Chapter 43
A month had passed since the Rift Opening Project in Hanseong wrapped up without a hitch. Jo Seong-hwan's death had the yangban class in absolute pandemonium. Kim Jung-heon was dashing about, directing the heavyweights of the Andong Kim Clan to stamp out the chaos. Kim Hyun-woo, for his part, was flaunting his power for all the world to see, relentlessly building his own faction. Politics in Joseon right now was a total shitshow—a demonic battlefield unfolding among the noble houses.
So in this cutthroat time, what was I—the eye of the storm—up to?
Schwack!
"Ooh?! Got it! Nailed it!"
"Nice one, Lord Jeong!"
I was staring up at a red ball soaring into the sky, offering soulless applause and cheers. The spot I was at? Hanseong's top-layer polo field. Watching horses gallop across the sand, it was hard to believe this was 23rd-century Joseon.
"Man, luck's on my side today! The ball's just sticking perfect!"
"Hey! Young Master Chang-un!"
The host of this polo match, "Lord Jeong," came over and poked my back. The yangban gathered here were second-rate nobodies—families not quite in the prestigious league, drifting through dead-end posts. They had money rotting away like everyone else in noble houses, but zero political clout. Worthless drifters.
You might wonder why the Hwae agitators and such chaos-makers were nowhere in sight, and why I was suddenly playing polo with these losers. Don't be dense. Looks like it, but I was working my ass off.
"How about it? Next round, you join in?"
"Nah, I'll pass on polo. Not much for horseback riding."
"Huh, a son of the prestigious Andong Kim Clan who can't ride?"
"A true yangban needs accomplishments like riding as basics. Skimp on that just 'cause you're a bastard born?"
"Hahaha. Go easy on me, my lord."
The second we got chummy, out came digs at my origins. Habitual rude pricks. Plastering on a forced smile, I got what sales reps in this era went through. But sales is all about endurance. Schmooze these noble geezers long enough, and opportunities come knocking. Like...
"Speaking of which, Young Master Chang-un."
"Yes, my lord?"
"That thing you set up in central Hanseong... a casino, was it? One in Busan too?"
"Oh, that?"
I played it casual, picking up Lord Jeong's words.
"Friends wanted to try business, so I fronted some cash. Just lent my name."
"Is that so? Seems like your name's popping up a lot for 'just that'..."
"Used my pocket money to buy some shares. Thought it'd be a little playground... but damn, it's blowing up way bigger than expected."
"Casino? Just a twisted English word for it—ain't much better than street gambling dens. In these strict times, something so vulgar..."
"Hahaha, true enough?"
Strict times, yeah. Spot on. With Joseon's top house blowing up, anyone gambling would catch hell, even these deadbeat playboys.
But look at their faces. Hungry dogs eyeing their bowl. That wasn't disinterest—it was them begging for an excuse to hit the tables.
Time to scatter some chum?
I leaned in with a trustworthy grin, whispering in the pigs' ears.
"Even Young Master Kim Hyun-woo back at the main house chipped in funding."
"W-what?"
"No shit?"
Right on cue, Kim Hyun-woo's name flipped their faces.
Damn right.
It was payoff for spilling Jo Seong-hwan's crimes, but fact was, Kim Hyun-woo had funded my spot. I started seasoning my casino tale, tongue rolling smooth.
"Most revenue from my place goes to charity—slum relief, donations, orphanage ops. Young master approved 'cause he respects that, gave the green light."
"Uh, um..."
"Who would've thought..."
They nodded like they bought it, but no way these assholes believed the charity line. In Joseon, that shit was for lunatics or suckers with nothing better to do.
All they're hearing is 'Kim Hyun-woo.'
Joseon's top Aura User, Andong Kim heir. If a guy like that entrusted cash to a bastard like me for a casino? One word popped in their heads: slush fund.
Pair "casino" with "Kim Hyun-woo," and boom—my joint became the tax haven for the guy who sparked this purge.
"S-so, Young Master Chang-un!"
Fantasies done, the old yangban pressed me.
"Any other se-do... er, prestigious heirs at that casino?"
"Yes. Haven't officially opened, so couldn't host many yet..."
Pause for effect.
"But the other day, wasn't it? Third wife of the Yeohung Min house dropped by."
I checked their faces mid-sentence. Pig eyes shifted—from starving mutts to desperate dogs.
Hook set deep.
"...How about a look-see?"
My words barely landed before their heads bobbed like pistons. Top layer was a bloodbath already, sleep a luxury. Now a gambling den with Andong Kim ties? Plus Yeohung Min traffic? They'd think they could stamp their faces there too.
I linked comms right away, pinging Jumo—busy as hell.
"Jumo. Got the coords I sent? Send a VIP chopper there now."
-Young master, another bite already? How many this time?
Hey, "how many"? Don't count our esteemed yangban like game.
"Two. VIP staff on arrival, treat 'em like kings. Got it?"
-Catch a pig, suck 'em from snout to tailbone. Gimme a sec.
How long? Polo field's landing pad got a sleek casino chopper touching down soft. Staff in crisp uniforms, bowing polite. Hand over Lord Jeong and his pal, job done.
Left was Jumo—30+ years in the game—roasting these yangban.
Start with 'mingling with heirs, funding Kim Hyun-woo's politics'... but that's temporary.
First step into casino? Agents from Pyeongun Inn, waiting. Events, marketing blitz—tame the customers. Yangban itching to play? They'll sink forever. Gambling's addictive like that.
"Oh, young master's here?"
Dropped those clueless noble pigs in the pit, sauntered to casino office. Jumo, mid-hustle, handed me papers.
Neat stack. Paper docs—rare in this era.
"Monthly profit report. After me and crew's first salaries, bonuses, overhead—pure net."
Digitizing even school supply lists in the 23rd century, and paper files? Old-school as hell. But my past-life hack. In hacker-AI infested times, analog beat digital for security.
"Hard to believe, right? Not even a month in, and billions piling up."
Shook the sheets. Net profit: 42 billion in one month. Charity front let me juice house edge... cash gushing.
"Lifetime earnings times hundreds. But crazier? Only using 5% of the casino."
Jumo eyed the boss monitor, weary. Finished 10th-floor VIP lounge: my 100 yangban recruits laughing, dumping cash. Floors 1-9 below: thousands of machines and tables, waiting.
"Young master."
"Yeah?"
"Trash yangban you're reeling? Just chum. Real fish next."
"Sharp as ever, Jumo."
Spot on. Trailing them: noble heirs, corp heads, execs, envoys from Wa and Zhongyuan. Every fat wallet hitting Hanseong—mine.
Hanseong's biggest pleasure den, black money funnel. When time's right? I bolt with it. To General Yu Sang-hyun building power on the Northeast Front.
"Going this big... our thugs won't cut it. Need more bodies."
"How many?"
"20,000 hires minimum. For this scale, gotta have it."
20k. Jaw-dropper, but doable. Planned academies, training programs for talent pipeline... but time's the killer. Finish that, revolution hits mid-setup.
One way: poach from other ops.
"Can you?"
"Hey, wounds my pride."
Sized it up, asked. She grinned wide.
"Look at me—ruled half the special zones. Prime's back; what can't I do?"
Fighter's aura gleamed. Perfect partner eyes. I grinned, passed the papers.
"Gonna live broke awhile. All this cash, future profits—dump it. But."
Locked eyes.
"Full ops in half a year. Can you?"
Her lip curled.
"Three months."
Grin stuck. Unlike last life, nailed a top-tier partner this time.