CHAPTER ONE: THE VALUE OF A DISPOSABLE MAN
2026 did not arrive with fireworks.
It arrived quietly, like a knife slipping between ribs.
Seoul's skyline glowed beneath a polluted winter sky, towers of glass and steel reflecting numbers that never slept. Somewhere inside one of those towers, deals worth billions were signed with smiles, while lives worth nothing were erased with signatures just as clean.
Kang Min-Jae watched the city from the forty-second floor, a half-empty glass of whiskey resting in his hand. The lights below looked peaceful. Honest. That illusion had fooled him once.
Never again—
At least, that's what he would have said if he still believed in second chances.
Behind him, the office was silent. Too silent for a place that usually buzzed with assistants, analysts, and lawyers scrambling to please the Seo Group. Midnight meetings weren't unusual. What was unusual was being called alone.
Chairman wants to see you immediately.
That was the message.
No emojis. No honorifics. Just a command.
Min-Jae didn't turn around when the door opened.
"I expected you earlier," he said calmly.
Footsteps paused. Then resumed.
"You always did have good instincts," a familiar voice replied.
Vice Chairman Seo Dong-Hyun. Second son of the Seo family. A man who smiled like a priest and lied like a demon.
Min-Jae finally turned.
"Instincts kept your company alive during the Jakarta crisis," Min-Jae said. "They also kept your nephew out of prison after the shipping scandal. If you're here to praise me, you're late."
Seo chuckled and gestured toward the chair. "Sit. Let's talk like civilized men."
Min-Jae remained standing.
Civilized men didn't need private midnight meetings after the board had already voted.
"I know about the Macau accounts," Seo said lightly. "The ones routed through Belize. Very clever. If you hadn't structured them, the prosecutors would've smelled blood years ago."
Min-Jae felt it then—the shift.
The room had crossed from conversation into confession.
"You ordered those structures," Min-Jae replied. "Every signature is documented."
"Of course," Seo agreed. "And that's exactly the problem."
Min-Jae's mind ran through possibilities in milliseconds.
They're cleaning house.
Election cycle approaching.
New heir.
He smiled faintly. "If this is about loyalty, I've proven mine."
"Yes," Seo said softly. "That's why you're dangerous."
The word hung in the air.
Dangerous.
Min-Jae understood then. Not emotionally—emotion was a luxury he'd abandoned years ago—but mathematically. His value had exceeded its optimal range.
He knew too much.
He knew where the bodies were buried.
He knew which ministers were owned.
He knew which accidents weren't accidents.
A disposable man is useful.
An irreplaceable one is a liability.
"You won't touch my family," Min-Jae said.
Seo's smile faded, just a little. "We're not monsters."
That was when Min-Jae knew they would.
THE FIXER
For twelve years, Kang Min-Jae had been the Seo Group's shadow.
Officially, he was a senior legal-strategy executive. Unofficially, he was the man who cleaned messes that money alone couldn't fix.
When a subsidiary CEO raped a hostess in Shanghai—Min-Jae erased it.
When the shipping division dumped toxic waste off the Philippine coast—Min-Jae rewrote the permits.
When the eldest son killed a motorcyclist while drunk—Min-Jae found a dead man who "matched the DNA."
He didn't enjoy it. He didn't hate it either.
He told himself he was protecting something bigger.
Four people, to be precise.
Two sisters. Two younger brothers.
Tuition paid. Dreams funded. Futures insulated from chaos.
Once they're stable, he used to think, I'll leave.
But stability was a horizon that kept moving.
Seo rose from the chair. "There's a car waiting to take you home. You look tired."
Min-Jae nodded slowly. "I'll collect my things."
"No need."
The office lights dimmed.
Min-Jae's instincts screamed.
He moved.
Too late.
Pain exploded in his chest. A dull, wet pressure. He looked down and saw red blooming through his white shirt like a grotesque flower.
A silenced pistol dropped to the carpet behind Seo Dong-Hyun.
"I truly am grateful," Seo said quietly. "But gratitude doesn't outweigh survival."
Min-Jae collapsed.
The last thing he heard was Seo speaking into a phone.
"It's done. Stage the accident."
DEATH IS NOT BLACK
Death was… still.
Min-Jae expected darkness. Oblivion. A void.
Instead, he found himself standing.
No pain. No body. No breath.
The world was frozen—his blood suspended mid-air, glass falling in slow motion, Seo's face locked in an expression of mild regret.
Then the world peeled open.
Space folded like paper, revealing something vast beyond comprehension. Not light. Not darkness. Something between.
A presence.
"You lived efficiently," a voice said—not aloud, but directly inside his existence.
Min-Jae did not panic.
Fear required uncertainty.
This was… clarity.
"Am I dead?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then speak quickly," Min-Jae replied. "I don't have time for delusions."
A ripple of amusement passed through the void.
"I am not a delusion," the voice said. "I am an investor."
Something emerged—formless, yet precise. Like an idea wearing a crown.
"A god?" Min-Jae asked.
"A title," the entity answered. "I prefer Contractor of Causality."
Min-Jae laughed. It surprised even him.
"So this is judgment?"
"No," the god replied. "This is an offer."
THE CONTRACT
The frozen world shattered into fragments of timelines—markets crashing, empires rising, wars avoided, fortunes made.
"I observe humans who bend probability," the god said. "You did. Repeatedly. Without power. Without blessings."
Min-Jae's expression hardened. "Observation without intervention. Typical."
"I intervene when profit exists."
"What profit could I offer a god?"
The fragments rearranged into a single moment:
His siblings, standing behind cheap apartment windows, unaware of his death.
The god spoke again.
"Another life."
Silence.
Min-Jae's fists clenched.
"Terms," he said.
"You will return to the year 1980—the moment of your birth."
A system interface unfolded before him, glowing with impossible precision.
C.A.I.R.O.S SYSTEM INITIALIZING…
Causal Asset Intelligence & Return Optimization System
"You will possess knowledge of future events," the god continued. "Markets. Crises. People. But causality resists greed."
"And the cost?"
The god's presence loomed closer.
"I will claim a percentage of outcomes you alter. Influence. Power. Fate."
"If I refuse?"
"You pass on. Forgotten."
Min-Jae thought of the Seo family.
Of disposable men.
Of gods who invested instead of ruled.
He smiled.
"I don't want revenge," he said. "I want dominance."
The god's laughter shook reality.
"Accepted."
A final clause appeared.
GOAL CONDITION:
Achieve global financial dominance equal to or exceeding historical dynastic families.
Min-Jae's eyes burned.
"Rothschild level," he murmured.
The god paused.
Then smiled.
REBIRTH
Pain returned.
Then air.
Then sound.
A cry split the room.
A newborn's scream echoed into a poor hospital ward, unnoticed by the world.
But somewhere beyond time, a god marked an investment.
And Kang Min-Jae opened his eyes—
already calculating.
End of Chapter One