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CH300 | GSI
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 02:42:06 +0000 UTCAs today marks the seventh day since the armed guerrilla sweep operation began following the discovery of a North Korean Sang-O class submarine off the coast of Gangneung, signs are emerging that the situation may become prolonged.
In response, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, currently overseeing the operation, announced a strategic shift. Rather than maintaining a tightening encirclement centered around Aninjin-ri, Gangneung—extending out in a 50-kilometer triple-layer perimeter—they have decided to take a more aggressive approach.
Until now, troops had primarily maintained ambush positions at key chokepoints to avoid friendly fire, but going forward, the military will also conduct active search operations. Even in the absence of direct engagement, they will be authorized to unleash firepower in response to any suspicious activity.
Last night, following this new directive, the military launched a night operation across key mountainous regions in Gangneung—Chilseongsan, Gwaebangsan, and Hwabiryeong—where guerrillas were suspected to be hiding. With air support from the Air Force, they fired large volumes of illumination flares, turning the night sky as bright as day.
After lunch, the employees of Daehung Capital’s Investment Management Department had returned to the office, watching the breaking news on TV with worried expressions.
“If they’re launching night ops, casualties are bound to increase. This doesn’t look good.”
Jung Hwan-yeop, normally full of jokes, spoke with rare seriousness. Choi Ho-geun, holding a coffee cup in one hand and wearing a silk tie, nodded gravely.
“Yeah... most likely.”
Then, Hong Jae-hee, wearing a one-piece dress, turned to ask Yoo Seok-hyun beside her.
“Why do casualties go up during night operations?”
“Well,” Seok-hyun began, “the area around Chilseongsan is densely forested with thick undergrowth. Even during the day, it’s hard to see more than a few steps ahead. In that kind of terrain, doing a night op makes things incredibly dangerous. Visibility is practically zero, and there’s a higher risk of friendly fire or getting ambushed by the infiltrators hiding out.”
“Ah, I see.” Jae-hee nodded in understanding.
Just then, something clicked in Choi Ho-geun’s memory, and he looked over at Yoo Seok-hyun.
“Come to think of it, didn’t you serve in the 68th Division? The one the infiltrators broke into?”
“Yes. I completed the full 30 months of active duty there.”
Watching images of troops in the field flash across the screen, his expression grew more complicated.
“So it doesn’t feel like someone else’s problem to me.”
“You’re still in the reserves, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
Jung Hwan-yeop clucked his tongue with mock dismay. “Yikes. I heard even reservists are being called up due to the shortage of troops. Don’t tell me you’ll get summoned too?”
“What? You mean Seok-hyun might have to go to Gangneung?” Jae-hee’s voice shot up, startled.
Seok-hyun waved both hands, flustered. “No, no. I’ve been discharged long enough that I probably won’t be mobilized. And from what I heard, the reservists being called in are all based in the Gangwon area anyway.”
He did his best to reassure Jae-hee, who looked genuinely worried.
“You really need to think before you talk,” Choi muttered.
“I was just asking, just in case!” Jung scratched the back of his head, dodging the glare from Choi Ho-geun.
“Ugh. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut,” Choi grumbled, shaking his head as if regretting the conversation.
Feeling a little guilty, Jung smacked his lips and mumbled, “Anyway, the afternoon session must be underway by now. What’s the market looking like?”
As he tossed his empty paper cup into the trash bin, Choi Ho-geun shifted the conversation.
Yoo Seok-hyun quickly returned to his seat and checked the index movement on his computer.
“It’s up slightly—about one point higher than this morning’s session.”
Jung Hwan-yeop leaned over next to him and looked at the monitor.
“It’s not a strong rebound, but after two consecutive days of testing the bottom, it feels like the decline might be over.”
But Choi Ho-geun remained cautious.
“Still, even with yesterday and today combined, it’s barely up over 17 points. Considering how much it dropped after the Gangneung guerrilla incident, this doesn’t even make a dent.”
“That’s true.”
After sliding down since the selection of the new telecom operator, the stock market had taken an even steeper dive when the North Korean infiltration incident broke out. Except for a few defense-related stocks, the market had plunged across the board, ultimately breaking its yearly low.
“The market was already weak, and now this... The index got completely wrecked, and folks in securities firms are looking downright miserable.”
Thinking of his old colleagues still working at Daehung Securities, Choi Ho-geun wore a faintly sympathetic expression.
“Their performance probably wasn’t great to begin with. And now, whatever little profit they’d managed by the end of the quarter is probably gone. No way the mood over there is good.”
“I heard they’re even saying they won’t get proper Chuseok bonuses this year.”
No matter how skilled a trader you were, when the entire market got hit by a sudden external shock like this, there was nothing to do but take the hit.
Having been in the market a long time, Choi Ho-geun had seen this sort of thing more than a few times. He wore a bitter smile.
“Moments like this really make you appreciate how sharp he is.”
“Who?” asked Jung Hwan-yeop, catching the comment.
“Our CEO, of course,” he replied, as if it were obvious. “Not only did he exit positions right at the peak, but by suspending trading altogether, he avoided taking a single hit during this crash.”
Despite the market collapsing to new lows, the reason the Capital Investment Department employees could enjoy a leisurely lunch and chat like this was simple: they weren’t holding any stock positions.
With nothing to hold, it didn’t matter how far the market fell.
“Seriously, just imagining what it would’ve been like to get caught in this crash gives me chills,” said Yoo Seok-hyun, shuddering.
Thinking of himself forced to cut losses and drowning his sorrows with soju, Choi Ho-geun involuntarily let out a sigh of relief.
“If it weren’t for the CEO’s call, we would’ve been in deep trouble. We really dodged a bullet.”
“Right? And we even got hefty Chuseok bonuses thanks to that,” said Jung Hwan-yeop, smiling as he picked up from where Hong Jae-hee left off.
Just yesterday, all Daehung Capital employees had received a flat 150% holiday bonus. But for the Capital Investment Department, which had delivered exceptional results, an additional 350% performance bonus had been added—bringing the total to a staggering 500%.
It was no wonder that Choi Ho-geun and the others were beaming with delight over their newly padded bank accounts.
Having brought home the thick envelope stuffed with cash, Choi had, for the first time in a while, felt like a proper husband. He recalled the breakfast table this morning, overflowing with dishes so abundant it nearly broke the table, and couldn't help but straighten his shoulders with pride.
Of course, the little portion he’d secretly siphoned off as emergency cash was a secret he intended to keep from his wife forever.
“Everything’s great—except for having to write those weekly company analysis reports. If it weren’t for that, this would be perfect.”
“Come on, man. You’re not even trading anymore—at least do that. What, you planning to get paid for just loafing around all day?”
Choi Ho-geun gave Jung Hwan-yeop a bit of a scolding for his grumbling.
“You really think the CEO made you write company analyses just to torment you? When you’ve got time, it’s worth studying up on these companies. That kind of prep becomes valuable down the line.”
“Oh, I know that much at least. Still, it feels like I’m the only one getting picked on.”
Jung Hwan-yeop pouted as he muttered his complaint.
“What was that?”
As Choi’s eyebrows shot up, the quick-witted Hwan-yeop hastily changed the subject with exaggerated energy.
“Right! Speaking of which, did you hear the rumor? Apparently, with the Mido Department Store M&A as a trigger, there’s a push to reform the group’s ownership structure—and our CEO is set to take over both the venture capital and securities divisions.”
Choi Ho-geun responded with a nonchalant shrug.
“That rumor’s been floating around forever.”
Hong Jae-hee and Yoo Seok-hyun also nodded, not looking particularly surprised.
It was no secret within the group that Chairman Park Tae-hong, who owned 100% of Daehung Venture Capital and a sizable portion of Daehung Securities, had been planning to hand them over to his second son.
“You really think I’d bring it up if that was all?”
“Then what else is there?”
Glancing around like he was about to reveal something big, Jung Hwan-yeop leaned in and lowered his voice.
“Apparently, it’s not just about transferring shares. They’re planning to spin off both the venture capital and securities firms completely from the group—and even change the company name.”
“Seriously?”
That finally got a reaction out of Choi Ho-geun, who looked genuinely surprised.
When Hong Jae-hee and Yoo Seok-hyun also widened their eyes in surprise, Jung Hwan-yeop crossed his arms, looking smug.
“It’s coming from the headquarters side, so there’s a good chance it’s true.”
“So we’d be fully separated from the Daehung Group?”
“Exactly. Changing the name means we’d no longer be part of the group.”
Jung nodded in response to Yoo Seok-hyun’s question.
Normally, the idea of a spin-off from a parent group would create anxiety, but none of the team—including Choi Ho-geun—showed any signs of worry. They were only surprised.
In fact, perhaps because they trusted in Seok-won’s exceptional abilities, most of them looked more excited at the thought of how big the company might grow once it became his independent venture.
* * *
“You’re saying you want to help the victims of the Gangneung infiltration incident?”
Managing Director Yoon Ki-hoon adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses as he asked. Sitting at the head of the sofa, Seok-won nodded.
“Yes. As of today, five of our soldiers and one civilian have tragically lost their lives during the sweep operation. I’m sure you’ve seen the news.”
“Yes, I have.”
Given the constant news bulletins on TV and in the papers, it would’ve been stranger not to know.
“Even if they died in noble service to the nation, imagine the grief of the families who lost a beloved son or husband.”
“You’re right. Most of the fallen were barely 25. It’s heartbreaking.”
Yoon Ki-hoon wore a pained expression.
“The government will recognize them as national heroes, of course, but I want to do something to honor their sacrifice in a more tangible way. A little gesture of support. No, it won’t heal the loss—but it might offer some comfort.”
“That’s a commendable idea. And it wouldn’t be bad from a PR standpoint either.”
But Seok-won waved his hand dismissively.
“No, this isn’t about the company. I’m planning to use my personal funds. And I don’t intend to make a big public deal out of it either.”
Surprised—having assumed it would be company-sponsored—Managing Director Yoon blinked.
“You mean… out of your own pocket?”
"Exactly. So let’s not make a fuss about it—quietly reach out to the Ministry of National Defense and see how we can meet with the bereaved families and offer our help.”
Realizing that Seok-won had no intention of using this as a publicity stunt and genuinely wanted to support the fallen soldiers’ families, Managing Director Yoon Ki-hoon was quietly taken aback. He looked at Seok-won with a renewed sense of respect.
“Understood.”
“And I also want to provide supplies for the soldiers who are working day and night on the sweep operation. Find out what they need.”
“You’ll be covering that with your personal funds as well?”
“Of course.”
Yoon Ki-hoon, visibly moved despite his surprise, replied with a slight nod.
“I’ll look into it immediately and report back as soon as possible.”
After talking a little more, Yoon Ki-hoon left the room. Alone now, Seok-won sank back into the leather sofa, a heavy look on his face, and murmured to himself.
“I know this won’t be the end. There’ll be more casualties, and there’s no real way to stop it... So this is all I can do.”
The sweep operation would go on for 49 days, during which 18 people—including soldiers, reservists, police officers, and civilians—would lose their lives, and 27 more would be seriously injured.
Aside from the quick action he took upon hearing the news—contacting Landon in the U.S. and having him airlift thousands of modern U.S. military-grade bulletproof vests, rather than outdated Vietnam War-era ones—there was little else he could do to lessen the toll. That made it all the more painful.
