Plunder (4)
Beep.
"Coming in."
Yu Areum tapped the ID card key and the door lock released. She opened the door, stepped inside, and bowed her head with careful formality—her own quiet way of showing respect to a client. She already knew the VIP owner was not home, but she observed the courtesy anyway. For someone who lived in service work, it was simply second nature, a habit worn into the body.
She slipped off her shoes without a sound and walked into the residence.
"Ah."
The full sweep of the view hit her at once and drew a short breath of admiration from her lips. She had arrived at Signiel precisely at nine o'clock. Following the client's message, she had collected the master key for residents from the concierge desk. The VIP client's home still held none of the furnishings needed for daily life—yet the cool, open prospect beyond the windows more than made up for the emptiness.
"There's nothing here you could use right now."
Her eyes scanned the space in a rapid sweep. The moment she received the client's message she had called her team leader, secured approval to accept the request, and immediately checked the interior dimensions of the Signiel unit. The client was nineteen this year. No matter how she turned it over, he was a VIP whose wealth sat far outside anything normal for his age.
"Sofa, table, TV, lighting—skip those for now. Fully automatic curtains…"
She had her iPad out the instant she entered and began building a list of everything required.
"The refrigerator, washer, and dryer are mostly premium Gaggenau. Only the kimchi fridge is Ilsung."
She confirmed the appliance brands just as quickly. Setup had to be finished by six. To anyone looking in from outside, the request would have seemed absurd. Ordinary people would never have accepted such an order—but among VIP commissions, far more extreme demands appeared all the time. There were clients who wanted specific European ingredients, cleared through the strictest quarantine, ready on the table by that same evening. Making the impossible possible was how a personal shopper carved out her path.
"Thank goodness one of the department store's partner construction teams already works Signiel jobs."
She had coordinated the schedule the day before. Most renovation and installation work inside the department store itself happened at night, and the bulk of it clustered around year-end tenant changes or the turn of the seasons. For crews whose jobs had dried up, this was easy, welcome work.
"Bright tones with full blackout function would be best for the curtains."
Yu Areum moved forward, shaping every choice around the impression she had formed of Ha Taewoong's tastes. His words carried force and charisma, yet he was also a cheerful man.
"As for art… unfortunately that's outside my lane."
She planned to deliver only what was needed so he could live without immediate inconvenience.
"The dressing room… there's nothing in here either."
On the hangers hung only a school uniform and a set of gym clothes.
"Three basic suits… a light cardigan, shirts…"
She walked the apartment, checking every item against the client's request with meticulous care. Ha Taewoong's build and height had already been confirmed at the golfwear boutique.
"Tableware… a set for about four people should do…"
The kitchen was just as bare.
"I'll also prepare champagne and wine for the cellar."
The VIP's official status was still student—but legally he was an adult. In chaebol households and among the upper class, wine culture ran deep. From childhood, children absorbed table etiquette simply by watching their elders. Everything about this VIP client, Ha Taewoong, pointed to the scion of a conglomerate family.
"And the most important piece—the bed…"
Most of the VIPs she managed preferred one of the world's three great bed brands. Lately a great many of them had been choosing Hästens. A bed that sat right around the hundred-million-won mark.
"He's tall… so a double king."
Even money could not buy a Hästens on the spot. They were handmade to order; once a commission was placed, finished delivery took months at minimum. She factored in the rental option available in the meantime. Better still, Hästens already had a presence inside Hyeondo Department Store.
"Bathroom goods will need a full set as well."
Towels, of course—right down to toilet paper. There was simply nothing here that a person needed.
"Roughly… this should cover it."
The actual floor space of a 90E unit was not especially large—just the living room and main bedroom visible once you stepped through the entrance. Signiel's flawless concierge service made it especially popular with women, and the discounted hotel-style amenities only added to the appeal. Lately, though, money alone had begun to let just anyone in, and the residence's reputation was starting to slip. As its charm as an investment faded, it was dropping off recommendation lists.
"Still… it's good. Who could match that view?"
Finished with her inventory, Yu Areum gazed out the window.
"This won't be the end of it. I have a feeling this VIP is going to become my golden rope."
At the end of last year she and her mother had visited a particularly accurate fortune-teller. The words the man had spoken came back to her now: before the flowers of spring faded, a noble benefactor would appear. That was why she had followed Team Leader Park Taesu without hesitation.
"I look forward to working with you, Mr. Ha Taewoong… my client."
The apartment was unmistakably empty, yet she dipped her head once more exactly as she had when she entered, treating the vacant space as if her VIP still stood before her. She believed—firmly—that Ha Taewoong was the VIP who would make her a true personal shopper.
A sharp jolt.
"…!!"
An Hyeonju's partner for the couple's round—Ha Taewoong. The moment Park Dojun shook hands with the kid, an electric current snapped through him. For reasons he could not name, the sensation left him thoroughly displeased. It felt as though something vital had been drained away, and the feeling was foul. Thinking it might be static, he tried to yank his hand free. But Ha Taewoong, with that same unpleasant air, kept hold of it to the very end and refused to let go.
"What the hell!"
Irritation flooded Park Dojun's voice. The bastard wore a cold little smile.
"Thank you."
"…??"
Crazy bastard. Even after Park Dojun had made his displeasure plain, the kid spouted that nonsense about gratitude before finally releasing him.
Unlucky son of a bitch. You're dead today.
Park Dojun shook out his hand once and ground his teeth. A million won a stroke. A beginner—perfect head-money. Even if the kid lucked into a few good hits, he would still be a hundred-stroke amateur. Park Dojun already knew Shail CC well; he had played here several times, and his personal best on this course was sixty-five. Today he would easily walk away with tens of millions.
So the kid only had money? No matter how deep the pockets, no man enjoyed losing a game.
"It's about time… shall we head out as well?"
Choi Yurin took the lead.
An Hyeonju. Today I'm dragging you all the way to the bottom. Hohohohot.
Rumor said that after the scandal An Hyeonju had barely set foot on a real course. Field training was essential for any pro—screen practice could never replace the live instincts of actual play. It was obvious her form would no longer be what it once was. And her partner was a complete novice. Choi Yurin wanted nothing more than to watch the two of them leave with long, defeated faces.
"Right…"
Watching Park Dojun and Choi Yurin walk ahead, An Hyeonju's worry deepened. Ha Taewoong was a true beginner. She should never have agreed to a betting match. She had not expected Park Dojun to appear for a round either—she knew full well this was a scheme Choi Yurin had arranged—but there was nothing she could do about it now. The only thing left to cling to was…
Taewoong. Hang in there.
Completely oblivious to how serious the situation was, Ha Taewoong still wore a bright smile that filled his whole face. An Hyeonju could only bite her lip in quiet anguish.
Plunder…
I still had not fully mapped out the buff manual Grandmother had given me as a gift. After Acquisition and Exploitation, a new talent manual had appeared: Plunder. This one was serious. I had felt it through my entire body the moment I shook Park Dojun's hand. Something unidentifiable had surged up through my palm and flooded every nerve, a sharp, electric jolt. Park Dojun's face, on the other hand, had looked distinctly worse for wear.
But… is this even possible? Golf is a sport you have to learn with your body.
I had not yet confirmed the Plunder ability for myself. Even so, I trusted it. I had acquired talent in a similar fashion when I shook hands with Pro An Hyeonju. The difference this time was that no merit points had been spent. Continuous observation would still be necessary, but for now it was good news for me.
"We'll be starting from the white tees… what about you two?"
Choi Yurin glanced back as she spoke.
"Men play the black tees."
I fired the first shot myself. The course suited the pros perfectly.
"Heh. That's right. Men play the black tees."
Park Dojun laughed, thoroughly pleased.
"Taewoong, will you be all right?"
Pro An Hyeonju searched my eyes, her gaze heavy with worry. Right now this whole situation must have felt like sitting on a bed of nails for her.
"Today I'll win and buy you a bag."
"A… a bag?"
"What? A bag? Puhahahaha."
"Hohohoho. This kid! He's funny."
All three of them treated my words as a joke.
"Hole one is a par-four from the black tees, four hundred thirty-five yards. It doglegs left and the green is out of sight, so the approach will feel pressured. The safe fairway where you can still see the cup runs about three hundred twenty-five meters."
The middle-aged caddie explained the course we had chosen.
"Well then—I'll go first."
Park Dojun stepped up with practiced ease, driver already in hand. Even at a glance the man had zero consideration—pure trash manners.
"By all means."
He planted the tee without the slightest hesitation.
Whoosh—whoosh!
He took a few light practice swings, settling into his stance. And then—
CRACK!
"Nice!"
A solidly struck ball sailed high and kept stretching away through the air.
"About two hundred eighty meters, settled nicely on the fairway."
The caddie called the lie. For a pro the distance felt a touch short; long hitters routinely cleared three hundred meters.
"Driver's really dialed in today. Hahaha."
The contact had been pure. Like a true professional, not a millimeter off.
I pressed my own tee into the ground next.
Whoooosh! Whoosh!
I swung the driver lightly twice. Thanks to the technique I had acquired from Pro An Hyeonju, my posture settled cleanly. On top of that came my own raw power.
CRACK!
A crisp, ringing sound, and the ball rocketed out, stretching forever through the sky.
"Oh!"
"My goodness!"
"Nice shot!!"