Surviving Restructuring

“Phew, for now, all we managed to recover is the personnel evaluation data.”

“It’s valuable material,” Eun-Ho replied calmly. “We’re fortunate we retrieved even that.”

In the now ownerless office, Sarah tilted her head before an unmoving wall.

After a moment, she turned away as if she had wasted enough time. “I’m sure I saw him go in there...”

Her lingering gaze was interrupted by Eun-Ho’s voice from behind. “You mean the secret space?”

“Hehe... Yes.”

Among the staff of the Personnel Bureau, there was a rumor shared in half-joking whispers. Apparently, a hidden chamber lay within the director’s office, known to no one else.

“But I guess it was just a baseless rumor. If nothing’s showing up, that must be it,” said Sarah.

She had only brought it up because Eun-Ho had come straight after the battle, saying they had to uncover the director’s secrets. It seemed she had misjudged.

“Hmm.” Eun-Ho fell into thought, rubbing his chin as his brows drew together. “I heard the director personally designed this building.”

“That’s right. The previous structure collapsed in an accident, so he rebuilt it to commemorate his inauguration.”

Like the lavish garden outside, this towering building had been newly constructed when the director took office. He had even sketched out the overall layout himself and paid particular attention to the arrangement. Perhaps that was how such rumors had begun.

Chiding herself for leading them astray, Sarah moved more briskly. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. He might’ve hidden documents somewhere. I’ll search the bookshelves more thoroughly!”

While she busied herself pulling thick volumes from the shelves one by one, Eun-Ho stood with his back to her, staring at a wall lined with identical, ornate frames.

“... It’s possible,” he murmured.

She glanced over. “Huh? Do you have a guess?”

“I’ve seen something similar before.”

“Something similar?”

“He likely designed it so only he could enter. With a key or some kind of identifying marker,” Eun-Ho continued quietly, as though organizing his thoughts aloud, “If even the entrance isn’t visible, then it would require something that proves the owner’s identity—ah.”

Sarah turned around in curiosity. “Hmm? What is it?”

Accidentally, a book slipped from her grasp with a thud.

Sss—

Black smoke, as though shimmering heat haze, coiled across the floor from nowhere.

“Found it,” Eun-Ho said.

“Huh?”

It turned out the director’s portrait, framed by intricate geometric patterns in vivid colors, wasn’t just flashy. Lines of guiding text shimmered across their surfaces.

[Authority verification has been completed]

[The lock has been unlocked.]

Whirr—clack!

One frame spun and flipped over. Then another rotated, and another after that.

Click—

Then, the wall opened.

Before them lay a staircase leading down into the director’s rumored hidden chamber.

“T-this is...” Sarah stammered.

“It exists after all,” Eun-Ho said. “The secret space.”

She had searched so thoroughly before, without finding a single crack. Rushing forward with disbelief written all over her face, she looked at Eun-Ho. However, he only gave an awkward shrug.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Ah, yes!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

What greeted them was a spacious underground room. It was furnished with a leather sofa large enough to seat ten people, an antique carpet woven with Persian patterns, and a desk and chair suitable for office work. Empty frames lined the walls. Calling it a luxurious private lounge would be more suitable.

Sarah’s eyes widened as she looked around. “Wow... It’s bigger than I expected.”

“It’s wider than expected, but the ceiling is low,” Eun-Ho observed. “He probably hollowed out the entire floor beneath his office.”

“What do you think he built it for?”

“To hide something.”

As Sarah mulled over his words, Eun-Ho scanned the room with a complicated expression and muttered, “An arena perhaps.”

At that moment, the empty frames lit up all at once, as if reacting to his voice.

Fwoosh—

A mechanical announcement echoed through the room, and messages began appearing in midair.

[Beginning daily reporting.]

[Round 1 - In Progress]

[#80483(6.75) vs Great Horned Rhinoceros(1.10)]

[Round 2 - Scheduled]

[#1022(1.90) vs #29021(2.05)]

[Round 3 - Scheduled]

[#73110(1.95) vs #5596(1.85)]

In that instant, they understood that they were at the central control hub for the arena the director had personally established.

“Uh... What are those decimal numbers?” Sarah asked hesitantly.

“I’m not sure.”

Round one. Round two. Round three. The structure resembles a sports match schedule, Eun-Ho thought.

“Ah! It’s showing videos too! Hup!”

The screens filled with brutal footage of the matches in progress.

His face twisted in disgust. “Ah...”

[Next up is this week’s detailed revenue and expenses report.]

The frame continued its report as if nothing else mattered.

[Revenue - 2,452,500 Points]

[Betting Pool - 1,902,500 Points]

[Sponsorship - 550,000 Points]

[Expenses - 190,800 Points]

[Depreciation - 60,000 Points]

[Interest Expense - 50,000 Points]

[Administrative Costs - 30,800 Points]

[Long-Term Repair Reserve - 30,000 Points]

[Labor and Food Costs - 20,000 Points]

...

The report scrolled on endlessly, akin to a train with no final carriage.

“Those decimals earlier must have been the payout odds.” Eun-Ho frowned, yet his gaze never wavered as he read each line. “Given the size of the betting pool, it seems wagers on the winners are highly active.”

He watched the brutal footage without blinking, as though committing every detail to memory, vowing never to forget. “It’s an immensely profitable business, this arena.”

“So it was all true,” Sarah murmured.

Instead of trusting her legs, she swayed slightly and leaned against the edge of the desk.

She had already heard about the arena and the director’s involvement. In fact, that was why she felt the need to dig for information. However, seeing it with her own eyes was entirely different.

[Round 1 - Match Ended]

[#80483(Loss) vs Great Horned Rhinoceros(Win)]

[Payout Rate 1.10 has been applied to the betting amount.]

No matter how profit-driven a company could be, this was too much.

Sarah quietly added, “This is excessive.”

Having organized countless events in the Public Affairs Bureau, she had seen her share of ugly things. For example, encouraging competition among new recruits and working endlessly to draw sponsorship from observers. Meanwhile, this system didn’t even try to hide anything, almost as if provoking them.

“Good grief... I never imagined the director would go this far.”

“It wasn’t something he did alone,” Eun-Ho said evenly.

“What? Then who—”

He glanced back at an earlier line in the report.

[Interest Expense - 50,000 Points]

“If interest was paid,” he continued, “then someone lent him the money.”

As she fell silent, he addressed the system instead, “Interest expense. Can you identify the recipient?”

[Would you like to check the recipient of the interest payment?]

“Yes.”

Who would it be? The one who funded the Arena’s operations and collected interest without fail?

Curiosity and fear flickered in her eyes.

[Unable to check.]

[Recipient is not listed.]

The curt response quickly turned her anticipation into disappointment. “That’s unfortunate. I thought we had them by the tail.”

“We do,” Eun-Ho said calmly.

“Huh?”

Unlike her crestfallen expression, his face remained composed as he asked abruptly, “There isn’t a bank within the company, is there?”

“Uh... No, there isn’t.”

He even nodded to himself, as though satisfied with his reasoning. “Then that narrows it down considerably.”

“Could you maybe let me in on it too?” she asked cautiously.

He answered as if it were obvious, “At minimum, it has to be someone of equal rank to the director or higher.”

“What?! Based on what?” she asked, refusing to believe it.

It was a terrifying conclusion to deliver so casually. After all, it implied an untouchable figure powerful enough to stand behind even the director.

“If the director faithfully paid interest, then it means the other party wasn’t someone he could suppress by force,” he explained.

“Ha... This is far bigger than I imagined.”

It seemed this man was fated never to escape battles.

“I was going to tell you to take it easy now that your enemies are gone,” she said with a faint, humorless smile. “But clearly that’s not happening.”

Eun-Ho said without hesitation, “My enemy isn’t the Personnel Bureau director. It’s this company.”

Sarah flinched. The absolute calmness of his statement, devoid of flair or grand emotion, made it all the more alarming.

“Eun-Ho...” She knew he was strong and intelligent, but that was still reckless. “You’re capable, I know that. But if you push yourself recklessly like this, something might break.”

“Reckless?” He gave a faint smile and added, “It would be, if I were facing them alone.”

“What?”

He had already planned it all to make it thorough, systematic and radical. “I’ll establish a council and negotiate from an equal position. We’ll overhaul everything including organizational restructuring, recruitment, operations, management, compensation systems.”

“W-what if negotiations fail?”

“Then we’ll have no choice but to shed blood.”

She did not know whose blood he meant. Realistically, it was far more likely to be theirs—a sea of it. Yet why could she so clearly picture Eun-Ho standing atop the corpses of his enemies, raising a flag of freedom?

“The recording is solid,” he said coldly.

He searched the secret chamber with steady eyes. The image of him overlapped with the vision in her mind, sending a shiver down her spine.

After only a short while, Eun-Ho turned without hesitation and started toward the stairs. “Shall we head back up?”

“W-wait!” A sudden thought struck Sarah, and she grabbed his sleeve. “You said you’ve only gathered ten thousand signatures for the council so far, right?”

Council formation, negotiation, and reform were all well and good. However, they were still far short of the required one hundred thousand, making it sound like a distant dream.

“Oh, I was going to mention that,” he replied casually. “I plan to lower the threshold.”

If he could not meet the standard, he would change the standard itself.

“But how?”

“I reviewed the Personnel Bureau’s regulations. With the director’s approval, it’s possible.”

“What?!”

The director was already dead, so how can we possibly obtain his approval?

Eun-Ho added, “Article 19, Clause 88 of the Delegation Rules. If the final decision-maker, the director’s seat, is vacant, draft approval is impossible.”

“So, it’s impossible—”

“However.” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “If more than eighty percent of the next-highest decision-makers agree, it can proceed. And by that, I mean the division chiefs.”

Sarah seemed shocked. His confidence was not baseless bravado but the result of meticulous calculation.

“... Once the chairman learns what happened to the director, it’ll only be a matter of time,” she said quietly.

“I imagine so.”

She cast her final doubt, one she trusted he had already considered. “Then a new appointment will be made immediately. Won’t you run out of time to persuade them?”

“I’ll finish it today,” he said it as naturally as if he were commenting on the sunset

“Today?!”

“Could you summon them to the director’s office? All division chiefs of the Personnel Bureau.”

***

It was 5:57 PM, a slightly late hour to start a meeting.

The division chiefs grumbled under their breath as they pushed open the heavy doors. Their expressions brightened for a short second.

“What kind of meeting is this at this time?”

“Exactly! It’s almost quitting time.”

“If we’re called, we go. How are we to question the director’s decisions?”

Eun-Ho greeted them. “You’re all here.”

That was when they noticed an unfamiliar young face at the corner of the long rectangular table. Their expressions changed in an instant.

“Hmm?”

“Where’s the director? Is he not here yet?”

“You look familiar. Who are you?”

“Wait! Isn’t that the guy from the Labor-Management Cooperation Team?”

“Who I am isn’t important.” Eun-Ho cut off the question mercilessly and summoned a large window before their eyes. “I’d like your approval for an amendment to the Personnel Bureau’s regulations.”

Murmurs rippled through the gathered department heads.

“Hah!”

“This is absurd.”

It was a mix of shock at the sudden situation, and irritation that a mere greenhorn had summoned executives of their rank.

“I’ll be leaving. Have the director call us again when he returns.”

They would grovel before the director, but they were still chiefs of their own divisions. Unable to suppress the boiling resentment in his chest, one division chief grabbed the doorknob.

Click.

“There will be no return.”

“What do you—”

Sssss—

Black smoke seeped from the man before them.

[Faint Death seeps in.]

An acrid presence slipped into their lungs. The smoke, disguised as cold air, scorched their nasal passages and made their heads spin.

The division chief staggered back, startled by the horrific sensation he had not felt in a long time. “H-how do you possess this aura?”

“I inherited it from the director.”

“What?!”

He knew right away that it was impossible. Every one of them knew all too well the grotesque avarice their sky harbored. For him to have passed it on to a mere new hire was impossible.

“He would never do that!”

“Yeah right! Unless it was stolen. W-wait! Don’t tell me you...”

The division chiefs exchanged alarmed glances.

“You dare lay a hand on the director—”

“There was quite a bit of vitality left after I took it,” the greenhorn replied calmly.

Eun-Ho’s gaze drifted to the black smoke curling from his fingertips, then returned to them. He pointed at them one by one, each caught between shock and fury. “Division Chief of HR Planning. The director took your left arm, didn’t he? And Division Chief of Talent Development, an old friend of yours was taken.”

“H-how do you—”

“And you, Division Chief of Personnel. You lost a subordinate you cherished, didn’t you?”

“... That’s true.”

The nine of them stood speechless. One blinked with sorrowful eyes, as if he had been waiting for this very moment.

Within that silence, Eun-Ho dropped the bombshell. “I think I can return those things to you. So. Do I have your attention now?”

Thud.

The division chief who had held the doorknob slid down to the floor before the ruler of a new era.

***

“Consent status,” Eun-Ho said.

[Consent Progress]

- Number of signatures: 9,999

- Progress: 9%

- Reward: establishment of a public council regarding ‘Improvement of Employees’ Working Environment’

- Sub-trials:

1. Obtain 100 signatures(Incomplete)

2. Obtain 1,000 signatures(Incomplete)

3. Obtain 10,000 signatures(Incomplete)

...

The team’s painstaking efforts only earned them such minuscule progress. Then, Eun-Ho pushed it to ninety-nine percent in a single stroke in his own way.

[Consent Progress]

- Number of signatures: 9,999

- Progress: 99%

“Seriously, Eun-Ho, your scheming is something else,” Sarah had said.

“Could you at least call it creativity?”

Alright. Preparations are complete.

After taking a slow breath, Eun-Ho opened the Team Shared Messenger.

Lee Eun-Ho: Announcement. As of this moment, stop collecting signatures for the council establishment.

The replies came instantly, as if they had been staring at their screens.

Myung Tae-Pyeong: Whoa, finally? Let’s goooo.

Min Yeo-Jin: Huh? Mister, why?

Yeon Bo-Ra: Oppa, where are you? When are you coming back?

He decided to answer the flood of questions in due time.

Lee Eun-Ho: One week from now, we’ll hold the council’s founding ceremony.

He made the establishment ceremony official.

Choi Jae-Hyuk: What?! A ceremony?

Kim Ji-Eun: You mean we’re holding an event? With a stage and a podium and all that?

An event? Yes, that’s the right word, Eun-Ho thought.

It was to be the Labor-Management Cooperation Team’s first event, as well as their first stage before the entire company.

Lee Eun-Ho: So let’s begin preparations.

Choi Jae-Hyuk: Yes, sir! What should we start with, Hyungnim?

Lee Eun-Ho: First...

Shall we go invite some special guests to light up our debut stage?