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CH462 | GSI
🕑 Added 2025-09-10 15:31:16 +0000 UTCIn the spacious royal suite, Seok-won, neatly dressed in a suit, sat across from Vladimir Putin, whose sharp eyes radiated intensity as he settled into the plush leather sofa.
Through the wide windows, a cruise ship drifted along the river, and beyond it loomed the striking sight of the Russian Federation Government Building with its gleaming white façade.
But neither man spared it a glance—their attention was fixed solely on each other.
Seok-won was the first to speak, his voice smooth and cordial.
“Though belated, allow me to congratulate you on your promotion to Director of the Federal Security Service.”
“Thank you.”
True to his KGB background, Director Putin spoke fluent English.
The FSB—the Federal Security Service of Russia—had been formed after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, when the KGB, once the state’s central intelligence agency, was divided into domestic security and foreign intelligence branches.
The FSB held sweeping authority: counterintelligence, counterterrorism, border security, major crime and federal law enforcement, and even, to a limited extent, foreign intelligence operations.
To be appointed as its head meant Putin had risen directly to the core of power.
“President Ivanov seems to hold you in very high regard.”
“I am honored by his trust.”
Putin replied with his usual impassive expression.
“That only proves your capabilities, doesn’t it?”
Seok-won, in contrast, continued smiling as he studied the man before him.
“And I believe you will rise even higher in the future.”
At that, Putin’s eyes flashed briefly before he quickly concealed it.
It lasted only a fraction of a second, but Seok-won caught it. Without missing a beat, he reached for the aluminum case at his feet and placed it on the solid wood table between them.
“What is this?”
“I couldn’t very well come empty-handed, so I’ve brought a small gift."
Putin stared at Seok-won for a moment, then reached out and pulled the case toward himself.
When he flipped open the lid, stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills, neatly bundled with bank straps, filled the case to the brim.
As Putin’s eyes flickered and he lifted his head, Seok-won spoke in a calm tone.
“One million dollars.”
“……”
“To accomplish great things, one must have deep pockets. If you ever need more, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Putin fixed him with an unflinching stare, his icy-blue eyes as cold as a frozen lake, before asking bluntly:
“Why are you supporting me like this?”
Seok-won met that piercing gaze without flinching, answering with composed ease.
“As you know, I’m an investor. One of the surest ways to achieve the greatest return is to buy into something with high growth potential at a low price—and when it rises, reap the full profit of that growth.”
“So, what you’re saying is that you’re investing in me, for the future?”
“Exactly.”
“And what if I don’t grow as much as you expect?”
At Putin’s words, Seok-won’s lips curved into a subtle smile.
“The fact that you were appointed Deputy Chief of Staff to the President, then promoted to Chief of Staff, and within just a single year advanced directly to the post of FSB Director—that alone proves my judgment hasn’t been wrong, wouldn’t you agree?”
Putin remained silent, simply listening, while Seok-won continued.
“And of course, I believe you’re not content with where you are now. You’re aiming much higher.”
Putin did not bother to deny it.
Instead, for the first time, a faint smile touched his lips. With an air of confidence, he placed his hand on the case.
“Since you call it a gift, I’ll accept it with thanks.”
He closed the lid of the silver aluminum case and set it down by his feet.
On his wrist gleamed the expensive watch that Seok-won had gifted him previously.
Straightening his posture, Putin spoke again, his tone noticeably softer than before.
“I hear you have a strong interest in rocket technology.”
True to his role as the head of an intelligence agency, he had already uncovered Seok-won’s plans to acquire Proton rocket technology. Seok-won inwardly nodded in recognition.
He’s been FSB Director for less than three months, yet he’s already seized full control of the organization and keeps a meticulous grasp on the Kremlin’s every move.
Once again, Seok-won confirmed just how formidable this man truly was, and he gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment.
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve always had a strong interest in space development. For the private satellite venture I’m about to launch, I plan to use the Proton rocket, whose reliability has already been proven.”
Putin reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper folded in half. He placed it on the table in front of Seok-won.
“The most critical part of any rocket is its engine. This is a list of former employees from Energomash, the company that builds the RD-275 engines used in the Proton rocket.”
“……!”
Caught completely off guard, Seok-won straightened his posture in surprise. Putin, noticing his reaction, allowed the corner of his lips to lift in the faintest of smiles.
“Rather than simply acquiring technical documents, having the direct help of the very people who designed and built the engines will allow you to master the technology much faster.”
He gave a subtle nod toward the paper resting on the table.
“All of them retired less than three years ago, which means they can still pass on the latest techniques currently in use.”
When Seok-won picked up the sheet and unfolded it, he saw a list of around ten names, each accompanied by detailed personal information.
Even at a glance, he could tell these were no ordinary retirees but core talent—engineers who had worked more than twenty years in engine research and production.
If he could recruit everyone listed, reproducing the crucial RD-275 engine would not be difficult.
Although momentarily overwhelmed by the unexpected gift, Seok-won quickly regained his composure. Looking up at Putin across the table, he smiled.
“Hahaha. I came here intending to bring you a congratulatory gift, but it seems I’m the one who has received an even greater gift I never expected.”
Normally, individuals of this caliber would remain under state supervision even after leaving their posts.
In other words, even if Seok-won wanted to recruit them, it wouldn’t be possible unless the Russian government and its intelligence agencies allowed it.
Yet here was the head of the FSB himself handing over the list—tantamount to saying he would look the other way.
It was, without exaggeration, a gift that struck exactly where Seok-won needed it most.
“After all, it’s only natural that a relationship lasts when both sides give and take.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
Seok-won grinned broadly, showing his white teeth.
Their eyes met across the space between them, and both men smiled—mutually assured that their interests were aligned.
***
“The government isn’t taking over the Gimpo reclamation site—it’s handing it directly to Daheung Group?!”
Chairman Song Dae-seop of the Asia-Pacific Group slammed his palm against the armrest of the sofa he was sitting on, his voice erupting in a furious roar.
The executives seated on either side of him shrank back, exchanging nervous glances.
“And now they’re bundling Korea Express in with it for a package sale? This is nothing less than a plot to carve up our group among themselves!”
His face flushed scarlet with rage, veins bulging in his neck, Song’s anger looked ready to explode at any moment.
The president’s office rang with his thunderous voice, and none of the executives dared to speak for fear of drawing his wrath. At last, Baek Jae-woong, his closest aide and managing director, cautiously opened his mouth.
“Chairman, please—calm yourself and let’s take a breath.”
“How can I calm down when I’m watching prime assets being ripped from us in broad daylight by those thieves?!”
Song panted heavily like an enraged bull, his chest heaving.
Baek sighed inwardly at the sight, then tried to soothe him with measured words.
“Given that the entire group has entered workout proceedings, selling assets to reduce debt is an unavoidable step. You yourself consented to the sale of the Gimpo reclamation site and Korea Express, Chairman.”
“Grrr…”
When confronted with the truth, Song let out a groan, his fury subsiding just slightly. Baek continued.
“More importantly, to keep our promise to the creditors—that we would repay half of the total debt, 2.6444 trillion won, within three years—we must sell off our two largest assets. It’s the only way.”
At that, Hong Seung-han, president of Asia-Pacific Construction, joined in from across the room.
“That’s right. We all know how much the Gimpo reclamation site means to you, Chairman. But in a workout situation, it’s classified as non-business real estate. Holding on to land that costs the group 50 billion won in taxes every year simply isn’t sustainable.”
“Damn it! Nothing ever goes our way.”
Though Song spat a curse through clenched teeth, his voice had lost much of its earlier force.
He knew all too well that, once the group had entered workout proceedings, the real power to decide no longer rested with him.
Even so, summoning his executives only to vent his fury was the only outlet he had to ease his bitterness and humiliation.
Lighting a cigarette, Song clenched it between his lips. At once, Baek Jae-woong leaned in to flick his lighter, igniting the tip.
“Hooo…”
Chairman Song Dae-seop drew deeply on his cigarette before exhaling a long stream of smoke.
As the nicotine spread through his body, the fury that had been boiling inside him seemed to subside just a little.
Holding the cigarette between his fingers, Song turned to Managing Director Baek Jae-woong.
“I heard Daheung Group agreed to pay the entire acquisition price in U.S. dollars.”
“That’s correct. In fact, the decisive factor that allowed them to win the bids for both the Gimpo reclamation site and Korea Express was their commitment to settle the payment entirely in dollars.”
Song gave a derisive snort.
“Hmph. With the exchange rate creeping back up and signs of another currency crisis looming, of course the government would leap at the chance to be paid in dollars.”
Baek studied his chairman’s expression carefully before replying in a cautious tone.
“It is regrettable, but if the sale goes through, the 2.7 trillion won we receive will allow us to wipe out the repayment obligation we promised to the creditors in one stroke.”
“So that means no further asset sales will be necessary.”
Hope flickered in Song’s eyes. Baek nodded, his tone equally positive.
“We’ll need to confirm with the creditors, but since the full repayment target would be met, they won’t have grounds to demand anything more.”
“That’s good news.”
Song’s expression eased as though a decade-old weight had been lifted from his chest. He had grown utterly sick of the creditors meddling in every last detail of management.
The stress had been unbearable, especially since—even after he put up 55 billion won of his own fortune—the banks had continued to pressure him to relinquish control and step down.
I won’t let those bankers steal my company.
Legally, since the company was publicly traded, ownership belonged to the shareholders, not him personally. But Song had never seen it that way.
Taking another drag on his cigarette, Song asked,
“But where on earth did Daheung Group get that much in U.S. dollars?”
“I’ve heard they secured the acquisition funds through President Park Seok-won of Daheung Venture Capital.”
“You mean the second son—the one who’s considered a heavyweight on Wall Street?”
“Yes, sir.”
Managing Director Baek Jae-woong’s reply made Chairman Song Dae-seop furrow his brow.
“So the rumors were true—he really does command an enormous amount of capital.”
“It’s said that Daheung Group was able to weather the financial crisis without much difficulty thanks to the second son’s support,” added Hong Seung-han, president of Asia-Pacific Construction.
Hearing this, Chairman Song’s face twisted into a sour scowl. He spat out his words curtly.
“Chairman Park is reaping every possible benefit from his son.”
The thought of his own son—who had stumbled home drunk again the previous night despite the company being in such dire straits—left Song’s chest tight with frustration.
“Damn it.”
With a bitter curse, Chairman Song ground out his cigarette in the ashtray.
