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CH83 | MCT
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 04:20:23 +0000 UTCGeumsan Hotel Banquet Hall (4)
Han Cheong-ho handed over a stack of photographs.
They contained gruesome, horrifying images—the brutalized remains of Secretary Song.
Upon seeing them, Park Jeong-hwan’s eyebrow twitched sharply.
There it was. A reaction.
“My secretary… was sent to Saudi Arabia. His family begged to at least recover his remains, so I pulled some strings to send them there.”
“…Did they find the body?”
“Not yet. How could they? You know how vast and unforgiving the Saudi deserts are.”
Now that he thought about it, Cheongil's secretary was missing.
A sharp, perceptive man—one who had always shadowed Han Cheong-ho like an extension of himself.
Without a word, Park Jeong-hwan tossed the photographs back onto the table.
“What exactly are you trying to show me?”
“Did you know… that this secretary had been running an errand for Your Excellency?”
For the first time, Park Jeong-hwan’s eyebrow twitched again.
'Got him.'
Han Cheong-ho’s lips curled into an inward smirk.
He had spent six hours trying to decipher why Park Jeong-hwan had suddenly changed his mind.
He had analyzed every angle—personal grudges, business interests, the timeline of their fallout.
‘I kept digging through my memory over and over… and I narrowed it down to three possibilities.’
His plan was to throw out each one and gauge Park Jeong-hwan’s reaction.
And on the very first bait—he bit.
“Look at the photos again. That man was tortured, Your Excellency. A man will say anything to survive.”
“There are some things you take to the grave, no matter what.”
That reaction.
This was it.
Han Cheong-ho knew he had found the key.
“Surely, you understand that the Saudi royal family holds a grudge against me?”
Of course, Park Jeong-hwan already knew that.
“Isn’t it obvious? Look no further than their refusal to supply oil to Cheongil Refinery.”
“This is a setup. A false accusation.”
Han Cheong-ho conveniently left out any mention of Rahman.
Instead, he carefully curated his story—just enough truth, just enough embellishment.
A skill he had mastered.
“I will take care of this quietly—through Saudi Arabia, through Japan, through every necessary channel. One single incident like this? Easily erased.”
“…Can you?”
“Of course. This is Han Cheong-ho you’re talking to. Trust me, Your Excellency.”
“If there’s one thing I do best, it’s pulling strings.”
Bribery. Lobbying. Leverage. Moving people like chess pieces.
This was his world.
For the first time, Park Jeong-hwan’s icy demeanor thawed—just slightly.
Sensing the moment, Han Cheong-ho pushed forward.
“Your Excellency… Give me a way out.”
His voice was thick with pleading.
“I swear upon everything—I will follow you with absolute loyalty.”
From the military coup to the consolidation of Park Jeong-hwan’s regime,
Han Cheong-ho’s money, connections, and influence had been instrumental.
That much was undeniable.
“The grace Your Excellency has bestowed upon me—I will repay it in full. The kindness you have shown—I can never turn away from it.”
Finally, Park Jeong-hwan spoke.
His voice had softened considerably.
“Cheongil Refinery is off the table.”
“I’m not asking to save Cheongil Refinery. I will let it go. But please… grant me another path.”
“…What kind of path?”
There it was.
Salvation.
Han Cheong-ho seized the moment.
“As a way to atone for my mistakes with Samwon Construction, I wish to repay Your Excellency’s generosity through Cheongil Construction.”
His gamble was construction.
Choi Mooryong had once mocked him.
"Cheongil Refinery or Cheongil Construction—that is the question."
If he was to lose Cheongil Refinery, then he would rise again through Cheongil Construction.
And he had come fully prepared with a clear strategy to win over Park Jeong-hwan.
“I know about your plans to build a luxury hotel on the site of the Bando Hotel and National Central Library.”
The Charlotte Hotel Seoul.
A landmark project that had catapulted a mere confectionery company into the ranks of the chaebols.
Park Jeong-hwan had approved the use of national land for the project due to the demand for high-end hotels.
Standing 34 stories tall, with over 1,500 rooms, it was set to become the largest hotel in Korea.
Eventually, the surrounding area would transform into Charlotte Town—a hub of luxury shopping, corporate headquarters, and premium boutiques.
Han Cheong-ho had been eyeing that prime location for a while.
“That project belongs to Shin Gunho of Charlotte. I’ve already given him my terms—lifting his company’s business suspension in exchange for building a hotel better than anything in Japan.”
The blueprints had already been drafted.
But Han Cheong-ho didn’t falter.
He was already losing Cheongil Refinery.
What was stopping him from seizing a hotel project that wasn’t even built yet?
“Charlotte is a confectionery company. And let’s be honest—they’re barely present in Korea. They operate mostly out of Japan and rarely even step foot here.”
That much was true.
Shin Gunho, the head of Charlotte, kept his base of operations in Japan, where the market was far bigger than Korea’s.
Despite having a finalized blueprint for Charlotte Hotel, he still remained overseas.
“Charlotte lacks construction experience, expertise, and technical know-how. But Cheongil Construction? We have it all. We’ve built bridges, roads, and skyscrapers.”
Han Cheong-ho’s voice brimmed with confidence.
“We will build the finest luxury hotel. Not just Korea’s best—not just Asia’s best—but the world’s greatest hotel. Trust Cheongil Construction.”
That was enough.
Too much persuasion could come off as desperation.
“Soon, the 1974 West Germany World Cup will begin.”
Han Cheong-ho deliberately shifted the conversation.
To capture Park Jeong-hwan’s interest.
“The Korean national team made history as the first Asian country to qualify for the 1954 Switzerland World Cup. But in the past 20 years? Not a single win. Not even a single qualification.”
He paused.
“But North Korea? Look at what they’ve done.”
South Korea had suffered humiliating defeats time and time again.
Whenever Park Jeong-hwan stepped onto the international stage, he couldn’t even hold his head up when the topic of soccer came up.
Meanwhile, North Korea had made a shocking impact in the 1966 England World Cup, putting their name on the global map.
"The world says we've fallen behind North Korea—not just economically, but even in soccer. And if we're behind in those two, we must be behind in everything.”
As if Park Jeong-hwan didn’t already know this.
His expression darkened in irritation.
Sensing the shift, Han Cheong-ho spoke in a softer tone.
“Cheongil Group will heavily support the Football Association. We’ll provide a solid financial foundation and cultivate elite talent. Imagine how much more respect Your Excellency will command on the international stage.”
With enough money, results were inevitable.
Park Jeong-hwan stroked his chin, considering it.
“So, in return, give Cheongil the hotel project that was meant for Charlotte. I will build a dedicated soccer stadium, establish a professional football club, and personally drive our national team to success. I will restore Your Excellency’s honor.”
It was a tempting offer.
* * *
Park Tae-joong sipped his whiskey, feigning indifference.
Across from him, Tae-soo gave a slight nod of gratitude.
Tae-joong smirked, swirling his glass before raising it slightly.
Just then, Tae-soo felt a piercing gaze on him.
It was Han Il-kwon.
“So, you’re here drinking alone, huh? Thought you were too good for our usual gatherings.”
A clear jab—as if Tae-soo wasn’t even worth acknowledging in the circles of high society.
“I saw Chief Cha pick you up earlier—looked like he was doing you a favor out of pity. But you still haven’t met His Excellency, have you?”
Why had Chief Cha even come to the private lounge reserved for young corporate elites in the first place?
It seemed Il-kwon had already forgotten the reason.
“Playing around with your tiny construction company, thinking you’re actually someone important now?”
Il-kwon let out a mocking chuckle.
“But face it—you’ll never make it. You have nothing. We were born at different starting lines. You’re at the bottom, while I’m at the top.”
Step. Step.
Il-kwon strode toward Tae-soo.
“No matter how hard an ant works, it’s still just an ant.”
The same old arrogance.
“You’d need at least a hundred years to grow your company into something as big as Cheongil Group.”
Tae-soo let out a short laugh.
“A man’s jealousy is ugly.”
He paused, then added with a smirk—
“But when a talentless man lets his bitterness consume him? Now that’s downright pathetic.”
Tae-soo knew from experience—Han Il-kwon had no real business acumen.
“I wonder what’ll happen first—me surpassing Cheongil or you running it into the ground?”
Tae-soo had built Cheongil into South Korea’s top conglomerate.
And he’d done it while cleaning up the mess left by that incompetent fool.
“How about a bet?” Tae-soo smirked. “I think it’ll be a tight race.”
Whether he surpassed Cheongil or Cheongil collapsed entirely—either way, he had the advantage.
After all, in a world where everything revolved around corporate rankings, wasn’t the stronger player bound to win?
“You do have a talent for ruining things, don’t you? I’m actually getting nervous already.”
It wasn’t an empty jab—Han Il-kwon had a history of failure.
After one disaster too many, Han Cheong-ho had completely ousted him from management.
Il-kwon stiffened as if Tae-soo had just jabbed a knife into his ribs.
A faint tremor flickered at the corner of his lips.
The smile was slowly draining from his face.
Feigning realization, Tae-soo snapped his fingers.
“Oh, right. My bad. I forgot you’re unemployed. It’s kinda hard to ruin a company when you’re not even allowed near it.”
Il-kwon bit his lip, hard.
He still hadn’t been given a single chance to return to the business.
His comeback kept getting delayed indefinitely.
“What are you without your father?” Tae-soo taunted. “Must be fun parading around on borrowed power.”
Tae-soo stepped forward.
Step. Step. Stop.
Now, they stood face-to-face in the center of the lounge.
“The mighty father who’s supposed to be holding you up?” Tae-soo scoffed. “Right now, he’s in that room, begging.”
Just moments ago, Han Cheong-ho had swallowed his pride and walked into that meeting—practically on his knees—offering up Cheongil Refinery in exchange for mercy.
“And here you are, picking fights. Pathetic.”
Tae-soo looked down at Il-kwon.
Il-kwon met his gaze—
“You’ve got a punchable face, you know that?” Il-kwon sneered. “Same with that smart mouth.”
“Jealous?”
Il-kwon let out a crooked grin.
“Kang Tae-soo, you should be worrying less about my father and more about your own safety.”
“Take care of yourself before worrying about me.”
A sharp glint flashed in Il-kwon’s eyes.
A killer’s eyes.
‘He’s itching to kill me.’
Tae-soo knew that look all too well.
‘A murderer with a murderer’s gaze. Nothing new.’
The same cold, merciless eyes he had seen in that VIP hospital room at Cheongil Hospital.
‘You made me suffer. Now it’s your turn. I’ll make you hurt more than you ever did me. Slowly. One step at a time.’
Il-kwon suddenly grinned—a twisted, almost mocking expression.
“Kang Tae-soo, instead of worrying about me, maybe you should start worrying about your family.”
Now that was a line Tae-soo wouldn’t ignore.
His smile turned cold.
“Anything you can do—” Tae-soo’s eyes sharpened.
“I can do too.”
A moment of silence.
Then, a question.
“Why do you think I wouldn’t?”
A formidable presence radiated from Tae-soo.
The weight of someone who had stood atop the hierarchy for a long time.
But Han Il-kwon merely sneered.
“Go ahead. Do it.” He smirked. “Talk is cheap. Let’s see if you actually can.”
If this was about protecting family, then he had the upper hand.
Il-kwon shrugged, his confidence unwavering.
“As you can see, my father is the Chairman of Cheongil Group. My mother? The Chairman’s wife. And my dear little sister…”
He leaned in, whispering directly into Tae-soo’s ear.
His voice was silky smooth, dripping with amusement.
“All this inheritance and power struggles are such a pain. If you could get rid of her for me, I’d be grateful.”
He was asking Tae-soo to eliminate his own sister.
A twisted joke—except it wasn’t.
After all, Il-kwon had already disposed of his sister’s husband before.
To ensure neither she nor her future children could ever lay a finger on the company.
But Tae-soo?
He simply took a slow sip of whiskey.
“You misunderstood me.”
Il-kwon raised an eyebrow.
Tae-soo smirked.
“I meant that you would be the one in that position.”
For a moment, Il-kwon’s expression stiffened.
A slight twitch in his eye.
Tae-soo grinned.
“Should I give it a try?” His voice was low, amused.
“You, of all people, should know how this works. You’ve done it before. You know exactly what happens.”
A sharp crack echoed as Il-kwon’s fist clenched tight.
For once, he was the one being threatened.
And judging by his reaction—
This was a first.
