The Busan Regional Construction Office smelled like stale coffee and bureaucratic indifference.
Ji-hoon had taken the KTX down at dawn, telling no one where he was going. Ajumma Lee thought he was visiting a friend. His father wouldn't notice or care. And his brother was too busy celebrating his "deal of the century" to pay attention to the family ghost.
Perfect.
Now he sat in a plastic chair outside the Public Records Department, wearing clothes he'd deliberately chosen to look ordinary, a simple black jacket, jeans, a baseball cap pulled low. Not the designer pieces that filled Ji-hoon's closet, but items he'd ordered online and had delivered to a convenience store pickup point.
The old Han Joon-woo knew how to be invisible in a different way than Kang Ji-hoon. One had been ignored by the family; the other had been ignored by the entire world.
He was about to use both skill sets.
"Number 47!" A bored voice called from behind the counter.
Ji-hoon stood, clutching his ticket, and approached the clerk, a woman in her fifties with reading glasses on a chain and the expression of someone who'd stopped caring about her job around the same time the last administration changed.
"I need to access building inspection records," Ji-hoon said, keeping his voice neutral, slightly nervous. Not the confident tone of a chaebol heir, but the uncertain tone of a graduate student on a research project. "For a university paper on construction safety compliance."
The clerk didn't even look up. "Building name and completion date."
"Hannam Tower Residential Complex, Busan Haeundae District. Completed September 2024."
Her fingers clacked across a keyboard that had probably been there since the '90s. "ID, please."
Ji-hoon hesitated. Using his real ID was a risk. It would leave a trail. But he'd prepared for this.
He handed over a student ID from SNU, one that the original Ji-hoon had never bothered to return when he'd dropped out. Technically still valid for another month.
She scanned it without interest and handed it back. "Fifty thousand won for a full records package. Another twenty thousand if you want copies."
Seventy thousand won, about sixty dollars. Pocket change for a chaebol heir. A significant expense for a graduate student.
Ji-hoon paid in cash.
Ten minutes later, he sat at a scratched desk in the records room, surrounded by manila folders that contained the entire paper trail of Hannam Tower's construction.
And immediately, he found the cracks.
Initial Safety Inspection: March 2024 - APPROVED
Inspector: Kim Dong-hyun
Notes: "All structural elements meet or exceed code requirements."
Mid-Construction Review: June 2024 - APPROVED
Inspector: Kim Dong-hyun
Notes: "Construction proceeding according to plan. No issues noted."
Final Inspection: August 2024 - APPROVED
Inspector: Kim Dong-hyun
Notes: "Building cleared for occupancy. Excellent craftsmanship."
The same inspector. Every single time. And the notes were nearly identical in phrasing, as if copied and pasted with minor variations.
Ji-hoon pulled out his phone and began photographing every page, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.
Then he found something interesting: the subcontractor list.
Structural Steel: Daewoo Engineering (reputable firm)
Concrete Work: Sunshine Construction Materials (never heard of them)
Electrical: Seoul Power Systems (major company)
Balcony Installation: JK Metalworks (another unknown)
Ji-hoon's mind raced. The reputable companies were handling the visible, inspected elements. But the smaller elements, concrete quality, and balcony installation were outsourced to companies he'd never encountered in any of his research.
Companies that might not exist anymore by April 2nd, when the investigation started.
He pulled out his laptop, a cheap model he'd bought specifically for this trip, and began to search.
Sunshine Construction Materials: Registered in Busan, 2023. Owner: Park Sung-min. No website. No presence beyond basic business registration.
JK Metalworks: Registered in Ulsan, 2022. Owner: Jung Kyung-soo. Same story, minimal footprint, no real history.
Shell companies.
Or close enough to it. Small operations that could do substandard work, collect payment, and disappear before anyone noticed the problems.
Ji-hoon photographed the subcontractor agreements, noting the signatures, the dates, the payment schedules. Then he dug deeper into the inspection reports, looking for the one thing that would make his case undeniable.
He found it in Appendix C, buried in a section labeled "Materials Testing."
Concrete Compression Test Results - Balcony Structures
Required: 30 MPa minimum
Tested: 32 MPa
Status: APPROVED
But there was something off about the numbers. The handwriting on the test forms didn't match the digital report. And the lab stamp, he pulled out his phone and zoomed in on the photo, the lab stamp's registration number didn't match any licensed testing facility in Busan.
It was fake.
All of it. The tests, the approvals, the safety certifications. A house of cards built on forged documents and bribed inspectors.
And in eighteen days, three people would die because of it.
Ji-hoon's hands trembled as he photographed the last page. Not from fear, but from anger, the cold, focused anger of someone who'd died meaningless once and refused to let it happen to others.
He'd found his evidence.
Now he needed to use it carefully.
The KTX back to Seoul felt longer than the journey down, even though it was the same two and a half hours. Ji-hoon sat in a window seat, his cheap laptop open, organizing the photos into a coherent narrative.
He couldn't just dump this information on his family. They'd ask questions he couldn't answer: How did you know to look? Why do you care? Why now, after years of not caring about anything?
He needed a proxy. Someone who would investigate naturally, without connecting it back to him.
His phone buzzed.
[Email: [email protected]]
Subject: Following up
Ji-hoon,
Been thinking about your question. Did some digging on Hannam Construction (the company your brother just acquired, congrats to your family, by the way).
Something's bugging me about their recent projects. Safety inspection patterns look too clean. In my experience, construction companies of this size always have at least a few minor violations or delays. Hannam's record is suspiciously perfect.
Might be nothing. Or might be something worth a closer look.
You still interested in the construction sector analysis? Coffee sometime?
Min-jae
Ji-hoon stared at the email, his heart racing.
Min-jae had found the thread on his own. Smart guy. Probably a better analyst than his junior position suggested.
This was his opening.
He typed quickly:
Min-jae,
Coffee sounds good. But actually...weird coincidence. I was in Busan today doing some research for a class project on construction safety compliance. Looked at one of Hannam's recent buildings (Tower Residential Complex) and found some... interesting documentation issues.
Nothing concrete (pun intended), but the inspection records fell off. Same inspector for every checkpoint, subcontractors I couldn't verify, materials testing that didn't quite add up.
Again, might be nothing. I'm just a student playing detective. But since you're actually in the industry and mentioned Hannam specifically...
Want to compare notes? I can send you what I found.
Ji-hoon
He read it three times, checking the tone. Casual. Curious. Not too insistent. Just a former classmate sharing something potentially interesting with a professional who might actually know what to do with it.
He hit send.
Then he closed his laptop and stared out at the Korean countryside blurring past... rice paddies and small towns and mountains that had stood for thousands of years while dynasties rose and fell.
He was changing history.
The weight of it settled on his shoulders like a physical thing. In the original timeline, he or rather, the original Kang Ji-hoon, had been dead by now. Overdose ruled accidental. Funeral attended by family who barely knew him. Forgotten within a month.
But now he was alive.
Now he was moving.
And the future was becoming something different with every choice he made.
The question was: how different could he make it?
Seoul Station at sunset was a chaos of humanity, commuters rushing home, tourists studying maps, vendors selling hotteok and tteokbokki from steaming carts. Ji-hoon merged into the crowd, just another face, and for a moment, he felt the ghost of his old life.
Han Joon-woo had walked through crowds like this every day. Invisible. Unremarkable. Another corporate slave heading home to a tiny room and instant ramyeon.
The memory should have felt sad. Instead, it felt like armor.
His phone rang. Unknown number.
"Yes?"
"Ji-hoon-ssi?" A male voice, young, excited. "It's Lee Min-jae. I just saw your email. Are you serious about this? The Hannam documentation?"
Ji-hoon's pulse quickened. "Completely serious. Why?"
"Because I just got off the phone with my senior analyst. I mentioned the Hannam acquisition casually, said something felt off about their safety record." Min-jae's voice dropped lower, urgent. "He told me to drop it. Immediately. Said Hannam's a done deal and Daehan Securities has a relationship with Kang Group, and I should focus on my actual assignments."
"That sounds like..."
"Like he's been told not to look too closely. Yeah." A pause. "Ji-hoon-ssi, what exactly did you find in Busan?"
"Evidence that Hannam Tower's safety inspections were falsified. Fake materials testing. Suspicious subcontractors. Inspector's signatures that look copied." Ji-hoon spoke quietly, aware of the crowd around him. "If I'm right, that building is a disaster waiting to happen."
Silence on the other end. Then: "Can you send me everything?"
"Yes. But Min-jae... if you investigate this, it might cause problems for you. With your company. With..."
"With Kang Group?" Min-jae laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Let me tell you something about being a junior analyst at a securities firm. Nobody listens to us. We're just numbers crunchers who feed data to people who make ten times our salary. But if I'm right about this, if there really is something wrong with Hannam..."
"Your career changes," Ji-hoon finished.
"Exactly." Another pause. "Why are you doing this? No offense, but from what I remember, you weren't exactly the crusading type."
Because three people are going to die if I don't.
Because I already died once and refuse to waste this second chance.
Because I'm not Kang Ji-hoon anymore, not really, and I have nothing to lose.
But he couldn't say any of that.
"Maybe I'm tired of being useless," Ji-hoon said instead. "Maybe I want to actually do something that matters."
The honesty in his voice must have resonated, because Min-jae's response was immediate: "Send me everything. I'll look into it tonight. If it's solid, I'll figure out how to flag it properly."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. If this goes south, we're both in trouble." But Min-jae sounded almost excited. "Coffee next week? I want to hear how a chaebol dropout became an investigative construction analyst."
"It's a boring story."
"I doubt that."
Ji-hoon hung up and immediately began transferring the files to an encrypted email. Not his usual account...he'd set up a new one using a fake name and VPN. Paranoid, maybe. But in a world where his brother had just spent 3.2 trillion won on a company with this many secrets, paranoia seemed justified.
The files uploaded. Sent. Gone into the digital void to hopefully start a chain reaction that would save lives.
Step one: complete.
Now for step two.
The Kang family residence in Hannam-dong was a study in understated wealth, traditional Korean architecture updated with modern luxury, surrounded by walls high enough to keep out the world but elegant enough not to look like a fortress.
Ji-hoon's driver dropped him at the gate. The security guard barely glanced at him before waving him through.
Invisible even to the people paid to notice me.
He found his father in the study, as expected. Chairman Kang sat behind a desk that could have doubled as a small aircraft carrier, reviewing documents with the focused intensity of a general planning war.
"Father." Ji-hoon stood in the doorway, not entering without permission.
The chairman looked up, surprise flickering across his face before settling back into neutral assessment. "Ji-hoon. You're out of bed."
"I'm feeling better."
"Good." His father's attention was already drifting back to the papers. "Dr. Yoon cleared you for normal activities?"
"Yes." Ji-hoon stepped into the room uninvited, something the old Ji-hoon would never have done. "I wanted to congratulate you and Hyung on the Hannam acquisition. It's impressive."
Now he had his father's full attention. The chairman set down his pen, studying his second son with new interest.
"You're following the business news now?"
"I'm trying to understand what the family does. What I should have been understanding all along." Ji-hoon kept his voice respectful, measured. Not confrontational, just... present. "I know I've been a disappointment. I want to change that."
Something complicated crossed the chairman's face, not quite hope, not quite skepticism. More like a man calculating whether an investment might finally yield returns.
"Change is easy to talk about," he said carefully. "Harder to execute."
"I know." Ji-hoon met his eyes. "That's why I'm not making promises. Just showing up. Starting with the Seoul Youth Foundation gala next month. Sera mentioned the family is attending."
"Your brother will be there."
"I know."
The chairman leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. "Ji-won has worked very hard for this family. The Hannam acquisition was his project from start to finish. I hope you're not planning to..."
"To what? Compete with him?" Ji-hoon allowed himself a small, sad smile. "Father, I'm not stupid. I know where I stand. I'm not trying to replace Ji-won or challenge him. I'm just trying to not be invisible anymore."
The honesty, or the appearance of it, seemed to land. The chairman's expression softened fractionally.
"Then you're welcome at the gala. Your mother will be pleased to see you... participating."
Will she? Ji-hoon thought but didn't say.
"Thank you." He turned to leave, then paused. "Father? One question about Hannam. Did the due diligence team check their construction safety records? The actual inspection documents, not just summary reports?"
The chairman frowned. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious. It's standard practice, right? For acquisitions this size?"
"Of course it's standard." But there was a slight edge to his voice now. "Our team is thorough. Why... have you heard something?"
Ji-hoon shook his head quickly. "No, no. I was just reading about construction sector acquisitions online. Trying to educate myself. Apparently safety compliance is a common due diligence failure point. But I'm sure your team covered it."
He left before his father could question further, but he'd seen what he needed to see: the brief flicker of uncertainty in the chairman's eyes.
The seed was planted.
Now he just needed it to grow.
His phone buzzed as he walked back to his room:
[Yoon Sera - Mobile]
You're coming to the gala! I'm genuinely surprised. Pleasantly surprised.
Fair warning: My father wants to introduce you to some people. Business contacts. Is that okay? I can run interference if you'd rather not.
Ji-hoon stared at the message, his mind racing. Yoon Sera was being... considerate? Thoughtful?
This wasn't how she'd acted in the original timeline. Then again, in the original timeline, Ji-hoon had been a ghost at every event. Easy to overlook. Easy to dismiss.
But now he'd accepted her invitation. Shown interest. Become slightly less invisible.
And she was noticing.
He typed carefully:
Business contacts are fine. I need to start somewhere.
Though I make no promises about being interesting.
Her response came immediately:
Too late. You're already more interesting than most people I'll talk to that night.
See you at the gala, Ji-hoon-ssi. :)
An emoji. From Yoon Sera. To him.
Ji-hoon sat on his bed... this ridiculously expensive bed in this ridiculously expensive room, and laughed quietly.
Three days ago, he'd been Han Joon-woo, dying on a convenience store floor.
Now he was Kang Ji-hoon, potentially preventing a disaster, planting seeds of doubt about his brother's billion-dollar deal, and receiving friendly texts from the woman who was supposed to marry his brother.
The future was changing.
And he was just getting started.