What happens to conglomerates when the world collapses?

It’s a question that any Korean would find intriguing.

Recently, a prominent community user, "Gijayangban" ("Reporter Guy"), shared an update about one such conglomerate family.

gijayangban: "Discovered Chairman Park Cheol-joo’s hideout from the Seokju Group! It's Cheol-joo ham~ ham~!"

The update on the conglomerate, posted by Reporter Guy, was enough to send us doomsday enthusiasts spiraling into despair.

On a gentle hill, they had constructed a concrete fortress large enough to accommodate dozens of people. Within it, they had established a self-sufficient ecosystem capable of handling agriculture, manufacturing, and even entertainment.

When I saw the drone footage of their fortress's miniature golf course, I couldn’t help but let out an involuntary gasp.

“…Wow.”

It’s exactly what you’d expect from a conglomerate family.

When you have wealth measured in trillions of won, you can afford to build something like that.

Not that I’m jealous.

There’s no point in aspiring to it when you know you can’t replicate it, no matter how hard you try.

Besides Park Cheol-joo’s fortress, other leading conglomerate families in Korea had built similar or slightly less impressive strongholds to prepare for the apocalypse.

Few of them had chosen to leave Korea. The rest of the world wasn’t any safer, and the influence they wielded in Korea didn’t translate abroad. That was likely the main reason for staying put.

Most of them had abandoned their corporations.

From modern-day monarchs commanding thousands or tens of thousands of employees, they had reduced themselves to the heads of single families, focusing solely on survival.

It might be a rational choice in this doomed world, but not everyone followed that path.

*

After my first trip to Seoul, I tried to visit the city at least once every two months.

With each visit, the surrounding scenery grew bleaker, more miserable, and, above all, more dangerous.

I always passed through Gangnam on my way in. Once one of the wealthiest districts in Korea, it had since decayed into a sprawling refugee camp filled with makeshift tents and crude shelters.

Among the dwindling tents, one structure always caught my eye.

A dilapidated shack with a surprisingly intact sign still hanging above it:

[Pafung Group].

The name belonged to one of Korea’s most influential conglomerates, a titan that once dictated the flow of the nation’s economy.

This shack had been constructed approximately one year and four months ago, around three months after the war began.

Back then, as I was passing through the bustling refugee camp, I noticed a massive crowd gathered, lured by an irresistible aroma.

Upon inquiry, I learned that the Pafung Group had set up a free soup kitchen using their own resources.

Running a soup kitchen when the economy is stable is one thing; running one when global trade has collapsed is a monumental feat.

Pafung had established multiple soup kitchens at key locations throughout Seoul, providing free meals.

Even for a conglomerate as powerful as Pafung, this seemed like a stretch.

With nothing better to do, I queued up for nearly two hours. When my turn came, I was surprised to find the menu consisted of steamed pork slices and beef soup—dishes usually reserved for funeral banquets. The food was genuinely tasty, and to my astonishment, they even offered half a paper cup of soju to adults.

While I abstain from drinking or smoking in my bunker, here, I gladly accepted the drink.

“Cheers!”

This was me, Park Gyu—so easily swayed by a bowl of soup and a half-cup of soju, I was ready to pledge my loyalty to Pafung!

As I ate, however, I overheard some unsettling conversations that contrasted sharply with my newfound admiration.

“That chairman bastard must be planning to go into politics.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“There’s no way he’s spending this kind of money out of goodwill. Screw his so-called compassion for the people.”

Honestly, the remarks were grating.

In times as dire as these, shouldn’t they at least be grateful for a decent meal? Why constantly question someone else’s motives?

It’s not like they were paragons of virtue themselves.

I wanted to say something in defense of Pafung, but after some reflection, I realized I wasn’t loyal enough to warrant the effort.

Suppressing my irritation, I left the dining area, only to have my attention drawn to an unusual sight.

“Introducing Je Pung-ho!”

A middle-aged man in an active jacket paired with neatly pressed suit trousers was making rounds, accompanied by people forcing smiles. He shook hands with everyone eating and introduced himself repeatedly.

“Did you enjoy your meal? I’m Je Pung-ho!”

Je Pung-ho.

The owner of the Pafung Group.

Behind him stood a lineup of similarly distinguished-looking men and women, most likely family members. A smartly dressed young man and a beautiful woman, presumably his children, stood awkwardly at the end of the group in descending order of hierarchy.

As if bewitched, I found myself approaching them.

My initial intent? To shake hands with one of the daughters from the conglomerate family.

But when I got there, the daughters had been shuffled to the back, and the hand I ended up shaking was none other than Je Pung-ho’s.

“I’m Je Pung-ho,” he said.

It was my first time seeing a real conglomerate chairman up close, let alone shaking hands with one.

Looking at him, I realized for the first time that even a non-hunter’s eyes could shine so brightly.

His hand was rough, firm, and exuded an unexplainable strength beyond mere grip.

Later, I heard rumors that a parliamentary election was approaching.

Not because all the National Assembly members had died—only about 1% of them had, despite 18% of the South Korean population disappearing in the war.

It was because their terms had expired.

This startlingly low mortality rate among the nation’s lawmakers hinted at something deeply significant, though I wasn’t sure what it was.

*

After finishing my soup, I arrived at the base of a building.

This building belonged to the National Crisis Management Committee, or simply "Gukwiwon."

Known as the modern-day “Board of Military Affairs,” this extrajudicial organization held the greatest power and influence in post-war South Korea.

The primary reason for my visits to Seoul was the number of acquaintances I had embedded within the Gukwiwon.

These connections had proven invaluable, providing me with crucial information, military-grade walkie-talkies, encrypted radio frequencies, spam, and even holiday gift sets of cooking oil.

That day, the place was unusually quiet.

The receptionist I usually badgered for favors was nowhere to be found.

As I exchanged nods with a security guard I recognized and loitered in the lobby, a man I had never seen before approached me.

“Do you have a moment?”

His face was expressionless, his eyes dead, and his tone and posture exuded nothing but cold professionalism.

From the very first impression, he gave off a frosty vibe.

“What’s this about?” I asked.

“You’re aware of the current state of the front lines, correct? The escalating battles have left us severely short of manpower—especially capable individuals who can endure the war...”

Of course. A recruiter.

Given the nature of the war, the quality of soldiers mattered far more than their quantity. Instead of conscripting en masse, they targeted physically fit individuals who showed potential, approaching them with random offers.

Apparently, I’d caught this guy’s eye, but I had zero intention of going to the front lines.

“I hate to brag, but if I were competent enough, do you think I’d be here, using connections to beg for scraps?”

I responded with as much dignity as I could muster.

“You used to be a hunter, didn’t you?”

Well, so much for that.

I sighed and asked, “Who sent you? Director Lee Sang-hoon?”

If it was Lee Sang-hoon, I fully intended to pay him a visit and give him a piece of my mind.

“No. Commissioner Kim Daram.”

“Kim Daram?”

It had been a long time since I’d heard that name.

She was a junior of mine—a subordinate who had clung to me like a shadow.

Looking back, I think she might’ve had a crush on me.

In my memory, she was an overly enthusiastic but naïve subordinate who constantly bungled tasks and relied on me to fix things. Of course, thinking of her that way was probably unfair to the passage of time.

“Senior Park.”

Can a person change so much in just five years?

She wasn’t particularly young back then, but the junior who once harbored a girlish innocence had transformed into a jaded, unyielding bureaucrat who looked like she wouldn’t bleed even if you stabbed her.

“It’s been a while,” I said.

Her voice alone was enough to tell me that this was not the kind-hearted junior I once knew.

On her desk was a prominently displayed photo of her with her husband and child.

She was a mother now.

That Kim Daram.

“Let me keep this brief, since I know how you are. Just help us out this once.”

“I want to say, ‘Why should I?’ but I suppose I can’t, right?”

“Do you want to be dragged off by the government? Or keep living freely like you are now?”

“Didn’t we have a deal that I wouldn’t serve again?”

“Do you really think any promises matter in this world anymore?”

The stark contrast between my grim expression and her dismissive one highlighted the gap between my expectations and reality.

Avoiding her gaze, I smirked bitterly.

“...Fine. I’ll stay free.”

“Then just help us this once. I’ve already made a deal with Lee Sang-hoon to call it even after this.”

“Lee Sang-hoon?”

“He doesn’t care about you personally, so don’t take it the wrong way. The man deals in numbers now, not people.”

“Ah, so that’s how the world changes when you climb the ranks.”

“You know we’re short on people, right? You know what’s happening at the front lines?”

Her expression, usually blank, now carried a trace of reproach as she stared directly at me.

“...”

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

I knew.

I knew exactly what was happening at the borders.

And I knew I wasn’t entirely guilt-free.

Amid the oppressive silence, Kim Daram turned her attention back to the documents on her desk.

“Je Pung-ho.”

“Je Pung-ho?”

The image of the man with the gleaming eyes and an inexplicable grip strength, standing beneath the aroma of beef soup, flashed vividly in my mind.

“He’s planning to hunt monsters with his own people.”

She handed me a report.

If the contents of the report were accurate, it was an absurd operation.

No, it was more like a collective suicide disguised as a mission.

Before I could voice my thoughts, my sharp-witted junior cut me off coldly without even looking at me.

“Just go through the motions.”

I knew she’d changed, but seeing such a drastic transformation in someone who had once been so kind and considerate left a lasting sting.

“This is the last time,” I said.

“As long as I’m alive, I’ll make sure you’re never dragged to the front lines.”

“...Thanks.”

At least her core personality hadn’t completely changed.

As I turned to leave, carrying both the bitterness of life and the rare solace of her promise, she called out to me.

“Senior.”

Kim Daram’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“You haven’t aged a day, have you?”

I didn’t reply to that.

*

It was about a month later when I encountered Je Pung-ho again.

The meeting took place at the headquarters of the Pafung Group, a building designed by a world-renowned British architect.

Despite surviving a nuclear strike, the building had issues with its power system and elevators. Instead of the luxurious high-speed elevators inside, we had to use an outdoor construction elevator. Slowly, it crept up to the daunting height of the 55th floor.

“Ugh.”

It was bitterly cold.

The group’s conference room, once accessible only to the most influential figures in Korea, now held a variety of people in suits, each occupying their respective spots.

Judging by the ID badges they wore, they seemed to be employees of the group. Despite export routes being cut off, the corporation appeared to maintain some semblance of order.

I couldn’t help but wonder.

Are they still getting paid? What about the performance bonuses they used to brag about?

Je Pung-ho, who had smiled warmly and shaken hands with everyone at the soup kitchen, now sat at the far end of the conference table, his back turned toward the room.

He didn’t react when I entered.

Instead, a man who appeared to be his secretary—a sharp-looking gentleman in his mid-50s—addressed me.

“Mr. Park Gyu, correct? I understand you’re a former hunter.”

He conducted a brief interview, asking about my career, combat experience, and rank.

Most of my records had been erased anyway, so I gave straightforward answers.

“I’m D-rank. I’ve been to the gates and have some combat experience, but I was never a main player.”

At that, Je Pung-ho let out an audible, uncomfortable cough.

I ignored it.

What piqued my curiosity was the reason behind this.

Why would the head of a conglomerate suddenly decide to hunt monsters?

Even if trade had collapsed and business was impossible, wasn’t this too drastic of a career shift?

Unfortunately, none of the suit-clad individuals in the room provided answers to my unspoken questions.

From the moment I revealed my unimpressive credentials, I was no longer seen as a person but as an expendable office tool.

After a short while, someone said, “You may leave now.”

Without ever being given the chance to speak, I was politely dismissed from the conference room.

Not that I had much to say.

But I did have one question.

In the hallway, separate from the somber atmosphere of the conference room, another group of people was gathered in clusters. Spotting someone who seemed approachable, I tried to ask a question, but they merely smiled awkwardly, nodding like a foreigner who didn’t understand a word I said.

I kept my mouth shut, starting to get the picture of how I was being perceived.

Unexpectedly, someone approached me.

“Can I help you with something?”

It was a young woman.

Her face was familiar—she had been part of the entourage standing behind Je Pung-ho at the soup kitchen.

She was strikingly beautiful, which made her memorable.

“I have a question. If you don’t mind?”

At first, her cold demeanor made her seem unapproachable, but as we spoke, she quickly adopted a polite, trained smile and responded kindly.

“You want to know why the chairman is doing something like monster hunting?”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wearing an ID badge, so I couldn’t catch her name. Judging by her demeanor, though, she seemed like she could be the chairman’s granddaughter or niece.

She glanced around to ensure no one was listening, then let out a sigh and explained in a hushed tone.

“Do you know about the chairman’s plans to run for parliament?”

“Yes.”

“They fell through.”

“Why?”

“The current lawmakers essentially extended their terms indefinitely.”

“Figures.”

Later, I learned that this had passed almost unanimously. There had been two abstentions, but I found those individuals to be even more contemptible scumbags.

“The chairman’s plans were completely derailed. He had been providing substantial support to both ruling and opposition parties—offering convenience to individual lawmakers, repairing the damaged National Assembly building, and so on. When the group protested, the parliament responded by saying they would provide him with a seat if he could secure an open constituency. That’s how this mess started.”

“The ‘constituency’ in question—where we’re headed, isn’t it?”

“I’m not going. The chairman and his loyalists will, though.”

Contrary to my first impression, the woman didn’t seem to be fully aligned with Pafung.

So, I pressed her further.

“Me? I’m not part of the Pafung family. To be precise, I’m just an underling. My father runs a first-tier subcontractor under Pafung.”

She sighed, her eyes filled with resentment as she glanced toward the conference room door.

“...I don’t understand why anyone clings to a corporation that’s already collapsed.”

I finally understood.

This woman held no affection for Pafung.

In fact, she seemed to harbor a clear animosity toward it.

With the floodgates open, she poured out her thoughts, as if she’d been waiting for someone to listen.

“They’re all insane. We’re not bound by blood; it’s just a transactional relationship. Why do they still act like it’s the same as before the war?”

“No idea…”

“Hey.”

Suddenly, her eyes sparkled.

“You’re a hunter, right?”

“Not anymore.”

“I have a favor to ask.”

She stepped closer, and her subtle perfume, which had only been faint before, filled the air around me.

“Could you talk my father out of this?”

She handed me her father’s business card.

“Please. Tell him to stop this madness.”

At that moment, the conference room door opened.

Leading the group was Je Pung-ho himself.

With a serious, imposing face, his piercing eyes lit with determination, he strode down the hallway with confident steps.

Behind him trailed a dozen suited individuals, each wearing their own expression of resolve, silently following his lead.

The executive who had spoken to me earlier noticed me and curtly said, “Hunter Park, let’s go.”

“Do I have to go too?”

“Yes.”

I turned back to look at the woman.

As the throng of people moved between us, her gaze remained locked on me alone.

I hesitated for a moment, but not for long.

“It might not work out,” I said quietly.