Freedom's Reckoning and Media Foundations
Pocheon. A single phone call rang out in the once-quiet office. Ham Gi-nam, the factory president, rushed in wearing work gloves, panting heavily.
"I've got the call."
Moon Sang-oh's deep voice cut straight to the point. "The young master?"
"Huh? What do you mean by young master all of a sudden?"
"He'll be arriving soon."
"Understood. I'll make sure the factory is spotless."
"Just take two CDs from Cheon Dong-gwan and let him go."
"Section Chief Cheon? That means he's got money now... where'd it come from?"
Ham was there to follow orders, not ask questions. Moon didn't hide his irritation. "Ham... do I have to explain every reason and justification for you to get it?"
"I'm sorry. Just... let me confirm one more time. Section Chief Cheon Dong-gwan..."
"Take the money and release him."
"Got it. Please hang up."
Ham carefully set the receiver down with both hands, bowing deeply. He replayed the conversation in his head but couldn't make sense of it. "Release Dong-gwan? That means the guy's got cash... what the hell is this nonsense?"
As he grumbled and peered out the window, the car carrying Kang Min-ho pulled into the factory's main gate.
"If he was coming, they could've told me earlier... I barely cleaned up."
He spat into his palm, smoothed his messy hair, and bolted out. Spotting Min-ho step from the car, he flashed his signature sycophantic grin and bowed low. "Aigoo, young master! If I'd known you were coming, I'd have prepared a meal at least."
Min-ho ignored him, turning his head to scan every corner of the factory intently.
Ham's heart raced from their brutal first encounter. "The factory's cleaner than before, and no one's been beating the workers, right?"
"Of course not! We send them to the hospital on time and have every precaution in place to prevent that ever happening again."
Min-ho nodded and moved to the back of the car. Cheon Dong-gwan, stepping out, stared longingly at his distant home, eyes fixed on his family.
Reading everything in that gaze, Min-ho turned to Ham. "Ham."
"Yes, young master."
"Go bring Mr. Cheon Dong-gwan's family here politely."
"Pardon? Right away."
In just minutes, Cheon would finally escape this hellhole of Pocheon. Emotions swirled across his face: a perfect life shattered by greed-fueled business failure, loan sharks, two escape attempts, and the suffering he'd inflicted on his family...
He'd thought he'd toil here until death, but he'd seized Min-ho's lifeline with all his might. No words could capture his pent-up resentment and exhaustion. Tears welled in his eyes.
Then—"Daddy!"
His long-missed son ran toward him with a bright smile. Tears streamed down Cheon's cheeks.
Speechless, he scooped up the boy he'd dreamed of endlessly and hugged him tight. "Daddy, why'd you come so late?"
"Sorry, kiddo. Daddy had to go to Japan for something... to buy gifts for you, Kyung-pyo... I brought lots."
"Really? But why are you crying, Daddy?"
"Just so happy to see my boy after so long. Here, what do you think of this toy for Kyung-pyo?"
Cheon pulled a toy from his bag—one bought in Japan—and placed it in his son's hands. The innocent child beamed as if owning the world. It was a tiny happiness, a privilege for ordinary folk living normal lives.
The plain life he'd yearned for was finally his.
His wife gently wiped the tears from his cheeks with a handkerchief. She couldn't hold back her own sobs. As head of the household, as a husband, he poured out the apologies he'd bottled up. "You've suffered so much because of me. I'm sorry."
"I thought you'd never come back."
"I told you—it was a favor from someone trustworthy."
Cheon hugged his wife, patting her back. Moments later, he fetched the money bag from the car and handed it over. "Honey, this is heavy. What's in it?"
"A gift I really wanted to give you. Take it."
She unzipped it skeptically—and gasped, dropping her handkerchief as she stared at her husband. "You didn't do something bad, did you? How else could you get this much money?"
"I'll explain on the way."
"On the way? Where are we going?"
"There's another bag. We'll pay off the debt with it, then start fresh with this one."
"Honey... is this real? We can leave here?"
"Yeah. Take Kyung-pyo and wait a sec—I'll wrap things up."
Cheon flung open the trunk and set the money bag before Ham. "Exactly as owed."
Ham unzipped it, eyes bulging. Bringing 200 million won after months? Unbelievable. "Hey, Cheon, where'd you get this? Lottery?"
Even now, Ham's words dripped condescension toward Cheon. "Whoa, got money and suddenly you're too good to answer? Huh?"
"Exactly 200,123,230 won. The spare 500 won is yours."
"Seongbuk-dong called a bit ago. Said take two CDs."
"I'll pass on the kindness. Debt's settled. One thing left."
"Pay up here and it's done—what else?"
It wasn't just debt to clear. Cheon's grudge against Ham needed settling too. Ham had kicked his shins countless times, ignored his pleas for hospital visits despite the pain. He'd spewed abuse and curses, wielding his power.
Cheon had endured silently, but rage had piled up inside. As if he'd waited for this moment, he gritted his teeth and slammed his foot into Ham's shin with all his might.
"Argh! Cheon, what the—?!"
"That's the principal."
"What? What're you talking about?"
Without pause, Cheon drove a tight fist into Ham's face. The 140cm hunchback toppled backward, rolling several times.
One punch wouldn't erase months of torment. Cheon's eyes burned with murderous intent, locked on Ham.
He'd vowed to land a satisfying blow the day he paid his debt—and he'd kept it.
"Ham Gi-nam. This is the interest."
Min-ho placed a hand on Cheon's trembling fist, nodding that it was enough. "That's plenty. Stand down."
"Yes, young master."
Choi Jong-hoon, who'd watched silently, handed the money bag to Ham and sent him up to the office.
Cheon exhaled deeply, turning to etch the factory's corners into his memory, reliving the past. Dragged here by debt, the despair defied words. Resentment and fury surged like a tide.
Standing there, he let out a heartbroken wail.
Min-ho approached the wife quietly. "I needed your husband's help urgently, so I sent him to Japan without details."
"That's why you gave him all this money?"
"He'll explain. Congratulations on the fresh start."
Finally feeling truly free, she clutched Min-ho's hand, tears flowing as she repeated herself. "Thank you. Thank you so much, sir."
"He did great work. I'm the one who's grateful."
Min-ho turned to Cheon, silently offering a handkerchief.
"Sorry for the disgrace."
"It's refreshingly human. Got plans for what's next?"
"Head to Seoul, find a jeonse rental, rest a bit, then job hunt."
Min-ho offered another gift—though Cheon had no clue. "Ignore housing prices for now. Buy an apartment in Gangnam, Seocho, or Apgujeong."
"Any special reason?"
"You'll see. Oh—and no need for a job."
"Pardon?"
"We've got unfinished business. Good pay, too. Sound good?"
Cheon wiped lingering tears with his sleeve, steeling himself. "I'd jump into fire for you with a smile, young master. Just say the word."
"Not that extreme. I'll see you to Seoul. Let's go."
***
A few days later, Yeouido. Early '90s—no internet. TV, newspapers, and radio were the only news sources. Newspapers held the most sway; public opinion bent to their direction.
The "presidents of the night" weren't joking drunkenly. They knew their influence.
That's why Min-ho had sent cha-ttegi fleets to the three major dailies' editors—swaying the press.
Seyoung Ilbo: 178.7 billion won. Minguk Ilbo: 164.6 billion. Dongyoung Ilbo: 138.4 billion. Last year's profits for the big three—and growing over 15% annually. Faster than any business.
If it were just money, Min-ho would've picked something else. To reach JK's pinnacle, he needed a unique weapon the other Kangs lacked.
He chased two hares: massive profits and opinion-shaping power. The results were obvious.
But starting a paper meant complex setup and government approval—too slow. No time.
So he targeted Yeonggwang Ilbo, desperate and on the market. To check the future office, he came to Yeouido with Choi Jong-hoon.
Looking up at the building, Choi said, "I once dreamed of commuting to a place like this."
"You're doing better now."
"Yeouido has its vibe. That's what I miss."
"If that's your dream, we'll make it happen. Ah, there's No Team Leader."
Min-ho waved; No Jun-hwan hopped from a taxi and hurried over, bowing. "Young master, sorry—I'm a bit late."
"No, I came early."
"I'm just a team leader now, not president. Call me No Team Leader."
"Titles sorted. Where's the office you mentioned yesterday?"
No pointed to a building. "Top floor and the one below—two floors total."
"I can guess why you picked it."
"Great visibility, Han River view, and the night skyline's magical."
"Can't wait."
"This way."
Up to the top floor: a pristine 200-pyeong office, spacious as a playground. "Like it, young master?"
"How could I not? Must've been tough finding it."
"Kept it secret as ordered—dropped everything to pick it myself."
"Top for me, bottom for others. Double-check for shortages."
"Full prep as requested."
Min-ho scanned the space, then reiterated: "As I said—no one knows I'm here. Grandfather included."
"Only I know on the real estate team. Don't worry."
Min-ho checked his notebook, then asked No, "Land buys progressing?"
"Sequentially, as ordered. Now that you're in Yeouido, I'll report regularly."
"One more thing."
"Anything—I'll handle it."
Min-ho approached the whiteboard, sketched a Korea map, and circled spots. Neither Choi nor No knew what was coming.
"Our country's map. What's common in my circles?"
No scratched his chin, pondering. "Distribution hubs. Prime locations—excellent transport links everywhere."
"Close, but not quite. Buy land at these points first."
"Purpose?"
"Factory sites. Room for huge machines, dozens of trucks. Clear enough?"
Small plots were easy; vast factory land took time. No hesitated.
Min-ho caught it. "Problem?"
"Nationwide scouting... sorry, it'll take time."
"A month enough?"
"Yes. I'll move now and report progress."
"Thanks. You're free to go."
"Call anytime."
No bowed and left. Gazing at the vast office, Min-ho said, "Well? To your taste?"
"River view, great access—no better spot."
"You know what I'll do here?"
"Bottom for the paper, but this floor... no clue."
Min-ho moved to the center. "This'll be my office. Like the Parthenon Temple."
"Company name... Athena?"
"Yes—the firm I'll lead. Just us now, but it'll fill up soon. No time to chat—prep the acquisition."
To claim Yeonggwang Ilbo—which would become The Times—Min-ho dove into the takeover battle.