I Became a Black Market Tycoon with an Inventory - Chapter 170

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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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170 – Farewell Gathering
170.
Daeyeon Development Chairman’s Office.
Kwon Sang-yeol, Kwon Ju-ah’s father, sat there.
“My friend suggested I meet with you, so I agreed to this meeting… but I still don’t have faith in you, Young Boss.”
Dae-hun had been sharp with Kwon Sang-yeol from the very beginning.
He made no effort to soften his words.
In truth, Dae-hun resented Kwon Sang-yeol’s very presence in this office.
Had it not been for In-bae’s persuasion, he would never have agreed to this meeting.
He’d said he would meet once, but his heart wasn’t in it.
A man who tried to leverage his daughter to expand his business.
Entrust work to such a cowardly man?
He couldn’t accept it.
Kwon Sang-yeol was fundamentally incompatible with Dae-hun.
That’s why Dae-hun had opposed the plan to merely intimidate Kwon Sang-yeol and then rescue him again.
He’d suggested it would be better to simply break something of his,
or perhaps just leave him barely breathing.
That was Dae-hun’s way.
Even knowing such things shouldn’t be done,
even knowing he couldn’t do such things because Kwon Sang-yeol was Kwon Ju-ah’s father, he’d said it anyway.
That’s how much he despised Kwon Sang-yeol.
Simply sitting across from a man who commodified his own daughter was repugnant.
Without In-bae, he would never have agreed to this meeting.
But In-bae had presented it differently.
‘That man needs work—something he can focus on. Give him that, and he won’t concern himself with much else. It’ll be better this way. For us, and for Ju-ah.’
And so this meeting had come to pass.
“I still have much to learn. I’ll do better.”
Kwon Sang-yeol bowed his head.
Kwon Sang-yeol had indeed changed.
The greed and obsession that had clung to his face had faded.
His expression now reflected concern for what he should do, rather than what he could take.
And he had made a decision.
To let Kwon Ju-ah go.
To never use his daughter as a tool.
After being kidnapped, Kwon Sang-yeol had reflected deeply.
He’d come to understand how meaningless a life decided by others truly was.
He owed Kwon Ju-ah an apology.
As a father, as a human being, as an adult.
But he couldn’t confirm where Kwon Ju-ah had gone.
Her phone was turned off, and when he called the hospital, they only said she was on medical volunteer work.
Rather than search for Kwon Ju-ah, I decided to wait for her to return.
I resolved to apologize once Kwon Ju-ah came home.
Until then, I made up my mind to do everything within my power.
“Let me put it simply. We want to establish a school that teaches and educates Korean culture. Long-term, you understand. We need a roadmap for that. Do you think it’s possible?”
Kwon Sang-yeol exhaled once before responding.
“Of course it’s possible. You won’t be disappointed.”
.
.
.
“We’re here.”
“Yes.”
Led by Dae-hun, we had arrived at an Industrial High School.
It was to check on the progress of the K-Culture School that I’d entrusted to Kwon Sang-yeol.
It was somewhat unexpected that Kwon Sang-yeol had summoned us to the high school.
I was filled with doubt.
But something felt off about the school.
There wasn’t a single student.
No teachers, no staff, no security guards watching over the school.
And today wasn’t even a weekend or vacation.
“What’s going on here? Why is there not a single person?”
“Right?”
Dae-hun and I exchanged glances.
“But CEO, is this really a school? Why isn’t there anyone here?”
Dae-hun asked.
“It’s a closed school.”
Kwon Sang-yeol answered smoothly.
A closed school?
This place is a closed school?
Doesn’t “closed school” usually refer to places that are falling apart?
The kind of place suited for a horror experience.
But this was different.
The condition was far too good to call it a closed school.
In name only a closed school, it looked ready for classes to begin at any moment.
Clean buildings and a spacious athletic field,
the auditorium and cafeteria, even the practice building remained intact.
Everything was as it had been, save for the absence of people.
“It’s quite decent, isn’t it?”
“More than decent? This is excellent.”
As Dae-hun spoke, I added from beside him.
Dae-hun seemed reluctant to acknowledge Kwon Sang-yeol’s abilities, speaking with a hint of understatement.
I understand Dae-hun’s feelings, but work is work—keep emotions out of it.
If feelings get mixed in, everything falls apart.
Whether Dae-hun knew it or not, Kwon Sang-yeol continued his explanation.
“I’ve been coordinating with the government regarding K-Culture. We proposed to educate and promote K-Culture, and the government agreed it was a good idea and committed to active cooperation. Having government involvement is beneficial—funding flows more easily and procedures are simplified. This closed school is proof of that.”
“Hmm…”
Dae-hun let out a low murmur.
Then he asked a question.
“But why was this school closed? Did something happen? It looks perfectly fine.”
“The student population declined. With the low birth rate and the growing avoidance of industrial schools, it eventually merged with nearby schools.”
“I see.”
“Actually, the land value here is no joke. The property is large, and many people have their eyes on it, but we became the priority negotiator. It aligned perfectly with government policy.”
Kwon Sang-yeol’s explanation continued.
“Not just here, but we’ve also secured priority negotiation rights for existing closed schools and those that will close in the future. Of course, this place needs to succeed first.”
Kwon Sang-yeol looked thrilled as he described the location.
His mind seemed filled with nothing but the word success.
I was honestly surprised.
I never expected he’d acquire a closed school.
I didn’t think there would be closed schools in Seoul.
By partnering with the government, he’d saved considerable resources.
Beyond funding support, we could receive substantial help with promotion.
Administrative procedures and cooperation from local governments and other agencies became much easier.
Kwon Sang-yeol’s business acumen was quite impressive.
“We’re preparing remodeling to match the curriculum. I’m considering purchasing the houses behind there to build dormitories. Ideally, I’d like to buy the school itself and construct them on campus, but that’s likely not possible. So as Plan B, I’m also exploring dormitory sites.”
.
.
.
After inspecting the school, we moved to another location.
That’s where Kwon Sang-yeol’s presentation began.
“As I researched K-Culture and developed the plan, I realized it’s one massive wave. We just need to ride it.”
The slide advanced.
“Rather than teaching foreigners something, what if we immerse them in K-Culture itself? We’d support people with different languages, cultures, and technologies as they each cultivate their own K-Culture.”
Click.
“So the school we create shouldn’t be an educational institution—it should be a platform. Culture circulates, IP circulates, and content and technology naturally connect here. K-Culture thrives in that soil.”
Click.
“I’ve tentatively named this project the K-ORIGIN Project.”
“The countless networks and IP created through the K-ORIGIN Project will become the true assets of K-ORIGIN.”
“This school is the starting point, and it will expand across Asia and eventually worldwide.”
As Kwon Sang-yeol’s passionate presentation ended, applause erupted from all sides.
I was somewhat taken aback.
This project wasn’t supposed to be this grand.
There’s no need to expand across Asia and into the world.
The K-Culture School was created to bring in children from Unity Town and teach them beauty techniques.
We started this program because there were kids with natural talent, so we thought they should learn.
It began with the simple thought that if they learned from Korea, they might have better prospects.
Beauty, food, fashion, webtoons, content, gaming, lifestyle—all of it.
We started this so they could learn these skills and make a living from them.
The reason I gave Dae-hun 10 trillion won was
not so much that I invested 10 trillion won into the K-Culture School, but rather because I owed Dae-hun so much that I simply gave it to him.
Under the guise of an investment.
But the scale has grown far beyond what I expected.
Yet it hasn’t been a bad thing.
Quite the opposite.
Like wearing a suit that fits just right.
The picture that’s emerging looks rather promising.
*******
A farewell gathering was being held in the Grand Hall of Unity Town.
The food was abundant, and music filled the air, but laughter was absent.
“Congratulations.”
“You did well.”
Words of congratulation were exchanged, but they carried no weight.
They couldn’t look each other in the face properly.
Their expressions were as though tears might spill at any moment.
This was a celebration for the children leaving Unity Town to begin new lives.
The children had grown remarkably well.
Major corporations, judges and prosecutors, soldiers, doctors, engineers, professionals.
They had advanced into diverse fields.
Yet no one smiled.
Because they had not achieved what they truly wanted.
What they desired was not a good job.
What they truly wanted was to become part of the Rebel Forces.
Those who failed to join the Rebel Forces left Unity Town and scattered across the Philippines.
That is why their expressions were not bright.
Though they had done their best, they could not smile before a dream left unfulfilled.
Memories of their frenzied efforts came flooding back.
The Rebel Forces had been the measure of all things in their world.
Yet they had not become part of the Rebel Forces.
Still, they were not failures.
Objectively speaking, they had already ascended to the upper echelon of life trajectories in the Philippines.
Social respect and a stable future were guaranteed.
It was a position not given to everyone.
But Unity Town’s standards were different.
It wasn’t about social success—it was about the Rebel Forces.
The Rebel Forces were a place only the chosen could enter.
Intellectual ability, mental fortitude, physical strength, situational judgment—everything mattered.
And above all else, loyalty.
Only those who passed through all of this could become part of the Rebel Forces.
The fact that they’d failed at that threshold weighed heavily on them.
It was like the expression of an Olympic athlete who’d won silver—not bright at all.
Everyone had their heads bowed when someone stepped onto the platform.
It was Simon, the Captain of the Rebel Forces.
Simon, standing on the platform, slowly surveyed each child’s face.
There was no brightness in his expression.
Simon gripped the microphone and spoke.
“Lift your heads.”
At Simon’s words, unusually gentle for him, they gradually raised their heads and looked toward him.
“You are not losers. Do not bow your heads.”
“You have every right to be proud of the achievements you’ve accomplished.”
“Not being selected for the Rebel Forces is not failure.”
“You have passed the most difficult and grueling test in this nation.”
“You were not rejected—you were simply not chosen at this moment.”
“Unity Town will not abandon you.”
“There will always be a place for you to return to in Unity Town. So come back whenever you wish. We will welcome you.”
Simon paused briefly, made eye contact with each child once more, then continued.
“However, you will receive a new mission.”
“Make Unity Town the greatest. This is your new mission.”
“Make people say that those from Unity Town are different.”
“Make it so that wherever in the Philippines, if they hear someone is from Unity Town, they will show respect.”
“You are no longer Rebel Forces, nor are you children of Unity Town. You are ‘Pioneers.'”
“Pioneers who will scatter across the entire Philippines and demonstrate how remarkable Unity Town truly is.”
“You are the pioneers who will lead the way Unity Town must advance.”
“So do not bow your heads. Pioneers do not bow their heads.”
“They do not cry either.”
“When you want to cry, come to me. I will gladly cry with you.”
Finally, Simon spoke with a moving voice.
“Do not forget. We have Alex with us.”
“Alex will always protect us. So act with confidence.”
“Face anything with confidence.”
“Show clearly what Unity Town is.”
“My Lord Alex.”
“My Lord Alex.”
As Simon finished his speech, he called out Alex’s name.
Everyone in the Grand Hall echoed Alex’s name in unison.
It felt almost like invoking the name of a god.
But they seemed accustomed to it.
With those words, Simon descended from the podium.
The children who had been crying wiped away their tears,
and tried to mask their sorrowful expressions with forced smiles.
It seemed as though they were gradually shedding their disappointment and despair.
They appeared to be steeling their resolve, as if embracing this new mission as pioneers.
There was a visible eagerness to make Unity Town something extraordinary.
.
.
.
Kwon Ju-ah, who had come for medical volunteer work, had been invited to the farewell ceremony and sat in one corner.
She couldn’t refuse the people who urged her to at least stay and eat.
Life in Unity Town had been enjoyable.
So I wanted to share in their joy.
I wanted to celebrate the children stepping out into society.
But the atmosphere felt strange.
For a farewell ceremony, the mood was far too dark.
Why was that?
Only much later did I understand the reason.
I realized the children were grieving because they couldn’t become Rebel Forces as they had dreamed.
I was somewhat taken aback.
Among those leaving were judges and doctors.
From my perspective, those were perfectly respectable professions.
Honestly, they were a hundred, a thousand times better than the Rebel Forces.
Yet here, they were being treated like failures.
Or rather, that’s how they perceived themselves.
Then came Simon’s words from the podium.
Become pioneers, he said. Hold your heads high, he said. Don’t cry, he said.
Every word carried an almost unbearable weight.
Rather than comfort, it felt like a new mission being assigned.
And finally, the name that echoed through the Grand Hall.
“Alex”
It was a name I’d heard before somewhere.
A figure flashed through my mind.
In-bae’s English name was definitely Alex, wasn’t it?
I unconsciously shook my head.
As if to say it made no sense, chiding myself.
‘Could it be… could it really be In-bae?’
Yet a corner of my heart felt strangely unsettled.
An inexplicable sense of unease lingered.
Through the Inventory, I had become a major player in the black market.
170 – Farewell Gathering
E-book Publication
/ January 13, 2026
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/ Black Card
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/ Son Je-ho
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© Black Card, 2026
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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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