"Hey, you still haven't told me—will it work or not?"
Ha Joo-hee's glassy eyes locked onto him, her flushed face pressed against the table, glaring fiercely.
"Tomorrow, I'll take you to onboard." Lee Jin-woo agreed.
"Ye~ President, please take care of me." She wobbled upright, only to thud back onto the table.
That sound—crisp!
The next day, Ha Joo-hee woke clutching her head.
It throbbed, her body aching like it'd been pummeled, every part groaning.
Something seemed to choke her throat, making breathing hard.
Reaching up, she felt it—a collar.
Unfastening it, she saw a silver bell dangling, jingling with each shake.
"President-ssi, President…" Barefoot, she searched the apartment.
This time, she wasn't disappointed.
In the suite's living room, Lee Jin-woo sat on the sofa, mid-call.
"Hurry up and get over here. Ten minutes." His harsh tone made her heart skip.
In South Korea, many small entertainment companies were fronts for organized crime.
Their go-to tactic: controlling artists for "special hospitality" to cozy up to the elite.
Had she fallen into a gang's hands, about to be a commodity for slaughter?
"Awake? Why're you standing there? Come here." He beckoned, pulling her into his lap.
"I'm meeting a friend soon. Go to the restaurant, order what you like, eat up, then come back."
"Okay." She nodded obediently.
At that moment, a second reward pinged.
[Ignorant Wildcat Tamed, Submission 160%, Reward Calculating.]
[Malice Detection: Within 2,000 meters, any malicious intent toward the host will be sensed in real-time.]
[Samseong-dong IPARK Tower Top-Floor Apartment, One Unit.]
Nice—a golden house.
Constant hotel stays weren't cheap.
He hoped this apartment was empty.
Memory implanted, he confirmed it was.
A 6.5 billion won, 73-pyeong (241㎡) top-floor unit.
Overlooking the Han River and Gangnam's bustling core.
Fully equipped with luxury amenities, home to elites and officials, with top-tier security.
A central green park ensured privacy, and the rooftop allowed helicopter landings.
If not for hiding a mistress, what was this place for?
Ding-dong!
Ten minutes after Ha Joo-hee left, Jo Young-joon rushed over from home.
Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, he flopped onto the sofa.
"Hyung, so tired. Let me sleep a bit."
Making a night owl move in the day was like killing him.
"Up. Got something to say." Lee Jin-woo roused him.
Half-open eyes squinting, Jo grabbed the coffee on the table, gulping it down.
A few sips of cold coffee woke him.
"Hyung, what's up?"
"I remember you studied finance."
"Yeah, family's orders. Had to obey."
"What're you doing now?"
Jo spilled his woes, finally having an outlet.
Their family's core was transportation, South Korea's strongest, a global heavyweight.
But a company too focused on one sector was vulnerable to risks.
For the future, his grandfather planned a financial arm to diversify.
After his death, family feuds erupted, shelving the plan.
Five years of infighting later, the landscape was clear.
"No financial group. I'll just take over the insurance and bonds business."
Jo knew his limits. Without the family's top three groups, their insurance and bonds couldn't sustain his grandfather's vision.
Plus, everyone wanted to split.
Once shipping, maritime, and heavy industry divided, unification was impossible.
If his grandfather hadn't died five years ago, what would Hanjin be now?
The family's dirty laundry disgusted Jo , a Hanjin heir.
So he ditched his education, content to be a freeloading chaebol third-gen.
"Ever thought of doing something on your own?" Lee Jin-woo was poaching.
Without trusted allies or family resources, he needed reliable help.
What boss didn't have loyal lackeys?
"Hyung, got a plan?" Jo asked casually.
Sharing his current ventures, Lee Jin-woo was blunt. "I want to start a new company. Help me."
"Management agency? Hyung, I get you." Jo pointed, grinning sleazily.
"Not an agency—financial investment."
The limited memories in his mind were a goldmine. Why waste them?
"Investment?" Jo hesitated, serious. "Hyung, you for real?"
If it was just for fun, he wouldn't pick Jo 's strongest field.
His grandfather's sudden death killed the financial group, derailing Jo 's life.
Lee Jin-woo knew how hard that hit.
No joking about this.
"Yup, serious." He smiled, nodding. "For real, Ying-jun, help me!"
A top-tier Ivy League grad shouldn't waste her skills on partying.
"What do you need?"
"First, start with a mortgage loan."
Using Lee Boo-jin's valuation, he planned to mortgage the company building and land.
49% equity for 20 billion won.
Then short U.S. CDOs and buy CDS, needing Wall Street's help.
Who? Obvious.
A week later, Jo Young-joon, representing Universal Investment, visited Goldman Sachs' Seoul branch.
They talked long, emerging like brothers, arm in arm.
"Rep Jo , drink?"
"Nah, when the deal's done, I'll treat you to beef and a big celebration."
"Fair. Await my news!"
Leaving the building, Jo slid into his Mercedes, calling him. "Hyung, it's done."
"They agreed fast, surprisingly!"
"You're right—they've eyed this cake for a while… But won't this spark public backlash?"
In this warped country, everything was scrutinized.
"We're earning American money, not squeezing locals. It's patriotic."
"My bad… Hyung, what're you doing?"
"Working out. Hanging up!"
Helping the new jiu-jitsu teacher up, Lee Jin-woo wiped his sweat. "Pick up your pay at the door."
Jiu-jitsu built core strength; he'd just started.
She taught well, was tall, pretty, and had a great figure. She'd do.
Paying her, Yoon Hye-na entered.
"Afternoon plans?"
"Your meeting with CJ's Vice Chairman Son is today."
He nodded. "Yoon-joo?"
"Ready."
"Let's go!"
For artist travel and professionalism, they bought three nanny vans.
Hyundai Kia Carnival, the industry standard.
In South Korea, carmakers were Hyundai and Kia.
Since Hyundai acquired Kia, it's Hyundai/Kia.
GM, SsangYong, and Renault limped along with one hit model each.
So, car choices were simple—Hyundai or Kia, a few models.
The other three niche brands? Just their bestsellers.
No hesitation, buy blind.
"President." Yoon Hye-na turned from the front passenger seat. "For this deal, who's the company sending?"
She'd seen the proposal—one fixed female guest.
Who would he pick?
At her question, Son Yoon-joo tilted her crossed legs, black lettered stockings brushing his calf ambiguously.
"No suitable company pick. Let CJ decide the female."
His words made her stockings pause, instinctively pulling back.
This woman's so practical. He smirked inwardly.
Think she could escape?
"The company's short-term goal is smooth debuts. Many models transition to acting.
During shoots, mind your image if you want the screen."
Her retreating stockings curved back, pressing his calf, as if that was her plan.
So slick.
"President, can we really get roles?"
"We'll fully partner with CJ—not just variety, but music, films, dramas."
"DSP?"
A veteran giant like SM, though struggling lately.
A lean camel's still bigger than a horse, far above even fast-rising YG.
"DSP? We'll get chances." His cryptic smile hinted at plans.
At MBC's building, he saw the executive lackey waiting in the lobby.
"President Lee, Chairman Son's upstairs with the director, asked me to wait for you."
"Exec Choi, thanks." He patted the graying executive's shoulder, grinning.
Seeing him nod and fawn, he understood the chaebol's twisted mindset.
In this stratified society, only chaebols stood above rules.
A man old enough to be his father, groveling to a junior.
Over time, it bred a sense of supremacy, trampling rules at will.
When an avalanche falls, no snowflake is innocent.
Hating chaebols, yet craving to join them, willingly serving as their dogs.
That's the truest portrait of South Koreans.
So-called conscience or exposing chaebols? Just big players' games.
Even exposed, they'd still lord over the masses.
Aigoo, how twisted…
(End of Chapter)
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