been watching from the sofa, opened his mouth.
"Father? Was that Seo Taehu on the phone just now? Finally... the decision's been made!"
"Yes. It's going to be Han Seo-jun."
"Han Seo-jun! Wow... How's that kid ending up in the chairman's seat? Has the old lady got full-blown dementia or what?"
Even in his forties, Han Hyeong-min, the Clan Chairman, couldn't shake his flippant speech and mannerisms.
Han Deok-sul, the Honorary Advisor, rose from his seat, his anger flaring at the sight—so utterly at odds with the mere twenty-five-year-old Han Seo-jun.
"You pathetic fool! Cut the frivolous antics! It was all within the expected parameters."
"No, why get mad again... Anyway, it's working out great. Just like you planned, Father."
Han Deok-sul, the Honorary Advisor, glared at Han Hyeong-min, the Clan Chairman, forcing down his rage.
He gulped down some ice-cold water in front of the desk, lost in thought for a moment.
'Hoo... It's done. Now's the time to move fast.'
He couldn't let fleeting annoyances sway him.
YSS Precision, Yeongil Metals, BT Chemicals—the Ammunition Group's top three subcontractors. Most of the family's wealth was sunk into shares of those three companies.
And now Han Yul-san, the former secretary, knew about it, so time was no longer on his side.
"The situation's favorable. The winner isn't overwhelmingly dominant, and the loser hasn't been utterly crushed—perfect timing for a broker to sidle up to the vanquished."
His voice settled into calm resolve.
Han Deok-sul, the Honorary Advisor, tossed his cellphone to his son and jabbed a finger in instruction.
"Father?"
"Contact Han Hwa-gi. The timing should be just right now. His wits ought to have returned by this point."
"Then... what should I say? You know I can't put together any strategies..."
"Never expected you to. Just set up the meeting. This isn't something to hash out over the phone—suggest meeting separately first."
His utterly incompetent, pitiful only son.
Han Deok-sul, the Honorary Advisor, knew it all too well.
This overgrown child, who still seemed so immature, simply didn't have it in him to accomplish anything on his own.
'Poor boy... which is why we absolutely cannot let this opportunity slip away.'
The downhill slide his son would face after his own death was all too clear in his mind, forcing Han Deok-sul, the Honorary Advisor, to steel himself once more.
He had to build an unshakeable foundation, one that could withstand any ordinary crisis, and pass it on.
Oblivious or not to his father's thoughts, Han Hyeong-min, the Clan Chairman, carried on the call with his usual cheerful tone.
"Oh, Headquarters Director! It's Han Hyeong-min here. Ah, nothing much—just that our clan association has some urgent business to discuss..."
Not even a minute into the call, and already his dim-witted son seemed reeled in by Han Hwa-gi's pace.
Han Hyeong-min, the Clan Chairman, sweating bullets and clutching the phone, turned to his father and spoke.
"Haha... Actually, it's my father who wants to meet with you. Yes? Ah... Understood. We'll prepare at that time."
The call ended.
Han Hyeong-min, the Clan Chairman, scratched the back of his head with an awkward grin.
"He wants to meet tonight? Han Hwa-gi must be in quite the hurry."
"He has no choice. Pay close attention and learn this time, Hyeong-min."
"Father, what exactly are you planning..."
Han Deok-sul, the Honorary Advisor, toyed with the flame-shaped sculpture on the desk—the symbol of the Ammunition Group.
As a collateral branch member, he couldn't step directly into management. Only direct descendants were permitted to take the stage under the bright lights before the audience.
"A puppet show works by hiding the real body in the shadows and moving it."
But the machinery orchestrating the play was always positioned outside the stage.
In the pitch-black darkness, in the most obscure corner out of sight, the puppeteer ties strings to the puppet's limbs.
"From how to grip the strings to pulling, pushing, and toppling—make it all your own."
Han Deok-sul, the Honorary Advisor, reached into his pocket and pulled out a new cellphone.
On the tiny screen glowed a jumble of characters and numbers neither Korean nor English.
It didn't take long for the overseas call to connect.
"Hello. How have you been?"
Fluent Chinese.
After a few brief greetings, Han Deok-sul, the Honorary Advisor, finally cut to the chase.
"I'm reaching out because there's something I think you'd be interested in."
The looming chaebol war, and securing the funding lines for it.
A private equity fund's name reflected in the old man's widened eyes.
-[Shanghai Capital]
The Chinese private equity fund that had helped Han Deok-sul, the Clan Chairman, acquire shares in YSS Precision, Yeongil Metals, and BT Chemicals.
Even knowing it was forbidden fruit, the wrinkled old man's hand reached for the apple dangling from the tree.
"Control of the Ammunition Group. Isn't that worth it?"
* * * *
Ammunition Group headquarters. Han Hwa-gi's office.
Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, stood before the desk. The office was so deathly quiet—not even the usual shouts rang out—holding only the groan of Han Hwa-gi, his face blank with despair.
"...I got played. No chance to fight back, just utterly crushed."
"Headquarters Director... there might still be a chance left, no?"
The Iraq seawater desalination plant project.
With the internal audit on the slush funds gone up in smoke, it had seemed like a beam of light for Han Hwa-gi.
Performance and justification—armed with both weapons, the plan was to overturn his nephew's maneuvers.
But the acrid stench of blood had lured him straight into a trap spiked with thorns.
Han Hwa-gi let out a deep sigh in response.
"The chairman's seat is out of reach now. Maybe some affiliates, but the entire group..."
A perfect defeat.
Judging by how Seo Taehu had silently whisked his nephew away right after the meeting, the board resolution for the chairman appointment would surely come up next month.
'Haa, my damn luck. Even when I pick a side, I always end up on the shit end...'
Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, gazed at his master's exhausted form.
Even if luck shone and he got carved out an affiliate, he'd clearly be relegated to a side branch. He could only count his blessings that he hadn't ended up like President Park Han-i or President Na Deok-sul, saddled with the blame.
'Damn those eels—Gu Seok-su, Jeong Cheol-sik, Seong Won-sik. When the hell did they jump ship? Pros at rewinding, those bastards.'
Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, grimaced as the faces of the betrayers flashed in his mind.
At that moment, as he imagined the unpleasant future ahead, a faint vibration buzzed in his ear.
-Viiiing!
"Hm? I thought I had it on silent... Oh, not mine."
The vibration came from the pocket of Han Hwa-gi's jacket hanging on the rack by the desk.
At his master's gesture, Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader, hurriedly fished out the cellphone and cautiously handed it over.
"Uh... it's Han Hyeong-min, the Clan Chairman. What should we do?"
"Han Hyeong-min...?"
Han Hwa-gi's dying eyes snapped wide as he stared at the name on the screen.
A puppet couldn't move its own hands and feet.
Which meant... the Clan Chairman—or rather, the Honorary Advisor Han Deok-sul behind him—must know about today's events.
It didn't take Han Hwa-gi long to read between the lines.
"Answer it. No, hand it here. I'll take it myself."
He snatched the phone.
A couple of light greetings passed.
Then, as if exasperated, he brushed off the unnecessary pleasantries buzzing in his ear.
"I'm not one for long preambles. Just one question: Do you hold the decision-making power right now, Clan Chairman?"
The puppet on the other end sweated through his response. Confirming Han Deok-sul's presence behind the scenes, Han Hwa-gi sighed in relief and delivered a curt notice.
"Let's meet tonight. I'll head straight to Hotel Florence once I'm done. Goodbye."
The blank monitor screen reflected Han Hwa-gi's face, a mosaic patchwork of countless expressions.
"I thought it was over... but you never know."
It had seemed like an irreparable blow, one he'd never recover from.
Yet... like a miracle, a saving hand extended from beneath the mask.
Even if the holy grail in that hand held poison, he had no choice but to drink.
Having made his decision, Han Hwa-gi issued orders to Yoo Ji-won, the Audit Team Leader.
"Hey, Yoo Ji-won. The group's circular investment structure. Pull it together and bring it here now."
* * * *
South Chungcheong Province, Seosan.
Just behind the mudflats, a rock nestled among pines shielding against the fierce sea wind.
A single white-haired old man sat there, blankly gazing at the scenery.
"Who would've thought the Director would put that young pup Han Seo-jun in the chairman's seat..."
Muttering to himself, Han Yul-san, the former secretary, waited for someone.
A few keywords bobbed aimlessly in his tangled mind, like driftwood on a raft.
"Han Seo-jun, Han Hwa-gi, the chairman seat, slush funds. And... probably affiliate separations too."
Han Yul-san, the former secretary, ran his palm over the rough pine bark.
Suddenly, his eyes caught a young pine sapling, freshly planted.
Small trunk, thin girth. But judging by the shape of its extending branches, it seemed plenty capable of growing into solid timber given time.
Much like... Han Seo-jun, newly tapped for the chairman role.
"Yeah. You're timber, sure—but you need proper growth. And who knows, this seed money might just turn into the fuse."
Muttering to himself, Han Yul-san, the former secretary, recalled the password to the slush fund account slumbering safely in the family vault.
With affiliate separations in finance on the horizon, that massive slush fund could inadvertently trigger a capital-driven reunification.
"You can't just burn down the whole forest."
His gaze fell on the pine grove.
It wasn't enough to nurture only the promising saplings—you had to safeguard the entire forest to weather the sea gales.
At that moment, as the stubborn old man steeled his resolve against the sea wind, two figures appeared in the distance.
"Right on time."
They waved back, as if spotting Han Yul-san, the secretary.
One shiny bald head in casual clothes, and one young man freshly shedding his youthful awkwardness.
The old man on the rock flung open the hem of his hanbok and bellowed.
"You young whippersnappers, what’s with the slow feet! Hurry up already!"