The Men Behind The Men

Kang Tower – Midnight Meeting

The disappearance of Minister Han Tae-Won sent ripples through Seoul's political landscape, but in the underbelly of the city—the world of men who operated in shadows—it was nothing short of an earthquake.

A Minister doesn't just vanish.

Not without consequences.

Not without leaving behind a mess of loose ends, broken alliances, and unanswered questions.

Officially, the government wasted no time installing a replacement. The transition was seamless on the surface—a new Minister of National Affairs sworn in, a carefully curated narrative fed to the public about Han Tae-Won taking an indefinite leave due to "undisclosed personal matters."

The media spun their stories, political analysts speculated, and the public swallowed whatever version suited them best.

But in the real corridors of power?

In the smoky backrooms where laws weren't written but bought? In the underground meetings where respect was measured in blood and money? Han's disappearance was a declaration of war.

Because no one—no one—walks away from Kang Minjae. And the men who thrived under his empire knew it.

The conference room on the top floor of Kang Tower was bathed in the dim glow of the city skyline, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Seoul's sleepless streets. The table was set—dark wood polished to a pristine shine, crystal glasses filled with whiskey, cigars resting in gold-trimmed ashtrays.

Around it sat the men who truly ran the city.

Not the politicians.

Not the bureaucrats.

Not the faces the public knew.

The men behind the men.

CEOs who controlled banks, shipping industries, real estate empires. Former government officials who still had their hands deep in policy-making. High-ranking officers from law enforcement, bought and paid for. And, of course, those who thrived in the criminal underworld—syndicate leaders, money launderers, power brokers.

At the head of the table, legs crossed, perfectly composed, sat Kang Minjae. A cigarette rested between his fingers, its ember glowing softly as he exhaled a slow, steady stream of smoke. Across from him, Chairman Lee of Jeonghwa Group—one of Korea's largest conglomerates—adjusted his tie, his fingers tapping against the table in barely concealed impatience.

"Let's not waste time, Minjae-ssi" he said, voice measured, tone cautious. "Minister Han is gone. His accounts have been frozen. The government is already moving to erase his existence. What happens now?"

A quiet hum of agreement passed through the room.

"Han Tae-Won was your man" another voice spoke—Assemblyman Jung, a politician who owed his seat to Minjae's funding. His gaze was sharp, calculating. "He was in place for a reason. With him gone, the balance is shifting. We need assurance that—"

Minjae cut him off with a lazy chuckle.

"Assurance?" he mused, flicking ash from his cigarette. "Tell me, Assemblyman, do I strike you as a man who needs to give assurance?"

Jung pressed his lips into a thin line, shoulders stiffening.

Silence.

No one wanted to be the first to speak.

Minjae smiled.

Good.

Let them sweat.

Finally, Chairman Lee exhaled, choosing his words carefully.

"You must have known Han was planning to betray you."

Minjae leaned back, smirking. "Of course I knew."

The room stilled.

Joon, standing by the door, arms crossed over his broad chest, exhaled sharply—half-amused, half-annoyed. "Then why the fuck did you let it happen?" someone asked.

Minjae's fingers tapped against the table—once, twice.

"Because Han Tae-Won was a desperate man."

A pause.

"And desperate men always make mistakes." He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, the movement slow, deliberate.

"Let me make one thing clear" Minjae said, voice silk over steel. "Han Tae-Won did not escape. He was allowed to run." A silence stretched across the room, thick with tension.

"You let him go?" Chairman Lee's voice was quiet, but there was an edge of disbelief beneath it.

Minjae's lips twitched.

"Han was a tool" he said simply. "And tools wear out. He became too greedy, too ambitious." His fingers tapped against the table again. "His mistake wasn't trying to leave. His mistake was thinking he could." Joon smirked slightly from where he stood, watching as the realization settled over the room. Minjae let them think for a moment. Let them understand what this meant. Han Tae-Won was not an outlier. He was a lesson. A warning. And then—finally—he spoke again, smooth and controlled.

"The real question" he mused, "is who among you is stupid enough to make the same mistake?"

Silence.

Stillness.

Minjae let the weight of his words settle, let them suffocate under it. Then—he leaned forward, exhaling a slow breath, fingers steepling beneath his chin. "As for the Minister's seat" he continued, voice lighter, as if the previous threat hadn't just been laid out for all to see, "we already know the government will place someone obedient there. Someone temporary." He swirled the whiskey in his glass, gaze sharp despite the lazy air about him.

"And when the dust settles" he murmured, smirking, "we'll put someone permanent in his place."

His eyes flickered up, locking onto Chairman Lee.

"Someone we own."

Lee inhaled slowly, understanding dawning in his expression. Minjae smiled. "As I said" he murmured, "Han Tae-Won was just a tool." A beat. "And I never make the same mistake twice." The room remained silent, tension palpable.

Then— One by one, heads nodded. Unspoken agreement. Minjae leaned back, satisfied. Han Tae-Won was gone. But the game was still his to play. And the next move? That belonged to him alone.

Minjae exhaled, tapping his fingers against the polished table, gaze sweeping the room.

"Let's talk about Han's final contributions before his little disappearance," he said smoothly. A rustle of papers. A shifting of weight. One of his men—a high-ranking financial strategist, Seo Daeho—spoke first.

"The offshore accounts in Switzerland and Dubai have been secured. He moved the majority of his liquid assets into shell companies under assumed identities, but we've already begun freezing access. Within a few weeks, he'll be bled dry."

Minjae smirked. "Good." Daeho continued, adjusting his glasses."The problem, however, is with the real assets. Han wasn't just hoarding money. He was expanding his network—real estate, government contracts, shares in major corporate ventures." He flipped a page. "Some of them were funneled through private trusts, others disguised under third-party ownership."

Minjae exhaled, rolling his neck. "And the ones that matter?" Daeho hesitated, then slid a document forward. "Here" he murmured, "is where it gets messy."

Minjae picked up the file, skimming through it lazily—until he saw the name.

Han Yeijin.

His gaze sharpened. Daeho cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. "Minister Han was… meticulous about ensuring that not everything was tied directly to his name. He diversified. Hid things in plain sight."

Minjae hummed. "Smart."

"Arrogant." Daeho corrected. "He truly thought he was untouchable."

Minjae smirked. "They all do."

Daeho continued, tapping the page. "Han Tae-Won transferred several assets—legally and cleanly—to his daughter's name. Likely as a contingency plan. If things ever went south, she would be his safest bet."

Minjae leaned back, exhaling a slow, deliberate breath. Of course.

Han wasn't just a power-hungry bastard—he was a paranoid one. He had built a backdoor for himself. And now, the only person who could open it was locked in a room under Minjae's control. Fate was a funny thing.

"How much?" Minjae asked, voice smooth, measured.

Daeho's jaw tightened. "Enough to be a problem."

A beat.

Then Minjae chuckled, shaking his head.

"Han Tae-Won always thought three steps ahead" he murmured. "Shame he didn't realize I was playing a different game."

Silence.

The men around him exchanged glances. Assemblyman Jung spoke next, cautious. "The girl—she hasn't been seen since the Minister's disappearance." Minjae raised a brow, feigning mild curiosity.

"Oh?"

Jung nodded. "She hasn't been attending university. No official statements, no movements in her bank accounts. As far as anyone knows, she's… gone."

Minjae let the words settle. Then, slowly, he placed the file down and exhaled.

"I'll make sure she's found."

The room stilled.

A few exchanged glances, but no one questioned him.

Of course, they wouldn't.

No one doubted Kang Minjae's ability to acquire what he wanted. Jung hesitated before speaking. "And if she's already dead?" Minjae's lips curved into something unreadable.

"Then I'll confirm it."

A simple statement. An irrefutable one. No one asked further. They didn't need to.

She was already his.

༺♰༻

Joon's voice cut through the still air, casual yet expectant, as he leaned back against the leather seat of the car. His arms were crossed, one boot propped against the dashboard, his ever-present sunglasses perched low on his nose. The faint glow of streetlights flickered through the tinted windows, painting soft golden streaks across the interior.

"So?" Joon repeated, tilting his head slightly. "The verdict?"

Minjae didn't speak. Not now, at least.

Instead, he sat in calculated silence, his fingers tapping absently against the cool glass of the whiskey tumbler in his hand. The ice had melted, leaving behind nothing but a thin layer of watered-down amber at the bottom. He hadn't touched it in a while.

Joon sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"You know, for a guy who always has something to say, you sure are quiet tonight."

Still, Minjae didn't respond. His gaze was locked onto the cityscape outside, watching as Seoul stretched endlessly into the night—bright, thriving, unaware of the monsters that moved within it. Joon exhaled sharply, shifting against the seat. "Let me guess" he muttered, "you're thinking about the girl."

Minjae's fingers stilled. Just for a second.

Joon smirked, despite himself. "So predictable." Minjae finally moved, tilting his head slightly, his dark eyes flickering toward his right-hand man. "I don't do predictable, Joon."

Joon scoffed. "You do when it comes to her."

Minjae didn't argue.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, rolling his wrist before setting the empty glass down on the console. "She'll be useful" he said at last, his voice smooth, measured.

Joon lifted a brow. "Oh?"

Minjae's smirk was faint, barely there. "She's going to play her role."

Joon let out a low whistle, adjusting his sunglasses even though they were indoors, at night, for no goddamn reason. "Let me guess. She gets to smile pretty for the cameras, say all the right things, make it look like everything's just fine in the great Han legacy?"

Minjae didn't respond immediately.

Instead, he leaned back into the seat, stretching his legs out slightly.

"She doesn't have a choice."

Joon snorted. "That's rich, coming from you."

Minjae smirked. "I'm giving her options."

Joon gave him a look. "Oh yeah? Like what? Door number one: she does what you say. Door number two: she dies. Sounds like a real generous offer, boss."

Minjae chuckled. "You misunderstand me." He glanced at Joon, eyes dark with amusement. "She can choose how she plays the role. That's the only freedom I'm offering."

Joon sighed, rubbing a hand over his smooth, perfectly bald head. "Poor kid. She has no idea what she's gotten herself into."

Minjae's smirk deepened. "She'll learn."

Joon clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "And here I was, thinking you were going soft."

Minjae chuckled lowly, tilting his head. "Soft?"

Joon smirked. "Yeah. Letting her live. Playing this long game instead of just wiping out the problem like you usually do."

Minjae's expression didn't change. But something in his gaze sharpened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable beneath the smooth exterior.

Joon exhaled slowly, adjusting his seat in the car. "So, let me get this straight—your grand plan is to keep her on a leash but let her think she's prancing around free?"

Minjae's smirk was lazy, a slow, deliberate thing. "More or less."

Joon let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Cold."

Minjae glanced at him, exhaling a thin stream of smoke from his cigarette. "Practical."

Joon chuckled, rubbing his jaw. "You sure it's just that? 'Cause if you ask me, there are far easier ways to keep control of her without—" He gestured vaguely, "—theatrics."

Minjae arched a brow, amused. "Like?"

Joon tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm. A bullet?"

Minjae gave him a flat look.

"I don't kill without reason."

"Right, right. Only when necessary." Joon smirked. "And lemme guess—she's necessary."

Minjae didn't answer immediately, just rolled his wrist, letting the ice in his glass clink softly. "She's a variable I'd rather control than erase."

Joon scoffed. "That's a real roundabout way of saying 'I like having her around.'"

Minjae's gaze flickered to him, unreadable. "You assume too much."

Joon grinned. "Nah, I've just been around long enough to know when a man's thinking with something other than his brain."

Minjae exhaled sharply, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. "Do I need to remind you who you're talking to?"

Joon held up his hands, unbothered. "Relax, cousin. I get it. Yeijin's got a face like an angel—all big doe eyes— trembling lips thing going on. Gorgeous, too. A little too young for my taste back then, but now?" He let out a low whistle. "Damn."

Minjae didn't react. Or rather, he reacted so little it was a reaction.

Joon chuckled. "Ahh, see? That's what I mean. You get this look every time someone mentions her. Like you're debating whether to fuck her or smite her."

Minjae exhaled slowly. "I don't debate."

Joon smirked. "Sure, boss."

A silence stretched between them, heavy with implication. Minjae leaned back against the leather seat, fingers tapping absently against his knee. "She's going to make a public appearance."

Joon raised a brow. "Willingly?"

Minjae smirked. "Under guidance."

Joon let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Man, I almost feel bad for her."

Minjae tilted his head, considering. "She'll be fine."

Joon hummed, unconvinced. "Guess we'll see."