Metamorphosis (4)
“Sorry I’m late, Chairman. I got an unexpected call from an important contact in Guangzhou.”
Park Mi-joo bowed deeply, a long red line slashed across her left cheek like she’d been cut by a razor-sharp blade. Her right ring and pinky fingers were splinted too. Even with basic body reinforcement incantations at her disposal, the stretched ligaments hadn’t healed yet. At least there were no scars that would linger.
“I didn’t hear you were hurt.”
Her head dipped lower at my words.
“It was minor, so I didn’t report it.”
“Straighten up. You don’t need to apologize.”
I’d considered giving her a magical treatment, but shook my head inwardly. If her injuries vanished suddenly, the wrong people might get suspicious.
Instead, I scanned the four security detail members who’d come with her. The organization’s security office’s primary mission was to “proactively” protect me, its leader, but they also handled on-site protection for key executives and mid-level cadres dispatched to high-risk areas.
“I don’t want to suspect you all, but I have to check anyway.”
This time, Kyung-tae—the one I’d sent to meet her—bowed his head.
“No cowards among ’em, hyungnim.”
“We’ll see.”
It was procedure: checking if anyone had shirked their duty at the scene where Seo Gapsu died. Why waste eyes more accurate than any polygraph? It was also key to maintaining discipline in the organization.
I faced the four tense men, grabbed their shoulders one by one, and fired off the same simple questions in order. Are you honest with me? Their answers were curt and uniform.
When the fourth question wrapped, Kyung-tae visibly relaxed. I patted the last guy’s upper arm and returned to my spot.
“Let’s move. I’ll hear the details on the way to Guangzhou.”
“This way, please.”
Park Mi-joo led the way. The airport was eerily quiet—few passengers, plenty of deployed military and police. What stood out most were the PLA troops. Their overt presence likely stemmed from the escalating Black Sea Party crisis fueling the Hong Kong protests. It was also probably China’s showy response to all-around pressure from the West, led by Britain.
A short drive took us to a pier and passenger terminal on the airport’s east side. Waiting there was a coastal passenger ship about a hundred meters long. Its sleek, sharp hull stood out for a ferry. With no other passengers boarding, this vessel would serve as my safe house and mobile HQ during operations around Guangzhou.
“How much for this?”
I asked as we boarded. Park Mi-joo answered.
“We signed a one-year charter for 900,000 yuan.”
“900,000? That’s a steal.”
About 150 million won. Practically nothing compared to the utility of a mobile safe house with heliport and vehicle capacity. Especially against the expected profits from this hunt.
But something in my tone darkened her expression.
“I’m sorry.”
“What for now?”
“Demand for ships like this dried up ages ago. With more bargaining, I could’ve knocked the price down further.”
She meant the tourism industry here was even more wrecked than Puerto Vallarta’s. With time, we could’ve gotten a better deal. Shipowners were profiting no matter what in this endless slump. Drag out negotiations across companies, and someone desperate over maintenance costs might’ve offered it for free.
But we didn’t have time to play those games. Even skipping a new entity since we had that Macao casino ginseng concession, closing in days meant limited savings.
“Don’t beat yourself up. You roasted beans under lightning and didn’t burn the place down—that’s success enough.”
I said it half in exasperation, took a few more steps, then stopped and turned to her. She avoided my gaze, face still shadowed.
I sighed as I watched her.
“You holding up okay?”
“……”
Park Mi-joo’s eyes welled up, lips pressed tight. My question had cracked the dam on her bottled emotions. I got it. She’d pledged her life to repay the one she owed me, but until now, she’d stuck to safe desk work. And watching her longtime boss die right in front of her? That’d strain anyone’s mind. Not every subordinate could be like Kyung-tae or Suyeon.
“If you want out of this op, say the word.”
“Chairman, that’s—”
Suyeon started to object, frowning, but I raised a hand to cut her off. I didn’t like pushing people through with sheer willpower. Treat them like tools that way, and they wear out too fast. Burn through subordinates like that, and the organization crumbles from within someday. I needed them always ready to give their lives.
“I…”
Park Mi-joo started to speak, closed her eyes, swallowed hard. She took a deep breath, opened them, and slowly—firmly—shook her head.
“Even for Director Seo… I want to see this through with my own hands.”
“Fine.”
“If I bow out, you won’t fully leverage Gao Xusen’s vulnerability. Thanks to Director Seo’s sacrifice, he’s shown me real goodwill. The halo I’m wearing is his legacy. I can’t waste it.”
That was why Suyeon had been about to argue. I accepted Mi-joo’s resolve.
“Then you’re director now. Step up for Gapsu.”
“……Yes. I’ll do my best.”
The ship’s interior was filthy and cluttered. It hadn’t been maintained even before passenger ops halted. In this endless downturn, who could afford proper cleaning crews? Mix that with passengers’ poor hygiene, and the neglect snowballed. Dried shit stains dotted the floors—some kid’s masterpiece, no doubt. Once it started getting dirty again, it accelerated. Classic broken windows effect.
“Sorry. We didn’t have time to clean.”
I grimaced at Park Mi-joo’s words.
“Enough with the apologies. Stop blaming yourself. I know we were short on time.”
“Sorry… Ah.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth in panic, and I nearly sighed again. Frowning as the boss in front of someone spiraling wasn’t helping. I schooled my face and entered the briefing room.
Briefing room in name only—a cabin with a whiteboard, big table, and chairs. Nothing else prepared.
The ship accelerated. Kyung-tae ordered his men to sweep for security.
As I sat, Suyeon stepped up like clockwork.
“Director Park. Specific destination and ETA?”
“One moment, please?”
Park Mi-joo had her team fix a map to the board, straightened her clothes, exhaled, and recomposed herself.
“We’re heading to the pier under the Lied Bridge north of Haizhu District. ETA two hours ten minutes. Service speed is 34 knots, but crew’s still adapting and there’s ship traffic, so cruising at 20 knots now.”
Haizhu was one of countless river islands in the lower Pearl River delta, a chaotic mash of obscene wealth and bottomless poverty. I’d visited a few times for hunts. Clean, developed zones sat right next to ramshackle slums piled like swept trash. Dozens to thousands of homes crammed tight, leaving barely room for one or two people to pass. No straight paths—just stench of poverty, crime, disease. The sticky shadows lifted only when the sun hit its zenith. Most Chinese cities were like that.
“Why dock there?”
At Suyeon’s follow-up, Park Mi-joo slid the laser pointer slightly down from the pier.
“Key collaborator Deputy Secretary Gao Xusen and his men are stationed ten minutes away by car. Originally a Pazhou company post for the city PSB’s Haizhu branch, now upgraded to a dispersed field command center.”
“Upgraded? Is security there worse than elsewhere?”
“Partly, and also to protect the Bank of China branch in the same building, from what I hear. Speculation on my part, but it might be about securing chokepoints in party member residential areas too.”
“Equipment procurement plan?”
“Vehicles from PSB reserves, delivery schedule—”
Suyeon’s barrage was a stress test from a superior’s view—gauging if Park Mi-joo could handle her role. Stuff Suyeon mostly knew from interim reports.
I listened to the Q&A, then—mindful of Suyeon’s face—raised a slow hand to take over when sweat beaded on Mi-joo’s forehead. Right at the part where that Gao Xusen had bet his fate on foreign mercs—us.
“Any chance it’s a trap?”
From briefings, the corrupt commie’s original plan was to feed us his men while watching safely from afar. Success? Claim the glory. Failure? Purge them as his achievement. Those men: three PSB execs he’d planned as puppets.
Mi-joo relaxed her shoulders noticeably at my leisurely question.
She’s more scared of Kyung-tae, really.
Security for execs doubled as close surveillance. As unofficial internal affairs chief, Kyung-tae had authority to pre-emptively cull traitors. Unused so far, but it made my job easier as boss. Just be a good superior most days.
“I can’t say zero chance… but it’s highly likely genuine.”
Mi-joo continued.
“His uncle and backer, Provincial Discipline Commission Director Gao Ninghui, got impeached in a surprise move this morning. That’s why I was late.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
“Yes, Chairman. Central Party’s pushing corruption quotas on local branches and ministries. With no clean cadres in the CCP, it’s turned into hot potato among execs.”
“As director, he held the reins. His job was accusations and purges—he’d have the most dirt.”
Provincial director equated to a regional chief in Korean terms, but Guangdong’s population was double Korea’s official, GDP near it—real power like a minister or more. And discipline director was perfect for hoarding peers’ weaknesses.
Park Mi-joo nodded.
“Exactly why others ganged up, factions be damned, to sic Central Discipline on him.”
“The strongman’s woe. So nephew Gao Xusen’s on the chopping block too.”
“Yes. Trial’s ongoing, but uncle won’t wriggle free. He’s no saint.”
Hearing that… a solid idea clicked.