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CH463 | GSI
🕑 Added 2025-09-10 15:31:25 +0000 UTCIn the center of the elegantly furnished chairman’s office, Chairman Park Tae-hong sat on a European-style sofa, flanked by his eldest son, President Park Jin-hyung, and the group’s senior executives.
With a cigarette held between his fingers, Park Tae-hong exhaled a cloud of white smoke and turned his gaze to Secretary Gil Sung-ho, seated to his left.
“Is it time yet?”
Gil Sung-ho rolled up his sleeve, checked the watch on his wrist, and replied promptly.
“It’s exactly three o’clock. The bidding results should be announced any moment now.”
“Haah… Why does time feel so slow today?”
Park Tae-hong brought the cigarette back to his lips.
The wide office was thick with the scent of tobacco, mingled with the tense, anxious atmosphere.
Normally composed and authoritative, Park Tae-hong was visibly restless today because it was the day the results for the Gimpo reclamation site and Korea Express bids would be revealed.
With a staggering total of 2.7 trillion won at stake, both the chairman and the executives were at the height of tension.
Although the Gimpo reclamation site would go to Bluehole Construction, established by Seok-won, the actual acquisition by Daheung Group was limited to Korea Express.
Even so, the bid of 1.5 trillion won made it the largest corporate acquisition in Daheung Group’s history.
Initially, Park had only considered acquiring Korea Express at the urging of his second son. However, during the review process, he realized that Korea Express, with its nationwide distribution network and valuable real estate near railway stations, could generate substantial synergy with the existing department store business. This convinced Park Tae-hong to pursue the acquisition more aggressively.
“If we acquire Korea Express, we can secure a nationwide logistics system, establishing a solid foundation that will elevate our group into a leading distribution and retail company.”
Park Tae-hong stubbed out the nearly burned-down cigarette in a crystal ashtray and immediately lit a new one.
The ashtray was already piled high with cigarette butts, evidence of his relentless chain-smoking.
“Maybe we should have bid another ten billion,” Park Tae-hong muttered, a faint expression of regret crossing his face.
Sitting beside him, his eldest son, President Park Jin-hyung, offered reassurance.
“Seok-won warned us that overpaying too much could fall into the winner’s curse. And he said we’re the only ones able to pay the acquisition entirely in dollars, so the bidding is essentially a formality. Let’s trust his advice.”
Executive Vice President Cho Yoon-won, seated alongside Park Jin-hyung, added his perspective.
“Given the fear that the exchange rate could spike again and trigger another financial crisis, the government will certainly favor the bidder who can secure such a large amount in dollars—us. That gives us an advantage.”
Yet Park Tae-hong could not hide his anxiety, the cigarette flicking nervously between his fingers. Secretary Gil Sung-ho spoke calmly.
“To be honest, 1.5 trillion won is already the maximum we can bid. Let’s just wait a little longer.”
In reality, having spent much of their cash on acquiring Nasan Department Store, they wouldn’t have been able to afford 1.5 trillion won—let alone 500 billion—without Seok-won’s support.
“Haah… right,” Park Tae-hong sighed softly.
“We’ve already submitted the bid, so regretting it now won’t change anything.”
Leaning back, he smoked while waiting for the results.
The executives, including Park Jin-hyung, sat silently, glancing at their watches, their tension palpable.
Time seemed to crawl unnaturally slow today.
The heavy silence was broken only by nervous breaths and the faint crackle of burning cigarettes.
By the time it was well past the scheduled announcement at 2:00 p.m., everyone’s patience had reached its limit.
Then a cellphone rang, slicing through the stillness.
Gil Sung-ho retrieved the phone from his pocket, and Park Tae-hong immediately straightened, asking with urgency,
“Director Choi?”
Checking the name on the screen, Secretary Gil Sung-ho immediately confirmed,
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Let me have it. No, I’ll take the call myself. Hand it over!”
Unable to contain himself, Park Tae-hong reached out, and Gil Sung-ho quickly handed over the phone.
Park Tae-hong brought it to his ear and shouted without preamble,
“How did it go?!”
[It’s done, Chairman. We’ve successfully won the bid for both Gimpo Landfill and Hankook Express for 2.7 trillion won!]
Hearing the long-awaited news, Park Tae-hong’s face broke into a wide, joyous smile.
“Hahaha! What wonderful news. Excellent work, everyone.”
[We will have the bid documents sent directly to headquarters immediately.]
“Good. Let them prepare everything.”
As Park Tae-hong lowered the phone, Park Jin-hyung, alert and eager, asked hurriedly,
“So we won the bid?”
The other executives also leaned forward, their eyes full of anticipation.
Park Tae-hong, who had been tense just moments ago, now beamed with sheer delight and announced in a bright voice,
“Yes, we’ve won the bid.”
“Of course! I knew it!”
Park Jin-hyung cheered, and Gil Sung-ho joined in with a smile,
“Congratulations, Chairman.”
The other executives, finally able to relax, allowed themselves to share in the joy.
“To bring Korean Express under our wing—it feels like a dream.”
“Now our Daehung Group will leap up the corporate rankings.”
Amid the optimistic chatter, Park Tae-hong’s laughter filled the room, congratulating his team for their efforts.
“Hahaha! This success is thanks to everyone’s hard work—well done!”
In truth, the government’s favorable stance toward Daehung Group, combined with the promise to pay the acquisition entirely in dollars, had already made the bid nearly secure.
Yet, in the final stretch, Lotte Group, a retail giant with far higher corporate standing and ample financial resources, aggressively entered the bidding for Korean Express.
Until the very end, Park Tae-hong and his team had to keep their nerves in check—but ultimately, they overcame a formidable competitor and secured the acquisition.
Still visibly elated, Park Tae-hong turned to Executive Vice President Cho Yoon-won, his excitement barely contained.
“The full payment is due within three days, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“Nothing should go wrong, but just in case, make sure Daehung Venture Capital deposits the payment on time. Don’t let the deadline slip.”
“Understood.”
Suddenly struck by a thought, Park Tae-hong furrowed his brow and turned toward his eldest son.
“The younger one is in Russia, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he said he had some matters that needed his attention personally,” Park Jin-hyung replied.
“How important could it be to leave his post right before a bid worth trillions? He just got back from the U.S. a few days ago and now he’s off to Russia? This kid is something else,” Park Tae-hong muttered, grumbling in mock annoyance.
On a day with such wonderful news, everyone should be together celebrating—but one of them is always absent, using being busy as an excuse. He seemed to feel a subtle sense of disappointment.
Noticing the slight tinge of regret in his father’s voice, Park Jin-hyung chuckled.
“When you’re handling major matters, there’s always a lot to take care of.”
“Let’s just hope he doesn’t pull some unexpected stunt and give everyone a scare,” Park Tae-hong added, shaking his head.
***
At the same time,
Seok-won visited the Khrunichev factory on the outskirts of Moscow with his entourage. He absentmindedly touched his ear, feeling a peculiar tingling sensation.
“Is something wrong?”
“Feels like someone’s talking about me—my ear keeps tingling.”
“Huh?”
Pavlovich looked puzzled.
“Never mind, it’s nothing,” Seok-won said with a faint smile, turning his gaze to the massive factory building in front of him.
Like most Russian space facilities, Khrunichev had fallen into disrepair after the collapse of the Soviet Union, as government support nearly vanished. The building looked old and worn.
To make matters worse, Russia’s declaration of a moratorium and the subsequent economic downturn left Khrunichev and other space development companies struggling even more.
Seok-won’s visit, therefore, was like a blessing of rain in a drought for Khrunichev. Normally, visiting the factory required a 45-day advance request, but the usual protocol was bypassed, and on the day of his arrival, he was allowed entry immediately, with the company president personally volunteering to guide him.
Vladimir Nestcherov, a robust man with a mustache, constantly eyed Seok-won, careful not to miss any cues, while energetically explaining the factory facilities.
“The building you see here is the main assembly hall. It stands 40 meters tall and stretches a staggering 1.5 kilometers in length—one single structure,” he proudly said.
“It’s the longest single building in Moscow,” Nestcherov added.
He raised his arm to indicate two yellow electric carts parked side by side.
“The interior is too vast to explore on foot, so we’ll be using these carts to move around from now on.”
Seok-won nodded and boarded one of the two carts along with his group.
Soon, the cart glided smoothly into the factory. The first thing that caught Seok-won’s eye was a gigantic rocket lying on the floor, fully assembled.
As the cart stopped next to it, Nestcherov turned from the driver’s seat toward Seok-won in the back and said,
“This is the Proton rocket. To be precise, it’s the Proton-K model.”
It was Seok-won’s first time seeing a space rocket up close. The sheer scale—a height of 53 meters and a diameter of 7.4 meters—left him letting out a small involuntary gasp.
Nestcherov, seemingly satisfied with Seok-won’s reaction, smiled and continued.
“First launched in 1965, this rocket has flown more than 200 times, successfully placing over 50 satellites into orbit.”
“It’s… really magnificent… no, it’s beautiful.”
Seok-won couldn’t take his eyes off the pristine white rocket. Seeing this, Nestcherov’s chest swelled with pride.
“It’s not just our company’s pride—it’s a symbol of Russian space development as a whole,” Nestcherov said, his face glowing with self-satisfaction.
He continued, pointing to the rocket in front of them.
“This rocket is the one that will be sent to Korea.”
“Can I get closer and touch it?”
“Normally, no. But now that you’re the new owner of this rocket, feel free,” Nestcherov replied.
Seok-won, visibly excited, immediately stepped off the electric cart. The others quickly followed him.
Wearing a safety helmet, Seok-won approached the massive rocket, raised one arm, and carefully rested his hand on the curved fuselage. The cold metal pressed against his palm.
Imagining this enormous rocket blasting flames into the sky, piercing the atmosphere, and reaching space made Seok-won’s heart pound.
Even more thrilling was the thought that this rocket now belonged to him.
He ran his palm along the fuselage, then turned to Nestcherov with an expression full of anticipation.
“When can we get this rocket to Korea?”
“To transport it, the rocket needs to be disassembled, which would normally take over two months,” Nestcherov explained.
“Let’s finish it within a month.”
Nestcherov, who usually wanted to accommodate his important client, frowned in concern.
“It’s a delicate and complicated process. I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“I’ll pay double for the shipping,” Seok-won said.
“Are… you serious?”
Seok-won nodded. Nestcherov cleared his throat and quickly changed his tone.
“Hmm… it’s normally impossible, but we’ll try working in two shifts and finish within a month.”
As expected, the only thing standing in the way had been insufficient funds.
Seok-won’s expression reflected satisfaction.
“Just make sure that in the rush, nothing goes wrong with the rocket. You understand that, right?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Nestcherov replied.
Seok-won was hurrying because, although the Russian government had permitted the export of the Proton rocket, their stance could change at any time. He wanted to get it to Korea before any complications arose.
He lightly tapped the sleek fuselage with his palm and murmured under his breath,
“See you again soon, in Korea.”
