Disposal
Moon Sang-oh headed to the Pocheon Factory with two staff members from the secretariat. A grim resolve flickered across his otherwise expressionless face in the back seat. Staring out the window, he reviewed the situation.
“Park Manager. How’s the Busan prep coming?”
“We’ve scheduled it with plenty of buffer time, factoring in travel.”
“What I’m asking is... you’ve handled everything I mentioned, right?”
“Yes, sir. Perfectly, without a hitch.”
“Good work.”
As soon as the car pulled up to the factory, he issued orders.
“Get it turned around, ready to leave immediately.”
“Understood.”
Moon strode into the factory, and Ham Gi-nam, the factory manager, came scurrying out with small steps.
“Executive Director! Welcome. If you’d let us know ahead...”
“Skip the greetings. If you want to keep your head on your shoulders from here on out, listen carefully to what I say.”
“Pardon? Y-yes... Understood.”
“Triple the height of the front gate fence—at least. No one enters or leaves without my permission.”
Ham tensed at the sudden arrival and commands, then asked cautiously.
“Does that include... even Chairman Kang and everyone else?”
“Not even Young Master. No one gets in. The moment you do, the rest is on you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. We’ll start work today.”
“Where’s Seo Gwang-hun?”
“In the workshop, but...”
Moon marched straight into the workshop. To Seo Gwang-hun, he was the Grim Reaper incarnate. Seo quickly ducked behind some materials.
Why’s Executive Director Moon here all of a sudden? Something’s off...
Hiding was futile—even Buddha’s palm couldn’t save him. The sharp click of leather shoes grew closer. When he looked up, Moon’s piercing gaze locked onto him.
His legs trembling, Seo forced a stiff smile and bowed.
“Good day, Executive Director Moon. I was just grabbing some materials here. That’s why.”
No need for pleasantries with a man marked for departure. Moon grabbed Seo by the scruff and dragged him outside.
Moon pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, breaking his rule of one per morning. To stay composed, he exhaled smoke and asked in a heavy voice,
“How far did you talk?”
“Pardon? I don’t...”
After a long sigh, he asked again.
“Last chance. How much did you tell President Kang Beom-seong?”
“Well... honestly, he just stopped by briefly, saw my face, and...”
Moon already knew the truth. He glanced at his watch, then beckoned the waiting secretariat staff.
“Load him up!”
“Yes, sir!”
Ham, baffled by the sudden turn, approached politely.
“Um... Executive Director, may I ask what’s going on?”
“Besides President Kang Beom-seong’s recent visit, who else came by?”
Terror gripped Ham—if he didn’t answer straight, he might end up the same. He spilled quickly.
“First it was President Kang Beom-seong. A few days later, the chairman came and went.”
“Both met Seo Gwang-hun?”
“Yes.”
“What did they hear?”
“I was too far to catch anything. Please believe me.”
Moon stubbed out his cigarette under his shoe.
“Seo Gwang-hun won’t be coming back. That’s all you need to know.”
“Pardon? Y-yes, got it.”
Moon climbed into the car, and it sped off. Without a single stop, they reached the port in Busan. Seo looked around, disoriented and terrified.
“Wh-where... where is this?”
Moon nodded, and the two staffers hauled him out.
“Tell me everything you said to Presidents Kang Beom-seong and Kang Du-seong. Leave nothing out.”
The vicious rumors about Moon Sang-oh chilled Seo to the bone—he could be next. The air felt different, heavier. No escape, no resistance. He confessed it all.
“Just to survive?”
“Shameless as it is... it was my last desperate struggle.”
“President Kang Du-seong didn’t say much?”
“He said he’d already heard it all from President Beom-seong and just confirmed.”
Seo knew too much. His sin? A mouth that wouldn’t stay shut.
“Come quietly.”
“Pardon? Where to?”
Moon led him to a massive ship at dock. Climbing the steep gangway, a burly man with a thick beard and dark skin greeted them warmly.
“Long time no see, Executive Director. Hope you’ve been well.”
“If I were, I wouldn’t be here.”
He shoved Seo forward like luggage.
“Everything set?”
“Of course. No worries—we’ve made it cozy.”
“Destination’s Ethiopia?”
“The coffee there’s killer. Smuggle a bit, sell it, and you’re shoveling cash.”
Moon handed over a thick envelope.
“Should be plenty.”
“Whoa, Executive Director—this is more than enough.”
“Just handle it clean and keep your mouth shut.”
The man lowered his voice about the plan.
“You got it. Got a broker in Ethiopia—straight to Congo on arrival.”
“Situation there?”
“Hell. No phones, war zone. Surviving’s a miracle.”
A snake like Seo would slither through somehow. Moon probed even the slimmest chance.
“Any way out?”
“With insane money, maybe. But a penniless Asian with no language? Nothing. Even then, a decade at least.”
“Good work. Call when you hit Korea—I’ll see your face.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry I can’t even buy you a bowl of gukbap after coming to Busan.”
“Don’t worry. See you.”
As the man bowed 90 degrees, Seo burst from his corner, dropping to his knees before Moon, snot and tears streaming.
“Ex-Executive Director! Spare me! Africa? What are you talking about? I swear I won’t say a word!”
Moon stared down with pity, like trash on the roadside. No reply.
“I’ll sew my lips shut! Won’t talk to anyone! Please believe me!”
Moon patted his shoulder and walked away without a word. Seo wailed desperately at his retreating back, but the ship had already sailed. Seo Gwang-hun would live a new life in Africa. Of course, with ongoing civil wars, it wouldn’t be smooth.
Moon watched the ship fade toward the horizon, then pulled out his phone.
“Handled. Heading back to Seoul now.”
***
Athena.
“You’re already here? Hold on—I’ll come down.”
Cheon Dong-gwan hung up and rushed to the lobby. Baekje Beverages’ Choi Tae-uk Manager greeted him with a bright smile.
“First time meeting. Choi Tae-uk.”
“Pleasure. Cheon Dong-gwan.”
“We got the new product ready faster than expected.”
“You said it’d take another week—your call startled me.”
Behind Choi stood pallets of canned sikhye and sujeonggwa.
“Not much to look at for security, but boxed up. Try some—let me know what’s missing.”
“Got it. Care for coffee upstairs?”
“Sorry, next time. Swamped right now.”
“Sure. I’ll report to the president and follow up by phone.”
Cheon moved the cans to the conference room, grabbed one, and knocked on Min-ho’s door.
“President, Cheon Dong-gwan here.”
“Come in.”
Cheon entered beaming.
“You look like the cat that got the cream. Good mood?”
“How could I not be? Your words turned real. Samples just arrived—I brought one for you.”
It had to match the taste in Min-ho’s memories exactly. Heart pounding, he cracked it open and sipped. Soft rice grains, perfectly sweet. No words needed.
Min-ho’s smile lit up the room; Cheon, on edge, grinned too.
“Like it?”
“What’s to say? Convene the meeting now. I’ll call and join.”
“Right away.”
Min-ho phoned Baekje Beverages.
“Baekje Beverages President Gong Tae-han.”
“Athena’s Kang Min-ho. Received your early morning shipment.”
“Rushed it—thoughts? Too sweet?”
“As you know, sikhye fans split on sugar. This sweetness hits both. Bottom line: ready to sell now.”
Gong, braced for criticism, sighed in relief.
“We slaved over that sweetness.”
“It’s perfect. We’ll blind-test with staff and confirm.”
“Appreciate it.”
Min-ho caught the shadow behind the cheer.
“President, something bothering you?”
“Pardon? Nothing.”
“Good day, but you’ve been sighing.”
“Can’t fool your sharp eyes.”
After a breath, Min-ho said,
“Your son’s weighing on you, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“Read a lot from his face last time.”
“Life’s ups and downs—plenty of worries.”
“Respect his choices. That’s all he wants from you.”
Gong sighed, opening up.
“No idea what blew in, but he quit studying for the bar, packed up, and came home.”
“Cheong-ho... has he ever said he wants to be a judge or prosecutor? Maybe it’s you who hopes that.”
“...........”
“Ever asked what he likes, what he wants?”
Gong had been the doting dad, but never considered it. His prodigy son was destined for that path. The festering wound burst, spilling bitter pus. Untreated, it threatened life itself.
Gong fell silent.
“Not my place to advise. But listening openly beats yelling no.”
“I’ve bragged to the neighborhood about my prosecutor son—face to save...”
“His happiness or others’ opinions—which matters more? That’s how it sounds.”
Silence again.
“Share a soju with him tonight. You’ll hear his heart. Sorry for overstepping.”
Spot-on advice, reading father and son perfectly. Gong nodded.
“I’ll do that. Truly grateful.”
“When can you supply?”
“Push it, A-Mart nationwide in days. I’ll call when done.”
“No rush. Invest today in your son. We’ll test with staff and follow up.”
“Thank you. I’ll visit to thank you properly.”
With that, Min-ho had changed his friend Cheong-ho’s fate. Pulled from death’s mire, the rest was up to him.
Min-ho hung up, stepped out. Staff high-fived joyfully. Even vacationing President Yang Sang-pil chugged a can.
“President! Fantastic taste. Sales won’t be an issue.”
“Yeah? If it passes your picky palate, it’s gold. Distribute today’s samples to everyone—note improvements.”
“Got it.”
At the same time, a clandestine meeting unfolded at Soseonjae. Kang Du-seong and JK Group’s puppet secretariat chief Jeong Dong-gyun clinked glasses.