I’d Rather Live as a Villain - I’d Rather Live as a Villain chapter 23

I’d Rather Live as a Villain – Episode 23

(I want to renew the contract with the same margin.)

The first-class check-in lounge was striking, with a wide red carpet spread over the marble floor.

Manager Noh approached us, sliding the issued tickets into our passports.

“There are no other reservations,” he said.

“Oh, lucky!”

The first-class section only had eight seats.

I should have booked a center seat instead of one by the window if I knew it would be like this.

Whether he knew of my regret or not, the executive seemed content enough with the fact that he could travel to Spain comfortably without caring about the stares of others.

“You can use the first-class lounge as soon as you enter…”

I cut off Manager Noh mid-sentence.

“That’s enough. I’ve been escorting the executive long enough to know better than you, Manager Noh, don’t I?”

Yet, Manager Noh seemed uneasy.

“I should accompany you…”

“Wow, Manager Noh. Your eyes and mouth are saying different things?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your mouth says you should come with us, but your eyes are practically begging to check in quickly… isn’t that right?”

“Ah, the director is really…”

From noble mtl dot nete

“Why follow, why. Why would you tag along on someone else’s honeymoon?”

The executive listening in joined the conversation.

“If you’re that worried, let’s go together. Go and get another ticket for Manager Noh. Weren’t there no other reservations? This is the time to experience first-class cheaply.”

At the executive’s words, Manager Noh’s face turned pale, and I took the passports with the tickets from him, saying,

“You’ve worked hard helping with the wedding.”

“Not at all.”

Manager Noh really did help a lot.

Especially the day before the wedding, when he went down to Daejeon alone to bring my mother, and yesterday, when he took her back to Daejeon.

I’ve been the executive’s personal secretary for over three years and have accompanied him on a week-long overseas business trip, but the schedule last week was more mentally taxing and challenging than any of those.

Though it’s called a honeymoon, it’s more of a business trip to Spain to negotiate directly with olive farm owners.

Still, on the way back, I thought I should definitely bring back a small token of appreciation for Manager Noh, and with that in mind, I escorted the executive inside.

We entered the first-class lounge, planning to spend a short time, about 30 minutes.

Even there, he had not taken off the mask until after boarding the plane, carefully removing it as the executive spoke.

“Do you have to open your laptop as soon as you sit down?”

“We have to go straight to Seville as soon as we land in Malaga.”

The meeting with the farm owners is set.

“Are you a machine or what? Take a breath. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the executive’s words.

“It seems you’re finally relaxing a bit.”

“What is?”

“The fact that you’re nitpicking.”

That’s the executive’s style.

When he’s focused on something, or when the schedule is tight, he never looks away.

He’s not one to make such playful complaints, even in jest.

“No, it’s not nitpicking. I’m just saying because you turned on your laptop as soon as you sat down.”

“Dealing with the Andalusians, especially the farm owners who believe they are the privileged class to their bones, is not as easy as you think.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Of course, our side must be flawless, and we need to relentlessly exploit any weaknesses they have. I haven’t been able to focus on this part for the past week because of the wedding preparations.”

“If someone overheard you, they’d think Yun, the executive, was heavily involved in the wedding?”

I have nothing to say about that.

I, too, certainly had to pay attention to calling our guests and other minor details.

But the executive, who turned our wedding from a mere marriage into a means to solidify a positive image for himself and me within Daeyoung Group, is incomparable.

Watching the executive, who didn’t let up for a moment from the wedding announcement to the wedding day itself, just yesterday, using Han Shin Newspaper and several other media outlets, as well as viral marketing to shape public opinion according to his plan, I couldn’t help but think he was remarkable.

He must have been running simulations in his head even before he proposed to me.

A born businessman.

The 10 billion he proposed to me.

The 5 billion he gave in advance.

Externally, he created a value for Daeyoung Group’s favorability through our marriage that could be tens, maybe even hundreds of times the amount, and internally, he successfully imprinted the name Kang Moon-jung, his presence, against the entire Daeyoung Group.

At least for this trip to Spain, I should let the executive rest.

That way, when we return, he can charge forward towards his goals without hesitation.

“We have to finish it in one go. The schedule isn’t set for long, and I’m doing this to avoid wasting precious days on the same content for renegotiation.”

“Will we have time to see the Alhambra Palace?”

“Do you want to go there?”

“Would I have never been there before? I have. It was wonderful. I was just saying, if I have time, I’d like to visit again.”

“Now that you’ve been there, let me introduce you to an even better place next time.”

“A better place?”

“To do that, I need to wrap up the contract renewal in one go.”

“Uh, uh, uh, uh… You’re telling me not to talk because you have to work now? Yes, yes, I’m sorry, Director Yoon Tae-sik. Go ahead, work. I’ll just sit quietly by myself from now on, not disturbing you.”

It’s a direct flight to Malaga, not Madrid, so it requires a 16-hour flight.

16 hours.

It was enough time to mentally craft and complete the scenario of pressuring the farmers with my own style, backed by the large signboard of Daeyoung Group, and silencing them.

***

Malaga Airport, reputedly well-maintained within Europe.

Yet, the limescale stains and the Spanish color palette plastered over the shops in the terminal building.

For a moment, I forgot the fact that I came escorting the executive for a major contract, as the scent of Spain I was experiencing for the first time in four and a half years made my heart flutter.

“I’m Jinsung Cheol, the branch manager of Madrid. You must be tired from the long flight.”

The branch manager himself came to meet us at the airport.

Branch Manager Jinsung Cheol.

The angle at which he bent forward towards Executive Kang Moon-jung reminded me of the StarTAC flip phone I used in the early 2000s.

“I’m Kang Moon-jung.”

“It’s the first time we meet in person, Director. I’m Jinsung Cheol.”

“We’ve had a few video meetings, so it doesn’t feel like we’re meeting for the first time. I’m Yoon Tae-sik.”

A black Vito van from Mercedes-Benz was ready.

It was clearly a 9-seater, but it had been modified to a 6-seater.

Behind the driver and passenger seats, four seats were installed to face each other, like those in a limousine.

Executive Kang Moon-jung was seated in the innermost rear seat, and I sat next to him.

And Director Jinsung Cheol sat facing me.

We finished our conversation about having lunch in downtown Malaga before moving to the ‘Seville’ area to meet with the farmers, during the drive to the hotel I had booked.

“By any chance, the car I asked for over the phone…”

“Yes, it’s ready. It’s parked in the hotel parking lot, and here are the keys.”

“Thank you.”

I wanted to use the time as efficiently as possible.

So, as I scheduled our itinerary, I asked to have a car rented in advance under the name of the Madrid branch.

Malaga, Spain.

The hot early summer sun of Spain was beating down on the alley where the Picasso Museum is located.

Tourists from all over the world.

It’s the perfect sun to walk around and feel the charm of Malaga.

In that crowded alley, there stood a seven-story building facing the Picasso Museum.

It was the hotel I had booked.

I felt strange.

The executive and I had been to many hotels together.

After all, he was the head of operations for the Daeyoung Hotel chain.

And I had been handling his international travel protocols for the past three years.

Yet, it felt so awkward and embarrassing to book just one room instead of separate rooms for the executive and me.

Though it was called a honeymoon, it was a business trip to Spain with frequent meetings with the Madrid branch staff.

Because there were watchful eyes, we couldn’t book separate rooms.

So, I asked for the executive’s understanding and booked a single room, but it was a suite with two bedrooms each with its own bathroom, a spacious living room, and a separate meeting room.

“I’m hungry. Hurry up and change.”

“Yes, take your time too, Executive.”

We hadn’t received our luggage delivery service from the airport yet.

Knowing this might happen, I had packed clothes for meeting the farm owners in a carry-on suitcase.

The executive and I quickly went into our respective rooms to change.

“Is this enough for me?”

He came out wearing wide-legged beige suit trousers that cinched at the waist.

And a white silk blouse on top.

Yet, he couldn’t give up on the stilettos and was holding a black Yves Saint Laurent evening bag.

I, too, deliberately didn’t wear a tie to avoid a too-stiff look.

“Yes, that’s sufficient. The farm owners will be in their everyday clothes anyway.”

We moved in a different car from the hotel than the Madrid branch group.

We had lunch at a restaurant reserved by the branch people and then headed to Sevilla, where the olive farm was located.

Andalusia, Sevilla.

Though it’s called a farm, in Korean terms, it’s the size of a direct-controlled municipality.

The phrase ‘endlessly unfolding’ is often said about the Seville olive farms.

Of course, the roads aren’t laid out in a straight line, but it takes two hours by car to make a full circuit of the Seville olive farm.

Andalusia, Seville, accounts for 70 percent of Spain’s olive production, making it the largest olive-producing region.

Historically, it is said that the first olive farm here was established by the son of Columbus.

Perhaps that’s why the farm owners here all possess a very strong sense of privilege.

And no wonder.

Only three families own this vast area.

In fact, the farm owners here would be akin to the chairmen of mid-sized companies in Korea, if not conglomerates, possessing wealth and power worthy of that title.

Even if the Daeyoung Group stands tall as a global corporation, these people wouldn’t be fazed by a single company from a country like South Korea.

This place, after all, is the home ground of the farm owners.

They are not to be taken lightly.

“Olá!”

Don Adrique.

‘Don’ – a Spanish term of respect used before the names of men with high status.

His first name is Morales, his family name, Adrique.

When I first created a project related to the Andalusian olive farms, I had conducted a preliminary survey here for over two weeks.

Back then, I used to attach that title diligently, but now there’s no need.

I simply greeted him with the usual expression.

“Señor (Mr.) Adrique!”

“Señor Yoon! It’s been a while.”

With a handshake, and pulling the clasped hands towards himself for a hug, I reciprocated the warmth with an embrace before entering.

Inside, the other two farm owners had already taken their seats.

Don Morales, Don Pedro.

Adrique, Morales, and Pedro.

These three gentlemen, and their families, dominate the Seville olives.

They may look like simple European country folk on the outside, but they are people of considerable pride and stubbornness.

On our side, there was me, the executive, and Director Jinsung Cheol.

We exchanged brief greetings and got straight to the point.

Don Pedro spoke.

“The offer of 4 euros. We’ve decided to accept it. We’re all struggling, and we can’t just shift that burden onto Daeyoung alone.”

Don Adrike chimed in from the side.

“But next time, Daeyoung will have to match 4.5 euros.”

So I said,

“3.3 euros.”

Silence began.

I continued, enjoying the peculiar tension the silence created.

“There will be no change in the margin price. That is Daeyoung’s stance.”

“What… are you talking about?”

Don Pedro squinted his eyes, questioning his own ears.

“3.3 euros. We want to renew the contract at the existing margin price.”

Thump!

As if lowering from 4.5 to 4 euros was their generosity, Don Pedro slammed the table with his palm, as if to say, was their leniency being taken for a joke?

“Are you suggesting we try it now?”

The air tensed up in an instant.

The atmosphere turned rigidly cold.

Even Director Jinsung Cheol couldn’t hide his shock at my call for 3.3 euros, his eyes nearly popping out.

Only the executive, unfazed by the atmosphere, looked at Don Pedro, who had struck the table, with narrowed eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“No, it’s not about trying. It’s about stopping here. 3.3 euros. If you accept that amount, we’ll enter into a renewal. Otherwise, there will be no renewal.”