Chapter 12: Muyeol Island
Monday, November 9, 2076.
I was aboard the AV early in the morning.
Naturally, just because it was travel time didn’t mean I could relax. With more responsibilities piling up, the things I had to manage only grew in number.
At least I try to unwind on weekends, but even that’s been difficult lately. Take last Saturday, for instance—I spent the day inspecting and checking in with my secretaries all the way north of Pyongyang. That’s work, isn’t it? I even handled some tasks on the way back.
Thankfully, I managed to take a break yesterday.
I spent time with Min Ji-ah, indulging in her soft skin, which runs in the family. I even made her perform a glans kiss, despite her insistence on considering such acts beneath her dignity.
While she still showed strong resistance to certain acts like oral, she reluctantly complied with the glans kiss. Slowly breaking down those barriers and training her to perform even hand service without hesitation—now, that’s the ultimate goal.
As for Levi, there was disappointing news.
Apparently, indulging in the 3,000x pleasure amplification would fry her brain, even for someone like her. Even the 10x level, if not used for torture, was deemed too dangerous, with the potential to leave her incapacitated.
Min Ji-ah suggested starting at 5x and gradually increasing the intensity. Thanks to Levi’s exceptional mental resilience, she assured me that reaching the 3,000x level was only a matter of time.
"3,000x pleasure is the standard for demons. Sigh."
I didn’t know when that day would come, but the fact that it was possible without causing permanent damage was meaningful. Someday, it’ll happen. For now, I’d have to settle for starting at 5x.
The goal, of course, remained 3,000x.
The funny thing is that, despite suggesting this approach, Min Ji-ah didn’t even bring the 5x drug. What a frustrating woman.
“The Special Act on the Establishment of Permanent Special Prosecutors introduced last week is facing significant resistance,” said Ra Seung-hee.
“Resistance? Hand it over.”
I took the document from her and began reading.
The Special Act on the ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) Establishment of Permanent Special Prosecutors, proposed last week in Incheon’s legislature under my grandfather’s influence, was, even to my legally ignorant eyes, a revolutionary bill.
First, all the elements I wanted were included:
This was the foundation, but even to me, it was rife with problems.
To sum it up: the creation of an institution with absolute judicial authority. And the details? Even worse.
For instance:
Moreover, civilian legal experts would have significant influence over personnel and decision-making within the Special Prosecutor's Office. Lawyers, retired judges, and prosecutors—the so-called legally qualified—could directly participate.
While not just anyone could be appointed, ten civilian legal experts, selected through fair, transparent, and confidential reviews, would be granted roles. These, combined with ten internal judges and five appointees by the Prosecutor-General, would result in civilians holding approximately 40% influence.
If I could pack those civilian slots with my subordinates, I’d essentially control the entire system.
“This bill describes this as ‘civil oversight to check the monopoly of the Special Prosecutor’s Office.’ What nonsense.”
Reading through it, every line made me pause. Masterpiece doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Wow...”
I couldn’t help but marvel.
I expected it to be written in a subtle way, making it hard for the average person to discern the issues. Instead, it was blatantly straightforward. If this hits the internet, chaos is guaranteed.
“If implemented, the Special Prosecutor’s Office would essentially collapse Incheon’s judicial system. Even if the bill passes, it seems unlikely to survive a constitutional review,” Ra Seung-hee added.
“A constitutional challenge, huh?”
No matter how autonomous Incheon is, the Constitution remains the supreme law of South Korea. While autonomy carries significant weight, any appeal to the Constitutional Court would likely render this law unconstitutional.
That said, enforcing such a decision on Incheon’s government would be another matter entirely.
“If citizens widely learn about this bill, there’s a risk of riots. Public interest is already high due to the Na Eun investigation,” she continued.
“Are there negative sentiments about Na Eun?”
“Most view her as a hero, given her exposure of the entertainment industry’s corruption. But there are criticisms of her aggressive methods and the resulting stagnation in the industry.”
“Then cement her status as a hero. She’ll be the first to lead the Special Prosecutor’s Office, which should help. And create incidents—security crises or major corruption scandals—that make people feel the necessity of the Special Prosecutor’s Office. Distract them from the bill itself.”
We’d already been pushing articles through media outlets like Sin Mirae Ilbo. But the bill’s sheer audacity required additional measures.
“This bill signifies the collapse of Incheon’s judiciary. Even with public support, the Prosecution Service, High Court, and Police Agency will fiercely oppose it,” Seung-hee noted.
“And despite our group backing it?”
“Yes. Their authority will be significantly reduced, and even their lives could be at risk. This isn’t something money can fix.”
“Ah.”
She was right. The establishment of the Special Prosecutor’s Office would strip the High Court of its exclusive rights to appoint special prosecutors. Worse, the Office could investigate the Prosecution Service itself.
“That means once the Special Prosecutor’s Office is established and I control it, I’ll effectively become the ruler of Incheon.”
“Ra Seung-hee, demonstrate your competence as Strategy Team Leader. Get this bill passed.”
“...Yes, Master.”
“Prepare ten legal experts under the assumption it will pass. Pull them from the Secretariat.”
“Understood.”
As she gave orders through her phone, the AV’s driver announced our arrival.
Through the window, I saw the enormous artificial island looming over the sea. While technically still my aunt’s property, it was practically mine.
“Damn, it’s huge.”
My aunt called it small, but there was nothing small about it. It was large enough to accommodate an entire administrative district and could easily house a city of 200,000–300,000 people if fully developed.
The source of this c𝓸ntent is frёeweɓηovel.coɱ.
“This place is mostly forest. Barely any buildings except for the coastline villas.”
Clearly, my aunt had used this island as a mere vacation home.
"First order of business: clear the forest."
“Ji-hye, take a good look. This island will host a prison, factories, offices, an airport—you name it. Plan accordingly and coordinate with Soo-ah.”
“Yes, Master.”
I sighed. Managing logistics directly like this was inconvenient. It defeated the purpose of having a Chief Secretary. But this time, I let it slide—it was Soo-ah’s reward assignment.
As I contemplated my inefficiency, my phone rang.
[Go Min-young.]
Ah. I should have called her first.