Chapter Text
It was no secret that Cho Sang-woo had always been a competitive man. Cold and calculating eyes tearing into the gaze of his quivering opponent’s, the subtle scent of narcissism radiating from his breath. Before you could even blink, his stoic and polite demeanor would be torn to shreds, the ferocious beast within releasing its unrelenting fury. Winning is what catapulted him to the throne in the first place, sitting arrogantly on the stacks of won beneath him.
But expectedly, once you become good at something- no- perfect at something, the flame that once fueled the passion begins to dwindle, smoldering into ashes of lost excitement. To become the pack’s Alpha, an animal must feast brutally, mauling sheep after sheep, salivating mouth stained with crimson.
Just as the wolf’s thrill of the kill diminished, Sang-woo’s ambition had begun to unravel. So, needless to say, he was indifferent to the intricately designed invite that nipped at his fingertips.
Its base color was creme, just off white enough for his strained vision to detect, perhaps more akin to an eggshell shade. However, the sea of golden entanglements that outlined the neatly constructed text was rather striking. Knowing who had sent this precious little slip, the man wouldn’t be surprised if specks of actual gold had mingled with the ink, just another display of the sender’s overbearing wealth and authority.
While the invite itself was gorgeous, constructed with such consideration for aesthetic the name indicating its origin was vile. Extremely vile. Really, just a tarnish on this piece of art.
Jang Deok-Su. The second richest man in all of South Korea, just behind his sickly father, Oh Il-Nam.
While there were undoubtedly several factors influencing Sang-woo’s dislike for this man, he had settled on the theory that it stemmed from the fact Deok-Su had been born into privilege. As entitled as it sounded, the ex-Ssangmundong resident had spilled his blood, sweat, and tears to seize his power, ultimately shattering the legitimacy of those who were simply handed success.
Even disregarding his terrifyingly short temper, violent habits, and horrendous treatment of his workers, Sang-woo still had reason to detest the other man.
Unfortunately, there were also reasons to “like” Deok-su. After all, he had so much cash that even filthy rich business moguls looked like vagabonds next to him. Being the logical man he is, the Seong National University graduate knew that a spot in this man’s company would provide countless benefits, not to mention the unfathomable boost to his already inflated ego.
So, begrudgingly, with his ridiculously overpriced ballpoint pen, nimble fingers skillfully drew a check next to a declarative statement.
I, Cho Sang-woo, will be competing in Jang Deok-su’s” “King of Korea “Tournament.
A sigh pressed through his taut lips while his dominant coffee brown eyes rolled back into his head, scanning his brain for any kind of motivation to pay this bullshit any mind. To some degree, his prideful habits had begun to twist him into a knot, strangling his brain until conscience and emotion were snuffed out, leaving an incurable addiction to success.
Generally, Sang-woo was indifferent to what people said or perceived him as. However, certain circumstances warranted his ego to go up in arms, blinded by a sweet desire to surpass the limits placed atop his shoulders.
After all, he grew up dirt poor, scavenging for scraps like a feral dog, so unimportant he could be shot dead in the street and not one person would bat an eye. Despite the idiots running their mouths, saying he was down for the count, he survived. Clawed his way up brick walls until his fingernails cracked and bled, struggled so adamantly his muscles ached and cramped.
Really, he was the ideology of what a turnaround should be. Started with less than nothing, yet ended up one of the top graduates of Seoul National University before ascending to one of the best investment firms in the country.
Never again would he be stepped on by his miserable neighbors, nor starve beneath the heel of a capitalistic society. Not a soul would dare to proclaim that he was destined to wallow at the bottom.
His mother had once asserted that his newfound privilege would mellow out his intractable ego. Reflecting on her hope-based words, Sang-woo had accepted that it had done the exact opposite.
There was once a time when only two people believed that he could escape the hellhole they had seemingly all been chained to for eternity. An unfathomable contrast to the armies of high-class, intelligent, businessman placing their faith on his shoulders.
Hell, even the CEO of his investment firm had been convinced of Sang-woo’s undeniable genius, resorting to terms like “Son,” and “The company’s trump card.”
Coworkers who were listed as his equals began to bow to him, an expanse of adoring eyes contemplating the next move of a man so far above all the rest.
Even so, it was just common knowledge that one day he would surpass the faceless men below him, and consequently, even those labeled his superiors, abandoning the weeds that grew around his budding roses.
Like a visionary, he could predict the behavior of his boss, who would conclusively urge Sang-woo to battle for that esteemed position in Deok-su’s legendary company. Or rather, his father, Oh Il-Nam, who was unmistakably pulling the strings of MedTech singlehandedly.
It would be putting it lightly to say that Deok-su was bad at business. He was downright atrocious when it came to decision-making, the type to give a six-year-old a loaded gun. Well, at least a six-year-old has a higher IQ than that spoiled, ill-tempered manchild.
It would take a truly complex situation to irk Cho Sang-woo, yet the fact that Oh Il-Nam fathered such an abominable thing remained on that list. Recalling the lavish invitation still slumbering atop his desk, the businessman opted for a re-read, sharp-witted mind now equipped with his objectifying conclusions.
The winner of the King of Korea Tournament will be awarded the position of branch manager at MedTech’s newest location, opening in November of next year, along with an optional residence at the esteemed Jang Estate.
Ah, so the company was scavenging for up and rising businessmen or heirs of the wealthy. Intuitively, the family was in search of someone skilled enough in the practice to pick up the slack that the dim-witted Deok-su was incapable of managing.
Habitually, the clean, well-maintained tip of Sang-woo’s thumb pressed firmly into his left temple, a few strands of silky, jet black hair tickling the skin. Pearly white teeth brutally ripped into his soft, blush-toned bottom lip, bold brows furrowing as a list of pros and cons generated in his psyche.
On one hand, he could proudly satiate his narcissistic desires, reigning supreme in the hierarchy that had once sworn to crush him. Nearly overnight, his salary would increase tenfold, the heavy influence of his money and power stuffing the countless holes in his heart.
Whenever he played games, Cho Sang-woo always won. He was a winner, the epitome of what strength should be, considering each and every move in this chessboard called life. As long as the king didn’t fall, the game would push on, the fatal struggle of survival and death raging forevermore.
Players will compete in a series of twenty games testing physical, psychological, and emotional strength. Games 1-15 will be judged on a point-based system. The remaining 5 progress to elimination rounds.
Eliminated players are welcomed to stay and spectate, free of charge. All eliminated players will be granted permission to place bets on those remaining in the tournament.
The moist surface of his hot tongue glided across the prim edges of the envelope's triangular fold, the peculiar flavoring of adhesive engulfing his tastebuds. Neatly, the flap was pressed down, firmly sealing the envelope, and Cho Sang-woo’s fate.
Rolling his broad, muscular shoulders, the businessman arose from his metaphorical throne, the taut black leather of his chair intertwining with the final few streaks of sunlight that dared to fall over Seoul.
Contemplating his decision, the man allowed his soulful gaze to befall the bustling city below him. A warm hue had cast itself over the endless expanse of skyscrapers, the golden tint of natural light accentuating the handsomely sharp cut of his jawline.
The northern-facing wall of his office was not plaster, but rather, a finely constructed glass. The universe taunted him, refusing to let his mind shut out what he left behind. By some cruel play of cards, the window wall faced the direction of Ssangmundong. Of course, he could not actually see it from the heart of the city, After all, he was not superhuman. But deep down, tugging at the few strings that remained in his stone heart, was the reminiscence of what carved him into the person he had become.
Because to shine, he had to leave others in the dark, stepping heartlessly on the sacrifice of their love. Today, he had the nerve to ask for more. To win a fortune in a game, as if he wasn’t already sitting pretty. Through the long, treacherous battle of his success, a parasite had taken residence on his back. An illness so sickening it gnawed away at his humanity, devouring the compassion and humbleness he had once possessed.
In the end, it doesn’t matter if you are a peasant or a king, your social status cannot save you from disease. Yet, synonymous with the crowds of commoners beneath him, Cho Sang-woo had been contaminated by a gruesome sickness. This affliction was none other than greed.