TOIGC 51

Chapter 51 …

I Am a Businessman (3)

<I’ve a be but exploiting first for ghost. got heard historical of other people people, to you’ve>

“Oh, come on, exploitation? Don’t you mean give and take?”

“You have to factor in scarcity, Grandpa. Out of billions of people on this planet, I’m the only one who can set up a ritual table for you.”

<And Who a actually aren’t can else exact ghost in is same? talk that the this to world you you?>

“So it’s a completely fair trade.”

<Tsk, argue can’t that. with>

Lickin’ his lips once with his tongue, Deokbae heaved himself up from the chair.

<Anyway, as doable. guy’s is labor muscle this totally using>

As Deokbae patted the back of the white guy’s head, the white ghost instinctively flinched before immediately slipping right back into his usual vacant, expressionless state without doing anything else.

“Do I need to ask him myself?”

<Do asking gonna him? is nicely on really think work you>

Watching the white ghost blankly stare into space, Yoongi shook his head.

“Somehow, I don’t think we speak the same language.”

“Does that mean…”

Deokbae broke into a wide, beaming grin.

<Rituals! More food! ritual>

“Ah, jeez.”

As Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose in defeat, Deokbae gave him a stubborn, unapologetic look.

<Hey, I If a around, easy? gotta is like me meat muscle puppet stay steering think this throw to want well-fed! you>

“Yeah, fine… I get it. But hey, can’t you control other ghosts besides this one? It’d probably go a lot smoother if you had a whole crew of them.”

<Sadly, a no-go. that’s>

“It’s not about being too hard, it’s just straight-up impossible?”

Deokbae nodded.

<To But Fernandez If Of a absolute actually an and being between bite can chew, converse. course, dangerous. did. even gets ghost, hallucinations if influence is it just level like living me—we more mutual of off recognition recognition, requirement. strong strong—like suffer than the they through way weak, with you>

“So, basically, I recognize that guy, but I need your help to actually pilot him. And to control any other ghost, I’d first need to establish mutual recognition with them. Is that about right?”

“Were there really no ghosts like you around me before all this?”

Deokbae didn’t even hesitate before shaking his head.

<Nope. And I Like Since actually any aren’t can either. felt for go hanging haven’t honestly, keep like looking many me. need never other out seen since spirits. started talk telling there things through to with you you,>

“What about a guy like this white one?”

“Got it.”

<You brain? done my picking>

“Yeah, for the most part.”

<Then Just do guy he’ll job? need. out ready, send the this what’s whatever whenever you you’re>

Watching the completely unfazed Deokbae, Yoongi chuckled.

<Hey… What’s look? that with>

“If I only need one guy, why would I bother increasing your ritual food budget?”

Hearing Yoongi’s actual demands, Deokbae let out a long, weary sigh and resigned himself to getting worked to the bone.

Out of the four candidates shortlisted by Fernandez, the white ghost materialized silently inside one of their homes.

Standing a towering 1.9 meters tall with massive feet that looked like they belonged in size-16 shoes, coupled with a carrot-shaped elongated face, he possessed an appearance that would easily trigger chronic nightmares if encountered in a dream.

His name was Johnson.

According to memories Deokbae had pried out of him by beating him to a pulp, Johnson had once been a lackey to Durham Stevens, the American diplomat who tried to sell Joseon off to Japan back at the end of the Korean Empire era—which probably explained why Deokbae had felt zero remorse about laying into him.

“If I get hired for this job, I’ll probably have to move to Korea to work. You guys think you’ll manage fine while I’m gone?”

In Johnson’s field of vision sat a family of four in the middle of dinner.

As a standard American family during the 1980s, they were eating a rather meager evening meal because the breadwinner had been out of work for over six months. The main courses were a simple meatloaf made by cutting meat extenders into cheap flour dough, alongside some basic chicken.

Sure, if an ordinary person looked at that spread today, they’d probably think, That looks decent enough. But back in America, that exact kind of table was sparse enough to earn the label of ‘poverty.’ Even during World War II, average working-class folks back in the Land of Plenty had regular access to beef steaks.

“Don’t you worry about the house, just go out there and hustle. We’re falling behind on property taxes again, so we desperately need cash coming in. Do you think you can ask for an advance on your salary?”

“I don’t know… I haven’t even officially landed the job yet—”

“Lianna was the one who recommended you though, didn’t she? Doesn’t that mean you’re practically guaranteed to get it?”

The husband shook his head.

“That’s not how it works. Lianna said they’re only taking about two people. Since she was originally asked to recommend six candidates, her hands are tied.”

“Why don’t you try asking Lianna to put in a special word for you?”

“She’s got her own skin in the game, so she said it’s impossible. What can we do? We just have to wait and see.”

While the stressed husband and wife hovered around the table puffing cigarette smoke into the air, Johnson phased right through the floorboards and drifted off toward the next candidate’s house.

“Just when the hell are you gonna find a job and move out of this house?!”

Shouting at the top of her lungs, a middle-aged Black woman whose frame had softened on a steady diet of cheap, high-bulk food glared at her son in his mid-twenties, who was furiously shouting right back.

“You think I’m just sitting around doing nothing?! I’m trying my hardest to find work!”

“Ha! Calling this sitting around and stuffing your face with the fried chicken I cook every night? Between your college tuition and living expenses, how much longer am I supposed to live off chicken grease just to keep you afloat?!”

“I’m telling you, this time there’s a real chance! I just went in for an interview the other day!”

At her son’s defense, the middle-aged woman let out a sharp, cynical snort.

“Ha! I’ve heard that exact line over twenty times now. Did you actually even go to an interview, or are you just blowing smoke? That’s it, I’m done. If you don’t land a job by next month, you’re packing your bags, heading down South, and picking corn!”

“Mom! Are you out of your mind? Do you think I went to college just to end up farming corn?!”

“And do you think I worked my fingers down to the bone scrubbing floors as a maid just so you could play scholar?!”

Though the two of them were screaming at the top of their lungs with bulging veins, dinner continued uninterrupted, and not a single physical blow was thrown between them. Viewed from the outside, it was quite a spectacle.

Even so, Johnson maintained his vacant, deadpan expression, watching the scene neutrally before dissolving into thin air—as if he had never been there at all.

“Is the construction coming along smoothly?”

At Yoongi’s prompt, Ryu Geuntae nodded.

“Yes, remarkably well, actually. Between the Chairman’s and the Heavy Industries President’s private liquidity reserves, the capital influx is far stronger than anticipated. There are currently zero delays. In fact, we might even finish ahead of schedule.”

Hearing a report that set his mind completely at ease, Yoongi nodded and broke into a sly grin.

“Sounds like you’re quite pleased with how things are moving.”

“That, and I honestly couldn’t help a small chuckle just now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Curious, Ryu Geuntae looked at him expectantly.

“If it weren’t for my grandfather and my father, wrapping up construction like this would’ve probably taken me a good seven years. I kicked off this entire department store project with barely ten percent of the total capital actually in my own pockets.”

At Yoongi’s words, Ryu Geuntae let out a low chuckle and nodded.

“That is true. To be frank, you were so dead set on your timeline back then that I didn’t voice my concerns, but seeing how the pieces are falling into place, I suppose you had a contingency of this scale in mind all along.”

“That’s not entirely wrong. Though, honestly, even if construction had dragged on for over seven years, I wouldn’t have cared all that much. Starting a full-scale business career after legally becoming an adult isn’t exactly falling behind the curve anyway. My issue back then was a lack of ready capital, not that I wouldn’t have had it a few years down the line.”

“That is a fair point.”

“The only reason I’m smiling right now is because it really hits home just how massive an advantage it is to be born to the right parents. If I weren’t my grandfather’s grandson or my father’s son, would I ever have even dared to dream about building a department store from scratch? Even if I managed to siphon off a bit of pocket money related to Ilshin Spinning, I probably would’ve driven the whole venture straight into bankruptcy halfway through.”

Unsure of how he was supposed to respond to that, Ryu Geuntae wisely opted to remain a quiet, attentive listener.

“In that sense, silver-spoon kids are truly blessed simply because they have a safety net to learn from their failures.”

“A… silver-spoon kid?”

“Ah, you must not be familiar with that modern slang term.”

Surprisingly, the term ‘silver spoon’—or geumsujeo—had actually popped up in Korea as early as the 1960s. However, Yoongi assumed Ryu Geuntae wouldn’t know it because it belonged to modern linguistic vernacular, while Ryu Geuntae genuinely hadn’t heard of it, leading to that exact reaction.

“My apologies. I will endeavor to stay better informed on contemporary colloquialisms.”

“No need to apologize, it’s an easy expression to miss. A ‘silver spoon’ basically just means a kid who’s born rich enough to eat their baby food off a silver spoon. It’s shorthand for being born into wealth.”

“Ah!”

Once the definition clicked, Ryu Geuntae let out an immediate sound of understanding.

“People born with silver spoons get all their failures bailed out by their families. If I had botched a venture like this, I probably still would’ve ended up handed a cushy executive chair at Samwoo Group just to keep up appearances.”

Ryu Geuntae promptly returned to his default mode of quiet attentiveness.

“Now, imagine someone born with a dirt spoon trying a venture like this and failing. Their entire life is simply over right then and there. Hell, they wouldn’t even be able to dream of launching a business of this scale in the first place. Viewed in that light, I really am a deeply blessed individual.”

Watching the quietly listening secretary, Yoongi let his thoughts drift back to the casual remarks he used to overhear from young people back when he was grinding away as a forty-three-year-old construction laborer.

[Hey, our house is just as broke as yours. We’ve got tens of billions of won in debt, you know?]

[Honestly, what’s the difference between you guys and me? I eat tteokbokki, sundae, and instant ramyeon just like anyone else.]

[Bro, you’re pulling in a thirty-million-won salary, why can’t you even save twenty million a year? Just put all your daily expenses on your parents’ credit cards and bank your entire paycheck.]

[Man, my family owns a house in Cheongdam-dong, and because of that single property, they denied me a national scholarship. Is this even a country anymore?]

Ah, damn it.

No matter how much of a silver spoon he himself happened to be wearing right now, recalling conversations like those made Yoongi’s stomach turn at the casual, tone-deaf entitlement of people who had no idea what actual hardship looked like.

At least I’m not going to sit around acting like a hypocrite the way those bastards did.

Having lived through the absolute deepest trenches of rock-bottom poverty, he understood better than anyone that being poor didn’t automatically make someone a saint. Even so, he resolved within himself that he would never live a life built on mocking or exploiting people struggling to get by.

With that thought, Yoongi placed four sets of documents down onto the table in his hotel suite.

“I imagine you were wondering why I called you over here, Secretary Ryu?”

“To be frank, yes. I came because you summoned me, but I’ve been quite curious as to what this is about.”

“Take a look through these portfolios.”

Prompted by Yoongi, Ryu Geuntae picked up the four files, flipped through them lightly, and immediately posed a question.

“Are you planning to bring on additional interior design specialists?”

“Spot on. We’ve already secured one top-tier architectural designer straight out of a highly promising firm called Gensler. However, relying on just one person lacks operational flexibility, so we’ll be hiring two additional assistant staff members to back him up. With that in mind, I wanted to test just how well Secretary Ryu reads my business instincts.”

A distinct sound of dry swallowing echoed from Ryu Geuntae’s throat.

“Ah, there’s no need to look so nervous. It’s just that if we want to run things more efficiently moving forward, it helps if you have a firm grasp of my decision-making framework.”

“Understood. How would you like me to proceed?”

“It’s very simple. If I were to pick two candidates out of these four, who do you think I’d choose? Put yourself in my shoes and select the two most viable applicants.”

It was, in essence, a problem set at maximum difficulty dropped right into Ryu Geuntae’s lap.