With the IMF loan secured and the immediate threat of national default resolved, the composite stock index staged a rebound.

Riding the momentum of expectations that the new administration’s policies would finally turn things around in the new year, the index — which had sunk as low as 350 — leapt all the way up to 570.

The investors at Future Asset who’d closed their short positions once the index broke below 400 couldn’t get over Chung-seop Jo’s judgment.

Having unwound the short at exactly the right moment, Chung-seop looked to them more prophetic than any shaman in a trance.

But Chung-seop himself worshipped Seong-ho Kim as a god.

Because he knew the truth: he himself was merely a medium possessed by that god — the real god was Seong-ho.

Still unable to tear his eyes from the newspaper, Chung-seop spoke.

“So should we treat 280 as the floor and start accumulating stock from here?”

“Who knows where the true bottom is. But if we buy in roughly around here on the assumption we won’t take a loss, don’t you think we could make quite a lot of money?”

“That’s true, but… the wave of companies going under still hasn’t stopped…”

Chung-seop lifted his eyes from the newspaper and glanced up at Seong-ho.

The domino chain of corporate bankruptcies still hadn’t slowed.

Wake up, and a construction company had gone under. Step out for a meal, and a department store had shut its doors.

Bankrupt clothing companies hawking their stock on the street had become an everyday sight.

Given all this, it was only natural to be afraid of investing in stocks.

Future Asset itself had told its clients to hold off on investing, and had been telling its own staff to pour their energy into acquiring securities firms rather than pursuing new positions — playing it safe.

And yet here was Seong-ho, suggesting they buy in right now.

Seong-ho lifted the corner of his mouth and leaned back into the sofa.

“Just as you’re worried, President Jo, the current situation isn’t optimistic. Dozens of companies are collapsing every day, and there’s even talk of bank mergers. When the money you’ve entrusted to a bank could vanish into thin air, who’s going to be looking upward?”

“Exactly. And on top of that, the government’s had to step in and tell companies to fall in line — there isn’t a single survivor operating normally right now. Ah! Of course, not Ilhyeon!”

Realizing he’d let his true feelings slip, Chung-seop hastily offered up something between an explanation and an excuse.

Seong-ho waved a hand and smiled at Chung-seop’s hurried correction that he hadn’t meant Ilhyeon by the comparison.

“It’s fine. It’s true, after all.”

Taking Chung-seop’s remark in stride, Seong-ho looked back down at the newspaper.

The index, having climbed as high as 570, had halved again, sliding back down to 280.

And once it fell, it had spent the whole summer trapped behind the bars of that 280 line, unable to find direction.

“But President Jo, think about it rationally. 280. How much further could it possibly fall from here? Even if it halves again, we should still be buying in at this level.”

Chung-seop nodded at Seong-ho’s words.

“You’re right, Head Kim. But… realistically, market participants just can’t bring themselves to act. The index fell from 1,000 to 350, climbed back to 570, then dropped again to 280 — who’s going to buy into that? At the very least, someone would need to be seen buying first before anyone else feels ready to step in.”

“That’s exactly why I intend to be the first to buy.”

Chung-seop’s expression turned to one of surprise.

“How much of my funds are left after the buildings?”

Since Future Asset managed Seong-ho’s accounts, Chung-seop knew the exact figure.

“Of the total 280 billion won, 180 billion went toward acquiring seven buildings across Gangnam. What remains is roughly 100 billion.”

“Good. Put all hundred billion in.”

“All hundred billion, all at once?”

Chung-seop’s eyes widened at the instruction to deploy the entire sum at once, rather than in staged first, second, and third tranches.

“Head Kim. Perhaps it would be better to start with 20 billion first… then if the index — trapped at 280 — falls once more, put in another 30 billion, and once the market’s truly steeped in panic, deploy the remaining 50 billion to build out the position. What do you think?”

“That’s the conventional approach, certainly. But I have no interest in a conventional investment.”

Seong-ho said, closing a fist around the empty air.

“My philosophy is that when an opportunity arrives, you seize it — and you stake everything in that moment.”

“Are you saying… now is the moment to stake everything?”

A spark lit in Chung-seop’s startled eyes.

He could feel, from Seong-ho’s words, that this really was the opportunity.

Seong-ho saw that look in Chung-seop’s eyes and smiled faintly.

Not constantly second-guessing whether Seong-ho’s call was right, but once judging it to be right, running in the same direction together —

this was exactly the quality in Chung-seop that Seong-ho valued.

“We need to buy up everything starting now. We’ll center the holdings on construction, securities, and Ilhyeon Group itself. When the index was at 1,000, deploying 100 billion wouldn’t have moved anything, but with the index at 280 now, even 100 billion could shake individual stocks.”

“Understood. Leave it to me. I’ll build the positions quietly, without a ripple.”

If 100 billion were deployed all at once without care, individual stocks could hit their daily upper limit in an instant.

And if word spread that the surge to the ceiling had come from buy orders out of a handful of accounts, it wouldn’t take long before exactly whose account had bought exactly what was laid bare for everyone to see.

If that happened, it would draw the attention of rivals, and could end up tying their hands entirely.

That was why Seong-ho had given the warning, and Chung-seop reassured him by asking to be trusted.

Seong-ho smiled faintly at Chung-seop’s words.

“I do trust you, President Jo. Which is why I have one more thing to ask of you.”

“One more thing? What would that—”

Chung-seop’s mind had already leapt ahead to the office at the news that Seong-ho was finally deploying capital.

While rolling over Seong-ho’s account, he’d need to roll over their own accounts too, and reach out to the clients he’d told to hold off, telling them it was time to move again.

But at Seong-ho’s mention of one more request, Chung-seop pulled his attention back and listened closely.

Seong-ho held out a folder toward him.

“What’s this?”

“Transfer the share certificates in there into the accounts listed, and manage those accounts.”

“Accounts and share certificates?”

Not following Seong-ho’s explanation, Chung-seop flipped open the folder with a puzzled expression.

The thick folder was the one Seong-ho had received from Tak-hyeon in the underground chamber.

“A hundred billion won.”

“A hundred billion?!”

Chung-seop looked at Seong-ho with startled eyes.

Then he examined the share certificates again.

Each certificate, he now noticed, was marked with a face value of 100 million won.

“Th… this is…”

Chung-seop’s mind went blank, and he couldn’t say anything more.

He’d never seen a paper share certificate worth 100 million won before, and being asked to put them into accounts and manage a total of 100 billion won left his thoughts in complete disarray.

What’s more, the accounts he was being asked to deposit the 100 billion won in shares into belonged to people he’d never seen before in his life.

“This…”

Unable to get the words out properly, all Chung-seop could manage was “this.”

Seong-ho spoke to him in a calm voice.

“No need to overthink it. As with any ordinary securities firm — the account holders requested their shares be deposited into their own accounts, and then commissioned the management of those accounts. Future Asset simply needs to act on the clients’ request.”

“Who are these people, the account holders?”

Chung-seop pointed to the sheet listing the account holders’ personal information and asked Seong-ho.

Seong-ho looked down at the sheet Chung-seop had pointed to and answered.

“That’s the documentation proving the account holders’ identities. A securities firm has no need to know who the account holder is or what they do.”

“That’s… but still…”

If the paperwork was perfectly in order, a securities firm would in principle have to accept even a dog or a cow as a client.

There was no need to know who the person was or what kind of person they were, no room to wonder where the 100 billion won had come from, and no room to ask why they wanted the account managed this way.

That was simply the relationship between client and firm.

Seong-ho continued in the same calm voice.

“You’re carrying out a commission from me, President Jo, and I take full responsibility for all of it. So please, just do exactly as I say.”

“Yes, understood.”

Chung-seop answered that he understood, adding nothing further.

Knowing full well this was plainly a request to launder money, Chung-seop accepted it anyway — because it was Seong-ho’s request.

Watching Chung-seop organize the folder, Seong-ho added one more note.

“There’s no particular need to grow the money. Of course, even if you tried to lose it, I doubt you could lose money at this level right now, so I’m not especially worried about that either. What I want is for it to be turned over a great deal — and for its final destination, after all that turning, to be shares of Ilhyeon Corporation. That’s all I ask you to hold to.”

“Ilhyeon Corporation… understood.”

Chung-seop etched the words “Ilhyeon Corporation” deep into his mind.

He had a strong feeling that Ilhyeon Corporation was about to become the key to the entire Ilhyeon Group.

Seong-ho watched Chung-seop gathering up the folder.

A hundred billion, to start, he said.

He knew this was a test run of 100 billion won.

And he could roughly predict that once this test concluded successfully, the scale of the funds that would follow would be nothing like this.

Seong-ho pictured the movement of capital in his mind for a moment, thinking of the full scope of the slush funds held by Ilhyeon Group and Tak-hyeon.

Worried about Gyeong-eun at the event, Seong-ho stuck close by her side and refused to leave.

But Gyeong-eun, seeming to find his hovering a bit of a nuisance, jabbed him in the side and murmured under her breath.

“There are a lot of people watching. That’s enough — step back a little.”

“What does it matter if people are watching? No matter how fine you say you feel, you were only just discharged from the hospital.”

“Ugh — I have a secretary too, you know.”

Gyeong-eun frowned slightly, as though afraid someone else might overhear, and spoke to Seong-ho.

“I have a secretary, and plenty of staff to attend to me. Besides, this is an Ilhyeon Department Store event — if people see you hovering here, they’ll think you’re a fool.”

The words were exasperated, but underneath them was warmth and gratitude toward him.

Gyeong-eun kept speaking to him in a low voice.

“I won’t say anything about you tagging along to the venue out of worry, but I do have work to do. Don’t I?”

Gyeong-eun gestured toward the reporters and Ilhyeon Department Store staff lined up ahead and shot Seong-ho a look.

Seong-ho nodded, resigned, and stepped back — but not without one last word of concern for her.

“Still, just in case — if you feel dizzy at all, tell me right away. You matter more to me than any event.”

“Ugh, fine, I got it.”

Even with her reassurance, Seong-ho’s worry didn’t ease, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“Why did you even agree to come to this… you didn’t have to…”

Seong-ho muttered quietly to himself, watching her walk away.

Even from her hospital bed, Gyeong-eun hadn’t shied from press exposure.

She’d called staff into her hospital room and kept working on the coffee brand launch without pause, and even pushed forward preparations for the duty-free bid in between.

Seong-ho had told her to rest for a while, but she’d refused, saying that if she stopped, Ilhyeon Department Store and Ilhyeon Hotel would stop right along with her.

And so, straight after being discharged, she’d shown up to the coffee brand’s opening event wearing a wig.

“Starting with our flagship store at the XX Women’s University location, we plan to open fifteen directly-operated stores by the end of this year. And next year, my goal is to open locations across major cities nationwide, sparking something genuinely new.”

Gyeong-eun laid out her ambitious plans in an interview with reporters.

Then she personally became the coffee brand’s very first customer, placing the opening order herself.

“Two iced Americanos, please.”

“Yes, two iced Americanos coming right up.”

Click! Click!

The moment of her placing the order and the clerk taking it was captured by the reporters’ cameras.

And the sight of her walking off with the coffees held in both hands, in clear plastic cups, was captured too.

Beaming, Gyeong-eun raised her iced Americano and declared the star-branded coffee shop officially open.

Clap clap clap clap!

A round of enthusiastic applause broke out, followed by congratulations all around.

Gyeong-eun raised her voice to the crowd.

“Now that the ceremony’s over, everyone have a drink — it’s on me.”

Having said this, she turned to the store staff.

“Don’t take money from any customers who come in today. It’s all on me today.”

As soon as Gyeong-eun finished speaking, the people gathered began lining up one after another, offering their thanks.

Sweating in the heat, the drinks in their clear cups full of ice looked all the more refreshing, and people gulped down their iced coffees the moment they received them.

Drinking it, people were surprised once by how cold it was, and surprised twice by how clean the taste was.

People spilling out of the store into the street with their plastic cups drew plenty of eyes as they went.

(End of Chapter 153)