Chương 129: Five Hundred Kilograms of Gold

When the evening news returned to the church in Rome, four soup bowls and a small plate of meat stood on the table. Batu's large basin sat on the floor beside it. His parents sat on the side nearer the living room. Riphiel had lowered her long ears beneath her hair and was winding japchae around a fork. Argaon, in his yellow-cat form, sat before the small plate, licking bulgogi sauce. Batu had his face buried in his basin. Kichan ate soup with his back half-turned to the television.

The footage of golden light bursting during Mass played again. The empty wheelchair. The fallen cane. The thin priest looking down at both hands. This time, an interview followed. The priest sat in a small room beside the church. There was a single chair before a white wall, his hands resting neatly on his knees. Instead of his Mass vestments, he wore a black cassock. The backs of his thin hands still trembled slightly beyond the cuffs. An interpreter's voice covered the reporter's question.

The priest listened for a long moment, then looked at the camera.

"I thank Kichan in Korea." The same sentence appeared in the caption. Kichan's spoon stopped inside his soup bowl. His father turned first. His mother looked at him too. Riphiel did not understand the words, but she heard the name `Kichan`. The japchae wound around her fork slid onto her plate. Argaon's ears pointed at the television, then straight back at Kichan.

"What?" Kichan asked. His mother pointed at the screen.

"Is that the priest you sent tea to?"

"Yeah."

"He's thanking you."

"I'm not the only Kichan in the world." His father read the caption.

"He even said Korea." Riphiel looked at Kichan.

"Did he just call your name?"

"Yes." Argaon pressed a forepaw on his plate.

"You said you sent something to Rome. That old man?"

"Yeah."

"Why is he thanking you?" Kichan took a spoonful of soup instead of answering. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. The reporter asked another question. The priest did not say much more. `Kichan in Korea. ` Only those words remained below the news footage. His mother looked from his face to the television and back.

"What have you done this time?"

"Sent tea."

"Just tea?"

"Yeah." His mother picked up her spoon with a look of disbelief. His father ate without asking more. Riphiel wound the fallen japchae back around her fork. Argaon pushed his empty plate toward Kichan.

"More meat." Kichan put a piece of bulgogi on it. The interview played again from the beginning.

"I thank Kichan in Korea." This time, no one asked him anything. Eyes around the table gathered on him briefly, then returned to the meal. Only a name without a surname remained on screen. Kichan's spoon began moving again.

When the Daehan Group president's secretary came again, the back seat of the car was empty. She waited at the apartment entrance in a long coat over her black suit, hands folded before her waist. She gave a short bow to each passing resident but did not move from the door.

"The president is waiting for you." Kichan took his phone and wallet. The car left the complex and headed downtown. Buildings grew taller outside the window. When it descended beneath Daehan Group's headquarters, the sunlight gave way to lamps lighting concrete. The lobby floor was polished enough to reflect the soles of his shoes. People in suits tapped cards at the entrance. Kichan followed the secretary into a separate passage. The security guard bowed without asking for identification.

The elevator had few buttons. When she tapped her card, only a number at the very top lit up. The doors opened onto a corridor ending in a single large door. The president's office was spacious but sparsely furnished. Seoul's rooftops lay below the long windows. A black desk and two chairs occupied the center. A closed cabinet stood against one wall. The president sat with his back to the windows. He wore the same dark gray suit as on the first day.

The gray at his temples and the thick veins on his hands were unchanged. As Kichan entered, his gaze moved from the view outside to him.

"Sit." Kichan pulled out a chair. The secretary closed the door.

"Is there a job?"

"The first request under our contract."

"There's a troublemaker in Sector 13." Kichan had never heard of Sector 13 before. He looked at the president's face. The expression had not changed from when he presented the contract.

"That individual is ruining Sector 13."

"And?"

"I need you to deal with him." Kichan did not lean back in his chair.

"The payment?" The president answered immediately.

"Five hundred kilograms of gold." Kichan's eyes paused on the desk.

"What am I supposed to do with gold?"

"You don't want gold?"

"Where am I supposed to sell five hundred kilos? Walk into a jewelry shop with that and I'll get arrested." The president rose, opened the cabinet, and took out a document envelope. He sat again and slid it across the desk. Kichan opened it. Inside was a document stating the gold's weight and guarantee. At the bottom were an official seal and a statement that it was guaranteed by the Bank of Korea.

"You receive the certificate with the gold."

"This lets me sell it?"

"You can exchange it for cash if you wish." Kichan's fingers caught the edge of the paper. He read the certificate again from the beginning. Five hundred kilograms of gold. A guarantee that he could trade it without questions about its authenticity or provenance.

"Separate from the billion, right?"

"Separate." Kichan put the certificate back in its envelope. This time, he did not immediately push it toward the president. Keeping it beneath his palm, he asked,"I get this when I deal with the troublemaker?"

"Correct."

"I'll do it." He followed at once with another question.

"What's the deadline?" The president leaned back.

"The sooner, the better." Kichan stood. The secretary opened the door from outside. He glanced once more at the envelope on the desk and left the office. While the elevator descended, he took out his phone. He typed into the search bar. `Fresh Hanwoo ribeye. ` Photos of red ribeye filled the results. Kichan tapped the phone number of the first restaurant.