Ghosts of Eternity

Jeong Se-ah lightly slid the tablet across Jeong Hyeon-jin’s mahogany executive desk.

On the cold screen, a straightforward headline stared back: 'AEC-101 Distribution Plan.' Se-ah rested her chin in her hand, her eyes locked onto Hyeon-jin.

“I’m planning to entirely bypass existing hospital and dermatology distribution networks.”

Se-ah’s finger swiped down the screen.

“We are going strictly with a D2C subscription model. The target is an absolute, closed inner circle. We will use them as a beachhead, then transition to celebrity and influencer marketing. Mass advertising is a waste of resources.”

“……”

“If you sell to everyone from the start, it becomes cheap. We have to make it something not just anyone can buy first. Access, rather than price, must become the metric of desire.”

Hyeon-jin smoothly adjusted his suit cuffs, calmly scanning the proposal.

Perhaps because his recent dosing cycle had slipped, the fatigue beneath his eyes hung heavy, yet the fit of his immaculately tailored bespoke suit remained flawless.

“And the backlash from the medical community or laser equipment manufacturers? The turf war will be vicious.”

“Legal attacks such as regulatory complaints or injunctions to halt sales—Attorney Kang Si-hyun’s team has already agreed to monitor and block them entirely.”

The corners of Se-ah’s lips curved up smoothly.

“Before our competitors can drag things out with lawsuits, we will preempt the market and strip them of the very space to breathe.”

To her, business was never about coexistence; it was an arena of absolute elimination and monopoly.

The moment Hyeon-jin completed his signature on the tablet, an electronic approval confirmation chimed with a crisp alert.

“Proceed.”

With that brief directive, the proposal was forwarded to Eterno that very afternoon.

An exclusive licensing upfront payment of five billion won, routed through S-Group’s official corporate account, slammed directly into Eterno’s account. Without a single percent of equity being diluted, institutional capital was absorbed entirely into the framework designed by Lee Seo-han.

Five billion won, stamped with vivid clarity across Eterno’s account screen.

Seo-han closed his aluminum laptop without a sound.

Sitting properly on the leather sofa opposite him, Kang Si-hyun—who had been organizing documents—finally raised her eyes. As S-Group’s proxy and Eterno’s legal counsel, she had just confirmed the final seal on the contract.

“Five billion won. Transfer confirmed. With this, the licensing agreement takes official effect.”

Seo-han offered a slight nod, casting his gaze out the window. A heavy sky, precariously hanging on the verge of rain, stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass.

Si-hyun slipped her tablet into her bag, calmly continuing her inquiries.

“How should we handle the existing three billion won paid monthly? Counting it toward this down payment to simplify the accounting would be seamless for both companies.”

“That is a separate matter. Do not mix the nature of the funds.”

Seo-han’s voice was bone-dry.

Si-hyun fell into a brief silence at his absolute certainty. The rational glare of a major law firm partner lingered on Seo-han’s expressionless face.

“Not long ago, I met with Chairman Jeong Ui-hyeon and Vice Chairman Jeong Hyeon-jin. I was called in for a private legal consultation.”

Seo-han stared back at her, utterly motionless.

“I felt a bizarre dissonance. The two men at the pinnacle of S-Group spent the entire conversation paralyzed, as if something was holding them by the throat. Is that monthly transfer of three billion won truly nothing more than simple technical consultation fees?”

Seo-han lightly toyed with the metallic cap of the fountain pen resting on his desk. A stillness that did not permit even the sound of friction filled the room.

“What did they say specifically?”

“They kept their words guarded. But they could not conceal the physiological aversion and terror pooling beneath their silence.”

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Si-hyun adjusted her glasses.

“The two of them seemed convinced that their lifelines are gripped by someone. And it is difficult to deny that you are at the center of it, Mr. Lee.”

Si-hyun’s finger tapped lightly against her knee—a rhythmic, composed motion.

“Mr. Lee, what exactly did you provide them?”

Seo-han withdrew his hand, subtly straightening his upper body. His gaze was deep, entirely unswerving.

“I merely provided limited technical consultation for problems they could not resolve within the established institutional framework. You only need to manage the phenomena right in front of you, Attorney Kang.”

“If those phenomena are driving my clients into an uncontrollable state, then as the risk manager overseeing the exposure of both entities, I cannot turn a blind eye.”

Seo-han lightly slid the final draft of the corporate charter amendments resting on one side of his desk toward her.

“You only need to erect a solid defensive wall, Attorney Kang. What happens beyond that wall belongs entirely to my domain. That should have been the first condition of our contract.”

Si-hyun pressed her lips into a tight line.

With unhurried, precise movements, she zipped her briefcase and rose from her seat.

“If it is not a simple weakness... then you have subjugated them to something.”

Instead of an answer, Seo-han responded with a deep, heavy silence. Faced with his unshakeable demeanor, Si-hyun could press no further questions.

Halfway up the hills of Hannam-dong. A private lounge enclosed by black concrete exterior walls.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of the bridges spanning the Han River bled across the water in faint crimson lines.

Beneath low-intensity pin spotlights, the marble floors threw a cold sheen. The air inside carried a chilling bleakness. Caught behind the glass, the night view of Seoul stagnated, completely motionless.

Sitting alone at a window-side table reviewing global macroeconomic indicators on her tablet, Baek Seo-yun turned off her screen.

She wore a silk shirt in a subdued tone and clean, tailored slacks. There was an austere, polished composure about her, the kind that came less from ornament than from years of elite training. Her transparent eyes remained firm.

Kang Si-hyun naturally set her leather tote bag on the sofa beside her and sat opposite. Beneath her beige shirt cuff, which fell with flawless precision, a Cartier Tank watch glinted coldly.

“I’m on my way back from Eterno.”

Seo-yun lifted a heavy crystal decanter, pouring single malt into Si-hyun’s glass. Only the microscopic friction of the glass broke the silence between them.

“Eterno?” Seo-yun asked, sliding the glass forward.

“The private corporation established by CEO Lee Seo-han, whom I mentioned last time.”

“CEO Lee Seo-han…”

Si-hyun took a light sip from her sparkling water. The cold carbonation rushing down her throat seemed to wash away a fraction of the bizarre tension she had carried out of Lee Seo-han’s office.

“We just inked the deal. The AEC-101 licensing agreement. It’s a side-effect-free depilatory technology, and the upfront payment alone is a staggering five billion won.”

Seo-yun’s gaze locked onto Si-hyun’s face. A brilliant curiosity flickered within her clear eyes, which looked as though they could completely see through a person's innermost thoughts.

“They threw down five billion upfront? Even for S-Group, paying that kind of premium for a cosmetic raw material is highly anomalous.”

“That’s merely the beginning,” Si-hyun said softly, setting her glass down.

“An additional three billion won is wired to Eterno every month under the pretext of technical advisory fees.”

Seo-yun’s long, straight finger silently tapped the marble tabletop.

Three billion won every month. As a pretext for advisory fees, it was a profoundly heavy number.

What was more dangerous than a one-time upfront payment was repetition. Massive sums leaving under the same designation every month invariably left an invisible dependency behind them.

Seo-yun quietly weighed whether that amount reflected pure technological value, or the price of some other right yet to be revealed.

Si-hyun leaned deep into the sofa. Only then did the tightly strung nerves of a legal professional loosen slightly.

“Vice Chairman Jeong lunged at it with absolute fervor. In fact, it was glaringly obvious how anxious he was that he could not move the transfer date forward. Watching it unfold beside him practically gave me chills.”

The corners of Seo-yun’s mouth curved into a faint arc—a cold, intellectual smile.

“Vice Chairman Jeong Hyeon-jin is not the type of man to open his wallet without a compelling justification.”

Si-hyun’s brow furrowed minutely.

“It is not due to simple business profit and loss. Every time the name Lee Seo-han surfaces, both men grow unaccountably diminished.”

Seo-yun turned her head, staring into the darkness beyond the window. The lights of Seoul lay scattered like a massive nebula.

“Too precise a financial design for a scholar, yet too little private consumption for a merchant.”

“And yet, the man himself is almost aggressively indifferent to luxury,” Si-hyun continued.

“While spearheading contracts worth tens of billions, he drives a seven-year-old midsize Korean sedan, the kind of car that disappears into traffic rather than announces wealth. His office is the definition of hyper-refined minimalism, stripped of any imported luxury furniture. There is only a void, to the point of isolation.”

Seo-yun turned her tablet back on, murmuring softly under her breath.

“It means his secular desires are either entirely nonexistent, or at least do not manifest in any way we recognize. He belongs to the most difficult category to handle. It remains uncertain whether he is a man who can even be bought with capital.”

Si-hyun silently stared at the smartphone screen resting on the table. The legal battlements of Eterno, which she had personally reviewed and reinforced, were flawless.

Seo-yun raised her eyes, staring straight into Si-hyun.

Within her mind, national regulatory guidelines and the migration paths of global capital were already being rapidly calculated.

“We will need to conduct a rigorous vetting of this man soon. We must determine whether he is an asset to be integrated into the national strategic technology framework, or an unmanageable private-sector risk growing beyond institutional control.”

Si-hyun refilled her glass.

“If you get the opportunity, meet him yourself. You will feel that exact same bizarre dissonance.”

“Oh?”

Si-hyun held her words for a moment. Within her mind, the frigid gaze of Lee Seo-han played out once more.

“You do not get the sensation that you are facing a human being. It feels as though you are standing before a massive calculating machine, entirely stripped of emotion, driven solely by data and logic.”

Seo-yun’s eyes narrowed into a fine line—a distinct habit of hers whenever her fascination was piqued.

“Capital is honest. If a value of tens of billions of won has been proven, an equivalent reality must exist behind it.”

Staring out into the dark window, Si-hyun murmured in a low voice.

“Perhaps it is not a reality he holds... but the very essence of power itself.”

Seo-yun asked no further questions.

Instead, she took a light sip of the single malt in her glass, deeply immersed in thought, as if mapping out the board of a massive game.