Era of Success
Chapter 1
# Prologue
With Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke suddenly announcing an exit strategy, global financial markets plunged into turmoil. In just one day, the KOSPI index plummeted 37% to 1,997.34, and the 2,000-point barrier, which had stood for a year, collapsed.
Park Jong-il, who had clocked in at the securities firm branch without fail today as well, stood vacantly in the customer hall, gazing at the electronic board on the wall while listening to the economic news streaming from the large LCD TV installed on one side.
Nearly every ticker was painted blue, arrows plunging downward.
“Ah, no! How did I even raise that money…….”
He sank to his knees on the marble floor and tore at his hair, but the stock prices mercilessly nose-dived toward the bottom.
Park Jong-il suddenly sprang up and dashed toward the consulting counter like a madman.
“Sell all my Gwangseong Solartech shares.”
“Sir, could I have your trading card first?”
At the female clerk’s words, Park Jong-il hastily pulled out a worn, old wallet from his back pocket and held out his card.
“Here.”
Clack-clack-clack!
As she quickly typed the customer number on his card into the keyboard, the clerk asked mechanically.
“At what price would you like to sell?”
“Just execute everything at the current market price.”
“Understood.”
In that moment he placed the sell order, Park Jong-il felt time stretch as long as an eternity.
After waiting for what seemed like an age, the clerk raised her face with a troubled expression.
“I’m sorry, but the stock keeps hitting the lower daily limit, so no trades are going through. What should we do?”
“Y-you mean…….”
He had been hoping to cut his losses and salvage even a little money, but the clerk’s words made his heart sink.
Then, suddenly coming to his senses, Park Jong-il clung to the clerk as if begging.
“Please, I’ll take any price—just sell it.”
“In that case, I’ll place it so the trade executes immediately if a buy order appears.”
Whether it was because the white-haired old man looked pathetic as he pleaded, the clerk did her best to accommodate him.
“Thank you.”
But the nuclear-bomb-level bad news from the U.S. had caused foreign investors to dump massive volumes, and the shocked institutions and retail investors panicked and threw in orders wildly. The stock market crashed a staggering 65% in a single day.
Park Jong-il’s Gwangseong Solartech shares could not escape the crash either. With buy orders vanishing completely, the stock that had opened at twenty thousand won per share fell continuously and closed at twelve thousand won.
The nightmare continued the next day. The moment the market opened, it plunged sharply again. To curb the decline, circuit breakers were triggered twice to halt trading temporarily, but it was insufficient to quell the fear.
In the end, Gwangseong Solartech’s stock slumped to five thousand won, becoming literal scrap paper.
A few days later, when U.S. economic growth came in below expectations and speculation arose that Chairman Bernanke’s exit strategy would be delayed significantly, the crashed stock prices rebounded sharply.
But by then, Park Jong-il—after Gwangseong Solartech stock had crashed to the five-thousand-won range—had fallen short of the margin requirements on his credit purchases. The securities firm had forcibly liquidated all his holdings on its own authority.
In short, he had lost all his stocks and his account had gone negative: the so-called “empty can account.”
“Goddamn it, why does everything I do turn out like this! Why the hell is this happening to me!”
Park Jong-il sat straddling the railing of a Han River bridge and bellowed at the top of his lungs, then downed the soju in his hand without even a side dish.
“Kah!”
The uniquely bitter taste of soju rose up his esophagus, but Jong-il paid it no heed and kept tipping the bottle back in long gulps.
“That was the money I put everything into…….”
This time, he had truly been confident.
He had prepared funds for his old age, meager though they were, and even borrowed money from relatives to buy stocks. Now that it had turned into scrap paper, he had no idea what face he could show them; the path ahead was utterly dark.
Pouring alcohol blindly into his mouth to ease his frustration, only sighs came out, and his heart seemed to collapse.
He drank endlessly like that until finally the soju ran out.
“Huh?”
He tilted the bottle again and again, but nothing came out, and Jong-il scowled deeply.
Licking his lips, still regretful, he even lapped up the last drop clinging to the mouth of the bottle. But then, suddenly seeing himself act this way, he found his own appearance so ugly that self-loathing washed over him again.
“Damn it, fuck!”
Cursing, Jong-il sprang to his feet and swung his arm with all his might, hurling the soju bottle into the Han River.
“Argh! Why doesn’t a single thing in life go my way!”
Watching the bottle splash and float away like a piece of trash, it seemed to overlap with his own life, stoking his rage for no reason. Jong-il screamed spasmodically.
He vented his frustration like a madman for quite some time, until a car screeched to a halt and two patrol officers in uniform approached and seized him.
“Whoa, this old man is very drunk.”
“Wh-what are you?”
“We’re the police. You can’t act like this in a public place. Act your age.”
“We received a report that someone was drinking dangerously on the bridge. Sir, where is your home? Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?”
One clicked his tongue and spoke like he was scolding, while the other spoke kindly and soothed him—a practiced routine that suggested this was far from their first time dealing with a drunk.
Accustomed to handling drunkards, one officer lightly gripped his arm from behind, yet Park Jong-il could hardly move.
But through Park Jong-il’s eyes, both of them were still wet-behind-the-ears pups.
They might have aged a bit, but when Jong-il was in the Vietnam War shooting guns and crossing the line between life and death, they must have been newborn babies, or perhaps not even born yet.
Yet here they were, greenhorns whose blood had barely dried, calling him “Grandpa” and looking at him with scolding eyes. His anger surged.
“Let me go! I said let go!”
“Whoa! Ah, please stay still! Sergeant Bak, what are you doing? Grab him!”
Though wrinkled, Jong-il still had his grip strength and brute force. The moment he twisted his body and their hands slipped, he clung to the railing.
The officers tried to pull him off, fearing he was in danger, but he wildly battered away their reaching hands, resisting until his back leaned far backward without his realizing it. For an instant he saw the sky, and he felt his body float.
“Uh…… uh!”
“Watch out!”
The officers’ startled shouts echoed like a ringing in his ears, but soon a dull impact followed, and as he was hurled into ice-cold water, he could not think a single thought.
“S-save me!”
Jong-il flailed desperately and screamed.
But his clothes, heavy with water, obstructed him. His arms and legs grew heavier and heavier, while filthy water flooded his nose and mouth, completely choking his breath.
Through his fading consciousness, he seemed to glimpse someone swimming toward him along with the sound of water, but Jong-il’s body was already slowly sinking.
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die.
Thinking blankly like that—indeed, it had been a life full of nothing but suffering, without a single good thing—he clenched his teeth, feeling that seeing it again would be pointless.
Still, though the amount was not large, he had life insurance in place. He could pay back the money he had borrowed from his relatives. It had been money borrowed even in the names of his deceased parents. At least he could go to the underworld with his head held high enough to meet them—he found some small comfort in that.
Feeling drowsiness rush in like falling into a deep sleep, he was about to close his eyes when something glittering caught the corner of his vision.
It was buried in the muddy riverbed, its shape unclear, but it emitted a faint light. It was clearly something precious.
Could there be a jewel embedded in a place like this?
Clinging to the worthless hope that it might be gold bars someone had stolen and buried—a ticket to an instant reversal of fortune—he reached out his hand one last time. The moment he touched it, a piercing, blinding flash burst forth and enveloped Jong-il’s body.
# Where……!
Bam-bam-ba-ba-bam! Bam-ba-ra-bam-ba!
Park Jong-il tossed and turned at the noisy sound of the wake-up bugle blaring in his ears.
“Mmph.”
“Hey, Bak Jong-il! Get up.”
When someone grabbed his shoulder and shook him roughly, Park Jong-il hugged his blanket and muttered as if sleep-talking.
“Just ten more minutes, honey.”
“Is this bastard crazy!”
Thwack!
“Argh!”
Surprised by the impact to his side, Park Jong-il shot upright.
Unable to come to his senses, he looked around with a blank face, and the man standing in front of him raised his eyebrows and shouted.
“A recruit’s spirit is completely gone from you! The reveille sounded ages ago and you’re still loafing around!”
“Y-yes? Huh?”
Stammering at the words of the man in a military uniform, Park Jong-il looked around without thinking, and his eyes widened into circles.
Wondering if he had not woken up properly, he rubbed his eyes and looked again, but it was still the same.
The long bunk beds on both sides, the lockers, and even the rifle racks—it was not the familiar master bedroom, but a military barracks from his memories.
Then, suddenly, last night’s memories flashed by like a turning film reel.
“R-right. I drank on the bridge yesterday and fell into the river…….”
While he was mumbling to himself with a dazed face, the man who had kicked him glared fiercely and roared like thunder.
“You can’t hear the assembly call? Stop dawdling and get out!”
“Yes, sir!”
Answering reflexively, Jong-il turned and straightened his blanket, then took out the uniform from his locker.
As he lifted the top garment, he froze solid at what he saw on the left side of his chest.
The name “Bak Jong-il” and a single stripe denoting Private were vividly visible.
“What is this…….”
For a moment his expression went blank, but then a thought flashed through his mind and he hurriedly turned his head.
He had not recognized him in the confusion, but now that he looked, the man who had kicked him earlier and was now urging the other squad members was none other than Sergeant Bak Seok-cheol, the top senior from his army days.
As he stared blankly, Sergeant Bak Seok-cheol met his gaze and suddenly scrunched his face and shouted.
“Hey! Aren’t you running!”
“Ah. Yes, sir!”
Startled, Bak Jong-il hurriedly put on his uniform and ran out after the other squad members.
Many soldiers were already lined up on the training ground, and Jong-il took his place at the rear of the 1st Squad.
Then Private Im Jae-gu, standing beside him, glared and spoke in a low voice.
“Comfortable lately? You, see me after morning roll call.”
He was the immediate senior above him who had picked fights and bullied him over every little thing since his transfer, as if they had some old grudge, so Jong-il felt his heart sink with a thud.
“Oh? Not even answering?”
“Ah, no sir.”
Perhaps because his voice had been loud, the company commander standing on the podium turned his gaze and pointed.
“You there! Why so noisy?”
Receiving the glares of his squad members, Bak Jong-il hurriedly shut his mouth.
Moments later, after doing light calisthenics to music to warm up, the soldiers began a three-lap formation jog around the wide training ground by squad.
“1st Squad, forward, go!”