The Fortune-Teller's Resentment

"Congratulations, Gun-ha."

"Spare me the congratulations. All I've got ahead is misery."

The villa was one no one could enter without slipping past a wall of impenetrable security — and its owner was Ma Tae-sung, eldest grandson of Daeha Group, fourth in the ranks of Korea's chaebol dynasties.

"Right away? Or would summer be better?"

"Summer. Transfer in winter and if you don't settle fast, you're done ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for."

"We're a ways off, then. Was gonna ask him out for a meal, that bastard."

"Which bastard?"

"You know. The guy who won the Ballon d'Or last year."

Ma Tae-sung had been coming and going from this villa since childhood, treating it as his own secret fortress. It was where he handled the things he couldn't afford to have known outside — and today was no different.

"Anyway, have a drink."

"What's gotten into you? You, pouring liquor for someone else."

"A friend's about to wear Real Madrid colors. Figured he deserved a glass."

Ma Tae-sung, Lee Gun-ha, Joo Min-ho. Some of the old pack from their school days had gathered under the banner of a congratulatory party.

Of course, a great deal had changed since they were boys. The chaebol scion Ma Tae-sung was now Vice President of Daeha Construction. Lee Gun-ha, the promising prospect, was a football star on the verge of a transfer to Real Madrid. And Joo Min-ho, son of a fourth-term lawmaker with an unshakable district, had risen to become a Seoul City Council member.

"Mmm... no, something's off."

"What is?"

"Just be straight with me. What do you want?"

"I told you, didn't I? A meal with your teammates."

"And after the meal, what else?"

"...You bastard, you read a room way too fast. Is that a striker thing?"

Ma Tae-sung shook his head and tossed a thick stack of documents onto the table.

"A transfer gift. Min-ho's father pulled some strings for it."

Inside were development plans not yet made public — New Town and new-city projects, high-tech industrial complex developments, and a trove of other juicy insider material.

"Don't go chasing China or the Middle East like everyone else. Retire with honor in Europe, why don't you. You're supposed to be the greatest footballer in this country's history. Am I right?"

The development data was still in its earliest stages. Anyone who preemptively bought up the land stood to make an enormous profit.

Lee Gun-ha gathered the documents with practiced ease and took a slow sip of his drink.

"So what favor could the Fourth Son of Daeha Group possibly want from me? He pours my drinks himself, pleads a little to Min-ho on my behalf, digs up a gift — and judging by the size of this thing, it's not a favor meant for me... Don't tell me you need something from my grandfather."

Lee Gun-ha's maternal grandfather, Jeon Mok-seong, had ridden high during the military dictatorship era as a distant relative of Chun Doo-hwan and an elite soldier. In the decades since, he'd marshaled his accumulated wealth and connections to build outlandish business empires across Russia, the Middle East, Africa, and Southeast Asia — arms dealing, mercenaries, hotels, casinos. A man who possessed, in abundance, the information and networks that could not easily be found inside Korea.

"Let ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me correct that. My father asked to send his regards."

"Regards only, is it? A man past eighty, surrounded by foreign women younger than me. Still working himself, while my uncle's pushing fifty and still sucking his thumb."

Every group has its hierarchy. Even one made up of old friends is no exception.

The reason Lee Gun-ha — a mere athlete, however celebrated — could hold an equal footing among friends from chaebol and political dynasties was precisely his grandfather's existence. Because the old man held the things that chaebols and politicians never could.

"The wars are winding down now, anyway."

"Where exactly? The Middle East? Ukraine?"

"Anywhere."

The moment the conversation reached that point, Lee Gun-ha understood what Ma Tae-sung wanted.

And yet he kept playing ignorant to the very end. Watching the high-and-mighty Ma Tae-sung come to him like this was, frankly, rather enjoyable.

"What's this about war, all of a sudden?"

"You're fine, Gun-ha — a grandson with a talent that speaks for itself. I'm not. Honestly, my position's hanging by a thread these days. So I thought it was time I showed them what I can really do."

Within the Daeha Group's owning family, Ma Tae-sung occupied a precarious position. His mother had died the moment she gave birth to him. A stepmother had claimed that empty seat thirty years ago. Children born between his father and the stepmother. Clans and hangers-on gathering around them. As the eldest son, his legitimacy was fairly solid — but lately, it had grown suddenly shaky.

"Say, hypothetically, Daeha Construction participates in the postwar reconstruction."

"I get what you're implying, but I don't see what I could possibly do to help."

"It's simple. You lay one bridge. Your grandfather knows people everywhere, doesn't he? America, the Middle East, Europe — he's got faces everywhere."

"Last I heard, the domestic construction firms taking part are already decided internally."

"That's exactly why I'm asking you, isn't it? If we ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could win the contract on merit, would I be doing this? Hell, how is Daeha Construction supposed to beat a top-3 builder for reconstruction work in the first place?"

The domestic construction companies for the postwar rebuild had already been decided — the so-called top three. Daeha Construction, for the record, didn't even make the top five.

But if Ma Tae-sung, Vice President of Daeha Construction, snatched that reconstruction business away from under their noses?

It would be a complete reversal of fortune. Wasn't he the eldest son, delivering the greatest results possible from the position he'd been given?

"Come on, Gun-ha. Help a friend out. I don't need anything else — just open the door once. I'll handle the rest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠myself. Really."

"Hmm."

Lee Gun-ha stroked his chin with a deliberately troubled expression.

Wasn't this the fabled "low-posture Ma Tae-sung," a creature so rarely seen? A man needed time to savor it to the fullest.

"...Okay. I'll bring it up."

A little while later, Lee Gun-ha downed every drop of the liquor Ma Tae-sung had poured and rose from his seat.

He'd gotten what he came for. And he hadn't forgotten to pocket the precious gift, either.

"I'm heading out."

"Leaving already?"

"I report back the day after tomorrow. Just dropped by before leaving the country. You guys called, after all."

"Aigoo, look at us keeping a man of your stature so long."

"There's a car waiting out front. It'll take you to the airport, comfortable."

"Thanks. I'm off."

Not long after, as the car carrying Lee Gun-ha pulled away from the villa grounds, Joo Min-ho — who had downed an entire bottle of expensive whiskey — gave a hollow laugh.

"... Fucking hell. Why does a clown's neck get so stiff, all he does is kick a ball around?"

At that, Ma Tae-sung didn't bother hiding his laughter either. It was the smile only two people sharing the exact same thought could wear.

"None of that would be possible without the grandfather who's been doing dirty work abroad, now would it?"

"Like that's something to brag about. No-bred bastards are always the problem, I swear."

"And how do you think I feel, groveling to that no-bred bastard?"

"I put up with him for your sake, Tae-sung."

"Since I'm already putting up with it, keep at it until this business is finished. That's how our dear Councilman Joo gets his gold badge in the next general election, isn't it? How long are you going to strut around with a council badge on your chest? Aren't you embarrassed?"

"I know. I know. You sounded just like my father right now."

They were no longer schoolboy friends. It was a relationship sustained by what each could extract from the other. Joo Min-ho, who knew this better than anyone, broke into a sly grin and murmured,

"By the way, did you see them when I came in?"

"See what?"

"The Starex out front — the girls from the model agency Gyeong-sik's bastard brought in, right?"

"...Christ, you're out of your mind over women."

"Rich, coming from a man who got married last month. At least I'm not a married man."

"Then you go — the unmarried one — and bring the girls over. Send the ugly ones home on your own dime."

"I fill my own quota? Don't talk nonsense."

Go do whatever you want.

Ma Tae-sung waved him off and fished a cigarette from the pack. Then he glanced idly at the news playing on the TV, switched on for no particular reason.

Serial disappearances of some sex offenders or other — news that had nothing whatsoever to do with Ma Tae-sung's life.

Sssssssshhh—

Hot water poured over Ki Tae-jun's body. The stream gushing from the ancient showerhead was thin and weak — much like this bargain-bin motel itself.

“...”

Tae-jun stood with his eyes closed, letting the water beat against him. Deeply cut flesh. Torn skin. Burns. His body was a landscape of hell itself, carried over intact.

So-hee. Ji-hye.

An eternity spent in Hell. Within that endless stretch of time, it had become a habit — churning over and over, again and again. His daughter So-hee's face. His wife Lee Ji-hye's eyes. And then—

Ma Tae-sung. Joo Min-ho. Lee Gun-ha. Jang Gyeong-sik. Park Hae-na. Moon Tae-hee.

The six devils who had driven his daughter and wife to their deaths. Their faces, their voices, their very names — carved in, all of them, so that the passing eons would never bury them.

I will invite them to Hell. All of them. Without fail.

That was why he had survived in Hell. The driving force behind his reign as a Demon God-tier devil.

“...”

The shower, which had been something like a ritual, came to an end. Tae-jun sat briefly in the chair and spread open his palm.

Since Cho Geun-shik, he had devoured ten lower-tier soul stones.

Even so, he had yet to shed his rank as a Lower Demon. It was proof enough of how arduous climbing the hierarchy truly was.

In exchange, however, he had unlocked a useful new authority: Curtain of Darkness, which flooded his surroundings with shadow. His physical capabilities had grown considerably, and his Descent Time had lengthened as well. A respectable harvest, all things considered.

Hisssss...

Tae-jun spread the curtain across the room. A perfect darkness without a single point of light.

"Hoo."

This was no mere darkness. It was a demon's domain — a space where his power was fully restored. Just as plants photosynthesize in sunlight, a demon rests deeply within the dark.

Vrrrm—!

A short while later, the phone his sister-in-law had given him buzzed. The caller was, naturally, Lee Seo-hyun. Hers was a burner line as well, of course.

"...I'm listening."

It was a low, quiet reply. Lee Seo-hyun continued.

[You've seen the news. You're about out of your list, aren't you?]

The headlines had broken: eleven dead, Cho Geun-shik among them. It meant he'd taken every one of the ten prey she had supplied. Apparently she was coming to bring him new game.

[Why don't you come here? Or should I come to you?]

"I'll come."

[Then I'll text you the address.]

The address she sent was neither his in-laws' home nor the Magazine F office. It was an officetel building in Yeongdeungpo-gu, Seoul — one he had never seen before.

"What is this place?"

Tae-jun's eyebrows twitched at the scene before him. A one-and-a-half-room officetel with clean interior design under soft, subdued lighting — a cozy haven that the cheap motel couldn't hold a candle to.

"I thought you were living with the Chairman."

"Use this place for now, brother-in-law."

"...What?"

"I rented a room. Under a borrowed name, of course."

"..."

"No more sleeping in those awful motels every night."

Tae-jun said nothing. He simply looked through the officetel with hollow eyes.

"Rest well, and the hunting goes well — and so does the revenge. Isn't that how it works?"

Lee Seo-hyun added brightly, forcing the cheer into her voice. She headed cautiously toward the kitchen.

"If this counts as a housewarming, then it does — maybe it's time I showed off my skills again after so long?"

In that instant, things long forgotten flashed through his mind. Tae-jun's memories from before the tragedy. The warm smell of rice cooking. A tender smile. The sound of happy laughter. An utterly ordinary life — one Tae-jun could never have again.

"Quit wasting time. Get to the point."

Perhaps being seized by those memories was simply too painful. Tae-jun's voice came out colder than usual.

"...Understood."

That single reply was enough to make Lee Seo-hyun flinch as she walked toward the kitchen.

"Shall we talk business, then?"

She turned quietly and drew a document envelope from her bag.

"It's time we changed the theme. It'll reignite public opinion, and it'll throw the police off balance, too."

Sure enough, the prey inside her documents was no longer a sex offender.