I Became a Black Market Tycoon with an Inventory - Chapter 137

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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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137 – Private Jet
137.
“Good grief. Look at that face. Show some restraint, would you?”
Scott had brought Raymond to me.
It took exactly thirty minutes.
But his face was already a mess.
Scott must have used his hands on the way here.
Scott seemed furious as well.
And with good reason—Sandro was a special person to Scott.
It was Sandro who had discovered Scott brawling on the streets and brought him into the fold.
Scott had learned and grown under Sandro’s guidance.
Then he came to work under me.
To Scott, Sandro was both an older brother and a friend.
They joked around and got along comfortably most of the time, but Scott always respected Sandro deeply.
He never overstepped any boundaries.
And yet Raymond had tried to arrest him.
Even if Sandro had done something wrong, Scott wouldn’t have forgiven it.
But Sandro hadn’t done anything wrong—Raymond had fabricated charges just to arrest him.
Blinded by ambition for promotion, he’d done what he shouldn’t have.
It was hard to forgive.
“This is me showing restraint, sir. Honestly, I wanted to grind him to dust.”
Scott’s fury came through clearly in his response.
“Anyway, where did you grab this bastard?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Huh?”
“He was trying to escape by boat to Cebu.”
Trying to escape? Already?
If he was going to run this quickly, why cause trouble in the first place?
I couldn’t make sense of it.
Did he really think everything would go according to plan?
Did he believe the police would burst in to find a kaleidoscope of illegal operations everywhere?
Did he think there would be arrests lined up like a buffet?
This isn’t the 1980s.
Run operations like that nowadays and you get caught.
Everything runs by the book.
Even if La Camara had leverage over Raymond’s corruption and threatened to discipline him if he didn’t follow our orders, promising promotion if he did, he should have considered what would happen if things went wrong.
Did he really believe that the Sandro Group would be dismantled so quickly?
If it were that easy to dismantle, why hadn’t it been done already?
Didn’t he ever think about that?
Haven’t you thought about that?
Was discipline so frightening and promotion so sweet that you just pretended not to notice and snapped it up?
Thinking you could run away if things went wrong?
But the moment you dispatched them, the Police Chief called you in and said something.
No evidence at the scene, the atmosphere felt off, so you ran immediately?
Things didn’t go your way, so you thought it was all screwed up?
Fine, at least run away properly.
What is this?
Getting caught this easily.
Did you really think you could escape our eyes here in Bohol?
How many members does the Sandro Group have?
The merchants, taxi drivers, guides, and hotel staff—they’re all our eyes and ears.
If we wanted to, we could count how many times you chew your sisig during lunch.
That’s why you got caught so quickly.
The moment the taxi driver who dropped you off at Tagbilaran Port reported it, Scott was dispatched immediately.
We also had reports from the staff working at Tagbilaran Port.
Anyway, I respect how you acted.
But if you act, you have to take responsibility, don’t you?
I’m going to hold you accountable for that action now.
Raymond stared at me with a ruined expression.
Greed and regret coexist on his face.
That’s what you get for being greedy.
“Let’s go.”
“Where to, sir?”
I spoke to Scott.
“Mindanao.”
“What about this bastard?”
Scott asked, glancing at Raymond.
“Of course we take him with us. He’s our guest. We’ll take him to Mindanao and treat him properly.”
The moment Raymond heard the word Mindanao, his face went pale.
For someone as refined as Raymond, Mindanao was that kind of place.
A place you can’t escape once you enter.
A place swarming with Rebel Forces.
A place the police and military have both abandoned.
That was Mindanao.
.
.
.
On the road heading to Bohol Panglao Airport.
Sandro sat at the very back of the van, watching Alex and Scott grab Raymond like they were catching a rat.
It was amusing.
Both of them are being so adorable.
Sandro replayed the events of the past few moments in his mind once more.
Honestly, he could have avoided getting caught by the police.
He could have forced his way through, or called the Police Chief to have these officers cleared out.
But instead, he took the lead himself and came willingly to the Police Station.
There was only one reason.
The circumstances surrounding the raid on the Emerald Resort were far too suspicious.
The Department of Health, the Fire Department, PAGCOR, and the police all at once?
Someone was definitely pulling strings behind this.
He was curious.
Who had orchestrated this?
He thought he could find out at the Police Station.
He decided to follow the trail from there, so he came along without resistance.
But that fool had already cut and run.
He got a beating from the Police Chief and fled immediately.
For someone who ran away like that, it was almost pitiful how easily he was captured.
But it doesn’t matter if he ran.
If the police officer escapes, I’ll just deal with the Department of Health and Fire Department instead.
Actually, I’ll deal with them too.
There’s no rush.
I already know who came to conduct the inspection.
There’s nowhere for them to hide.
I’ll just slowly squeeze them one by one.
Since I’ve come all the way to the Police Headquarters, I was thinking of having a cup of coffee with the Police Chief when things got noisy downstairs.
Chaos erupted.
I could hear the sound of things being smashed.
I came down with the Police Chief and saw Alex and Scott enthusiastically destroying something.
Sigh… that’s not how you cause a ruckus.
That’s not how you tear the place up.
Even though Alex had become a big shot, he still seemed to lack much.
He didn’t know many things because he wasn’t an original street thug.
It seemed I needed to teach him more.
But why was Scott like that?
He hadn’t grown at all.
I watched the two of them causing a commotion with a satisfied expression.
It wasn’t as if this would actually solve the problem.
It wouldn’t help at all, but their sincerity was deeply felt.
It was like…
receiving a paper crane from a kindergarten nephew—utterly useless, yet touching.
That gift would be worthless, but my nephew had folded and unfolded that paper dozens of times just to give it to me.
Creased and crumpled, the flimsy paper crane embodied it all.
That sloppy, unprepared spectacle looked to Sandro like a wrinkled paper crane—utterly imperfect yet somehow magnificent.
Unnecessary and chaotic, yet brimming with sincerity.
In Sandro’s eyes, their performance surpassed any other.
It was the finest act imaginable.
Then Alex suddenly shifted genres—to arson.
He started setting fires.
That had to be stopped.
Fire spreads in an instant.
Control becomes nearly impossible.
So I intervened.
“What are you doing?”
“What’s this? Playing with fire?”
You should have seen Alex’s expression then.
Looking at me, his face crumpled as though he might burst into tears.
I wish I’d captured that moment on film.
But Alex wasn’t the only one on the verge of tears.
Tears glistened faintly in Sandro’s eyes as well.
My heart ached inexplicably.
We didn’t show our tears, but we understood.
We lived with the same heart.
.
.
.
Panglao International Airport.
“You already received the private jet?”
Sandro asked in surprise.
He’d introduced it himself, yet here he was, astonished.
“Yeah. I haven’t paid the balance yet, but they sent the plane first. Said they were fed up. I flew here from Mindanao in this one too.”
“It looks brand new though.”
Scott marveled at the private jet.
It did look new to me as well.
“They received it new but barely flew it. Things went south. But apparently, even just keeping a private jet parked costs a fortune.”
“At least the aircraft is in excellent condition. The interior is immaculate too.”
As soon as we boarded, the captain announced our immediate departure.
That’s the sole advantage of a private jet.
No waiting required.
Everything else is a drawback.
The aircraft lifted off from Panglao Airport.
Aboard were myself, Sandro, Scott, and Raymond.
Sandro sat down in front of Raymond.
“Alex, I need to rough this bastard up a bit, but it’d be a shame to get blood all over the private jet, wouldn’t it?”
Of course not.
It’s brand new—we can’t have blood splattered all over it.
I understand he’s curious about plenty of things and wants answers quickly.
But this is an airplane.
We can’t have blood all over it.
It’s brand new.
“Sandro, can you wait a bit?”
“How long?”
“About an hour?”
“Why?”
Instead of answering, I handed Raymond a piece of paper and a pen.
“It takes an hour to reach Zamboanga Airport. Until then, you’re going to write down the background and circumstances of how this happened, who gave you orders, how you made contact, what you were promised, and everyone involved. One hour. If what’s written there doesn’t satisfy me by the time we land, I’m throwing you straight out of this plane. I bought this private jet specifically to throw pieces of garbage like you out of it. I hope you won’t be my first test subject. You don’t have to write if you don’t want to. I have plenty of places to visit—the Fire Department, the Department of Health, PAGCOR. I’ll only spare the one bastard who writes everything out clearly and logically with perfect structure. The rest? Skydiving without a parachute. But let me tell you something unpleasant: when you fall into the sea without a parachute from a plane, you won’t die right away. You’ll survive. But surviving isn’t really living. You’ll be torn apart by fish while you’re still alive. Even if you’re lucky enough to wash ashore, you’ll spend the rest of your life as a fool. How about making smart choices and only making one foolish one?”
Hearing my words, Raymond hurriedly picked up the pen and started writing frantically.
I turned around and went to Sandro.
I poured him a glass of whiskey and handed it over.
“Isn’t this whiskey too premium to drink on a flight?”
Sandro laughed and joked around.
“Our Candy Tour’s service for first-class customers is absolutely extraordinary.”
“I like that.”
“Hehe~”
I laughed.
It felt like we were back to being ourselves again.
We savored the private jet while sipping our whiskey.
By the time we arrived at Zamboanga Airport, I looked at the paper Raymond had written.
The paper was completely filled with writing.
Wow.
This is really good.
Unlike the interrogations before, I didn’t need mind games or emotional battles.
No need to grill him with endless questions or see blood spilled.
No need to strain my voice talking.
Just paper and pen were enough.
I could read it, ask about any gaps or unclear points, and that was it.
No need to memorize anything—the paper itself became evidence and a record.
I should have done this from the start.
Buying the private jet was definitely the right call.
Now I understood why a private jet was necessary.
I’m glad I decided to use a private jet.
I think I understood why a dedicated aircraft was necessary.
After that, the private jet took off and landed repeatedly.
Carrying many people each time.
With every takeoff, the stack of papers filled out by passengers grew ever higher.
*******
“The customer’s phone is turned off. Connecting to voicemail.”
Mao Qin continued calling Du Man-sik, but the line wouldn’t connect.
Kang Pal-chun was also unreachable.
Something had clearly happened, but I couldn’t figure out what.
If they’d been arrested by police, it would’ve made the news, but no such reports appeared.
I instructed my subordinates to contact anyone they knew personally, but all I got back was that no one was answering.
Suddenly, I recalled something Kang Pal-chun used to complain about whenever we spoke.
“Selling drugs in South Korea isn’t a normal business. The enforcement is just too strict.”
“And it’s not just the enforcement—the Dae-hoon Faction blocks us like madmen.”
“You don’t know? There’s an organization called the Dae-hoon Faction that controls over half of South Korea. Those bastards seem to have a vendetta against drugs—whenever they spot any, they report it like crazy, confiscate it, beat people up, the whole nine yards.”
“Before them, drug trafficking was pretty profitable for us, but because of those punks, all our smuggling routes got busted.”
“I’m not just complaining—we need operating capital to move forward with our operations.”
“If you get caught selling drugs by the Dae-hoon Faction, you’re literally dead.”
“Man, they’re really strict.”
Every call was the same—dying, no money, asking for more funds.
We need operating capital to proceed with business.
He complained so much that I’d mostly ignored it, but now an ominous thought occurred to me—perhaps he’d been devoured by this organization called the Dae-hoon Faction.
I sought out Zhang Tian, the Chairman of the Triad Society.
“Chairman. I can’t reach the special envoy we sent to South Korea.”
“And?”
Zhang Tian, who had been sitting in his study reading a book and sipping tea, looked at me over his glasses.
“I believe we need to send more personnel to assess the situation in South Korea.”
Zhang Tian closed his eyes and fell into thought as he listened.
Then, slowly opening his eyes, he asked.
“Do you think sending more people will actually solve this?”
“Pardon?”
“Do you think sending more personnel will resolve the problem?”
I was taken aback by Zhang Tian’s response.
So just leave it alone?
When an organization member has gone silent?
I couldn’t understand why he was saying such a thing.
“Our special envoy has lost contact. Shouldn’t we search for him? Shouldn’t we do ‘something’ to find him?”
I spoke with a hint of grievance.
“That’s exactly it—your ‘something’ is just sending more people. Isn’t there another way?”
“Another way, you say?”
“Well, for starters, we could use a private investigator in South Korea, or file a missing person report with the police.”
“That… that’s not our organization’s doing. We don’t involve outsiders in organizational matters.”
Mao Qin was taken aback.
It wasn’t the conversation that startled him.
It was Zhang Tian’s attitude that caught him off guard.
The Chairman had always agreed with him, and almost always granted his requests.
So why was he acting this way today?
It was strange.
“Our organization… where exactly does our organization end?”
“Pardon?”
“You believe we must handle everything that happens within our organization ourselves, don’t you?”
“That’s correct.”
“Then where do we draw that line? If one of our members goes missing, we must find them. If a member falls ill, we treat them. If our members need weapons, we must manufacture every single one ourselves, I suppose?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I think it is. It’s a matter of where we set the standard, not whether we use outsiders.”
“···.”
Zhang Tian’s voice grew quieter.
“Mao Qin. Listen carefully. Our Triad Society is not what it once was. We’ve changed greatly from the past. Our numbers have dwindled, our reputation has faded, our wealth has shrunk. Our income has plummeted while enforcement against us has intensified. This is no longer an era where we can do as we please. I’ve tried to hear you out as much as possible because you lack field experience and I wanted you to gain it, but I fear that’s becoming impossible now.”
“Uncle.”
Mao Qin addressed Zhang Tian as uncle.
In fact, Zhang Tian, the Triad Society’s Chairman, and Mao Qin were uncle and nephew.
Before Zhang Tian became Chairman, Mao Qin’s father had been the Triad Society’s leader.
When Mao Qin’s father died, Zhang Tian became Chairman.
Mao Qin, who had been studying in America, returned to the Triad Society upon his father’s death, determined to inherit his legacy.
Zhang Tian welcomed him without hesitation.
However, thinking it would be difficult for Mao Qin to survive in the field as a young woman, he created the position of Information Team Leader for her.
Mao Qin proved quite capable, having been a gifted student with excellent academic performance.
I thought her lack of field experience would be a disadvantage, but it wasn’t.
She had observed, heard, and felt things since childhood.
Mao Qin had grown up in the home of a Triad Society boss, surrounded by countless gangsters.
Thus Mao Qin was establishing herself within the Triad Society, yet she could not stop its decline.
The Triad Society was not what it once was.
It was no longer the mighty organization that had sought to unify Asia.
The Chinese government cracked down on the Triad Society with brutal force.
So now the Triad Society cannot even enter China.
Based in Hong Kong, they established branches in Southeast Asia and survive through smuggling alone.
These days, the lucrative scams, gambling, and drugs are all controlled by those called Millennium gangsters.
The Triad Society, which once lived off loan sharking, casinos, money laundering, and entertainment, had nowhere left to turn.
Their existing operations had all shrunk or faced such heavy enforcement that they couldn’t penetrate them,
and other organizations had already claimed the new markets.
To seize territory from others would require war, but the Triad Society no longer has the manpower.
They were all aging, their vigor fading.
For the Triad Society to be reborn, it needed a new outlet, a new market.
When Mao Qin factored in all the conditions, there was only one market where success was possible.
South Korea.
“I’ll do something to revive the Triad Society. But it won’t be South Korea.”
Zhang Tian spoke with firm resolve.
“No, sir. There’s no other option. My analysis confirms it.”
Mao Qin refused to back down, matching his conviction.
“Uncle, what if we relocated our headquarters to South Korea entirely?”
“What?”
“The reason we’re struggling is because we lack information. We have no connections, no infrastructure, so we keep making missteps. That’s why we should move our base of operations to South Korea. It’s a market with plenty of merit.”
Mao Qin spoke with unwavering confidence.
Zhang Tian found Mao Qin’s proposal disagreeable.
There was something that numbers alone couldn’t reveal.
His instinct told him South Korea wasn’t the answer.
Yet Zhang Tian couldn’t bring himself to refuse coldly.
Blood runs deep, it seemed.
“Go to South Korea yourself. See it firsthand, then we’ll talk.”
I had become a magnate of the black market through my inventory.
137 – Private Aircraft
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/ December 5, 2025
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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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