The Return of the Ruined Chaebol's Third-Generation Heir - Chapter 72

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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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Regression of a Fallen Chaebol’s Third Generation – Episode 72
Two days later, in a tearoom in Seongbuk-dong.
Kim Jong-su had arrived early and was already seated in a quiet corner, his throat parched.
‘So places like this exist.’
It was the meeting place Seon-woo had arranged, and the atmosphere was unexpectedly pleasant. He’d heard it was a tearoom run by Director Jung’s sister.
‘I’m nervous….’
He’d weathered decades in the private loan market. He’d had tea with gangsters who came at him with knives over unpaid debts, and he’d spent nights in psychological warfare with prosecutors-turned-lawyers.
But meeting a university professor was a first.
Seon-woo had told him not to hide anything—just be himself as usual.
‘As if that’s easy….’
The advice sounded simple enough, but the more he thought about it, the harder it seemed. What did “be yourself as usual” even mean? Should he act like he did back in Myeongdong?
A small laugh escaped him unbidden.
He thought: what else could he do, really?
Ding-ding-
At the sound of the wind chimes hanging on the door, Kim Jong-su turned his head.
A man in a gray coat and glasses. His walk was upright; after scanning the room once, he spotted Kim Jong-su and approached with a light nod.
“Are you Chairman Kim Jong-su?”
“I am. Thank you for coming such a distance.”
“Not at all. I said I’d come early, but I’m running late. May I sit?”
“Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Yoon In-chul sat across from him without removing his coat.
It was a small gesture, but the posture of someone who had no intention of staying long.
“Shall I order you some tea?”
“No, thank you.”
A terse refusal. Kim Jong-su smiled inwardly.
The type to mind his manners but never let his guard down. Thirty years of reading people had taught him to recognize it instantly.
“Then perhaps we should get straight to the point.”
“By all means.”
Yoon In-chul spoke first.
“I heard from Kang Seon-woo that you’re preparing to acquire Seongshin Savings Bank.”
“That’s correct.”
“How do you plan to handle the Project Financing after the acquisition?”
Straight and direct.
A man who didn’t beat around the bush.
Kim Jong-su rather liked that. He was thoroughly sick of the roundabout types he’d dealt with in Myeongdong.
“We’ll need to cut it back.”
His answer was equally brief.
“You know better than I do what happens to savings banks that bet everything on real estate. I’ve seen plenty of those types in Myeongdong myself—people who got greedy, cranked up the leverage to make a big score, and lost it all.”
“Be more specific.”
“Project Financing at 30% or below. The rest we’ll restructure toward consumer-focused lending.”
Yoon In-chul’s expression shifted ever so slightly—not surprise, exactly.
More like he was trying to gauge where Seon-woo’s talking points ended and Kim Jong-su’s own thinking began.
“Consumer lending will reduce profitability.”
“It will.”
Kim Jong-su’s tone was measured and matter-of-fact.
“But we won’t go under. I’ve always made a modest profit and kept the wheels turning. I’ve never swung for the fences, so I’ve never taken massive losses either. That’s been my way for thirty years.”
“Did you operate the same way in Myeongdong?”
“I did.”
Yoon In-chul fell silent for a moment. He looked down at his teacup, then raised his head.
“Let me ask you something frankly.”
Kim Jong-su met his eyes.
“Isn’t this about wanting to go legitimate?”
The question was blunt, but Kim Jong-su didn’t so much as blink.
He’d been expecting this.
“Ha ha ha, naturally.”
It was an honest answer.
“Why would a private lender want to stay a private lender his whole life? A financial license means I can move larger sums, cut my funding costs. From a business standpoint, there’s no reason not to.”
Yoon In-chul’s eyes studied him. Kim Jong-su held that gaze and continued.
“I’ve been lending and collecting money for thirty years. I’ve been stiffed, I’ve chased down people who stiffed me. It wasn’t all clean.”
Kim Jong-su paused to gather himself, then spoke again.
“But they were people with nowhere else to go. They’d been turned away at banks, cut off by credit card companies. My door was their last stop.”
It wasn’t charity. It was pride.
“I’ll be honest with you. That stuff about Project Financing I mentioned? I don’t know much about it. But I know exactly what I’m supposed to do.”
Kim Jong-su continued, holding Yoon In-chul’s attentive gaze.
“A money man should stick to moving money. Once you start reaching for something more, you know what happens. That’s why I’ve survived in the Myeongdong gutter for thirty years.”
……
“I’m buying a savings bank and growing it a bit larger. It’s not some grand conviction—it’s just the next step in what I’ve always been doing.”
Yoon In-chul said nothing for a long time.
He was nothing like Jung Hyun-il from Jungseong Construction.
That man had been desperate to survive, willing to put his hands on other people’s money.
The man across from him was staying within his own bowl.
Both were merchants. But the size of their greed differed.
“……You’re a merchant through and through, aren’t you?”
“That I am. A merchant.”
He answered without hesitation.
There was no reason to deny it or feign humility.
Yoon In-chul brought his hand to his coat buttons. He unfastened one and settled back in his chair.
“I have one condition.”
Yoon In-chul looked directly at Kim Jong-su as he spoke.
“If I voice opposition at the board meeting, you’ll stop.”
A moment of silence followed. Kim Jong-su thought for a moment, then slowly opened his mouth.
“I can’t promise that.”
Something flickered in Yoon In-chul’s eyes.
“But I will trust you, Professor Yoon.”
……
“I’ve been the money man behind the scenes my whole life. At the front, the loan sharks would lend and collect.”
Kim Jong-su spoke with absolute certainty, his eyes fixed on Yoon In-chul’s.
“That hasn’t changed for me.”
Yoon In-chul sat with those words for a long time.
A person who refused to make easy promises was more honest than one who gave them freely—someone who understood the weight of a promise.
Promises could be broken, but a person’s nature rarely changed.
This man knew exactly what he was, and he made no attempt to hide it.
That was enough.
“Alright.”
“So you’re saying you’ll come along with me?”
At Kim Jong-su’s question, Yoon In-chul nodded and extended his hand.
“Ha ha ha! I look forward to working with you.”
Kim Jong-su laughed heartily and clasped his hand.

* * *
“I’ve confirmed it.”
In the president’s office at Jungseong Construction Headquarters,
the Vice President spoke the moment the door opened.
Jung Hyun-il gestured without looking up from his documents, telling him to sit.
“On the day of the bank run at Seongshin Savings Bank, a massive corporate deposit came in. From an outfit called the Bukchon Investment Partnership—around four billion won.”
Only then did Jung Hyun-il’s gaze lift.
“Bukchon Investment Partnership?”
“Yes. It turns out it’s a corporation under Kim Jong-su.”
Jung Hyun-il’s finger stilled on the armrest.
Four billion. It might seem like pocket change, but four billion in the middle of a bank run was a different beast entirely.
Depositors were lining up to withdraw their money, yet four billion was pumped in—it was the same as shouting to the market that the bank would survive.
“And as for Seongshin’s current situation, the bank run has nearly ceased. Since all withdrawal requests are being processed normally, the panic has died down, and with Seongshin offering special high-interest products, people are apparently starting to come in to make deposits instead.”
Jung Hyun-il set the documents aside and slowly reclined in his chair.
He’d triggered the bank run, pushed Park Han-su to the brink, and that bastard had somehow grabbed a hand and pulled himself back up.
“Director.”
The Vice President lowered his voice.
“To be honest, it’s concerning. Anyone with the nerve to pump four billion into a bank run isn’t just sitting on money—there’s something being orchestrated behind the scenes.”
It was a reasonable worry, but Jung Hyun-il’s expression suggested he wasn’t interested in hearing it.
“Could Seongshin Chairman Park Han-su be selling to Kim Jong-su?”
“No, no.”
Jung Hyun-il looked at the Vice President with exasperation.
“That’s your problem. You only see what’s in front of your nose.”
……
“A private lender puts in four billion. So what? The bank run subsides. So what? What good does any of that do?”
Jung Hyun-il rose from his chair as he spoke.
“In the end, regulatory approval is what makes an acquisition happen. No matter how many billions a private lender stacks up, would we really hand a consumer finance institution to someone from that background? One question at a National Audit and the official in charge loses his head.”
The Vice President fell silent.
It wasn’t that he had no counterargument—he simply knew that contradicting this man twice was pointless.
“Why worry about different names on the sign? Which way the government tips its hand is obvious, isn’t it?”
Jung Hyun-il saw no reason for concern.
He’d thought he’d captured some great financier when Park Han-su flipped the table, but it was just a loan shark.
“Call Professor Yoon In-chul. Tie him down firmly to our side.”
“……Understood.”
The Vice President bowed and left. Jung Hyun-il stretched luxuriously.
“No matter how hard you struggle, Park Han-su, Seongshin will end up in my hands.”
Jung Hyun-il let out a harsh laugh.

* * *
“Let me think…….”
Early morning at Ribbon Capital Office.
Han Jae-yi had just left work after tracking the American markets all night and now stood alone in the office before a whiteboard.
“Good, now the board is set.”
Yesterday, Kim Jong-su had called.
It was to confirm that Professor Yoon In-chul had committed to joining.
She wrote “Consortium” in the center of the board and drew three lines beneath it.
Kim Jong-su.
SJ Holdings.
Yoon In-chul.
“I’ll treat Bukchon as the capital provider.”
Kim Jong-su supplies most of the money. The de facto largest shareholder.
But externally, he should be just another investor.
The moment his background as a private lender comes to the forefront, the acquisition becomes something regulators can’t explain away.
“Yoon In-chul is the sign.”
A former bank vice chairman, now a university professor. If an expert who’s publicly warned of Project Financing risks stands as the representative, it makes sense to the FSC.
But Yoon In-chul isn’t bringing money to the table. Equity can’t be given to him.
The representative title and operational authority—those are his compensation.
“And finally, my side…….”
She paused the marker. At first she’d considered putting in Ribbon, but SJ Holdings seemed more appropriate.
That was the slot for her 5% stake.
Nominally, it’s a corporation with Executive Director Kim Seok-jun as the representative, and the Director is someone the government trusts.
He’s built networks over decades of attending to her grandfather.
“Kim Jong-su’s weakness is his background. Yoon In-chul and Executive Director Kim will cover for it.”
When the consortium presents itself before the FSC, this is the shape it takes.
Representative: professor from a former bank, consortium participants including the government-friendly Kim Seok-jun—a private investment consortium.
Kim Jong-su’s character is diluted, and the loan shark label is buried.
While Jung Hyun-il thinks he’s winning the name game, I’m stacking two layers of signs.
“Next, the most important part: the acquisition price.”
Seongshin Savings Bank total assets: 1.2 trillion won. BIS ratio: 6.8%.
For a savings bank acquisition, the purchase price is set on the basis of equity capital, not total assets.
A BIS ratio of 6.8% with total assets of 1.2 trillion means……
“Equity capital is roughly 80 billion won.”
You multiply that by a net asset multiple, but since it’s a troubled savings bank that’s been through a bank run, affixing a premium is difficult.
“It would be different if this was before the bank run.”
Park Han-su had quoted 15% above market value—that was before the bank run.
The situation is different now. The bank run has eroded trust, and the FSC’s recommendation for sale is by year-end.
Park Han-su’s negotiating power is nothing like it was.
A normal savings bank could command equity capital at a 1x multiple, maybe 1.2x if things go well.
But Seongshin with its 42% Project Financing weighting and accumulated non-performing loans is different. 0.7x to 0.8x.
80 billion won in equity capital at 0.7 to 0.8 times.
“Acquisition price: 60 billion. Even with a premium, cap it at 70 billion.”
It was neither generous nor stingy.
The minimum Park Han-su’s pride could accept, and the amount that wouldn’t strain Kim Jong-su either.
Below that, she wrote the equity structure.
“Bukchon supplies 50 billion or more.”
Kim Jong-su funds the bulk of it.
“My 5% goes in through SJ Holdings. About 3 billion ought to cover it.”
She capped the marker and stepped back once the layout was complete.
Consortium structure, acquisition price, equity distribution.
The numbers were sound. The logic was sound.
What remained was one thing.
“Park Han-su.”
She needed to convince him to sell to this side, not to Jungseong.
Numbers won’t work. If Jungseong bids higher, it’s over.
What moves Park Han-su isn’t money—it’s trust.
‘Before I’d turn my bank into a construction company’s piggy bank, I’d shut the doors.’
Park Han-su wants to sell to someone who will protect Seongshin.
Until now, it had been orchestrating from the shadows—moving Kim Jong-su, bringing Yoon In-chul on board, designing the consortium.
But Park Han-su is different. He’s not someone who can be persuaded by documents and numbers.
A man who’s weathered forty years in finance reads people in the end, not spreadsheets.
She wrote one final line on the board.
[Park Han-su – Meeting]
“I think it’s time I met him myself.”

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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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