I Became a Black Market Tycoon with an Inventory - Chapter 155

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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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155 – Hospitalization
155.
“Aren’t you going in?”
The shift change had long since passed, and my senior was already downstairs in the Emergency Room.
Yet Kwon Ju-ah remained seated at the Emergency Room station.
“I’ll go in a bit longer.”
“Get some rest. You said there were a lot of patients all night.”
Despite my senior’s words, I couldn’t bring myself to leave.
I was worried about In-bae’s condition.
Acute gastroenteritis.
He’d consumed all the things he shouldn’t have eaten at once.
I wasn’t sure what the strange herbal medicine was,
but potent herbal remedies combined with raw fish and oysters.
And alcohol on top of that.
It was a recipe for trouble.
Honestly, it wasn’t a serious illness.
The test results were stable, and he was responding well to the IV fluids.
All the treatments available in the Emergency Room had been completed, and In-bae had been moved to the ward.
He’d be discharged after a day or two of observation.
I knew that.
Yet I couldn’t bring myself to stand up.
Should I visit his room, or just clock out?
I’d repeated the same thought countless times.
.
.
.
I still remember that night.
The night I ate ramen at Gong In-bae’s home.
The night I sat on the platform, gazing at Seoul’s night lights.
That open, boundless space had granted me freedom.
It had given breath to my suffocating life.
Though I acted as if nothing was wrong, the truth was I was on the verge of drowning.
The pressure and stress from those around me had filled my mind with dark thoughts.
Everyone said I was doing well, that I just needed to keep going.
But I couldn’t endure it any longer.
I had no confidence I could overcome it.
If only I could let everything go,
if I abandoned life itself, wouldn’t everything become easier? That was all my mind could hold.
That’s why I could act so recklessly.
Because I wanted to give up on everything.
Perhaps that’s how I was able to follow Gong In-bae to his home as well.
Yang Jung-won’s necklace may have simply been an excuse.
That day’s transgression was both a shock and a catalyst for me.
My life, which had been lived according to predetermined times and places, shattered.
Seeing Gong In-bae, who thought so differently from me,
living in an entirely different environment, stirred countless thoughts within me.
A single glass of soju I’d bummed off Gong In-bae tasted both bitter and sweet.
It felt as though a new world had opened before me.
I began to think that perhaps living wasn’t so bad—that I didn’t have to end the world.
I realized there was still so much of the world I didn’t know.
After that, I visited several more times.
Shamelessly bringing ramen I’d bought for us to eat.
But Gong In-bae was never there.
It was disappointing, but it was fine.
I only needed to feel that freedom I’d experienced then.
Alone on the wooden platform, I’d boil ramen and gaze out at Seoul’s night sky.
But something felt wrong.
That feeling wouldn’t come.
Seoul’s night sky, the platform, the ramen—everything was the same, but there was no comfort.
Neither the freedom of a new world opening before me,
nor the ease of feeling like everything belonged to me.
Only then did I understand.
The comfort I felt wasn’t from the ramen—it was from Gong In-bae.
It wasn’t the location, the night sky, or the platform—it was Gong In-bae.
It’s not that I rationally liked Gong In-bae or anything like that.
It’s just…
It’s just…
I simply needed an escape.
I needed someone I could comfortably bare everything to and speak freely with.
I just wanted someone with whom I didn’t have to wear a mask or deceive myself.
And that person was Gong In-bae.
But Gong In-bae disappeared.
Even in third year, we ended up in the same class, but approaching him felt burdensome.
I was afraid to speak with Gong In-bae, who was being ostracized by the other students, or do anything together with him.
I was terrified of what others would think.
So after school, I’d secretly visit Gong In-bae’s home, but he was never there.
And at some point, Gong In-bae vanished.
His home vanished too.
An apartment building rose in its place.
I thought I could no longer find any trace of Gong In-bae.
But about six or seven years ago, I saw someone who looked like In-bae in my hometown district.
He resembled In-bae, but he was far too refined for that.
A physique honed by rigorous training and an impeccable designer suit.
I thought it couldn’t possibly be In-bae.
I passed by thinking it wasn’t him, but that face never faded from my memory no matter how much time passed.
Could it have been In-bae after all?
After that, I found myself curious from time to time.
How he was doing.
I wanted to see him.
And then that In-bae appeared before me as a patient.
He’d consumed herbal medicine, raw food, and alcohol all together, contracting acute gastroenteritis.
.
.
.
In the end, I decided to check on In-bae’s condition before clocking out.
As a friend, I was curious, but as a doctor, I felt responsible.
Checking on a patient who’d received treatment in the Emergency Room and been transferred to the ward was something I should naturally do as a physician.
It wasn’t like that until yesterday, but I decided to do it starting today.
A new rule that had just emerged for me today.
One that would disappear by tomorrow.
I checked Gong In-bae’s room number at the station.
Room 2308.
Huh?
Is this right?
That’s a VIP room?
Not even VIP—it’s a VVIP suite.
The largest and most expensive room in our hospital.
In-bae is admitted to that room.
Something doesn’t add up.
I checked multiple times.
But In-bae’s room was indeed 2308, and it was indeed a VVIP suite.
It was strange.
The In-bae I knew couldn’t afford a VVIP suite.
This might sound harsh, but In-bae was a child whose dream was to enter the Orphanage.
His life was that difficult and painful.
He was a child standing on the edge of a cliff.
He was the kind of person who’d feel guilty eating a single bowl of ramen.
Yet that In-bae is now admitted to a VVIP suite.
I couldn’t make sense of this situation.
What on earth had happened to In-bae all this time?
I was curious.
Not about how In-bae had earned so much money to be admitted to the VVIP ward.
During all that time.
I was so curious about how he’d lived through those ten years.
What kind of face he wore, how he’d survived—I wanted to know.
There seemed to be so many stories to tell.
Kwon Ju-ah headed toward Room 2308.
To see her friend Gong In-bae, not as a patient.
.
.
.
“Are you coming to your senses?”
Scott’s face came into view.
I remember coming home yesterday.
I’d felt unwell all day yesterday.
Sweat poured from me, and my stomach kept churning.
Nausea kept rising in my throat.
I thought I’d be fine after sleeping and waking up,
I thought I’d feel better once I got home and lay down,
but apparently not.
I collapsed on my way to the bathroom, about to vomit.
After that, I remember nothing.
I must have been brought to the hospital while I was unconscious.
Was my condition really that bad?
“I’m so relieved you’ve regained consciousness.”
Scott’s voice trembled with emotion.
Why is he like this so early in the morning?
Don’t burden me like this.
I prefer you when you’re being glib and evasive.
Don’t do this without reason.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in a hospital.”
As I tried to sit up, Scott helped support me.
With Scott’s assistance, I leaned back against the bed and sat up.
Only then could I see the hospital room properly.
A spacious room.
It was well-equipped with a bed, sofa, conference table, and television.
It must be a VIP ward.
On one side, Obsidian Unit personnel were standing guard over me.
“I’m fine now, so get some rest. You’ve worked hard.”
“No, sir. I’ve simply reinforced security. We’ve elevated our alert level to Stage 3 and are maintaining close protection.”
“I’m the one who’s sick. Why are you raising the security level?”
Despite Scott’s words lacking energy, I couldn’t help but laugh.
I’m the one who’s ill, yet he’s escalating security measures.
“It’s only natural to be cautious and vigilant when you’re unwell, sir.”
“This is South Korea. Nothing happens here.”
I spoke to Scott in a soothing tone.
“And yet you’ve fallen ill here in South Korea? You never got sick once in the Philippines, sir.”
Scott’s words left me speechless.
Was that true?
Now that I thought about it, it seemed to be the case.
I had been constantly on edge.
In the Philippines, I must have been perpetually tense without even realizing it.
The Philippines—where firearms are freely carried and madmen roam freely.
Shuttling between China, where nothing operates by common sense, I must have remained unconsciously vigilant the entire time.
And then, upon arriving in South Korea, the thought of safety unconsciously released that tension.
Was that why I fell ill?
“Thank you.”
“It’s my duty to serve you, sir.”
At that moment, the hospital room door opened and a female doctor entered.
“You’re already awake.”
“Yes…”
“But it’s quite difficult to enter here. What’s going on outside?”
“Pardon?”
“There were so many people outside.”
I glanced at Scott.
It seemed Scott had positioned the Obsidian Unit outside for security purposes.
“Ah, I apologize. I’ll adjust that immediately.”
As I said that, I looked toward Scott.
Scott grumbled and stood up.
“Downgrade alert level to Stage 1.”
As Scott called out, the personnel inside and outside the room quietly vacated their positions.
Now, agents disguised as visitors or guests would likely begin monitoring from a distance.
“How are you feeling?”
“I seem to be doing fine.”
“It was acute gastroenteritis. You’ve received IV fluids and the vomiting has stopped, so if we observe you for today, you should be able to be discharged tomorrow.”
“I see. Thank you.”
The doctor nodded, then paused briefly.
“Well… but…”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know who I am?”
Only then did I lift my head to look at the female doctor’s face.
A familiar face.
In an instant, I confirmed the name embroidered on her coat.
Kwon Ju-ah.
“Huh? Kwon Ju-ah?”
“Now you recognize me.”
Kwon Ju-ah smiled faintly.
She was still beautiful.
I was somewhat surprised.
She had mentioned needing to go to medical school,
and her parents’ dream was medical school too. So she actually went.
Seeing her achieve her dream made me feel oddly proud and satisfied.
“So you became a doctor after all.”
“What?”
“You said you had to become a doctor. That night at my place.”
“Ah… yes, that’s right.”
Kwon Ju-ah answered with a distant look, as if remembering something.
She didn’t remember the words spoken that night.
She only remembered it as a moment of liberation and freedom.
But thinking about it, so much had happened that night.
“Congratulations on becoming a doctor.”
I offered her my congratulations.
“Thank you. I do remember that night. I still think about it sometimes.”
“Huh?”
That night had truly been a profound stimulus for Kwon Ju-ah.
The experience from that night had played a significant role in her becoming a doctor.
There was an aspiration that if she went to medical school and became a doctor, she could live such a life.
“I really enjoyed that night. I told you then too. I felt so free.”
Kwon Ju-ah spoke with a smile.
Why was Kwon Ju-ah speaking like this?
The conversation seemed prone to misunderstanding.
It would be better if she added more subjects to clarify.
We already had a victim.
Scott, who had overheard our conversation, quietly stood up.
“I’ll step out for a moment. Please, feel free to talk.”
“Wait, Scott—”
I called out to Scott, but he left with only a slight smile, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me.
This isn’t what it looks like…
I felt genuinely wronged.
.
.
.
Scott left.
Kwon Ju-ah and I sat down and began conversing in hushed tones.
The awkwardness faded quickly.
As we talked, one topic naturally led to another.
We shared stories of how we’d lived our lives, what we did to get by.
I couldn’t reveal everything, but it was enjoyable.
I spoke plenty of unnecessary things myself.
Kwon Ju-ah, too, found herself able to be genuine for the first time in a while.
She could be that way in front of In-bae.
That night marked the first time Kwon Ju-ah had felt at ease since that fateful evening.
She’d found the diary she’d lost.
In-bae appeared to her in a slightly different light now.
*******
Hong Kong Triad headquarters.
“Chairman. The production of Disand will be completed today. We’ll arrange for the fastest possible shipment.”
Upon hearing the report, Zhang Tian closed his eyes tightly, lost in thought.
He was uncertain whether to send the samples as they were.
The previous samples had been stolen, and he’d hastily manufactured another million units.
He’d barely managed it by running a small factory at full capacity.
The concern now was whether the newly sent samples would arrive safely.
It seemed the old foxes within the Triad were making their moves.
He’d issued covert orders to identify the situation and report back, but all he received were reports of nothing unusual.
That was strange.
They were moving so openly,
intercepting goods in transit, yet there was nothing unusual to report.
It was clear the reporting line itself had been compromised.
There was no one to trust.
If these newly made samples were stolen as well, the damage would be substantial.
I’m not speaking of financial loss.
No matter how much the Triad had declined, it could withstand that much.
The real issue was trust.
If the samples disappeared again, the Dae-hoon Faction would almost certainly cancel the contract entirely.
Why would they do business with an organization that couldn’t even deliver samples properly?
Even I wouldn’t trade with such an outfit.
In fact, when the first samples vanished, those responsible might have disappeared along with them.
If the deal with the Dae-hoon Faction fell through, Mao Qin would eventually be eliminated from the Triad.
They would hold him accountable for the failed Korean conquest he’d so adamantly championed.
Next would be Zhang Tian’s turn.
I couldn’t simply watch this predictable future unfold without acting.
Zhang Tian made his decision.
“Send it direct this time.”
“Pardon?”
“Didn’t you hear me? From the Factory straight to Pyeongtaek—send it direct.”
“That will increase logistics costs significantly, and the risk of exposure grows as well.”
Zhang Tian nodded as he responded.
He had his own calculations for this.
“I know. That’s why we do it. And put a few men on the cargo ship to guard the shipment.”
“Pardon?”
When the Secretary questioned him, Zhang Tian fixed him with a sharp look.
“What’s wrong with you today? Why do I have to repeat myself?”
“My apologies.”
The Secretary bowed his head.
“Implement it immediately and set up real-time tracking for the cargo location.”
“Understood.”
The Secretary General bowed and left the office.
The Chairman’s office, now empty.
Zhang Tian swiveled his chair to gaze out at Hong Kong’s glittering night skyline.
Beautiful.
I didn’t want to lose it.
Looking at that view, I believed I could do anything to maintain that position.
Zhang Tian was someone who believed he could endure anything.
Through the Inventory, he had become a titan of the black market.
155-Hospitalization
E-book Publication
/ December 24, 2025
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/ Black Card
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/ Son Je-ho
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© Black Card, 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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