I Became a Black Market Tycoon with an Inventory - Chapter 129

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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129 – A Gift
129.
The disaster I’d desperately hoped would never come to pass had arrived.
A fighter jet had actually flown in carrying bombs.
I’d thought it impossible, yet here we were.
Shin Jung-gi had barely managed to stop it, but it had been terrifyingly close.
Had I not prepared in advance, the casualties would have been catastrophic.
This wasn’t an operation to suppress the Rebel Forces.
It was an operation to massacre people.
An operation to harm innocent civilians.
I couldn’t simply stand by and do nothing.
I needed to determine my next course of action.
Sitting idle after taking a hit wasn’t my style.
I asked Shin Jung-gi.
“What do you think Melchor will do? Will he attack again? If so, we need to prepare.”
“No, sir. For now, I believe he’ll take a wait-and-see approach.”
“Why? He failed. The man’s reckless enough to send fighter jets—surely he won’t just sit idle?”
“Still, he’ll wait for the time being.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because he’s afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes. It’s pitch black out there right now. They have no idea what happened to the ships and fighters they sent. Without understanding that, they can’t bring weapons to counter our attack. They have absolutely no intelligence on the matter.”
“No intelligence?”
“Take the landing ship as an example—they don’t know if it was hit by torpedoes or mines. In reality, it was destroyed by mortars and suicide boats, but they don’t know that. Without that knowledge, they can’t simply send another warship. If they do and it gets destroyed again, the damage becomes truly severe. The same applies to the fighter jet. From their perspective, lacking any intelligence, they’ll assume we possess formidable anti-aircraft weapons. Honestly, without something like that, shooting down a fighter jet is nearly impossible. I only managed it because I’m at this level. So until they gather concrete intelligence, they’ll refrain from military action.”
Does a madman recognize another madman?
How does he speak as though he’s been inside Melchor’s mind and back out again?
His analysis is so flawless that I’m beginning to suspect he might be the real deal.
“And there’s another reason why attacking will be difficult.”
“Another?”
“From a Korean perspective, that level of military force is nothing significant. But for the Philippines, it’s a considerable loss. Out of only eleven fighter jets, they’ve lost two. The same goes for warships. So their attacks will become even more cautious. Each loss directly weakens their national defense.”
“Still, we should prepare, right?”
“No, sir. This time, it’s our turn. When you receive a gift, it’s only proper to return one, isn’t it?”
Shin Jung-gi glares at me with a chilling smile.
Don’t smile like that.
It terrifies me.
Where does this psychopath get off talking about propriety?
Still, this time I rather like it.
“Right. If we’ve received a gift, returning one is only proper.”
******
Melchor had been sitting in the Command Control Center since the early hours of dawn.
The former Chief of Staff and current Defense Minister, along with other military officials, were seated in the Command Control Center.
A map of the Philippines displayed on the large screen in front of the Command Control Center,
and the position of the Bagwis in operation was blinking on it.
Melchor intended to direct operations in real-time from the field to avoid repeating the same mistake as last time.
I couldn’t trust it when left to others.
“Pag-asa. This is Bagwis. Ten minutes to target zone entry.”
“Bagwis. Position confirmed. Maintain current status.”
A radio transmission came in from the Fighter Pilot reporting normal flight.
The Bagwis’s position was displaying stably on the map.
I felt reassured.
“Three minutes to target zone entry.”
“Two minutes to target zone entry.”
“Pag-asa, Pag-asa. Requesting authorization to drop ordnance.”
With one minute remaining until the strike position, the Fighter Pilot requested authorization to drop the bombs.
The Defense Minister looked at Melchor.
Melchor nodded slowly.
“Bagwis, ordnance drop authorized. I repeat. Ordnance drop is authorized.”
Though I couldn’t see the scene myself, the radio transmission alone painted a vivid picture in my mind.
All I had to do was press the firing button.
Then twelve MK-82 bombs, each with the destructive power of 500 pounds, would fall and reduce the area to ashes.
It would turn hundreds of meters in all directions into rubble.
The Rebel Forces’ headquarters would vanish without a trace.
Of course, the Rebel Forces would disappear along with it.
It felt like having a troublesome tooth finally extracted.
It felt like setting down a heavy stone.
The tremendous political gains from this brought a smile to my face.
Later, when it became known, some media outlets would write articles questioning whether the suppression was too excessive.
But by then, I could simply point to the ruins left by the Rebel Forces and say it was unavoidable.
It didn’t matter whether it was Damaya, Abu Sayyaf, or the Bangsamoro Liberation Front.
Rebel Forces were all the same.
I could attach the fleet damage suffered in this battle to that narrative and claim the Rebel Forces’ resistance was simply too fierce to avoid.
Perfect.
And then I could just arrest whoever wrote those articles.
That would silence them.
Melchor waited anxiously for news of the strike.
I wanted to hear the radio transmission confirming the strike was complete.
But there was no word.
It seemed like the time for the transmission had passed.
One second felt like ten minutes.
Then a voice suddenly came through.
“What?! What?! What?! Evasive maneuvers!”
Evasive maneuvers?
Evasive maneuvers?
Wasn’t that when a fighter jet executed sharp banking turns to dodge incoming fire?
Why would the pilot initiate evasive maneuvers when he should be pressing the launch button?
Had they come under attack?
Surely not…
Melchor’s forehead glistened with perspiration.
His palms and feet were drenched as well.
The tension was suffocating.
And then—
“Emergency ejection. Emergency ejection.”
That was the last transmission.
He waited for what felt like an eternity, but no further radio contact came through.
.
.
.
The conference room fell into a suffocating silence.
No one dared speak it aloud, but the absence of any signal suggested the fighter jet had likely been shot down.
A fighter without its pilot doesn’t simply fly on its own.
Melchor wrestled with the dilemma.
In warfare, momentum was everything.
Yet pushing forward on momentum alone meant accepting catastrophic losses.
Fighter losses especially cut deep.
There were only eleven of them.
Each one was irreplaceable.
The Philippines and China had territorial disputes.
The sovereignty dispute over Scarborough Shoal in the South China Sea had dragged on endlessly.
But unlike China, the Philippines lacked proper jet fighters, making it nearly impossible to mount an adequate defense against the Chinese Air Force.
They had begged South Korea to sell them FA-50s.
These fighters were originally destined for other nations, yet the Philippines had rearranged the delivery schedule such was their desperation—these were precious acquisitions purchased under urgent necessity.
Now two of those irreplaceable aircraft had been lost.
He couldn’t afford to send more fighters into the fray on momentum alone.
He couldn’t lose another one.
Fighters were expensive, and the delivery timelines were grueling.
Losing another now would be catastrophic.
At minimum, he needed to understand what the Rebel Forces actually possessed.
Only then could he commit more fighters.
But first, he needed to deflect some blame.
“Defense Minister, what do we do about this?”
“Pardon?”
“The operation failed. What do you propose we do about such a failure?”
“Pardon?”
“I told you from the beginning it was reckless. Using fighter jets to capture Rebel Forces? And proceeding with an operation without proper intelligence—I’m deeply disappointed.”
“That is···”
“Enough. As of this moment, you’re relieved of your position. Get out.”
The Defense Minister felt wronged, but he couldn’t defend himself.
Or rather, it was better that he didn’t.
For now, removal from office was the extent of it, but if he made excuses, he could end up in prison.
It was nothing for the President to send a man to jail.
Better to be cast out as an incompetent fool.
.
.
.
President Melchor finished his schedule and returned to the presidential residence.
He was exhausted.
There was far too much demanding his attention.
More precisely, the Rebel Forces problem weighed so heavily that I couldn’t concentrate on anything else.
This wasn’t the Bermuda Triangle, yet I couldn’t fathom how something could vanish so completely in the twenty-first century.
Without situational awareness, I couldn’t formulate a strategy.
How could there be such a complete lack of intelligence?
Sending forces blindly would incur catastrophic losses.
The losses were already staggering.
Both military assets and human lives—the casualties were enormous.
I was currently assessing the damage report.
I had calculated the damage assuming the worst-case scenario: total annihilation of everyone aboard the vessel.
The results were devastating.
It was unbearable.
The human cost was particularly severe.
Over a thousand soldiers aboard the landing ship would need to be processed as killed in action.
Since they died during the operation, I would need to provide compensation, survivor benefits, pensions, and other support.
But if I processed it that way, the defense budget couldn’t sustain it.
It was a massive financial and political risk.
So I was holding on.
They weren’t dead.
They were on a classified operation.
It’s classified, so I can’t disclose it—that’s how I was managing it.
Only one thought occupied Melchor’s mind.
Processing the deaths as missing persons, claiming they would return someday.
That was the only way.
A death isn’t confirmed until a body is found.
But how long could I endure like this?
That method was nothing more than improvisation.
It wasn’t a proper solution.
Complex thoughts flooded my mind.
Melchor slowly made his way to the study room.
Reviewing the day in the study room before bed was a long-standing habit of mine.
Upon entering the study room, I found an unfamiliar phone lying on the desk.
It was certainly not mine.
Who could have left it here?
Yet this study room was my private sanctuary—a place my wife and children never entered.
There was no way anyone could have left a phone here.
The thought that someone had entered this space and left it behind sent a chill down my spine.
Worse still, there were no security cameras here.
An enemy capable of freely moving through the presidential residence?
That was tantamount to saying they could kill me whenever they wished.
It had to be some misunderstanding, mistake, confusion, or oversight.
Then the phone rang.
My instincts screamed not to answer.
I hung up immediately.
A message came through at once.
– Answer it.
The phone began ringing again.
My hands trembled.
“H-hello?”
– Finally got through. Strange—you never answered when I tried to contact you before.
“W-who are you?!”
– I find it curious that you don’t know who I am. Do you have many enemies? Enemies capable of reaching even your residence like this?
“You… I…”
– You know exactly who I am. The fact that you placed a phone in such a difficult location to access proves it. We went to great lengths for this. I called the moment you picked up the phone. We’re monitoring everything you do.
Fear gripped me.
This wasn’t a random call that happened to connect.
The moment I picked up the phone, the call came through—precisely timed.
When I didn’t answer, they sent a message telling me to pick up.
They knew exactly what I was doing.
I glanced around the room.
Were there cameras?
– No cameras. Don’t worry too much.
It was certain—this man was watching me.
I was too stunned to speak.
This is the presidential residence.
It’s not a place one can enter and exit freely.
But I know exactly what Melchor is doing.
“What do you want?”
– Nothing in particular. Just want to see your face. We have things to talk about, don’t we?
“If that’s the case… fine. Come to Malacañan Palace.”
– Hahahaha. There? Me? How about you come to my place instead? I’ll order chicken.
After nearly dying at Zhongnanhai last time, I’d decided never to commit such madness as walking into the enemy’s stronghold.
Melchor is a lunatic too.
A madman who ordered bombings against his own citizens.
There’s no telling what he might do if we showed up.
He’s the type who would blow up Malacañan Palace just to kill us and think nothing of it.
I won’t willingly walk into such a place.
– I’ll send you a gift tomorrow anyway. Receive it. Once you do, we’ll decide on a location.
The call ended.
.
.
.
A church across from Malacañan Palace.
Allen was watching Melchor through a sniper rifle scope.
Once Melchor finished his call, Allen packed up the sniper rifle and left the spot.
The place where Allen had been was clean, as if no one had ever been there.
Not a trace remained.
******
Laksa, the president’s longtime friend and hidden secretary, arrived early in the morning.
Laksa handled all of Melchor’s dirty work.
“What is it?”
Melchor, who hadn’t slept properly because of last night’s events, asked with a hint of irritation.
Laksa glanced around, confirmed no one was nearby, and spoke quietly.
“The casinos we operate were attacked yesterday. All three of them.”
“What?”
“There was also a fire at the farm.”
Laksa checked his surroundings once more before speaking even more carefully.
“It seems the Rebel Forces have figured out what we possess.”
“Damn it…”
The strange phone call last night had already annoyed me, but this news infuriated me.
These were things I had carefully seized.
The cream of the crop.
The very essence of what I’d taken through force, law, and power.
I’d registered them under false names and used the money they generated quite effectively.
Neither Melchor’s wife nor his children knew he possessed this.
Legally, it had no connection to Melchor whatsoever.
Yet the true owner was Melchor himself.
I thought I’d hidden it remarkably well, but it was certain the Rebel Forces knew something.
“What would be a good solution?”
“Why not move your assets somewhere safer?”
“Somewhere safer?”
“Liquidate the Casino and the farm completely, convert everything to cash, and stash it in cryptocurrency or secret accounts. You’ll need to settle these things before your term ends anyway.”
“Still, it’s such a shame.”
Melchor truly felt the loss.
It was a cash cow generating enormous monthly revenue.
He didn’t want to sell it.
Of course, selling would bring in a lump sum, but the Casino’s steady monthly income was far superior.
It felt wasteful to part with it.
“Then leave it as is. But if you get attacked a few more times, word will spread that it’s a dangerous place, and revenue will drop to less than half of what it is now. Keep that in mind.”
“Really?”
“If you were gambling and people kept fighting next to you, would you want to gamble? When someone’s winning big and another person stumbles—would you want them touching your cards?”
“No, I wouldn’t like that. But couldn’t we just send Police to protect it?”
“You want to advertise that it’s your Casino? The Casino gets attacked and the Police protect it? Since when did Casinos in the Philippines become that kind of establishment? Sure, the Police can protect it, but the moment they do, everyone sees a red flag—someone’s involved here. The shady types won’t come near it.”
“······.”
“For now, I’ll keep operating it as usual. That’s what I came to tell you.”
“Wait··· if we sell, is there a buyer?”
Suddenly, last night’s phone call came to mind.
That mention of sending a gift.
If all of this was a calculated crime by the Rebel Forces, attacks would continue, and the Casino’s value would plummet.
If we’re going to dispose of it anyway, now might be better.
“As it happens, someone wants to buy a Casino. Handing it over to them might work out.”
“Look into it for now. Try to sell if possible. If we do sell, what then?”
“Launder it through cryptocurrency or put it into a corporation. Switzerland’s been problematic lately anyway.”
“Understood. Take care of it.”
“Don’t worry. That’s what friends are for. I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.”
Laksa, leaving Malacañan Palace, glanced around before making a call.
“Yes. I’ve spoken with him. Understood. I’ll handle it right away. Thank you.”
Laksa’s face was full of smiles as he hung up.
.
.
.
As I hung up, I felt slightly uneasy.
I worried Melchor might misinterpret my gift.
My gift wasn’t the Casino attacks or the farm fire.
My real gift was Laksa.
I worried that Melchor wouldn’t realize it.
I was anxious that he hadn’t properly received my gift.
Placing the phone there.
Revealing the locations of the Casino and the farm—it was all Laksa.
I worried that Melchor wouldn’t understand that.
The anxiety kept me from sleeping.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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