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The Fissure Management Division office was in one of its peaceful states.
A neatly dressed man with slicked-back hair entered through the door, startling Cheol-Soo. He had been resting his chin on his hand and staring blankly at his monitor but now hastily scrambled under his desk.
The newly-arrived man grinned, then walked briskly toward Cheol-Soo’s desk, bent down, and looked at Cheol-Soo, tucked away behind his chair.
“Oh my! Chief Kang, it’s been a hot minute! Why did you crawl into such a cramped space?” The man greeted him in a distinct Busan dialect.
Cheol-Soo acted as if nothing happened and sat back in his seat.
After clearing his throat, he looked at the man, Yoo Min-Sang, and asked, “Why are you here again? Do you think the City Hall is your backyard?”
“Don’t be like that. You’re hurting my feelings. I came all the way from Busan just to see you, Chief Kang.”
“Oh, cut it out. Your lies are only getting worse.”
“By the way, do you still have any equipment funds left?” Yoo Min-Sang probed him.
Cheol-Soo clicked his tongue as if this was exactly what he expected.
Yoo Min-Sang was, in essence, a peddler who visited Seoul City Hall every few months. He owned a workshop named after himself, Yoo Min-Sang Smithy, a small shop that dealt in basic weapons, suits, and other combat-related supplies.
The problem was that he was practically...
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