“W-Who are you?”
When I spoke with a smile, the man kneeling on the ground looked up at with tear-filled eyes.
I crouched so our eyes were level. I was smiling, but in his eyes, mine weren’t.
“Seonggi, I really wanted to see you.”
It was Manager Park, the one who had killed .
And here, before , was the young Park Seonggi.
“Who... who are you?”
“I’m soone who should thank you. Thanks to you, I managed to seize a great opportunity. So, thank you.”
“What are you talking about...?”
Park Seonggi looked confused, clearly not understanding a word.
“You wouldn’t get it anyway. Forget it. Where’s your boss? Did you think I’d fall for your sniveling act? You’re still too naive. Or maybe you haven’t grasped the situation yet?”
“My boss?”
“Mr. Pyo. The one you serve. He does exist, right?”
It had taken this long to track down Manager Park because I didn’t know his exact details.
All I knew was that he’d grown up abandoned in an orphanage and had been taken in by Mr. Pyo at the age of eight.
Even so, it was impressive that I’d managed to find him.
“I never imagined you’d be living quietly in Seoul.”
Even now, as an adult, he wasn’t registered under his real na. Finding him had been tough.
As for Mr. Pyo, he was even more elusive—like chasing a ghost.
“W-What? Mr. Pyo? Who’s that?”
“The man who raised you. No, the man who turned you into a killing machine. Don’t bother denying it—I already know. Park Seonggi isn’t even your real na, is it?”
His expression didn’t change—he’d been trained since childhood—but his pupils twitched ever so slightly.
“Let’s make this simple. Tell who Mr. Pyo is and where he is, and I’ll let you go without pain.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
I sighed and slowly stood.
“Manager Ma, you brought the drugs, right? He’s been trained since childhood. Torture won’t work. Just use the drugs right away. He’s no special forces soldier—they wouldn’t have trained him against this.”
Through Black Bear, I’d recently smuggled in several military-grade interrogation drugs.
Secretly used by the U.S. military, they were brutally effective.
“What? Why are you doing this to ? I told you—I don’t know! Who the hell is Mr. Pyo? I said I don’t know!”
His voice grew louder at the ntion of drugs.
I sat back in the chair, unmoved. Manager Ma looked at curiously.
“You’re going to watch this yourself, Boss?”
“I have to. This bastard ended my life once. I need to see this for myself to close the past.”
Manager Ma nodded.
“Understood.”
At his signal, a man stepped forward carrying a rectangular case. Inside were vials and syringes neatly arranged.
Manager Ma grabbed one vial and loaded a syringe.
“Starting now, Boss.”
I nodded, and Manager Ma approached. The n holding Seonggi yanked his arm.
“Don’t! Don’t do it!”
“Then talk. Just talk.”
“I told you! I don’t know that man! Don’t!”
No matter how much Park Seonggi struggled, he couldn’t break free.
Even after the drug was injected, he thrashed wildly for several minutes before his eyes finally glazed over.
“He’s ready.”
Manager Ma dragged the limp man in front of .
“Na?”
Seonggi stared blankly, mouth half open, silent.
Manager Ma smacked him on the back of the head.
Park Seonggi slumped forward, then was yanked upright by his hair.
“Your na?”
“...Pyo Bongil.”
“Mr. Pyo’s na?”
“Don’t know.”
“Where is Mr. Pyo?”
“Don’t know.”
Whether he truly didn’t know or the drug hadn’t fully kicked in yet was unclear.
“Are you sure it’s working?”
“Yes.”
“What if we give him another dose?”
“It’s risky. Better to keep questioning. Two doses can be dangerous.”
I nodded and continued.
“You know Mr. Pyo, don’t you?”
“K-Know... him.”
“How do you et him?”
“He... contacts . Location changes every ti.”
“You don’t et him directly?”
“Usually... he sends soone else...”
“How many people like you are there?”
“Don’t know. I only know three others.”
Manager Ma muttered quietly, “The drug’s definitely working. Listen to how clear he sounds now.”
“Is this normal?”
“Yes. At first they get drowsy and their eyes glaze over, but eventually their speech clears, and they won’t rember any of this later.”
As he said, Seonggi’s gaze was gradually focusing again.
But despite the continued questioning, no details about Mr. Pyo’s location or real identity erged.
“There’s nothing more to get.”
Even with the risk, we tried another dose, but the answers didn’t change.
It was disappointing.
I clicked my tongue, staring into Park Seonggi’s empty eyes.
“Clean it up.”
Just as he had done to once, we put him in a car, rolled it toward the nearby lakeside, and released the handbrake.
Manager Ma shut the car door and ca to stand beside as I watched the vehicle slowly roll down the slope.
This ti, fate had been reversed.
* * *
anwhile, Wall Street’s relentless assault on Japan continued. Murmurs of dissatisfaction with the U.S. began leaking from the Japanese governnt.
“What exactly does Washington want?”
Inside the Pri Minister’s office in Japan, Pri Minister Obata rubbed his forehead wearily.
The Finance Ministry’s Vice Minister spoke.
“Secretary Rubin refuses to give details—only harsh criticism. All he does is feed negative comnts to the press. Pri Minister, you should contact the White House directly.”
Obata frowned.
“With no clear counterasures?”
“Our policies have no fundantal problems. This seems heavily political. Only you can resolve it.”
While they passed bla around, the yen plunged to 147 per dollar.
Japan tried to stabilize it by pouring foreign reserves into the market, but Wall Street’s hyenas pressed harder.
For Wall Street, it was a feast; for Japan, hell.
Days later, unable to endure any longer, Obata called President Clinton at the White House.
If the White House intervened, Wall Street would have to stop the attacks.
Clinton agreed and summoned Secretary Rubin.
“Rubin, that’s enough.”
“Mr. President, without reforms in Japan, Asia’s crisis won’t end.”
“I spoke to the Pri Minister. He’ll agree to any conditions—just stop the investors in New York.”
“Then I’ll handle negotiations. If they commit to financial reforms, we’ll help.”
“Fine, but keep it reasonable.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
But Rubin had no intention of being “reasonable.”
Like during the Plaza Accord, Rubin believed Japan had to be pressured hard when it didn’t cooperate.
Leaving the White House, he called Han Kyungyeong.
“Jas, it’s Rubin.”
— Yes, Secretary.
“The President wants us to stop.”
— I see.
“Pass along the ssage: it’s better to end it here. Politics, you know.”
— Understood. We’ll keep that in mind.
“No need to stop imdiately. We’ll intervene only after Japan accepts our demands. Tell them to be grateful—we’re teaching Japan so manners.”
— Haha, understood.
Rubin hung up, smiling.
“Heh, getting what we want without lifting a finger.”
* * *
— Just as you predicted, Japan’s about to give in. Rubin called himself.
“Of course.”
— He even told to thank you. Said you helped teach Japan a lesson. We do all the work, and soone else takes the credit. It’s annoying.
I chuckled at Han Kyungyeong’s grumbling.
“We didn’t lose anything, did we? This was necessary anyway. I had to keep Japan out of Korea’s affairs while I cleaned house here.”
— We’ve got ti. Rubin said we can keep going until Japan formally accepts the demands.
I smirked, picturing Rubin’s smug face.
“Obviously. Japan’s reserves are too large for IMF intervention, but since they’ve waved the white flag, Rubin will demand brutal reforms. Let him. It only helps .”
As expected, Rubin’s demands were harsh—massive financial reforms and bad debt cleanups, all to be presented before the U.S.-Japan summit next month.
But that wasn’t my only plan.
It was ti to trigger a coup inside the Yamaguchi-gumi.
“They agreed to the proposal, right?”
“Yes. As soon as they learned we were involved in the attack on Japan, they said they’d act.”
“Hah. Typical opportunists. Not my ideal pawns, but we don’t have better options. Proceed imdiately.”
“Understood.”
Once internal strife tore through the Yamaguchi-gumi, Cheongpunghoe would be next.
I’d need Black Bear for that.
Their elite teams were already deployed in Kosovo under a U.S. governnt contract.
Hiring those generals to secure influence in Washington had been worth every penny.
“All the elite teams are in Kosovo, correct?”
“Yes, except for the one stationed in Korea. Another team is on standby at HQ.”
“Bring them in. We’re going to cut off Cheongpunghoe’s limbs and storm their base. I’ll take Lee Yonghyeon’s head myself. I won’t allow any surprises.”
“Will the governnt just sit by?”
“We’ll see soon enough.”
Kim Hakgwon wasn’t stupid—he’d already dug up plenty about .
He’d have to choose.
Since I’d already chosen to swing the blade, I’d take the head and leave the rest for the law. Kim Hakgwon would have to make his decision, too.
“What about Mr. Pyo?”
“Almost no one even knows if he’s real. Probably only Lee Yonghyeon knows his true identity.”
Rumors of the professional assassin, Lee Yonghyeon’s hidden blade, had spread quietly, but no one knew anything concrete.
“He’ll appear when we move against Lee Yonghyeon. No hunting dog stays hidden when its master’s about to die.”
“I’ll keep eyes on him.”
Outside, dusk had fallen.
Sitting on the bed, I looked at Manager Ma standing silently in the shadows.
“Before my grandfather’s health worsens any further, I need to show him Lee Yonghyeon’s end. I need to ease his regrets.”
Recently, my grandfather had grown weaker, barely moving around.
The hospital visits always gave the sa answer—it was just age. Exactly like my previous life.
“And Chairman Cheon Sooman?”
“He’s quietly living in Australia, right?”
Manager Ma nodded.
A twisted smile tugged at my lips.
“Well, Australia’s a big country. Car accidents aren’t that unusual there. There’s no rush. Once Grandfather passes... then.”
“Understood.”
As for Cheon Suhan, he’d likely spend the rest of his life locked in a psychiatric hospital. I’d considered killing him, but every ti, Cheon Jiyoung’s face ca to mind, and I couldn’t be that cruel.
Cheon Sooman, though, would die the mont my grandfather was gone.
It was ti to cut every last tie that had bound since my previous life.
< I Really Wanted to See You > End.
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