In the grand circular hall of an elite business club, towering floor-to-ceiling glass walls acted as colossal screens, streaming live footage of more than thirty candidates. Among them was Earl.
Countless virtual spectators—mostly middle-aged men—appeared in pairs before the projections, murmuring in hushed tones, nodding thoughtfully. Though their physical selves remained in offices or lavish estates, they watched the cutthroat competition unfold through sophisticated virtual systems, immersing themselves in the ruthless race for survival among the young elites.
At the very heart of the hall, a ring of gray-white sofas formed a silent vortex of power. Seated at the center was Park Chung-Rye, president of the United Business Council—one of the legendary "Ten Elders." Around him, the holographic projections of business titans flickered, their movements restrained, their words measured, as if the weight of their influence demanded nothing less than perfect control.
Mr Park occasionally glanced at Earl's image—the nephew from his wife's side. She had quietly urged him to "keep an eye on the boy," and he was curious to see whether this generation had anyone truly capable of carrying weight.
"President, do you see anyone here standing out?" The vice president's holographic projection leaned in slightly, his tone careful, his words deliberately vague—no names mentioned.
"It's too early to tell." Park's expression remained unreadable, his voice calm and steady. Over thirty candidates, but in the end, only one would remain. The biggest prize would go to whoever survived the final round.
Naturally, he leaned toward supporting his own blood, but with the game still unfolding, any premature favoritism was a risk.
Earl was said to be withdrawn, quiet, lacking both friends and solid family backing. And yet, the Park family had grown short on heirs in recent years—his elder brother had married into politics, his younger brother was deeply embedded in the core business network, leaving only Earl, an unshaped stone.
Park wasn't opposed to choosing an outsider, as long as that outsider followed orders.
Just then, someone in the room spoke up, his words laced with thorns:
"I heard your nephew Earl's not exactly... mentally stable. This kind of high-risk operation—if he drags down the rest of the talented candidates, that won't look good for anyone, will it?"
Mr Park cast a subtle glance at the man—it was someone from the vice president's camp.
So, they had likely made their choice. Most likely Lee. That smooth-talking young man was certainly promising, a fine candidate.
Too bad his loyalties leaned too far in one direction.
For Mr Park, that made him far from "safe."
His tone was cold and measured as his gaze slowly shifted from the man to the vice president.
"Vice President, isn't this game about grooming true talent to take our place? The business world is a battlefield—those with real skill will fight their way to the top, while the weak won't last long. We choose based on merit, not factions, not sides.
Wouldn't you agree?"
The vice president's face darkened instantly. He swallowed his anger, snapping a few reprimands at his overly talkative subordinate before striding off to a quiet corner. The subordinate, looking thoroughly wronged, muttered under his breath. The vice president nodded in vague reassurance, a flicker of sympathy passing over his face.
But when he turned back toward Park Jong-li, his gaze turned ice-cold. A sneer tugged at the corner of his lips as he muttered through clenched teeth, "Do you take me for a child? Talent selection? Give me a break! In this game, which truly capable, penniless kid ever gets to the top? You and I both know the truth—what we're choosing isn't talent, it's obedience. Isn't Lee a hundred times more reliable than that lunatic nephew of yours?"
Park Jong-li, sensing the sharp glare burning into his back, slowly turned his head.
What greeted him was the vice president's impeccably polite smile.
But beneath that smile, a storm was brewing.
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Just then, his assistant stepped closer and murmured, "Sir, Earl's doctor is on the line."
"Oh?" A faint, unreadable smile tugged at Park Jong-li's lips.
Without hesitation, he logged out of the virtual system.
In reality, he was seated in the study of his private estate, the night outside thick and heavy.
With a casual motion, he pressed the soundproofing button, leaned back into the sofa, and the whisper-soft earpiece clicked on.
"Sir, Earl's parents are getting suspicious."
"Hmm?"
"They think the neural implant... isn't working."
"Is he still under control?"
"Perfectly. But if they uncover our intervention—"
"No need for dramatics. A fool tightly in hand is the most reliable kind. Carry on as we discussed."
"I understand. I'll proceed according to your plan."
"Good. What about the other candidates?"
"Everything is moving along smoothly. Except… Mrs Park's side…"
"That's not your concern. Is the hospital building finished?"
"Thanks to you, we topped it off yesterday."
"You doctors have been making a fortune these past few years."
"All thanks to your guidance."
The call ended, and Mr Park let out a cold chuckle as he glanced at his assistant.
"Greedy bastard. A doctor who turns into a businessman is worse than a politician."
The assistant hesitated for a beat before replying, "If every doctor in the country became a businessman… it wouldn't just be bad, it would be a disaster."
Park smiled, satisfied. His assistant,Frank, a former scout soldier, wasn't one for sweet talk, but his instincts were razor-sharp, his hands steady, his judgment precise.
"By the way," Park arched a brow with a half-smile, "do you think Earl's latest 'hunt' will pose a threat to him?"
"It will." Frank's tone was certain.
"That young man is scared, but there's not a shred of submission in his eyes."
"Hmph."
Mr Park shook his head, a glint of disdain flashing in his eyes.
"Birth determines status. So what if he has some skill? Without a background, he's destined to be nothing more than a well-trained pawn."
Frank spoke softly, "President, a man like that—his life or death is yours to decide with a single word."
Park picked up his teacup, took a slow sip, and said calmly, "The game has just begun. Let's wait and see."
Understanding the cue, Frank silently left the study.
Park reached into his pocket, pulling out a fingertip-sized reader as he dimmed the lights.
Park's gaze remained locked in concentration as his fingertips tapped out commands, manually altering the data. Each modification would sync directly into Earl's brain—but not too much. Too many changes, and Earl might start noticing.
A faint furrow formed between his brows. Earl's lingering sense of independence always fought back at critical moments. Digitizing a "normal" human brain was still in its experimental phase. But someone like Earl—an individual with inherent "deficiencies"—could seamlessly follow 70% of programmed behavioral directives.
If the experiment succeeded, he would have the perfect proxy.
But the true goal?
Digital immortality.
The phrase echoed in his mind like the tolling of a bell.
The Park business empire had already reached its peak. Now, there was only one last thing left to achieve—permanence.
He lit a cigar, the swirling smoke shrouding his face in shifting shadows, making him appear both godlike and monstrous.
Then, he logged back into the system, slipping unseen into Earl's live data stream.
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