Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: This Was the Treasure Island.
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Kimje was Jo Man-deok's hometown and birthplace.
And when you've made it big enough to be called a conglomerate tycoon, you don't just leave your old family home as is—you spruce it up to look the part. Jo Man-deok had been obsessed with dressing up his birthplace while he was alive, more than most.
People saw that and whispered behind his back that he was overcompensating because he came from nothing.
But a few years after Jo Man-deok died, during a full-scale renovation of the house, something unimaginable turned up and shocked Chairman Jo Seong-gi to his core. That something was this.
Gold bars!
And not just a few—a whole mountain of them!
There were piles of U.S. dollars and Japanese yen on the side, but next to the sheer majesty of those gold bars, everyone was left speechless.
The haul came out to a whopping 330kg—330 one-kilo bars.
Checking the price on the way down, gold was going for about 40,000 won per don in 1983.
Let's do the math.
One don of gold is 3.75 grams.
330kg converts to 330,000 grams.
Divide that by 3.75...
You get 88,000 don. Multiply by today's rate of 40,000 won...
3.52 billion won!
Over 3.5 billion!
If you can't wrap your head around how much that is, just look at apartment prices in Gangnam, where the fever was just starting to heat up.
The top-tier Apgujeong Hyundai Apartments, 31 pyeong, went for 40 million won. Even the cheapest ones like Yeoksam Hanbo or Gaepo Jugong, 25-pyeong units, were 20 million.
How many apartments is that?
Average price of 30 million won per unit? You'd be buying over 100 of them with 3.5 billion won.
Chairman Jo Seong-gi hit the jackpot and grumbled that his dead father should've at least told him about stashing it away before kicking the bucket. Then he quietly swept it all up for himself.
Of course, he kept it secret from his siblings.
But this time, none of it was going to them.
I'd already decided to claim it first today.
Jo Man-deok's birthplace was in a quiet village on the outskirts of Kimje. He'd torn down the original thatched-roof house in shame and built a proper tiled one instead, then marketed it as his ancestral home.
Was he embarrassed that his self-made success story started in a thatch hut, even though everyone lived like that in the early 1900s?
Anyway, I waited nearby and made my move late at night, moving carefully.
There was a caretaker during the day, but no one at night. It was so remote, and there was nothing worth stealing anyway, so they just left it unguarded.
All it took was hopping the low fence out back.
A few more years, and they'd install CCTV, but back then, no one was putting cameras on rural family homes. Lucky break.
Still, I double-checked the surroundings to make sure no one was watching, then headed to the well behind the house.
Wells are usually out front, but this one was oddly in the back.
Of course, it was a fake well.
It had pillars holding up a roof, and a thick stone slab covered the top, like a sign saying "out of order."
"Gonna be a heavy bastard... ngh!"
Scraaaape!
"Whoa, this thing's seriously heavy."
I'm pretty strong.
Born with a sturdy build like a house servant's son should be, and growing up in a house with a basement gym, I'd never slacked on training.
Plus, after regressing, I'd worked out with purpose, pushing way past normal human limits. In modern terms, I could hit a 700kg three-lift total easy.
Even for me, this slab felt heavy. And suddenly, a question popped up.
An average person would struggle to lift it with two people.
So how did that old geezer Jo Man-deok haul it off to stash his gold and cash?
No way he did.
That meant one of his trusted aides handled it. But why didn't they loot it or tell Chairman Jo after the old man died?
"Ah! Uncle Sang-gu!"
Someone came to mind.
Jo Man-deok's real right-hand man. An orphan, mute, built like a tank—he was the old man's knight, bodyguard, and caregiver, tending to him like no son ever could once his health failed.
But Uncle Sang-gu died in a sudden car accident right as the old man's dementia was kicking in hard.
That loss made the dementia worse; even a stone-cold guy like him felt the shock of losing his most loyal servant.
No doubt Uncle Sang-gu was the secret vault keeper.
He'd take the hits for Jo Man-deok when the whole world threw stones.
"Man, things fall into place when they're meant to."
Of all times, he dies in a car crash just as the dementia hits. That's life.
I propped the slab against the well wall and shone my small flashlight inside. There, impossibly, was a steep stone staircase where the well bottom should be.
I strapped on my hiking headlamp and descended carefully about 5 meters to the floor. To my side was an iron door, locked with a padlock, big enough for a person to pass.
"This is getting exciting."
Dopamine surging like crazy. This was a modern treasure island!
Calming down, I used my bolt cutter on the fist-sized padlock.
Clank!
"Damn!"
The door swung open to reveal another iron door 1.5 meters ahead, this one with two even bigger padlocks.
Makes sense for a secret gold vault. No security would be weirder.
Good thing I'd brought the 48-inch heavy-duty cutter. Otherwise, headache city.
Clank! Clank!
I sliced through the ridiculously thick locks—god knows where he got them—and eased the door open. Finally, the old man's secret vault lay before me.
About 5 pyeong of space, lined with sturdy iron cabinets along the walls.
I'd worried about a safe and brought a welding torch from the car, but apparently even they drew the line at installing one in a basement well vault.
Too bulky for all that gold and cash anyway.
Crash!
I smashed the dial lock on the first cabinet with the cutter and yanked it open.
And...
"Wooooah!! Gold! It's gold!!"
Yellow bars stacked neatly inside, gleaming under the headlamp.
"Hahahaha!"
This rush is unreal.
I grabbed one to inspect.
TANAKA TOKYO MELTERS.
999.9
1,000g
"Oh yeah! Tanaka gold! Haha!"
Prime Japanese-minted bars. The gold standard back then—trustworthy as hell.
Heart pounding, I opened the others.
"Oho!"
More gold. Two cabinets full, roughly 330 bars. Spot on.
Next cabinets.
The gold count matched what I knew, so these had to be dollars and yen.
Clank!
"Whoa... jackpot."
Packed with dollars. Bundles of 100 $100 bills.
The next one: yen, 10,000-yen notes in 100-bill bundles.
Wait.
Last cabinet—what's this?
More dollars or yen?
Clank!
"Whoops! Won? What's this? Bearer bonds! Heh... hahaha!"
Bundles of 10,000-won bills I'd never heard of, plus National Housing Bonds—all bearer style. A real treasure trove.
This was the treasure island.
But no time to gawk.
I stuffed sports bags and hauled them up the steep stairs to my van. About 40 bars per load—didn't feel heavy at all.
Gold doesn't weigh you down when it's yours.
Guess that's why I'd trained so hard.
Two hours of hustling later, the vault was empty. I tidied up meticulously, climbed out, and resealed the slab.
Even if they dig it up during renovations years from now, no one will know what was here. Just rumors about what the old man might've stashed.
"Won't thank you, old timer. Enjoy hell. Watch me use this to get revenge on your kids and grandkids."
One last glance, then into the car.
Time for Seoul.
World was rough back then—checkpoints everywhere—so I waited till dawn nearby, then headed out. Worked all night, but not a hint of fatigue.
Pulled the van into the yard of my boarding house and headed to my second-floor room.
I'd picked this place with parking and a private upstairs in mind.
Pricey compared to regular rooms, but Chairman Jo's cash covered it. Plus, my parents had savings from a lifetime of service.
Grabbed only the bag of won on the way up.
Gold, dollars, yen, bonds—no time or place to count them yet. Somewhere safe first.
Slept it off, then house-hunted starting next morning.
Sinrim-dong, detached house. Spent all day, finally found one.
"Whew! This is the last one today. Detached, parking inside, vacant for immediate move-in, garden if possible, basement required."
The realtor uncle, dragged around all day, complained.
Promised a fat commission, so he stuck it out. This last place? Perfect.
"How many pyeong?"
"Land's 80, building 55 total—35 first floor, 20 second. Basement separate, obviously."
"Got it. How old?"
"Just three years! Owner built it fancy as a two-story brick for life here, but the missus wanted Gangnam apartments. Moved to Apgujeong Hyundai recently."
Smart lady.
These houses would be worth multiples later.
Listen to the women. Not that I have one.
"Moneyed family, huh? Selling despite this gem."
"Yup, owner's a lawyer."
"Makes sense. Price?"
"70 million. Negotiable."
"Not bad."
"Really?"
Realtor's face lit up.
Back then, detached houses like this beat Gangnam condos price-wise. Solid deal.
Inspected closely—love it. Built to last, nice garden. Basement accessed by internal stairs, full 35 pyeong, spacious and clean.
This is it.
I'll take it.
"Sold."
"Whoa, deciding this quick? First time I've seen someone snap up a place like this."
"Haha! Perfect fit. Call the owner now—evening works."
"Haha! You're decisive, kid. On it."
Realtor dashed off phone in hand, pumped.
One issue: I'm nineteen on paper, can't sign yet. But owner's a lawyer—should sort it out.