Iron Bars
The phone rang incessantly, shrill enough to make my ears burn. Heels clicked without pause. Voices buzzed around me. I opened my eyes.
My vision was blurry. It slowly came into focus. Objects gradually sharpened into view. No way... Am I alive? I'd clearly died in that accident. Yet here I was, perfectly fine. It was too vivid for a dream. I touched my body all over. My limbs were warm. My heart still beat steadily in my left chest. Somehow, I was alive.
Relief was short-lived. Iron bars loomed right in front of me. I stood and scanned my surroundings. It was a familiar space. Strange. I'd been hit by a truck, but I was unscathed. And now I was in a police station? One incomprehensible thing after another.
I had no idea what was going on, but first things first—I needed to get out of here. My eyes landed on a man sitting at a desk.
"Hey, you."
The rough-looking guy glanced around, then met my gaze. He pointed at himself with a finger.
"Yeah, you. Come over here."
He tilted his head, puzzled, and stood. He approached me.
"You calling me?"
"Don't wanna drag this out. Where the hell am I?"
"You've finally lost it."
"Get the chief. No, connect me to the commissioner."
The man's reaction was underwhelming. He looked at me with utter pity, sighed, and said,
"What? The chief? Connect you to the commissioner?"
"Open this cell first. Run a background check if you have to. I'm Kim Ki-hyuk, chief of staff at JK Group's Future Strategy Office."
"You could've gone nuts in a nicer way. A young guy like you, already losing his mind?"
He's the crazy one, staring me down like that.
"Don't get demoted or fired later and regret it. Open up while I'm asking nicely."
The man seemed unable to contain his anger. He shrugged off his jacket, locked the station door, and came back.
"I'd usually let it slide, but not today."
He pulled out a keyring. Things were taking a weird turn. Other cops rushed over to restrain him.
"Let go! Get off me! I put up with you 'cause of your dad—what now, huh? You little shit, try dying today!"
"Sergeant Choi, cool it. You'll just hurt yourself. He's clearly still drunk—ignore him."
"No, how's he ordering us to call or not call the commissioner like it's his dog?"
"You usually handle it fine. Dial it back and clean this up quick, got it?"
For a mere beat cop, he was awfully brave. Or maybe he didn't care if he lost his paycheck. Otherwise, no one would dare come at me like that. He straightened his clothes, lit a cigarette.
"Min-ho, ease up. I'm cutting you slack, but there's a limit."
He called me Min-ho. There must've been a mix-up in the ID check.
"Min-ho? Looks like you messed up. I have no reason to be here..."
"If you're not Min-ho, who is? Drink all you want, but don't lose your damn mind, kid."
"No, on my way to Seocho-dong, there was an accident on Olympic Boulevard..."
"Hey! Kang Min-ho, time to snap out of it. How long you gonna keep boozing and picking fights?"
Again with Min-ho. And not an accident—a fight? I hadn't touched booze once since becoming chief of the Future Strategy Office. Assault? Impossible.
The man grimaced, face twisted, and exhaled smoke as he spoke.
"I'm not holding back 'cause I like it. It's your dad."
Dad? My parents died when I was a kid.
"Hey, there's some mistake here..."
"Mistake my ass. I can't even smack you once—look at yourself."
He grabbed a hand mirror from the desk.
"See? Take a good look at your face. What do you see?"
I held it up to my face through the bars. What I saw was unbelievable. It wasn't my face. I wasn't Kim Ki-hyuk. The drunken brawler behind endless DUIs, assaults, scandals—finally locked up in a mental ward. A walking nuke of a mouth. I was Kang Min-ho.
That's when it clicked. My body felt different. I prodded myself everywhere. These weren't my arms or legs.
The man sighed.
"First time seeing your own face? Shocked, huh... Anyway, sleep it off till your lawyer gets here. No more bullshit."
No wonder he was pissed. Whatever happened, I needed out. I was Kang Min-ho. Time to act like it.
"Hey, hold on."
"What, am I your wife? Quit calling me."
"Just one phone call. No phone in my pocket."
He scratched his bushy beard, tilting his massive head.
"You do anything besides booze? How's a phone fitting in your pocket?"
"What're you talking about? Phones go in pockets. Or call the Future Strategy Office."
"I have no clue what you're saying."
"Fine, boot up the internet then..."
"Shut it! Behave till your lawyer shows."
For some reason, he couldn't grasp a word I said. This was confusing. To check if it was a dream, I pinched my arm hard. Pain shot through. Not a dream.
I turned, scanning every corner of the station. Cops smoked inside. Ancient phones sat on every desk. He folded a newspaper and slid it through the bars.
"Your dad's sighs are echoing to Apgujeong. Quiet down and read the paper."
I checked the date. I couldn't believe my eyes. Now I knew why he didn't understand me.
[Seoul-Paris Korean Air Flight Passes Through Soviet Airspace]
[Polish Communist Party Central Committee Forms New Party]
It wasn't the 21st century. It was January 1990. Impossible. Time and body—everything changed.
I sat calmly, sorting my thoughts. No answers came. One thing was clear: I was Kang Min-ho. Grandson of Chairman Kang Jin-gwang, son of Vice Chairman Kang Du-seong. No point overthinking. Get out first.
As I glanced around, a cop waved someone over.
"Perfect timing, Lawyer Choi. He's here."
The station door opened. A familiar face entered. He bowed deeply to the cop.
"Sorry for the trouble."
"Nah, not your fault, Choi. But the young master's off today."
"Where is he?"
"You know—over there."
The man spotted me at the detective's nod and approached. When he stopped in front of me, I recognized him.
"Young master, are you alright?"
Choi Jong-hoon, the lawyer from the legal team who vanished. Devoted to JK, then discarded like trash. Before I ran Future Strategy, he handled slush funds there. Missing after the election, found three years later in a drained reservoir. I knew who killed him and why—but he was taboo in the group. Choi Jong-hoon.
"Young master? What're you thinking so deeply about?"
I had questions for him, but later. Escape first. I was Kang Min-ho. Act like it.
"You're here? It's nothing. Get me out first."
One polite sentence, and Choi Jong-hoon froze, stunned silent. I knew why. Kang Min-ho treated everyone like dirt— even affiliate presidents. Insults were standard; curses optional. For him to respond courteously? Shocking.
"It'll be uncomfortable, but wait a moment? I'll check the case and return."
"Sure, do that."
I didn't know what mess Kang Min-ho had made. After a long talk with the cops, Choi returned.
"See those three men over there?"
"The ones in black hats?"
"Yes. They say you fought their group."
"Assault?"
"They claim you beat them one-sidedly. Anything ring a bell?"
Of course not. Didn't matter who was right. I wanted out now. True to form, I pushed for a quick fix.
"Settle it with some cash."
"That's tricky."
"If they won't settle, up the payout. Make it satisfying—they'll drop it."
"Sorry... They don't want money."
"Whatever they want, I'll give it. What?"
Choi hesitated, troubled, then spoke.
"They... want an apology from you more than cash. This time..."
Kang Min-ho never apologized, even for his screw-ups. Choi knew it well—hence the awkwardness.
Get out, and my new royal family life begins. Apologize a hundred times? Fine.
"I'll do it. I'll apologize."
"Pardon? Say that again?"
"If I'm wrong, I should."
Stunned again, he couldn't continue. Soon, the holding cell opened. I stepped out. Three men sat on tiny chairs.
"Kang Min-ho beat us, right?"
"He's out—hear him first."
I planned to apologize quick and leave, but something was off. Beaten? Their faces were spotless. Not a scratch.
The cop patted my shoulder.
"Min-ho, just bow and say sorry—it's done. Good's good, let's wrap it."
Then I felt something sticky on my nape. I touched it. Blood, no doubt.
"Y... Young master, isn't that blood?"
"No ketchup on the back of my head, so yeah—blood."
No more needed. I grasped it instantly. The air shifted. The twenty-something punks couldn't hide their panic. I studied their faces. Imagined wrinkles. I remembered. Who they were.
Born into royalty, I wouldn't start by bowing. Their heads would bow to me.