Into The Thrill-Chapter 12.6

Jung-woo probably had a hunch. Aside from his aging body, he didn’t have a damn thing left. And someone with nothing to lose would be easy to control.

Having Jung-woo manage HanKyung Group had always been part of Woojin’s long-term plan.

“I’m a discarded man.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“...”

Only then did Jung-woo turn his head to give Woojin a long, meaningful look.

The man who’d been engaged to his niece.

If things had gone properly, Woojin would have become his niece’s husband.

Not long after Hayeong committed suicide, Jung-woo had to go to prison. He didn’t even have time to mourn. Misfortune came in waves and struck without warning.

“Did my brother put you up to this? You think he’ll sit still if he finds out I’ve been dragged into this? A rich man stays afloat for at least three years after going broke, you know.”

“HanKyung Group doesn’t exist for the sake of one individual.”

“...She was such a bright, upright girl. What a shame.”

He muttered like he was talking to himself, eyes fixed on Woojin, who was focused on the road ahead.

Looking at Woojin, Jung-woo couldn’t help but think of his niece—so radiant and beautiful, like a freshly bloomed flower. She had a kind and pure heart. The two of them had looked perfect together.

Woojin turned the steering wheel and looked over at Jung-woo. Their eyes met. Woojin’s gaze was colorless, devoid of any emotion.

It was the kind of look prison guards wore when deliberately suppressing empathy while dealing with inmates. ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) If coldness had a color, it would look like that—his piercing eyes seemed to drag icy fingers down Jung-woo’s spine.

Jung-woo instinctively tensed and swallowed hard.

“Don’t forget who sent you to prison.”

As if to say, “Don’t spout sentimental nonsense after doing five years for a crime you didn’t commit,” as if to revive the old grudge he'd buried in resignation—Woojin’s eyes lashed like a whip.

Jung-woo straightened his back from the seat he’d been loosely slouched in.

The car crossed into downtown Seoul and soon arrived at the hotel.

It was owned by HanKyung Group. Since the view wasn’t great, Woojin had ordered them to empty out all the residence rooms on one of the higher-vacancy floors. This would be his new base of operations.

Woojin stepped out of the car. Jung-woo slowly opened the door and followed.

They took the elevator and got off on the prearranged floor.

Inside the residence—which had two bedrooms, a living room, bathroom, and study—Secretary Choi, who had been managing the villa in Yangpyeong, had already arrived.

He approached as Woojin entered.

“You’re here, sir.”

“This is Executive Director Kim Jung-woo. You got the message yesterday to have the room ready, right?”

“It’s prepared.”

Secretary Choi took the sports bag from Jung-woo’s hand.

“You can relax now. Take a shower and change clothes.”

At Woojin’s words, Jung-woo reflexively nodded. He followed Secretary Choi with a dazed expression.

Woojin headed to the study. He opened the mini-fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. After drinking, he took off his jacket. Secretary Choi, now returned, quickly moved to take it from him, but Woojin waved him off.

“Make sure the Executive Director is looked after properly. Give him this phone.”

He opened a desk drawer and took out a box containing a phone. Secretary Choi tucked it under his arm.

“Team Leader Song is coming at eight. Check the recording setup in every room. Especially Jung-woo’s.”

“It’s already been checked.”

Woojin walked to the window, drew back one side of the curtain, and opened it.

A spring breeze rustled the light green leaves of the trees outside.

Looking down at the desolate, lifeless back side of the building, Woojin fell into thought for a moment before speaking. Secretary Choi stepped closer to hear clearly.

“Proceed with the apartment construction in Seocho-dong.”

“You mean the apartment you planned to move into after your marriage, sir? It still hasn’t been dealt with?”

“It’s still as is. No need to touch anything else—just soundproof the remaining room. So no noise escapes no matter what happens inside.”

“...Understood.”

“Oh, and I bought a painting from Gallery B. Hang it somewhere visible in the living room. I gave them your contact info—they’ll call you tomorrow. Start construction as quickly as possible.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Secretary Choi responded promptly, and catching Woojin’s unspoken cue to leave, turned and exited with the phone box still under his arm.

Woojin laid his jacket across the sofa and stood at the wide desk.

He had deliberately brought over everything from Kim Jung-geun’s personal study at his home.

The desk, the sofa, the safe, even the cigars and ashtray he used, and the fridge—it was all the same.

He sat at Kim Jung-geun’s desk. Numerous high-profit ventures had started at this very desk, along with corruption and conspiracy. It was also where oversight and control would now be carried out. The current owner of this desk was Woojin.

Knock knock. A knock sounded.

“Come in.”

At Woojin’s reply, Team Leader Song and the Managing Director of Sales stepped inside.

Director Im had never met Woojin. As he walked in and saw him working at the Chairman’s study desk, he gave Song a wary look, silently asking who this man was.

“We’re late. I apologize.”

As Song bowed and apologized respectfully, Im’s expression stiffened awkwardly.

Woojin tidied up the papers on his desk and stood. Song introduced him.

“This is Prosecutor Hyun Woojin from the Central Prosecutors’ Office. As the Chairman may have mentioned, Prosecutor Hyun will be overseeing Strategy Office affairs until his release. Please greet each other.”

The former Strategy Office director and task force executives tied to Kim Jung-geun’s corruption were all under arrest and awaiting trial. A major personnel reshuffle had taken place. The new executive team had been chosen based on performance evaluations and political alignment.

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Woojin held out his hand. Director Im hesitated, then shook it with an awkward greeting.

Another knock came, and this time Secretary Choi entered with Executive Director Kim Jung-woo. Recognizing him, both Song and Im flinched at the same time.

Jung-woo had showered, shaved, and dyed his greying hair black. He looked nothing like someone who’d just been released from prison—more like a promising businessman.

Faced with someone who should’ve still been locked up, Director Im and Team Leader Song exchanged urgent glances. Clearly, this was someone they hadn’t expected.

“You all know Executive Director Kim Jung-woo. No need for introductions. Did you bring the business proposal?”

Woojin guided them to the meeting table in the center of the study. He seated Jung-woo at the head of the table. Song hesitated, then opened his briefcase and pulled out a file.

“Bring us something to drink.”

At Woojin’s command, Secretary Choi stepped out.

Woojin gave the file a quick skim before handing it to Jung-woo. Not having been briefed, Jung-woo accepted it with the same surprise as the others.

“The first priority is recovering the stock price. Since Executive Director Kim can’t go public yet, Team Leader Song will handle it. You’ll need to make it clear in the media that Kim Jung-geun’s crimes were personal. Distinguish the company’s stance. And from here on, deal with each of the charges against him from a corporate perspective.”

“You’re saying we’ll take responsibility for the damage he caused?”

Song asked. Most of the charges against Kim were embezzlement, breach of trust, and stock manipulation. For every gain he made, someone else had suffered losses.

“Liquidate affiliates, restructure—do whatever it takes to gather funds. Start by repaying the public bailout received during the financial crisis.”

“What?!”

It was money that had already been processed and technically didn’t need to be repaid. Yet Woojin was telling them to cough up that astronomical sum. It wasn’t just shock—they were all staring at Woojin in horrified disbelief.

"Ah, no—I mean, it’s not a small amount of money, and it’s impossible! Selling off one or two affiliates won’t even begin to cover it."

"Then start with three or four. Anything unprofitable or low in value. I’ve already commissioned a consulting firm. They’ll be conducting due diligence and proposing plans to repay the public bailout. Review them, whether they’re feasible or not, and proceed."

"Was this discussed with the Chairman beforehand?"

Director Im didn’t bother hiding the suspicion in his eyes. As far as they were concerned, even with a prison sentence, Kim Jung-geun was still the one calling the shots.

Woojin looked at him. The corners of his eyes twitched faintly as he held Im’s gaze.

"Once he’s transferred, he’ll have even less ability to participate in management. The company’s already distancing itself from Chairman Kim—how can we seek his approval for every single decision?"

"That doesn’t even make sense—"

"As you know."

Woojin cut him off and laced his fingers together, resting them on his crossed knee. His eyes—sharp and dominating—swept slowly across everyone seated at the table.

"The person who holds the voting rights for his shares is me. Whether the executives agree or not, the Chairman’s authority is in my hands. So you’ll follow my lead. Whether you like it or not."

His voice remained low and calm, with a faint trace of a smile, but there was a tension in it—like a predator closing in on its prey.

Director Im lowered his gaze, unable to meet Woojin’s eyes anymore. The message was clear: if you don’t like it, you can leave.

"I’ll be directing the Strategic Office from here. We’ll hold meetings twice a week from now on. I want a full report this Wednesday—current issues with affiliates, ongoing projects, financials. Leave nothing out. Not a single word."

No one responded. They simply exchanged glances, reading each other’s moods.

Woojin held out his hand to Secretary Choi, who opened a drawer and handed over a document.

Woojin placed it in front of Director Im. At a glance, Im visibly flinched and snatched up the papers.

"Don’t assume that just because I’m not a specialist, I’ll be easily fooled. Reports on executive performance, behavior, and corruption—both at the headquarters and the subsidiaries—are being updated in real time. It seems there are some people trying to stir up chaos in the middle of this special investigation. We can’t allow the name HanKyung to make any more appearances in the media. Keep that in mind—this is a time for caution."

Their shoulders, already tense, seemed to sink under invisible pressure. Woojin turned his attention to Jung-woo, who had been quietly observing everything.

"Executive Director Kim, start by getting a grasp on operations. If you need anything, ask Secretary Choi. From now on, he’ll be your hands and feet."

Woojin nodded toward Choi. Secretary Choi gave Jung-woo a formal bow. It was a clear message: a handler had been assigned.

As Woojin’s phone rang, he raised a hand slightly in apology and walked to the far end of the study, where his call wouldn’t be overheard.

"Yes?"

―Woojin, it’s Mom. Are you busy?

"No, it’s fine. Go ahead."

It was his mother. Woojin replied softly.

―You didn’t forget we’re having dinner tonight, did you?

"I’ll come home later."

―Alright. See you tonight, then.

After ending the brief call, Woojin stared at the screen for a moment, then turned back to the nervous executives.

∞ ∞ ∞

Woojin’s family home rivaled even the HanKyung Chairman’s mansion. Towering walls kept out prying eyes, and a wide garden inside was filled with freshly sprouting green grass.

The second-floor balcony—where his older brother once hung off and fell, sustaining serious injuries—was still there. Woojin walked inside, brushing past the new growth with empty eyes.

His mother, waiting at the entrance, smiled gently when their eyes met.

"Welcome. I hope I didn’t pull you away from work?"

"Not at all. I’m not that busy these days."

"Because of CEO Kim? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"I can’t exactly say I’m not."

Woojin slipped on the slippers she offered and followed her to the living room.

He was the second of three sons. His older and younger brothers, like their parents, were both medical doctors. They had gone abroad at a young age, gotten married, and settled there permanently.

The once-lively house now echoed with silence. Woojin knew why his brothers had left the country so early, almost like they were running away. It was because of him.

A household staffer passed him silently, giving only a slight bow.

"Your father has a dinner appointment tonight."

"Okay."

Woojin also knew that his father, like his brothers, felt uneasy around him. Even his mother—though she smiled with composure—was carefully suppressing her unease.

He had realized, once he was old enough to judge for himself, that his own parents feared him. If they had been ordinary parents, they wouldn’t have just been cautious—they would have been terrified.

Woojin had known from a very young age that he wasn’t ordinary.

When his older brother, always pushing boundaries, ignored warnings and played on the balcony, he ended up falling and breaking his leg. Woojin had stood right next to him as he dangled from the railing. And he did nothing. He let him fall. He didn’t call for help. He didn’t run down to check on him. He just watched him fall and scream.

Their mother had warned them not to play on the balcony. It was the older brother who ignored her.

Woojin hadn’t grabbed him. He’d let him go. He simply stared at his screaming brother lying below, showing no emotion, no intent to intervene.

That was the moment his mother began to see something wrong in him. He never cried loudly or threw tantrums like his brothers. He was already clearly different.

And when the family dog died, her suspicions turned into certainty.

The dog they had raised since it was a puppy was gravely injured and barely breathing. While his brothers wailed like children, Woojin quietly ended the dog’s suffering.

The injuries were beyond saving—even a child could see that. Woojin had thought it better to reduce the dog’s pain, since death was inevitable. When he explained this, his mother took him to a psychiatrist. A specialist herself, she began studying psychology after that.

He was diagnosed with congenital antisocial personality disorder.

But Woojin couldn’t understand the diagnosis. Nor could he accept how others looked at him.

He considered himself completely normal. Unlike others, he responded to things with logic and reason, not emotional impulse.

He was far more rational, far more composed. Yet the people who couldn’t control their emotions enough to lead consistent daily lives were the ones calling him abnormal.

After many trials and errors, he had become someone indistinguishable from the average person. He behaved within social norms and tried to use his nature for what he believed was good.

He smiled when others smiled, even if he didn’t want to. He frowned when others cried, even if he didn’t feel a thing. He got angry when others did, even if he had no reason to.

From the moment he entered school, he would select someone with a similar background and intelligence and closely observe their behavior. Mimicking them became his survival method.