Chapter 69
“Taejong Group (3)”
Sehyun let out a laugh as he watched Geum Gang-tae at a loss for words.
No sane distributor would accept a crazy 90% profit margin.
The audacity he showed seemed to stem from his belief in the peculiarities of the player society.
On top of that, Sehyun’s seemingly unimpressive track record must have played a part.
“Everywhere I go, it’s the same. Treated like this everywhere.”
He suddenly remembered the past, when In-ha first started modeling and wandered around, trying to get her foot in the door.
It was exactly the same back then.
Underestimating, underpaying, pocketing deposits.
He had often thought how dirty the world could be at that time.
But now was different.
Though his body was in his mid-twenties, his mind had surpassed thirty long ago.
He had crossed countless life-and-death situations, experienced betrayals, and had long since been hardened by reality.
He even knew how valuable his own weapons were, based on what he understood about the future.
What about Geum Gang-tae?
Who knows when he became a player, but he had only been involved in business for barely a month.
At most, he had just finished transitioning into it.
“Judging from my previous life, it’s not hard to speculate.”
During the time Hailhwan was rising in power and targeting the Foundation as his primary focus, Taejong Group, which had close ties with them, was naturally also a target.
Yet, back then, Sehyun had never heard the name Geum Gang-tae.
During the Apocalypse era, the Taejong Group was undoubtedly led by the current chairman, Geum Tae-san.
If he had properly managed the group, he would have directly overseen Taejong instead of letting the aging chairman take over.
That he did not meant he was not capable.
If it was like that then, how much worse would it be now?
Well, it was easy to overlook his inexperience. Everyone starts somewhere.
But there was one thing Sehyun could not let pass.
“And one more thing. I think you are mistaken about something, and I’d like to correct it.”
“…About what?”
“The domestic market for stellar-force equipment. You seem to be completely misunderstanding the cause-and-effect.”
“…What do you mean?”
It was laughable to think Taejong Group controlled everything.
“Do you know where domestic stellar-force equipment is produced?”
“Of course, at Cheonji Workshop. Who wouldn’t know that…?”
“Why on earth would they bend over backward and give up 80% of the profits? Just because there are no other clients besides Taejong?”
“Of course, that’s….”
Gang-tae couldn’t even finish his sentence.
Sehyun was openly laughing.
No, looking closely, it wasn’t laughing at him—it was disbelief so extreme it spilled over into laughter.
Sehyun sighed, stopped laughing, and asked:
“You’ve never met the elder of Cheonji Workshop, have you?”
“….”
If he had, he would know they would never do something like that just for profit.
The reason they conceded so much to Taejong was not greed.
Cheonji Workshop’s founding philosophy was Hongik Ingan—serving humanity. It was deeply rooted in social contribution to the player community.
“They simply wanted their weapons to be more widely used by players. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Having only witnessed Taejong’s path of success, Gang-tae could hardly have imagined such a truth.
So he couldn’t even gauge the value behind these documents.
He probably didn’t even know the difference between a weapon and an artifact.
A stellar-force weapon is merely a conduit for a player’s abilities.
But an artifact independently manifests abilities of its own, separate from the player.
For a player, this was revolutionary.
If used properly, weaknesses disappeared, leaving only the strongest abilities.
And yet he treated it like mere equipment.
“So, what’s your point?”
“….”
Even after all this explanation, he didn’t understand.
Sehyun couldn’t help but sigh.
If Gang-tae had even a hint of sense, he would have looked at the proposal again.
Pride probably prevented him from making a proper judgment.
Sehyun eventually stood up.
“Not signing? You’ll regret it.”
“…You’ll see it again.”
“I hope so, sincerely.”
He could see the ridiculous look on Gang-tae’s face.
It didn’t matter. There were other ways to make fools like him realize.
Taejong Group Headquarters, top floor, Chairman’s Office
An elderly man, hair fully white but posture still straight and strong, was cleaning orchid leaves.
“So, what’s Gang-tae up to?”
“I heard he visited the Sales Department three days ago. He hasn’t done any other work since.”
“…Hmm.”
The chairman let out a sigh, but his expression remained unchanged.
In the past, just thinking of his grandson would bring a smile, but now worry weighed heavily.
“…Awakened at a time like this, of all times.”
He could see the hardships his grandson would face in the future.
Geum Tae-san had endured many hardships when he moved to the capital, starting with a small hardware store to build today’s Taejong Group—but his true struggles came later.
“It started back then…”
He remembered the year clearly.
The same year Orwell’s novel predicted a dystopia with Big Brother’s rise.
Geum Tae-san, awakened as a player then, felt the oppressive weight of that dystopia firsthand.
The hidden truths of the world were perilous beyond imagination.
People fretting over the Cold War or financial crises were like naive children unaware of reality.
Material wealth, expressed in numbers, could shatter at any time.
The ideology that struck Tae-san’s mind was simple:
“I must survive this turbulence by any means.”
Yet, his capabilities as a player were limited.
So he brought his competent business ventures into the player society.
With help from a player friend, he built a foundation and connected it to the Foundation for business.
He created the Future Strategy Office to run these operations in secret.
Although things had stabilized, the path forward was uncertain.
There was potential in the market, but how Taejong would operate differently was still unclear.
Hence, turbulence was necessary—not from outside, but from within.
And the one holding the key happened to be his beloved grandson.
“…My heart is torn a hundred times over.”
But duties must be done. Without it, surviving as the successor of Taejong Group would be impossible.
Knock, knock!
“Grandfather, you called?”
“Come in.”
As the saying goes, speak of the tiger and it appears.
His grandson had arrived.
Gang-tae entered, bowing respectfully. He seemed aware that this summons was as chairman, not grandfather.
“How’s the Future Strategy Office? Can you handle it?”
“Just maintaining existing businesses for now.”
“Hmm.”
Maintaining, huh.
Not quite satisfying.
“…You’re not pleased?”
“Does it show?”
His grandson wasn’t slow-witted.
Even after only a short time, maintaining it meant he could handle it.
The chairman knew his grandson had that much ability.
It had only been a month since Gang-tae awakened as a player and took over the Future Strategy Office.
Running a secretive business so well in such a short time was proof of his capability.
But the chairman wanted more. The world demanded more.
“There’s an old story. About those who received five gold bars, two gold bars, and one gold bar.”
A simple story.
The one who received five doubled it to ten. The one who received two doubled it to four.
The one who received one kept it grudgingly, bringing only one back.
The master rewarded those who earned more, but took back from those who did nothing, giving them nothing.
“What do you think of this story?”
“….”
Gang-tae remained silent for a while.
The chairman waited.
Most would give a predictable answer. But what would his grandson say?
“I think I understand one thing.”
“…Oh?”
“You didn’t give me this task just to maintain it, did you?”
“…Hmm.”
Not wrong. He grasped the core of the fable.
…but the chairman had hoped for a more creative answer.
It was a light test anyway.
He moved on to the main point.
“Don’t rely solely on the Foundation. For the group’s future, a new breakthrough is needed.”
Taejong Group relied heavily on the Foundation.
The chairman had benefited himself, so he knew well.
But it couldn’t last forever.
Taejong would have no future otherwise.
Of course, he wouldn’t leave it entirely to his grandson.
“I expected you’d hesitate. That’s why…”
He handed over a tablet.
On the screen was a watermark: [player’s report], showing an interview video.
“The Flag of the Holy War. Quite a remarkable item.”
A man demonstrated the item.
What was special was that its ability came not from the man, but from the tool itself.
Placing the flag created a protective barrier, stopping any attack.
For players in the Rift, it was essential equipment.
A business opportunity Taejong Group could not miss.
Gang-tae watched the video, eyes fixed. He must have recognized its value immediately.
“Think of it as an extension of existing weapon trade. Shouldn’t be too difficult, right?”
“W-well….”
Suddenly, Gang-tae stammered.
For some reason, he looked very flustered.
“T-this item has been exposed to the media. Others may contact them first. Getting favorable terms may be difficult….”
“Oh? You considered that?”
The chairman was impressed. To see such a tempting item yet think of risks first—his grandson had business acumen.
“Your point is valid. It’s not easy.”
“…Yes.”
Seeing his grandson lower his head reluctantly, the chairman suppressed a smile.
He wondered what expression he would have when seeing his final prepared gift.
“So, I arranged a preliminary meeting with him.”
“…Yes?”
“He said to meet directly. Seems quite favorable.”
At that moment, the intercom informed them he had arrived.
Shortly after, the office door opened.
A man in worn boots and rough work clothes appeared—the man from the video.
The chairman smiled brightly, patting Gang-tae on the shoulder.
“How’s that, Gang-tae? This deal is your grandfather’s gift. Use it as a stepping stone… hmm?”
But Gang-tae’s expression was pale and frozen.
Not seeing a ghost… was he that shocked?
Then the man spoke:
“Oh, we meet again, Mr. Geum Gang-tae.”
“Again?”
The chairman tilted his head. Gang-tae stood silently, face ashen.
