#21. Doctor, Patriot, and Terrorist (11)
For the three days before Lunar New Year break began, I stayed at the training center, meticulously observing every move of the new recruits. Aside from the unavoidable events as the organization's leader—like the New Year's address and awards for outstanding members—and receiving greetings from existing members and executives, I devoted every other moment to evaluating our human resources. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that.
This time was never wasted. The success or failure of any endeavor usually hinges on whether you have the right people to make it happen. That's why business isn't about profit—it's about building a foundation of people. Illegality just amplifies the importance of those people.
The HR training team was a collection of experts with deep insight into human nature and unwavering loyalty to the organization. Their mental conditioning programs grew more efficient and innovative with each passing year. The most memorable part of this year's intake training was the "suicide note writing" exercise on day two. Recruits were asked to imagine they'd given in to unresolved grudges and overwhelming rage, deciding to end it all, and write a farewell letter. The best ones—based on phrasing and content—were read aloud to the group, along with the backstory that inspired them. Far more effective than just sharing sob stories.
There were also team sports, "critical discussions" on societal injustices (really just building empathy and stoking resentment), introductions to our organization's orphanages with donation drives, personality and temperament tests, and more. Afterward, all new members received their gold day envelopes.
"This is the chairman's New Year's money gift to you all, as the organization's elder."
Hong Young-sik's uncharacteristically theatrical flair, his voice trembling a bit.
"The chairman watched you closely over these three days. He was impressed by your attitude during the events, so he put in more than usual."
Inside the envelopes weren't cash but passbooks from Yeonsung Savings Bank, one of our subsidiaries. Like opening bank accounts for new army recruits, we'd prepped them in bulk with stamps and signatures. Each held exactly ten million won.
"This Lunar New Year will be many of your first proper holiday since joining. Receive all the year's blessings, and take care of your health. Your bodies no longer belong just to you. With that, we'll wrap up here—looking forward to seeing you after the break. Enjoy the festivities."
Back when savings banks were collapsing in a chain reaction—acquiring department stores, local broadcasters, game studios, and even Japanese loan sharks tied to the yakuza willy-nilly—forty of them went bankrupt without buyers. That's when my organization scooped up three under different shell corporations.
These unlisted banks hid fund transfers between subsidiaries, laundered dirty money, and offered members better rates and products than commercial banks, fostering loyalty and belonging. Above all, impoverished members are always a risk for security breaches. So I keep their assets in fences I control and monitor.
Of course, the banks always ran deficits, but I treated those as fixed costs for HR management. Just an unconventional bonus system.
Money, Ideology, Ego, and the threat of our retaliation—Coercion. Add those to MICE, and you've got the full toolkit for recruitment. It's known for turning spies, but criminal organizations like ours share a lot with intelligence ops when secrecy is lifeblood.
At this point, our organization's solidity surpasses the Italian mafias. Even Camorra and 'Ndrangheta—with traditions from the 17th and 18th centuries, countless legit businesses, and rigorous internal training—can't match our soundness and rationality.
On the first two days of the break, I focused on laying out basic personnel assignments. Finalizing quality assessments and grading the new hires. HR would draft deployment plans based on that for review. Recruits would get additional training: short as 1-2 weeks, average a few months, up to over a year.
In the midst of all this, Kyung-tae barged into the office and promptly prostrated himself on the floor with a deep bow.
"Happy New Year, hyungnim!"
"You too."
"Now gimme my New Year's money, hyungnim."
"……."
Familiar routine after a few years. I pulled a prepped envelope from the drawer and slid it across the desk.
Grinning, he pocketed the thick packet and glanced sideways. There sat Suyeon, focused on work at her spare desk.
"Noona not doing it this year either?"
"No."
"Bet you wanna, though."
"……."
Suyeon ignored his nonsense without even looking up. Like Kyung-tae, our executives without parents often visited me during holidays like New Year or Chuseok. But only he bowed for money and actually got it.
He peeked inside and let out an "Ooh!" I cut in quietly.
"Don't buy anything weird this time."
"Huh? Weird? When have I ever?"
"Then what's that?"
I pointed to the purple teddy bears that clashed with the office vibe. One big, two small.
Two years ago, he'd bragged about dropping $50,000 on a set of three. Nearly 60 million won.
He blinked. "Don't you remember? I told you—Princess Diana Beanie Babies."
"……Beanie whatever, what the hell do you even do with those?"
"Do with 'em? Just looking at 'em calms the soul, right?"
"……."
"Those three are worth over $100k now. Investment-wise, killer deal. Haha!"
Investment my ass. Better spent on booze. No peace in those things' composition, per my eyes.
His spending was always like this. Rarely blew cash on himself—preferred gifting us. Sponsored orphans anonymously leaving facilities with millions for "independent starts." Seemed more satisfying than his booze investments.
I figured I got over half his spending: clothes, shoes, watches, ties, pens, cars. All "perfect for hyungnim," starting at hundreds of millions won yearly. Once brought Maserati Stradale keys after a stock windfall. So $500 New Year's cash for $60k toys? Small potatoes.
Suyeon rarely did it too—paying for clothes with her card instead of org funds. Asked why, she'd just clam up. Primitive loyalty contest.
"Days like this, you and noona should kick back."
"You go rest. Don't stick to HQ on a rare break. Travel if you're bored."
"Nah, where would I go? Got guests tomorrow anyway."
"What big deal guest needs your nerves? Zero physical threat."
"Honestly? Wanna see her myself, hyungnim. Haha."
"……."
"Plus, bomb goes off at that Waukulik holy site in three days. Can't be on 'vacation' then. Slim chance of US or Mexico trips—won't leave hyungnim's overseas ops to the kids. My pride won't allow it."
"……Do what you want."
Constantly drawn blades dull. That's why strike teams got 180 vacation days yearly. No weekends on deployments, plus combat stress—bunch 'em up to maintain strength.
Some, like these two, ignored it.
His "guest": Liu Linfei, flying in mid-Chunjie break, Wednesday week. She'd asked permission, but hard to play cold. Awkward position.
Wasted time managing her fake weaknesses already soured my mood.
"Speaking of, what about that monk? Found him?"
Kyung-tae lit up with an "Ah."
"Meant to tell ya—nabbed him, but hold off killing."
"Why?"
"Figured utility value."
"What value?"
"When caught, he screamed about his followers: police chief, district mayor, big shots. Digging into that. Might as well squeeze cash, interests, dirt on officials before offing him. He'll take the blame anyway."
He shrugged. "Also scouting victims and families for recruits. Approved it."
"Got it. Report results later."
"Yep."
The monk: self-proclaimed Maitreya, cult leader promising to turn followers into Buddhas, poaching my assets. No cult skips money grabs—not even Grace's devil worshippers.
Security's audit team caught it via savings bank reports. Big unexplained withdrawals flagged anyone for surveillance, rank irrelevant. Led to this Maitreya punk.
Why hooked? Simple: "'Reincarnation rite to send grudge-ghosts from the nine heavens to paradise...'" Kid's ghost haunted dreams; heard it was real. Couldn't ignore. Dropped 100 million on the rite without blinking.
I reject afterlife nonsense—can't offer that comfort. Proves family hampers survival.