Ghosts of Eternity

A few days later, a suffocating tension filled the secret conference room of a safehouse located on the outskirts of Seoul.

Gathered inside were six aging power brokers—titans of politics and business who had once ruled South Korea, now restored to the vitality of their prime. Ghost 2.0 had forced their fading bodies back into an almost forgotten rhythm.

At the head of the table sat Namgoong Hwi, scanning the minuscule numbers of a financial newspaper without the aid of reading glasses. Kang Min-ju, renowned as the empress of the financial world, savored her espresso while maintaining the rigid, upright posture of her thirties. Park Sang-do, a former general, exuded a razor-sharp authority that dominated the room, despite having shed his military uniform years ago.

"What is the reason for summoning us to this secluded place so suddenly, Vice Chairman Jeong? I doubt you brought us here for a casual social gathering," Kang Min-ju said, casting a chilling glare at Jeong Hyun-jin.

Following her treatment, a youthful luster had returned to her skin, and her voice carried the sharp, metallic edge from the days when she used to reshape market trends.

Jeong Hyun-jin raised both hands slightly, bowing his head in a polite yet pointedly calculated gesture.

"I apologize for the sudden summons. But surely, you all see it when you look in the mirror. The sacred 'miracle' we enjoy always comes with a price. There is no such thing as a free lunch—isn't that the fundamental truth of our world?"

Then, Jeong Ui-hyun, who had been leaning against the window frame, spoke up in a heavy tone.

"Dr. Lee's terms have changed. Or rather, they have become more specific and demanding. Since you are all receiving this invaluable substance without interruption thanks to us, it’s time to stop observing and start cooperating. Maintaining supply lines is the foundation of logistics, is it not?"

Kim Kwang-shik, a giant of academia and a former Minister of Education, adjusted his glasses with a genial smile. Yet behind that smile lay a calculated cunning sharpened by decades of survival within the upper echelons of power.

"Cooperation? Aren’t we all punctually depositing 100 million won every month into Eterno’s shadow accounts? What more could he possibly want?"

The rasp that used to slip into Kim Kwang-shik’s voice due to old age was entirely gone. Thanks to the potency of Ghost 2.0, his vocal projection was as powerful and resonant as it had been during his political heyday.

Jeong Hyun-jin brushed the cuff of his royal blue suit with a faint, slanted smile. His ornate cufflinks caught the light, gleaming momentarily.

"Dr. Lee's position is that money alone can no longer satisfy his appetite. To a mind like his, the zeros multiplying in a bank account are merely dry, uninspiring data."

Hyun-jin lowered his voice.

"Therefore, the next phase of his condition involves... the construction of a new human network. On the surface, it takes the form of introductions to elite women for social networking. In reality, he is demanding new variables that he can control."

Jeong Hyun-jin smoothly slid a sleek, black tablet across the center of the marble table. On the glossy screen, an entirely blank list cast a cold, clinical glow into the air.

"I need each of you to identify the finest female candidates within your spheres of influence. Three candidates per person. We aren't looking for mere pretty dolls. They must be strictly selected individuals between their late twenties and early thirties, possessing both exceptional intellect and striking appearance."

He tapped the screen.

"Their lineage, academic credentials, and family backgrounds must be flawlessly vetted. They need to be complex 'variables' capable of engaging Dr. Lee's intellect without boring him. That is the core requirement."

The conference room instantly fell into a vacuum of frozen silence. The only sound filling the space was the rhythmic, synchronized thumping of hearts pulsing with the vitality granted by Ghost 2.0.

Then, Shin Hae-ryung—a former Supreme Court justice once considered a candidate for the Constitutional Court—narrowed her taut eyelids and let out a cold, soft chuckle.

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"Legally speaking, placing people into a supply chain under the cover of social introductions is an extremely dangerous line to cross. If we look at this through the lens of the law, it becomes an incredibly messy and problematic affair. I cannot condone this under the principles and common sense I have defended my entire life."

"The law? Judge Shin, look in the mirror instead of hiding behind your elegant principles," Jeong Hyun-jin countered, his tone laced with derision as he pointed toward her visibly tightened face.

"Could you buy the youth reflected in that mirror with a few clauses from a legal code? This is strictly a business transaction, a matter of survival. Dr. Lee wants living data right now."

Hyun-jin’s eyes flashed with a lethal intensity.

"Who here can guarantee that the next shipment will produce the same response? Tomorrow morning, the efficacy of the signal you receive might change entirely. Will you go looking for the law then?"

Choi Do-shik, a living legend of the intelligence community, had been silently observing the situation before finally speaking. His voice remained heavy, but his eyes were as sharp as an old hawk fixing its gaze on its prey.

"What exactly does Dr. Lee want? Is it merely a passing amusement for the night, a loyal partner to build his empire with, or... another type of experimental subject to prove his hypothesis?"

"If we knew that precisely, Chief Choi, would we be sitting here like this?" Jeong Ui-hyun replied with a self-deprecating smile, shaking his head.

"He is dancing on the clouds far above our heads. Our role is simply to act as fools on a stage so he doesn't grow bored. General Park, surely you know of exceptional female officers or high-ranking officials' daughters within the military network? And Minister Kim, you must have thousands of brilliant proteges in academia."

Park Sang-do tapped his thick fingers rhythmically against the marble table. The sound echoed through the room like a drum signaling an execution.

"Deploying elite forces without an operational plan or knowledge of the enemy's identity... It’s thoroughly unpleasant. But in war, nothing is more fatal than a severed supply line. Very well. I will mobilize my staff and network to select the most capable candidates. Though I cannot guarantee they will be able to handle a volatile anomaly like Lee Seo-han."

Kang Min-ju set her empty espresso cup down with decisive finality.

"The financial sector is overflowing with clever, ambitious individuals. I will prepare three cutthroats who can analyze and dissect his cognitive patterns, rather than passively catering to his whims. In exchange, Vice Chairman Jeong, if the supply schedule deviates by even a single hour, you will be held entirely responsible. Do not gamble with my youth."

The air in the safehouse grew heavy enough to suffocate.

The six power brokers gathered around the table wielded trillions in capital and held the levers of state power, yet at this moment, each was internally running an incredibly precise and subservient calculation.

They were by no means subordinates to Vice Chairman Jeong Hyun-jin or Chairman Jeong Ui-hyun; in fact, they were positioned to command them.

However, confronted with the absolute biological shackle of Ghost 2.0 and the primal human craving to retain their prime without aging, their pride became weightless.

Whenever the one-hundred-million-won signal coursing through their bodies reactivated their faded endocrine rhythms, they agreed to channel their structural power into Lee Seo-han’s orbit for the sake of survival. No one had ordered them to do so. They simply believed that failure to do so would result in being dropped from the next supply window.

As the meeting concluded, the figures who moved South Korea vanished one by one into the darkened corridor like phantoms.

General Park Sang-do departed with the disciplined stride of a hardened soldier, and Kim Kwang-shik left after a brief farewell delivered in his restored, resonant voice.

Namgoong Hwi, the emperor of Cheonmyeong Media and the last to remain, slowly rose from his seat. Seeming to forget his seventy years of age, he twitched his taut facial muscles and tapped Jeong Hyun-jin on the shoulder. His voice carried the formidable, authoritative baritone that had once swayed the masses.

"Vice Chairman Jeong, remember this. Dr. Lee does not need to lock the gate himself. That is what makes this so frightening. No order was given. No contract was signed. And yet we all came here on our own, because none of us can recreate the supply line he controls. Not with our capital. Not with state power."

Namgoong Hwi's eyes flashed deeply.

"Only the supply line he controls can decide whether we remain as we are or fall back into decay. We fancied ourselves the masters of this world, but in truth, we are trapped by our own desperation. Is that not so?"

Namgoong Hwi’s chilling warning dissolved into the empty air. Where he had stood, only the heavy scent of a premium cigar and the lingering aroma of cooled espresso remained.

Jeong Hyun-jin adjusted the sleeves of his royal blue suit, staring fixedly at the vacated chairs left behind. Within his eyes, beneath the composure of a predator, flickered the hysterical madness of a man dependent on a drug.

"Eighteen names..."

Hyun-jin’s mouth twisted into a grotesque curve.

"Lee Seo-han, if this still isn’t enough to catch your eye, then I truly don’t know what will."

Instead of answering Hyun-jin’s monologue, Jeong Ui-hyun checked his smartwatch, visibly anxious and irritated. The biometric data flashing red on the screen and the countdown to the next supply window blurred his vision.

14 hours and 22 minutes.

The youth granted to them was stamped with an expiration date, as precarious as grains of sand slipping through an hourglass. The sovereignty over time held by Lee Seo-han operated with the precision of a merciless metronome, squeezing South Korea's highest authorities with clinical accuracy.

They were lions once more.

Yet, faced with the shrinking numbers counting down to the next supply window, the roars of those lions meant absolutely nothing.

Eighteen names.

No one could say whether they would be enough to catch Lee Seo-han’s eye.