Sharing High-Class Intelligence

"...No connections, none at all."

Flicking through his phone, he felt it anew. This utter fuckup of a wastrel had truly wrecked his golden spoon life. He let out a deep sigh that could have sunk the earth. He lamented at length his plight as a wastrel stranded on an isolated island without any network.

Not connections in the literal sense. He meant a lack of reliable, useful underlings around him.

When he'd possessed this body, aside from family, the entire contact list was just women he'd paid to fuck. No men at all—as if he didn't deal with them. Apart from one close aide to check on company incidents and a friend, the rest were whores who'd spread their legs for cash.

The only talent around him right now was U Mi-ae, who'd recently turned her loyalties this way. And that was it, really.

He'd given that backstabbing bitch U Mi-ae plenty of leeway before because he needed at least one loyal pawn to manipulate.

Money ruled the world, but capital alone wasn't enough. To build a new kingdom as the top of the business world, he needed to gather more capable, useful vassals.

The company had subordinates, sure, but they were just wage slaves dreaming of easy paydays rather than promotions—mere livestock churning out profits.

'Well, I've been busy pounding pussy myself, so I can't complain too much...'

Either way, to claim the top spot in business as he'd promised Mom, he needed politically savvy, highly capable talent.

With future capital lines firmly in his head, he could bulldoze with money alone—but handling it solo would burn him out. The smart move was expanding his usable cards.

Click!

"! Ah, you've arrived?"

As the door to the president's office opened right on time for the meeting, he peeled his ass off the sofa.

He gladly extended his hand ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to the social greeting and gripped firmly.

"Nice to see you again so soon."

"That must mean it's a welcome face, right?"

It was Ryu Su-a. Dressed in a black suit, just like last time.

"And here, this is Congresswoman Song Han-na, my college senior."

"Aigoo~ What a pleasure! I've seen you so much on TV!"

She moved ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right in for a handshake. Her soft, plump hand carried a nice floral scent.

Song Han-na. A 30-something assemblywoman the party had promoted to capture young voters. Neat appearance, decent eloquence—she stood out.

She smiled and greeted him; her lips curved softly in return.

"I've only seen you recently on TV myself—first time meeting in person."

"Hm? Where'd you catch me?"

A grin. "The women's volleyball channel. Your massive sponsorship for a sport that could get sidelined, plus that encouraging message—touched me quietly. I watched it all."

Quoting his own words, she layered double meaning onto this meeting. Politics, as expected—a polished performance dripping with the nuance that she'd researched him.

'Damn... sharp as a tack.'

Her neat bob haircut was striking. White suit, tie evoking her party's colors. The epitome of a politician.

A smirk. This was exactly it.

Last time, connecting through ex-FSC Ryu Su-a had targeted this precise angle. Networks spread like spiderwebs.

At her young age, holding a financial supervisory role meant she was already elite establishment. Elites weren't elite because they excelled—they were elite because they'd long dominated from above like parasites.

And Ryu Su-a's stats were stellar to boot. Low on talent management—maybe not great with colleagues or juniors—but the rest was monstrous.

Plant her in an agency, and she'd be a useful card for sure.

"Shall we sit?"

After that, they settled onto the sofa together.

Song Han-na took a sip from the prepared water bottle in front and cut straight to it.

"My close junior reached out twice to get me here, but what's the reason for summoning me all the way?"

She narrowed the topic sharply, but caution and wariness lingered in her tone. To ease other worries, he stepped in to neatly clear the traffic.

"Let me say upfront: no shady recordings here, and no dirty ulterior motives like the rumors about me. Consider that confirmed."

"......"

"This meeting's just me wanting to meet you, Congresswoman. Simple as that—let's grab meals now and then when I think of you, get friendly."

Song Han-na rolled her eyes, scanning the office. Not dropping suspicion on words alone, she stayed silent.

"I invited you here first. If I dared make any shady request, I'd gladly strip right now."

Only after hearing that resolve did Song Han-na meet his eyes clearly. Her lips curved prettily as she spoke.

"Meals, huh... A company president like you must mean some pricey spread?"

Metaphorical, but slyly revealing her dark intentions. A glimpse of the shadows hidden under that white suit.

A grin. "Yeah, top-shelf dining. Umami-packed, clean—no aftertaste worries."

"Hmm... well. In this line of work, healthy meals like that don't exist. Even a chocolate set gets you bribery whispers. You can't even fix your sandals under a plum tree."

"No, this is a sweet plum that won't cause any trouble."

"Hm..."

Still testing the waters, tilting her head side to side. "How can you be sure?"

"With your prep—researching me enough to quote my words—you must've heard already."

He planted a confident smile. Still seated, he leaned forward slightly, tapping his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠temple with an index finger.

"That right here is packed with rich, sweet provisions."

"......"

His provisions. Future intel in abundance.

"Too much to eat alone. Happy to share with friends."

With that, Song Han-na flicked an eye contact to Ryu Su-a, who'd arranged this. Confirming via her if this sturdy bridge was safe to cross, now that she'd seen his abilities.

A nod... Ryu Su-a tilted her chin affirmatively.

Seemed her claim of close, trusted ties wasn't lip service—Song Han-na stroked her chin, gaining trust. But ever the cautious politician, she held final judgment.

So, "You get a lot of lobbying, right?"

"Lobbying..."

Lobbying. Dirty deals between corps and pols—backroom trades of filthy demands.

"Frankly, spots like that can feel unwelcome, a noir drag sometimes. Is this laundered cash clean? Will it create political weaknesses? Won't taking it for the greater good just enslave you to the corp?"

Clap! He gathered negative examples and snapped with applause to refocus.

"I'll handle that crap. Blackmailing hardworking public servants, grabbing weaknesses with bribes—I'll cut off those filthy corp lobbies at the root."

Another bold vow. Like a detergent ad, promising spotless purity.

"Is that even possible...?"

"Believe in my abilities, and yes. Laundered political funds, proxy donations, NGO fronts... Getting tired of that grind, right?"

Perfect spot for a smoke. Instead, he pulled a throat candy—his smoking sub—and popped it in.

Crunch! He bit down hard, chewing noisily.

"I promise only squeaky-clean intel—no issues. I'll filter out any stock scams or fraud bombs."

"You can really do that?"

"Trust me. No rush—build our bond slowly, trust this side bit by bit."

That was it. For a prudent politician, he'd pitched all his merits. All terms favored her. Zero-risk bait, low downside high upside.

Conditions solid, apparently—Song Han-na half-lidded her eyes. "...You say you're just asking for friendship, but really?"

"Ah, that depends on the value of my intel."

Ha! Called it—she snorted. He held out his palm, signaling no hasty judgments.

"But my asks are clear. Your party gets massive under-the-table cash from Hwaryeong Group—and other megacorps, right?"

"......"

Silent agreement.

"That's it. One thing I want: ease away from those risky funds bit by bit. Promise fair play so you sleep soundly, no regrets."

This radical offer of premium intel-sharing aimed to expand his political network.

This wastrel had idled away his days, but his sisters likely had deep party ties already. Without power now, political pressure atop business ops would be a pain.

Knowing the future meant endless cash. But swallowing all Hwaryeong affiliates meant every tool necessary. No weird regs or laws tripping him later—time to build the team.

Song Han-na mulled the proposal. Long tunnel of thought or not, she'd conclude dumping illegal kickback headaches was smart.

"Really nothing but friendship to ask?"

"Hm... if anything, like today. If we meet again, bring more friends for chill meals and chats."

Ever cautious to the end, she weighed pros-cons fully. Then, as if deciding, she rose to leave.

Looked like rejection—but she flipped it with a simple add-on.

"Next time, with more friends."

A grin. Approval signed. Just one meal kicking off the exchange.

They stood, swapped contacts. After getting his number, Song Han-na added one more.

"President, you into golf?"

Her turn to propose. A flirty jab, flashing white teeth—the congresswoman wafting subtle floral scent. He matched, lifting his lips.

"Love rounding with friends. Think I'll keep liking it."

"Yes, looking forward to it."

Courteous bows. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Lingering too long with a CEO risky for a congresswoman—she started toward the door.

"Su-a, let's go."

"Ah... go ahead, Senior. I have something to say, staying behind."

"Huh?"

But arranger Ryu Su-a didn't join. She rose to see off her colleague.

Song Han-na eyed her tie-making junior, then him, adding a meaningful smile before heading out with just an escort.

"Heading out first. Privacy matters."

"Yes, see you next."

"Yeah, no need to come down. Bye."

Click.

The door shut. Song Han-na's full exit.

"......"

"......"

He and Ryu Su-a stood by the door a few seconds. Her hesitant vibe turning awkward, he spoke first.

"Staying back on purpose—something to say to me?"

"......"

"Your words... it's that, right?"

The supervisor bit the bait hard.

"Yes, no need for words—it's that."

Trembling pupils from eagerness.

"Can you give more intel? That..."

She swallowed. How hooked was she? Gulping saliva repeatedly before continuing.

"About 'Dogecoin'...?"

Dogecoin. Laughter at the words from a financial supervisor's mouth. The teaser intel must've been a feast—impatience cracked her cool facade.