Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Kim Won-cheol (1)
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Kim Won-cheol—no, Kim Won-cheol, the newly appointed head of the Strategy Department at Ammunition Group HQ as of today—stood before the arrogantly flowing Cheonggye Stream.
Cross the small stone bridge, climb the stairs, and there it was: Ammunition Group headquarters. This massive 49-story glass palace had no intention of letting him go, it seemed.
Was it the spirit of the late Han Hwa-yak, former Ammunition Group Chairman who had been with him since childhood, lingering around?
He could feel the fate that had thrust both father and son into the chairman's seat in succession.
“That witch is still as prickly toward me as ever. Well… she’s aged a lot compared to the old days.”
Yesterday at the Yangpyeong fishing spot, Kim Won-cheol had finally accepted Seo Taehu’s proposal.
It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. Having been lifelong friends with the late Han Hwa-yak for nearly 50 years, he knew exactly how illegitimate children were treated in the Han family.
A bloodbath was inevitable—he could see it even with his eyes closed. Even so, he had to make the call.
‘Damn it! If you were gonna do it, you should’ve said so from the start instead of making things complicated, you bastard.’
Seo Myung-hee, the Director, had started with curses the moment Kim Won-cheol accepted. Only those on the call could sense the relief in her voice.
‘Winding roads have their own romance, don’t they? Heh heh heh.’
‘Nonsense! We’ve got less than three months. You know damn well what’s going on in those clan elders’ heads!’
The Han family clan council.
Ammunition Group’s management rights passed down the direct line, but ownership was fragmented among countless collateral branches.
Even when pushing innovative ventures with his old friend the late Chairman, or when they forced unwanted political marriages on him, the clan council’s heavy pressure was always there.
The ones who’d even tried to cast out his beloved mistress and illegitimate son? They were the council majority.
‘…….’
Kim Won-cheol fell silent for a moment. Director Seo Myung-hee knew exactly why.
Even though it was about her own child, she spoke carefully.
‘Are you doing this because the late Hwa-yak’s memory crossed your mind or something?’
‘Nah, it’s not like I’m bound by any last wishes from the old Chairman… Just call it a fisherman’s whim.’
The late Chairman’s last wish.
If anything, it was less a formal will and more a deeply personal request.
The late Han Hwa-yak had wanted to give official status to his mistress and illegitimate son, who weren’t even on the family registry.
Especially to his one and only son, who’d live branded a bastard his whole life and lacked the talent to boot.
‘Anyway, about that Strategy Office—or whatever pillaging outfit it is. Think it’s time to start putting it together? Not too late, right?’
‘You’ve got some nerve… Time’s short, so get your ass over here! Come to HQ tomorrow!’
Most people gave a few days’ grace before assigning big tasks, but Seo Taehu apparently saw that as a luxury.
Just a day later—no, seventeen hours by the clock—and Kim Won-cheol was at the company.
Basking in the morning sun reflected off the glass, he stepped into the Ammunition Building. Five minutes left until the appointed time.
“Hoo… That witch sure knows how to rush a guy. A real firecracker, that one. Anyway…”
Even as he entered the HQ lobby, one thing wouldn’t leave Kim Won-cheol’s mind. The meeting minutes from yesterday were still swirling in his head.
-Strategy Director Han Seo-jun: High-intensity restructuring, business unit sales and reorganization, mergers between affiliates. Is Ammunition Group ready to cut flesh to prepare for crisis?
He pictured the cub lion starting to growl for the first time.
At least… it wasn’t bad.
With that kind of backbone, even a rushed coronation wouldn’t leave him a puppet or a bullet sponge.
“Hmm…”
Riding the elevator to the top floor, Kim Won-cheol pressed the button and muttered something while smoothing his bald pate.
“Tch, a blood wind’s gonna blow through Ammunition Group. If they don’t shape up, I won’t have a hair left on my head either.”
* * * *
-Thud!
He dove onto the plush mattress. A sensation he could never have enjoyed in prison before the regression.
Lying on the cloud-like blanket, I replayed yesterday’s brutal Group HQ meeting in my mind.
“They bought the basics, at least. The problem’s in execution.”
The presidents of Heavy Industries, Construction, and Shipbuilding & Marine—same as before the regression—were still Uncle’s camp for now.
Even if I cherry-picked reusable talent later, I needed reliable insiders first.
I reached for the personnel files on the bedside table. Grandma’s reward for showing chairman potential.
‘Here. Pick out anyone useful and snag ’em.’
‘Feels like choosing sashimi at the fish market.’
‘Sashimi? You got an eye for fish?’
I’d shown chairman sprouts, but to Seo Taehu, veteran of every battlefield under the sun, I still looked green.
‘You asked for budget and manpower? You’ll get the Strategy Office budget. Spend it freely within limits. But…’
At least she was loosening the purse strings. With little registered wealth in my name, cash was tight.
‘Manpower’s not up to you. I’ve already picked your chief advisor to back you up.’
She’d handpick the prime cut herself, leaving me the sides.
No wonder the files had no deputy manager level or above. All young section chiefs and below.
I set the files back on the bedside from my prone position.
Then I thought about the chief advisor catch.
“Kim Won-cheol, that fisherman uncle’s coming to me, huh…”
Once. Exactly once before the regression, when I was in prison, he’d visited.
The bald, lanky guy in fishing vest who topped off my commissary account.
He’d said he was Dad’s friend and looked at me with real pity.
Later digging showed Kim Won-cheol had been Dad’s direct secretary chief. And now he was coming to help.
“Eh, whatever. Stranger for now—gotta clash and see…”
“Seo-jun! Heard that Kim Won-cheol uncle’s coming to you?”
Damn. Why’s my privacy always zero?
Long prison stretch meant no real room of my own, so locking doors never stuck.
Family just barged in sans knock sometimes.
Mom who’d flung the door open just now, and the maid Cheongju-ssi peeking from behind, avoiding my eyes.
“Mom? How’d you know about Kim Won-cheol uncle… Oh, I get it.”
Cheongju-ssi’s apron pocket bulging with 10,000-won bills screamed super-spreader gossip source.
She’d overheard my mutter and run straight to Mom.
“I don’t know much. What’s going on?”
“Ha, of course you wouldn’t. Anyway, Mom. You know this Kim Won-cheol guy?”
Mom’s eyes seemed to redden briefly. She always got like that recalling sad pasts.
Approaching me on the bed, she gripped my hands tight and pleaded.
“Hold onto that man. Tight!”
“Huh? What do you…”
“Uncle Won-cheol… he’s the one who brought your dad to me. He’ll surely help you too, Seo-jun.”
* * * *
Han Hwa-gi’s eldest son, Han Seo-ho, Risk Management Team Leader at Ammunition Securities.
In the luxurious villa reception room in Hannam-dong overlooking the glittering Apgujeong nightscape across the Han River, the smug-faced Han Seo-ho poured drinks for his two younger siblings and spoke.
After wrapping the financial affiliate meeting that evening, he’d pieced it all together and was convinced.
His father, Han Hwa-gi, was making a serious move for the chairman seat.
“Listen up. This situation? It’s a crisis and an opportunity. You get what I mean, right?”
“Ha, opportunity my ass. Saw that hag parading with her bastard spawn. What, you got mayo for brains, bro?”
Second son Han Seo-hu sniped at his eldest brother’s words. He couldn’t stand big bro acting like crown prince already.
Even if Dad took chairman, his cut of the scraps wouldn’t change.
‘Mayo, huh? This punk’s scheming to climb.’
Eldest Han Seo-ho didn’t like his brother’s attitude.
But now was time to rally allies. Forcing a smile, he refilled his brother’s glass and said.
‘Parading? That’s just the hag’s cranky nature. Soon as that Han Seo-jun punk shows his cards, she’ll drop him cold.’
“Jeez, bro! Didn’t you read the minutes? That US financial crisis talk? It’s got legs as a hypothesis.”
Han Seo-hu handled corporate guarantees at Ammunition Casualty Insurance. Team leader or not, he attended exec meetings religiously.
He recalled similar minority stability-camp opinions raised a few times.
“Even the guarantee desk nerds are buzzing. Time to offload those hedge products to reinsurers or pay premiums to unwind.”
“Ha, idiot… Han Seo-hu, you really buying that crap? From a 25-year-old mistress spawn spouting bullshit?”
Deciding to seize momentum, Han Seo-ho closed in on second bro and barked on.
“US real estate collapses overnight, Wall Street wolves bankrupt in a flash? Leaving trillions in debt?”
“That’s just the worst-case scenario…”
Deflated second bro Han Seo-hu. Got embarrassed in front of baby sis, of all times.
No comeback to big bro’s logic, apparently—he clammed up.
“Cut the pipe dreams. It’s just that—hot air. We just rack up performance in this golden age.”
Goldilocks zone.
Sweet growth without inflation, late 2000s style.
No matter fringe crisis chatter, as long as no blowup before this year’s chairman inauguration, Han Seo-ho calculated.
Popping a fresh champagne bottle, he filled empty glasses. Like toasting his confidence.
“Once the clan council sees the succession solid, next chairman’s… Dad’s for the taking.”