Ghosts of Eternity

A thoroughly concealed space located in Hannam-dong.

The heavy, lead-alloy door of the Apollo Room slid shut without a sound.

Perfectly severed from the outside world, the room was filled with air that was unnaturally clean and cold, thanks to a high-performance oxygen purification system.

Four tycoons who held the business world and public opinion in the palms of their hands sat around a circular table, maintaining a heavy silence.

Vice Chairman Jung Hyun-jin of S-Group could not hide his anxiety, habitually fidgeting with the edge of his purple silk pocket square. Chairman Jung Ui-hyun of H-Motors turned off the stock market graph on his tablet—which he had been staring at out of habit—and fixed a razor-sharp glare on the empty space before him. Chairman Namgung Hwi of Cheonmyeong Media leaned deep into his leather sofa, slowly rotating the tip of his cigar. Chairman Koo Tae-min of MK Group rhythmically tapped the grain of the table with his smart-ringed finger. In their eyes, a bizarre vitality was overlaid with a persistent obsession that transcended mere thirst.

"As of yesterday, the distribution to thirty key figures in politics and business has been completed," Chairman Jung Ui-hyun finally broke the silence.

Perhaps due to the transcendent processing speed granted by Ghost 2.0, his voice possessed a distinct, clear force, as if laced with metallic vibrations. The pronunciation, once slurred by old age, now pierced the eardrums as sharply as a razor blade.

"This has surpassed mere high-society entertainment. It is as if the entire central nervous system of South Korea is hanging onto a single signal he distributes every morning."

"It means that if that fellow makes up his mind, he can entirely 'overclock' the nation's legislative, judicial, and executive branches, and even the Ministry of National Defense’s classified operations. The entire system is being synchronized with his experimental data," Namgung Hwi added in a dignified, low-pitched baritone.

The image of the declining lion who, just a few months ago, had been floundering in the swamp of Alzheimer's, struggling to hold on to memories that were slipping away, was nowhere to be found. As if an old fog had lifted, his fierce gaze from his prime and a voice that seemed to vibrate through the room overwhelmed everyone present.

Vice Chairman Jung Hyun-jin clinked the ice cubes in his whiskey glass and added nervously, his fingertips exposed beneath the sleeves of his royal blue suit trembling minutely. It was not from aging, but an overload caused by his inability to control the excessive biological momentum swirling inside his body.

"The problem is that this man, Lee Seo-han, is simply not within a controllable category. Even if we try to win him over with capital, the advisory fees channeled through Eterno alone already exceed 3 billion KRW every month."

"Even so, we can't even dream of using threats or physical force. The precise mechanism of the drug exists solely inside his head," Hyunjin downed the whiskey.

"The moment we eliminate or lock him up, we will return to those blurry, sluggish bodies within a week. Do you think humans who have once tasted the resolution of their prime can endure that? In the end, there was only one answer."

Jung Hyun-jin sighed as he swallowed the harsh whiskey. His taut skin, defying his late-50s age, ironically attested to the depth of the humiliating addiction he carried.

"Are you saying we must voluntarily become his shield?" Koo Tae-min asked coldly, adjusting his silver titanium glasses frames. His expressionless face clearly showed that he was running a complex algorithm.

Jung Hyun-jin nodded deeply and struck the mahogany table.

"Yes. We must personally block the greedy factions in politics or the prosecutors’ knives from getting anywhere near Lee Seo-han's laboratory. The day he sneezes just once or declares he will halt his research, the entire balance of the state will tremble. Now, Lee Seo-han is not a mere venture entrepreneur; he is an inviolable 'biological sanctuary' reigning over power and capital."

Then, Koo Tae-min raised a fundamental question, fitting for an engineer who prioritizes efficiency.

"Gentlemen, why are we handling this so inefficiently? If the substance is this valuable, we should pressure the government to bring it into the light."

"Register it as an official pharmaceutical product. Put our group’s smart-factory lines to work. Build a mass-production system. The risks would fall, and the profits would be astronomical."

"So why are we still begging for it every morning?"

Jung Hyun-jin scratched the back of his head at Koo Tae-min's question, which pierced the core. The contents of the confidential clinical data reported by Dr. Baek Seo-woo flashed through his mind.

"That's... I looked into it too. But according to Dr. Baek, who is from a global Big Pharma, this was originally a substance whose clinical trials were halted elsewhere. They said it was a class originally developed for a different indication but discontinued. There was an issue where the response dropped with repeated use, and the existing data held it back. It would have turned into a battlefield. But after that, Lee Seo-han completely upgraded the substance. Into the Ghost 2.0 we are using now."

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Koo Tae-min's sharp gaze flashed behind his glasses.

"If it's an already exposed substance, doesn't that mean the mechanism itself is known to mainstream academia? Then, the manpower in our research institute should be fully capable of replicating it through reverse engineering."

As his point hit the bullseye, a heavy silence fell over the room.

Jung Hyun-jin downed the remaining whiskey in his glass and struggled to put into words the technical barriers Dr. Baek had warned him about.

"That's... the method of maintaining that response is Lee Seo-han's proprietary know-how, so no matter how much our people dissect it, it can't be reproduced."

Jung Hyun-jin added in a voice mixed with profound helplessness and awe, as if realizing something.

"Come to think of it, that's true. That's probably why he can't bring it into the light. The moment we bring it into the open, past data, regulations, competitors, and the media will rush in all at once. This wasn't meant to help us; he has simply shackled the necks of South Korea's upper class inside a vault that only he can open."

Jung Ui-hyun murmured as he set down his empty glass.

Beyond the superhuman awakening and euphoria radiating from their brain cells, the four tycoons ultimately failed to grasp the true face of the architect they had conjured. The empire of the ghost they imagined was expanding, but without knowing whether its walls were for eternal life or a tomb to confine them, they merely searched one another’s distorted expressions in a bizarre anxiety.

Outside the Apollo Room, the night view flickered like jewels, but the air inside the room cooled down, gradually swallowed by the massive shadow named Lee Seo-han. The tycoons projected their respective fears to draw up a monster called Lee Seo-han. In their eyes, Seo-han was the architect of a grand conspiracy to domesticate the backbone of the nation. The four people in the Apollo Room were unwittingly assuming Lee Seo-han to be the same kind of human as themselves.

Namgung Hwi murmured in a low voice, lightly brushing the rim of his tumbler glass. The heavy, peaty scent of single malt whiskey and the smoke of premium cigars heavily filled the air of the sealed room.

"In the end, he’s still playing the same game we are."

Jung Hyun-jin nodded as if in agreement. His neck, exposed between his Italian silk shirt, was taut with tension. Even while offering a massive sum of 3 billion KRW every month, he wanted to believe he held the upper hand in this bizarre game.

"Right. Humans who grasp power naturally end up wanting greater power. Our kind has lived that way our entire lives."

Those who hold money want more money. Those who have stood on top of others' heads are certain that others will move along the same trajectory. Because that was the single law of the world they had spent their entire lives learning and proving.

Jung Ui-hyun took off his glasses, slowly wiped them with a silk handkerchief, and looked down at the jewel-like night view outside the window. His gaze was cold, and his posture remained undisturbed.

"But Lee Seo-han is strange."

Jung Ui-hyun’s dry voice broke the heavy silence.

"That fellow didn't covet Chairman Namgung’s media empire. He showed absolutely no interest in my manufacturing base or Vice Chairman Jung’s distribution network either. Usually, if someone holds a hand of cards this powerful, they would demand shares or scream for us to be their backing."

The tycoons in the room fell into a collective silence. Even in front of an intangible power that could shake South Korea, Lee Seo-han’s eyes had never wavered, not even once. Rather, he had consistently maintained an indifferent attitude, as if looking at an annoying fly.

That bizarre lack and madness sent an inexplicable, cold shiver down the spines of the tycoons gathered in the Apollo Room. It was because they intuitively sensed that the monster they believed they could control might actually be a being operating under an entirely different dimension of laws.

Yet at that very moment, the architect himself was fighting a battle against Excel sheets in a cramped office in Teheran-ro with bloodshot eyes. Seo-han’s fingers busily moved the mouse wheel. On the screen, data was densely categorized by disease models: Alzheimer's, sarcopenia, metabolic syndrome, and endocrine insufficiency.

He was not merely distributing a compound. To bring this hypothesis into the institutional sphere, he needed an undeniable academic fortress. From safety packages and initial clinical entry logic to data structures to persuade regulatory bodies—inside Seo-han’s head, a multi-trillion-won web of patents was already being intricately woven. The current Ghost was just the beginning.

However, the balance window of his personal corporation, ‘Eterno,’ left open at the bottom of the screen, blurred his vision. 4.8 billion KRW. The black money poured out by the tycoons was piling up by billions every month. On paper, he was sitting on an enormous sum. Seo-han swallowed his bitter coffee and furrowed his brow.

“Untouchable money. And far too much of it.”

Seo-han opened his worn-out wallet. A few convenience store receipts and a couple of crumpled 10,000 KRW bills were all that was inside.

The funds in Eterno were a poisoned chalice. In the light, he had to maintain the strict persona of the CEO of 'Aether Bio.' The moment he touched even a single won of Eterno's funds for personal use before the company's IPO, the shareholders would put a legal noose around his neck for breach of fiduciary duty.

Ghost 2.0 was currently distanced enough from the existing drug classes to allow for independent patent defense. Even if they proceeded with official clinical trials, there was room to outrun the pursuit of Big Pharma. However, due to the strategic goal of Aether Bio's IPO, he could not move right now.

Furthermore, as the CEO of a new drug venture, he was locked in a legal bind that prevented him from drawing even a salary from it. He was trapped in a bizarre paradox: scraping by with a reduced salary at Aether Bio in the light, while money overflowed and rotted at Eterno in the dark.

Wiping his fatigued eyes, Seo-han grabbed the mouse again. Personal poverty or the delusions of the chaebols were secondary matters. His gaze was already directed toward the moment of grand capital alchemy after Aether Bio's IPO, where Eterno's capital would flow into the research infrastructure of the light through lawful contracts and equity structures.

"Start preparing the IND filing as soon as the toxicity results come in. Aether Bio needs to get on the IPO track quickly so we can accelerate the Ghost clinical trials."

Seo-han pressed the Enter key firmly. In the darkness, only the blue monitor light reflected his chilly gaze, shining bright. Whether the outside world called him a god or a demon, the only task left for Seo-han was to break through this vast maze of data and translate aging into the language of a manageable disease.