Raymi Castle

The next morning, Lee Yun-hyeok walked past the grand entrance gate of the apartment complex.

He couldn't help but chuckle. On the outside, the place looked incredibly lavish and state-of-the-art, but in reality, it was outfitted with cheap, 500,000-pixel security ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cameras.

"You're here?"

Yun-hyeok's older sister, Lee Yun-ha, was waiting for him at the entrance of the building. She tilted her head in confusion when she saw him.

"Why did you bring a suitcase?"

He was wheeling a massive suitcase behind him, looking like someone about to board an international flight.

"I have a use for it. Let's head inside ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠first."

Yun-hyeok followed his sister into the senior center, which hadn't officially opened yet. Lately, it was being used as the headquarters for the emergency response committee.

Led by the tenant representative association, it was a space open to any resident of the complex.

Of course, since Yun-hyeok wasn't actually a resident, he technically had no business being there.

"I brought our mercenary," Yun-ha announced.

At her introduction, the members of the representative association welcomed him warmly.

"I heard you worked as a strategist for a National Assembly member's campaign?"

"Do you happen to know any influential politicians?"

"Do you have any connections at City Hall?"

Yun-hyeok replied calmly.

"None at all."

An awkward, chilly silence fell over the room as disappointment washed over the representatives.

"B-but my brother is incredibly smart! Just trust him on this. He practically ran the entire show back at that campaign camp."

That was a bit of an exaggeration.

In his first life, Yun-hyeok hadn't been particularly well-versed in policy, election strategy, or marketing at this stage.

He had worked diligently enough, but he could hardly have been called an elite strategist.

But now? He was absolutely confident he could resolve this entire issue single-handedly.

After all, he was now a seasoned, decades-deep political veteran and a master negotiator.

"Do you happen to have the construction plan specification?" Yun-hyeok got straight to the point, addressing the head representative.

"I also need the inspection reports, the daily inspection logs, the as-built drawings, and the bill of materials."

"Yes, we have them. Just a moment, let me find the construction plan first."

The head representative pulled a small box out of a cabinet. Inside was a massive stack of documents—easily over two thousand pages.

It was the construction plan specification.

This was the document the builder had submitted to City Hall to obtain their permits. Normally, it wasn't disclosed to regular tenants, but the representative association could request and receive it from the city.

"But looking at these documents..."

The construction plan was precisely why this issue had become so convoluted.

"This is what it says under the security camera section."

The head representative flipped to the page on crime prevention and security.

"As you can see, it only mentions where and how many cameras will be installed. There's absolutely nothing about the resolution. That's why our hands are tied."

The representative spoke with a grim expression.

"Those bastards at the construction company are acting like they did nothing wrong. They keep saying they built it exactly according to the plan and didn't violate any building codes."

The association's general manager let out a heavy sigh.

"They actually had the nerve to get annoyed with us. They asked why we're making a fuss now that the installation is complete instead of raising the issue beforehand. They even asked if we hadn't bothered to read the construction plan in advance."

Naturally, that was utter nonsense.

The builder's cost-cutting on the security cameras wasn't some standard, legitimate construction practice.

It's a loophole exploit.

They had deliberately schemed to pocket the construction funds by exploiting gaps in outdated laws.

In an era where smartphones come equipped with 100-megapixel cameras, who in their right mind would expect a brand-new luxury apartment complex to use 500,000-pixel cameras that couldn't even read a license plate at night?

Pulling a stunt that defied all common sense and then getting angry at the residents for not catching it earlier was a classic tactic to shift the blame onto the representative association.

They wanted the regular tenants to think, Is this happening because our representatives didn't do their jobs right?

But the members of the association were just ordinary working people, exactly like Yun-hyeok's sister.

How could people like that—who were busy working their day jobs and raising kids—be expected to file a public disclosure request with City Hall for a 2,000-page document, review every single page meticulously, notice that the camera resolution specifications were missing, study the relevant building codes, anticipate that the builder would exploit a legal loophole, and then organize a collective response from the tenants before the cameras were even installed?

It was completely unrealistic.

"And even if you had done all of that, they wouldn't have listened," Yun-hyeok said.

He knew people like them all too well.

"They would have pushed ahead anyway, claiming there was no legal issue. Their current argument—asking why you didn't read the plan beforehand—is purely an attempt to shift the blame onto the association."

"Exactly! My thoughts precisely!"

The general manager gasped, looking as if a massive weight had suddenly been lifted from his chest.

"Do you mind if I take these documents with me to look over?"

With the association's permission, Yun-hyeok gathered the mountain of paperwork.

The construction plan, inspection reports, daily logs, as-built drawings, and bill of materials.

Each document ranged from hundreds to thousands of pages.

This was why he had brought the suitcase. There was no way a mere backpack could hold all of this.

"When is your next meeting with the builder?"

Lately, the association had been requesting regular meetings with the builder, constantly bickering back and forth.

"Next Friday."

"I'll bring these documents back to the meeting then."

"Alright..."

The association members stared at Yun-hyeok with puzzled expressions.

"But what are you planning to do with all those documents?"

"I'm going to perform a self-audit."

An audit.

In construction, this meant verifying whether the actual work on-site aligned with the approved plans.

It was essentially a form of inspection. While a post-audit evaluated the final result, a construction audit monitored the ongoing process.

In large-scale projects like this, an external inspection firm was typically hired.

Their job was to continuously monitor the site and flag any discrepancies between the actual construction and the original plans.

They said they built it exactly according to the plan.

That was the builder's strongest shield.

It meant they were legally in the clear, and since they followed the approved specifications, they couldn't be held liable in a civil suit either.

However...

"Are you telling me that in a massive complex of 3,054 households, there isn't a single discrepancy between the plans and the actual build?"

Not a chance.

They were only human. In fact, even if robots had built the place, it would be impossible for every single detail on such a massive site to align 100% with the initial blueprints.

External inspection firms tended to focus only on critical safety issues, like the number of rebar rods, while glossing over the rest.

They, too, had fallen into complacency.

But what if a politically obsessive madman audited those two thousand pages himself, hunting down every single discrepancy, down to the last detail?

"What on earth have you been up to lately?"

On Wednesday evening, two days before the scheduled meeting, Yun-hyeok's sister came over to their parents' house and questioned him with an incredulous look.

"Your photos are the hottest topic in our apartment complex's group chat right now."

Yun-hyeok took her phone and looked at the group chat.

"..."

Yun-hyeok silently read through the chaotic chat log.

Within the span of a few messages, he had been branded a lunatic, a mercenary, a politician, and then a lunatic once more.

"Anyway, your big sister had to defend you with everything she had."

Lee Yun-ha scrolled down to show him the message she had sent.

Below her post, a flood of supportive messages had poured in.

Some promised to vote for him in the next local election if he resolved this, others complained that not a single current city council member had ever bothered to visit the complex, and many simply expressed their deep gratitude.

"It'll be resolved," Yun-hyeok said.

The enthusiastic response put a satisfied smile on his face.

"Don't worry."

The meeting between the tenant representative association and the construction company.

The only reason the builder agreed to these tedious meetings was to manage their brand reputation and public image.

It was always better to maintain the appearance of open dialogue and compromise.

That way, they could prevent annoying headaches like protests in front of their corporate headquarters or negative press coverage.

Of course, while that was the corporate stance, the actual employees sent to the meetings couldn't help but dread acting as human punching bags.

Sigh. They sure are persistent.

Walking toward the conference room inside the on-site customer service center, Manager Kim Seong-tae clicked his tongue.

Kim Seong-tae, a manager for Raymi Castle, shook his head inwardly.

I get that the residents feel cheated by the builder, but throwing a tantrum like this isn't going to solve anything...

But the moment Manager Kim opened the door and stepped inside, he sensed a distinct shift in the atmosphere.

Every single member of the tenant representative association was wearing an incredibly confident expression.

And sitting among them was a young man he had never seen before.

He was seated behind a towering stack of documents.

"Hello, Manager Kim."

The young man stood up and extended his hand.

"My name is Lee Yun-hyeok."

Taken aback, Kim shook his hand reflexively.

"We can skip the security cameras today," Yun-hyeok said. "Instead, let's talk about the discrepancies between your actual construction and the approved plans."

"According to the construction plan, you were supposed to plant premium Korean velvet grass, but you installed standard turf grass instead."

"Uh..."

Manager Kim stared blankly, letting out a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dumbfounded response.

"Excuse me?"

What on earth was this guy talking about?

He had come prepared to reject their unreasonable demands for new cameras, so why was this guy suddenly bringing up grass?

"You didn't obtain prior approval to swap out the grass species. That makes it a construction defect."

"..."

"You'll have to rip up all the landscaping and replant it according to the specifications. I'm sure many of our residents were looking forward to walking on premium Korean velvet grass."

"Wait, that's..."

"Furthermore, the plans specified four three-seater benches for the playground behind Building 108, but you installed three picnic tables instead. You'll need to remove those and put in the benches."

"B-benches? Where?"

"The other benches were supposed to be aluminum, but you used wood. Replace them all. You also need to repaint the underground parking lot. The plan called for standard gray, but you used light gray. I've already confirmed this with the paint manufacturer."

"Now hold on a minute. That's just..."

"Please, let me finish. I personally read all 2,430 pages of the construction plan, along with the bill of materials and the daily inspection logs. Then I went out and audited the site myself. I found a total of 112 discrepancies from the approved plans—and those are just the ones without prior approval. I'm sure you figured these minor changes wouldn't matter and pushed ahead."

"..."

"But legally speaking, this is a massive issue. If we drag this into civil court, you'll be forced to redo all of it. It'll easily cost you upwards of five billion won. So, what do you say?"

He leaned forward, a sharp glint in his eyes.

"If we settle this right now, the residents are willing to let all of this slide—in exchange for a complete replacement of the security cameras."