Episode 100: Thunderbolt from the Blue
Contrary to what Seyoung Newspaper had predicted, there was no news coming out of JK Group. They'd run some positive stories and even a decent feature article, so Seyoung figured it would all fizzle out quietly. But the nightmare was only just beginning.
At 9 p.m., when the printing presses were supposed to roar to life, a belated phone call grabbed Editorial Director Han Gil-seong by the ankle just as he was packing up to leave.
"Hello?"
"Director Han, this is Lee Jung-hyun from the printing press."
"I'm busy—get to the point!"
"Sir... I know it's hard to believe, but we're out of newsprint and printing ink. We can't continue."
It was a situation he'd never even imagined. Impossible, really. Han exploded in a tirade at the absurdity.
"Are you out of your mind? Or just incompetent? I told you to order ahead! Did you or didn't you?"
"Of course we did. We couldn't reach Solhan, so we ordered from Daehan Paper too, but they're all saying the same thing—no stock."
"What? Say that again—the factory has no paper?"
"No ink, no paper. All gone. We kept pushing, and now they're telling us to shove it. What do we do?"
Sensing something sinister, Han bit his lower lip.
"Hold on—I'm hanging up!"
If everyone was singing the same tune, something was definitely up. He snatched the receiver and dialed Solhan.
"Get me the president."
"Pardon? Who is this?"
"It's me! Han Gil-seong, you deaf bastard—ears clogged with rice porridge?"
"Sorry. One moment."
Soon, Solhan Paper's President Jeong Pil-seung picked up. The voice carried a casual leisure despite the urgency.
"Line's yours."
Before, he'd have groveled on the floor to take Han's call. Not anymore. No fawning tone—just confident poise.
"Making some money's gone to your head, huh?"
"Better than money. I'm busy—what do you need?"
"Didn't you get our print shop's calls? Send the damn supplies on time—what's the holdup?"
Jeong replied with a sly smile.
"We're not supplying Seyoung Newspaper with newsprint anymore."
Absurd. Han stammered in disbelief.
"What? Hey, President Jeong—what the hell did you just say? No more business with us?"
"Want me to repeat? I'll say it as many times as it takes."
Stunned, Han fumbled a cigarette into his left hand and lit it frantically.
"You... you don't want this month's payment? Without us, you'd be dead— what's with the balls all of a sudden?"
"Skip payment if you want. Headbutts favor the thick-skulled. We'll collect receivables in court—no sweat. Just pay the interest properly."
"You lost your mind? Want to die for real?"
Veins bulging in his neck, Han bellowed, but Jeong stayed cool.
"Advice: other suppliers will say the same."
"Jeong Pil-seung, you wait. I'm coming for you."
"See if you're saying that in an hour. Won't see you again. Oh—except in court."
Han hung up, hands trembling with rage as he lit another smoke. Calls to other paper mills and ink suppliers yielded identical responses. Unfathomable. Unacceptable.
Staff rushed in, frantic reports piling up.
- Wonnam Ink says no more deals.
- Soljin Ink, Ilsam Paper, Daehan Paper, Solhan—all refusing supply.
- Presses stopped. What now?
He knew instantly: Chairman Kang's revenge. Only one man on earth could turn the impossible real. An unexpected backstab always stung hardest. The shock doubled when you never saw it coming.
Like a dog desperate to shit, he flailed, then grabbed the receiver desperately.
"Minguk Newspaper, Director Choi Chang-yeon."
"Calling to check your situation."
Choi was in the same hell, voice shrill with agitation.
"These bastards all gone mad?"
"Sounds identical everywhere."
"Seyoung too?"
"Us, Yeonggwang—presses halted. Looks like collusion."
"Collusion without warning? Tomorrow's paper's dead."
Han stubbed out his cigarette with a sigh.
"No choice. Report to the boss and meet at Seongbuk-dong."
"You mean... old man Kang Jin-gwang orchestrated this?"
"Only reason they dare stand tall. Thought he was hibernating like a bear or taxi driver—guess the viper's venom's peaked."
"What's the plan?"
"What else? Bow heads, survive first."
"Got it. Seongbuk-dong it is."
Han hung up coolly, but knowing Kang better than most, his legs shook with dread. Quenching the chairman's fury demanded sacrifice—limb or life, who knew? Thought it'd blow over quietly. Worst-case had arrived. He tore at his thinning hair in self-reproach, but too late.
"The Times... those bastards... just you wait..."
That moment, a roar filled the Seyoung office.
"Director Han! Han Gil-seong! Where's that son of a bitch? Hey!"
Only one dared call him that: President An Jeong-man. Eyes bloodshot, sanity frayed by uncontainable rage, he advanced like Han had slain his parents.
"Said Kang would let it slide, huh?"
"Sorry. No excuses."
"No excuses? That it? Career over?"
"I... sor—"
Sorry wouldn't cut it. Kang could seize control on a whim. An slapped him hard, then cracked his rolled-up newspaper over Han's head.
"You idiot—tried swatting a bedbug and burned the whole thatched house! 'Sorry' from your mouth now?"
"Apologies. I'll fix it somehow."
"Fix how? Use that brain if you've got one."
"I'll go see them..."
Another whack, An bellowing.
"You think showing up solves this? With your fat head?"
"President, truly sorry."
"On your knees taking slaps, we'd say thanks—and grin!"
"I'll meet Solhan Paper and Wonnam Ink presidents."
An sighed in disgust.
"Viper's backing them—how you gonna win? You haven't been hit enough, huh?"
"No, sir. Sorry."
"Head up, get dressed, moron!"
"To Seongbuk-dong?"
"Kneel if we must. If he takes our control, can you handle it?"
"No. Getting ready now."
The six presidents and directors of the big three dailies raced to Seongbuk-dong for survival.
***
In Seongbuk-dong, Min-ho and Chairman Kang finished dinner and chatted cozily on the sofa.
"You must be tired—head home and rest."
"Can't set down chopsticks before the main course, Grandpa."
Grinning at the apt metaphor, Kang ruffled Min-ho's hair.
"They're coming already?"
"Within the hour. Stopping supplies at the factories—they'll figure it out soon. Only fix is here."
"When they arrive, squeeze just enough guts and neck as you said?"
"Yes—and you know the rest without me saying."
"Course, kid. Grandpa can handle the leftovers solo."
Min-ho's eye caught a report on the table.
"Mind if I glance?"
"Group ad model selection—sure, your input might help."
Studying it, Min-ho replied.
"Picking a popular celeb's fine, but I don't like it."
"Plenty of time—tell me why."
"Popularity's a bubble. Dramas, movies flare up, but few sustain it."
"True. Grandpa thinks Doo-sim's steadier than Hee-ae."
The ad model's the company's face. Wrong choice, irreversible damage.
Min-ho shook his head.
"JK needs youthful vibe. Especially with pagers hot among the young."
"And?"
"That recent taxi incident? Gave you an image other chairmen lack—connecting with youth."
Kang feigned ignorance.
"Grandpa felt nothing."
"Rumors of your autographs spread to Dokdo. Handshake lines are endless."
"Tried playing dumb, but you're too sharp—nothing slips you."
"Chairmen feel distant, hard to approach."
Min-ho glanced at Lawyer Choi, still tense.
"People crowding for signatures and shakes means they see you positively."
"Fair... others never get that."
Min-ho speared fruit and fed it to Kang before continuing.
"I'll handle this tomorrow. No worries."
Moon the butler, peering out, reported.
"Pardon the interruption, but three cars just pulled up."
Kang peeked, smiling slyly.
"Presidents and directors—six on the nose. Kneel, gate opens in three hours. No kneel? Rip out guts, wail—they get nothing."
"Understood, Chairman."
"I'll play go with my grandson. Tell me when time's up."
Meanwhile, outside the gate, a desperate survival brawl unfolded.
The big three presidents, faces ashen, debated tactics. As Minguk's Choi reached for the bell, Seyoung's An grabbed his hand.
"No call ahead—this'll just frost things worse!"
"Hey, An—put out the fire first?"
"Kneel quiet, he'll come. Worst case, gate opens by morning."
"No print now, advertisers calling—got a plan?"
"None. Me neither. Stirring more won't help. Don't poke the bear—stay quiet."
Quiet observer Han spoke up.
"Hate to say it to presidents, but An's right. Better not provoke—stay calm."
They'd thought they shaped opinion. Years of it, self-crowned kingmakers. Min-ho's counterpunch left them defenseless. Sturdy shoulders crumbled like loose bricks; taut necks shriveled like chicken's.
Over sixty, but street-smart. Han knelt silently before the Seongbuk-dong gate. Knew it was the only way out.
Once mighty enough to topple birds, the presidents and directors of Seyoung, Minguk, and Dongyoung Newspapers knelt there.
Humiliating. Degrading. Insulting. But survival demanded it. Last resort.
Legs numbing already, An spat on his hands repeatedly, asking Han.
"This really gonna work?"
"Endure—that's all."
"This age, groveling in someone else's hood 'cause of you—what a joke."
Three hours passed.
Min-ho peeked from the window, then reported to Kang.
"Grandpa, they're ready."
"Good—time for some air."
"Now you'll be the real kingmaker."
Kang grabbed the briquette tongs from the yard, stepped out with Moon, and opened the gate.