Chapter 30
Chapter 30
"How about it? Anything suspicious?"
It had been a week since they'd started surveilling Kim Chang-un on orders from the main house. The surveillance agent hunched his shoulders, staring at the monitor as Gu Jeong-hyeok, the on-site manager, posed the question.
"N-No unusual movements! I figured a bastard from one of the noble houses would be hopping between pleasure houses, but instead..."
"After finishing work, he heads straight back to his lodgings. Nothing out of the ordinary afterward."
Gu Jeong-hyeok muttered, narrowing his eyes.
"Abnormally so."
Hanseong, Joseon's grandest city, lived up to its name with dazzling vistas. Towering skyscrapers in neat Joseon-style architecture, lights arranged in perfect order. From afar, the entire metropolis resembled a single work of art, meticulously refined.
This place, though, was Busan.
Home to Joseon's largest trade port, the city teemed with resources and people pouring in from abroad. It rivaled Hanseong in scale, but its scenery couldn't have been more different. Japanese-style buildings thrust up amid hanok structures. Special residential zones crammed with migrants from the Central Plains. Neon signs in a chaotic jumble of languages. A hedonistic sprawl where Joseon culture tangled with foreign imports in glorious disarray.
That's the Busan where he worked.
"How many nobles are currently in Busan?"
"Ah, yes! We've confirmed thirty-four so far."
"And what are most of them up to? Where?"
"Uh, well..."
The agent's eyes clouded briefly at Gu Jeong-hyeok's question. But only for a moment.
"Pleasure dens. Or... illegal gambling halls."
"Yeah. Most of them."
Unlike Hanseong, swarming with yangban clans, Busan lay beyond the nobles' easy reach. For the hot-blooded young scions of those families, it was a playground of unbridled freedom—no prying eyes from the clan, just pure flaunting of wealth.
"But this guy's smack in the middle of that city, just working. Like he's some monk who's taken vows."
Gu Jeong-hyeok cradled his chin, eyes glued to footage tracking Kim Chang-un's every move without fail.
"Looking back over the surveillance, the odds of him betraying us aren't high."
He'd tapped the Pungyang Jo Clan's intelligence network to dig into the boy's past. Threatened by assassins sent by Kim Hyun-woo, barely surviving by the skin of his teeth. Afterward, half-abandoning clan activities to focus on making money. And the method? Dipping into Hanseong's underground illegal ventures.
No upright citizen, sure. But no chance he'd spy for the Andong Kim Clan, either.
And at the same time...
"He's more capable than I expected."
With Dokgo-seong—the guy who'd managed their smuggling routes—dead, Gu Jeong-hyeok's top priority was carving out new paths. And over the past week, Kim Chang-un had handled things with even more diligence and skill than anticipated.
'This is nothing. It's a special gift from Young Master Jo Seong-hwan...'
'Young master! Y-You can't do this, come on...!'
'Eh-heh, but ignoring good intentions isn't polite, right? So please, don't worry about it...'
'Aigoo, if you say so... then I guess I have no choice...'
He'd bribed high-ranking customs officials with "business funds" from Jo Seong-hwan.
'This cargo container? Special medical samples ordered by the Pungyang Jo Clan.'
'Still, we need to verify exactly what it is! Step aside...!'
'Aw, you really don't get it. Hey, know who I was with last night? Your department head. This paperwork's signed by him.'
'T-That's...!'
'You gonna overturn what your superior decided? What if it goes south? You and your boss'll be picking a fight with the Pungyang Jo Clan—think you can handle that?'
Upright inspectors trying to check the cargo? Coaxed with threats, negotiations, and bribes timed just right. The clan's status, slick talk, and cash—what would've taken seasoned negotiators a month, he'd wrapped up in a week. His abilities were proven, no doubt.
A fifteen-year-old punk outshining Dokgo-seong, who'd rolled in these circles for decades. Hard to believe even watching it firsthand.
"W-We’ve watched him a week now, and it's still like this... shouldn't we report to the main house?"
Gu Jeong-hyeok nodded at the agent's words, but frowned, something gnawing at him.
The agent was right—slim chance Kim Chang-un was a plant from another clan. Normally, he'd file the report and call off surveillance.
But...
"No. Keep watching."
A week of eyes on him, no red flags. Past checks turned up no grudge against the Pungyang Jo Clan. Hell, what he was doing smoothed the upcoming cargo shipment considerably. Every scrap of evidence screamed, "He's not the enemy."
Yet Gu Jeong-hyeok couldn't shake the unease.
"Something... doesn't sit right."
Like a rookie pro was toying with them. An inexplicable dissonance clawed at the corner of his mind, defying logic.
Bwaaaang—!
"Hey, you crazy bastard! Drive straight, asshole?!"
The honking driver's curse drew a torrent of unintelligible gutturals from the oncoming car. Yamato? Central Plains? Before he could guess, the driver stepped out, ranting about killing all foreigners and kicking the other car's door.
Bang—!
A bullet from the target's driver's seat punched through his skull, dropping a cold corpse.
The shooter fled before police arrived. Onlookers just shook their heads and went about their day.
Moo-young stood frozen, speechless at the spectacle.
"What the..."
Young master had warned him, but this level of madness?
Shaking off the daze, he headed for the coordinates provided.
Unlike Hanseong's strict upper-lower divide, Busan's streets mashed slums and glitz into chaos. Luxury sports cars shared roads with forty-year-old rustbuckets. At the end lay his destination.
"Halt."
A hulking brute in Grade 4 cybernetic enhancements blocked him.
He flashed the pass from young master. The guard's eye scanner flicked between it and Moo-young.
Spotting the right arm, he bowed low.
"Forgive my ignorance, sir. Go ahead."
The arrogance vanished. Just seeing the cybernetic shifted his tone.
Simple world, as always.
"A prior warning, sir—no disruptions inside..."
"Not planning to."
Moo-young brushed past. The guard radioed the entry.
Ghostly greeters and smiling courtesans swarmed. Beyond: a scene unthinkable in Joseon.
Hahaha—!
Ahahaha—!
Laughter amid a Japanese garden, tatami-floored pleasure house. Holographic cherry blossoms fluttered over kimono-clad courtesans and revelers deep in drink and dance.
Ukiyo-e—entertainment den for Yamato VIPs.
Dazed by the opulence, Moo-young shook it off, rebuffed the guides, and boarded the elevator.
Floor 1, 2, 3. How many more?
Whirr—
At the lounge's top-floor VIP room, Moo-young eyed a man sipping sake in the center.
"Mizutani Ryuu. That you?"
The man turned at his name.
Blocked by shoji screens, only shadow visible. But that silhouette nearly made Moo-young's hand twitch to his curved sword at his waist.
Seated height dwarfed Moo-young by half again. Unhuman bulk.
"Good."
Did he spot Moo-young through the screen? The man waved off his entourage with a flick of his sake cup. Courtesans ebbed away.
Alone now, Mizutani rose first.
"Calling my name outright? Guess you're the client. The one with the big job."
"Not me. My lord."
"Fair enough."
His frame filled the high ceiling. The shadow twisted like it might seize the doors.
Moo-young scowled—and
Clang—!
Blocked the man's slash with his drawn sword.
Crash—!
Furniture shattered in the charge's wake.
A massive odachi, over two meters long, bore down.
"Ngh...!"
Grimacing at the weight, Moo-young gritted his teeth, scanning the foe.
Hydraulic pipes and cylinders tangled in arms. Torso cased in power core and armor plating.
Cyborg. Full-body replacement, everything but the brain swapped for machine.
"Nice arm. If you weren't the client, I'd rip it off right now."
"..."
Steadying at the comment on his right arm, Moo-young remembered: he represented young master. No room for screw-ups.
Channeling aura, he parried the blade.
Boom—!
His diagonal slash cleaved the shadow behind—wall, pillar, all.
"Hoh...!"
Impressed? Mizutani grinned wolfishly. Moo-young kept his voice flat.
"Heard wako are rough, but didn't expect a blade to the face."
"Don't take it personal. Wako survival tactic."
Thud—!
Mizutani planted his odachi and plopped down.
"Joseon gigs usually stink of trouble. I handle fallout, but I hate working with idiots who fold at this."
"..."
"But."
Matching Moo-young's height seated, the giant raised empty hands—no fight left.
"You look solid. Fun to team up with."
No intimidation win for him. Moo-young sheathed his sword, exhaling inwardly. Mizutani's tone brightened.
"Alright, spill. Pay's fat—what's the mark? What're we hitting?"
Sword-swinging maniac to business. Unpredictable, but Moo-young steadied his breath.
Don't tense.
Deep breath. Voice firm.
"Three weeks from now, a container ship docks at Busan Port. We board it, then..."
Mizutani's optic sensors—eyes replaced—flickered.
"...and rob the Pungyang Jo Clan. Joseon noble rank two."