Mosulpo, Jeju Island
Under a cloudless, brilliant sky, several vehicles drove into the construction site of the space center, kicking up thick clouds of dust as they moved.
When the cars finally stopped, Han Ji-sung stepped out first and opened the rear passenger door of the black Cadillac Escalade.
A moment later, Seok-won extended his leg and emerged with an unhurried motion.
Wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses, he stood still for a moment and took in the surroundings.
Not far away, the deep blue ocean was clearly visible. In the bright sunlight, all kinds of heavy machinery were roaring loudly as they worked non-stop.
Dump trucks lined up to unload mountains of dirt, and bulldozers belched black smoke as they pushed it toward the sea, reclaiming land.
Elsewhere, excavators dug into the ground, while towering cranes stretched their long arms upward to hoist construction materials. The entire vast site moved like a perfectly engineered set of interlocking gears—smooth, precise, and synchronized.
As Seok-won watched the scene, a cool sea breeze swept through, gently ruffling his hair.
Standing beside him were Choi Tae-ho, CEO of Blue Space, and Jung Gyu-chul, president of Bluehole Construction. Jung lifted an arm and pointed toward the shoreline where land reclamation was underway.
"That's where the first launch pad will be built."
Seok-won removed his sunglasses and shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked in that direction. Choi Tae-ho offered him a pair of binoculars he had prepared.
"These will give you a clearer view."
With the binoculars up to his eyes, Seok-won could see the details of the construction site much more clearly.
Choi Tae-ho—formerly with NASA—spoke with heartfelt emotion in his voice as he explained:
"The most important and central facility of any space center is the launch pad. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it the heart of the entire complex."
Seok-won nodded slightly in agreement.
"Without a launch pad to send rockets into space, the whole center would serve no purpose. So you're absolutely right."
"Exactly. The total area of the launch site is seventy-nine thousand three hundred thirty-eight square meters, which comes to roughly twenty-four thousand pyeong. The pad itself will be built with four underground levels and two above ground."
"When you launch a rocket, the backblast is enormous—and if anything goes wrong and the propellant explodes, the damage around it would be massive. I assume the design accounts for those risks thoroughly?"
From the beginning, Choi Tae-ho had sensed that Seok-won possessed an impressive depth of knowledge about space development. With a look of genuine approval, he answered:
"Of course. Even in the unfortunate event that a rocket explodes on the launch pad, we've ensured a wide safety perimeter to minimize any damage. And beneath the pad, at a depth of seventeen meters, we've installed a horizontal flame trench so that exhaust flames and toxic substances cannot leak out and contaminate the surrounding land or ocean."
"Well done. If contamination occurs, it's the local residents who would suffer the most. Even if it costs more, make sure every safety measure is installed properly."
Since this meant higher construction expenses, some might have tried to cut corners—but seeing that Seok-won insisted on thorough preparation, Choi Tae-ho replied with a smile:
"Understood."
Before regression, the Naro Space Center in Goheung had been built by carving out the midsection of Mount Machi, which rose 390 meters above sea level. That created many difficulties.
The surrounding mountains—except to the south—did help reduce damage if a rocket exploded.
However, the terrain severely limited the launch pad's size, and the backblast generated during liftoff made it difficult to construct a flame trench capable of venting steam and exhaust without issues.
It would've been easier to vent directly toward the sea, but that would have spilled contaminants into the water and damaged the nearby fishing grounds—completely unacceptable.
Eventually, after much deliberation, engineers settled on designing the flame trench not as a straight horizontal channel but as a gentle U-shaped structure.
But unlike Naro, where everything was constrained, here we're building the launch pad on a vast stretch of reclaimed land facing the open ocean. We don't have to deal with any of those limitations.
Naturally, building a space center on land much larger than Naro's—and even carrying out massive land reclamation—meant the cost would be several times higher.
But because Seok-won had the financial strength to absorb those immense expenses, Choi Tae-ho and the rest of Blue Space's engineers faced no restrictions. They were free to include any facility or equipment they deemed necessary and turn their technical imagination into reality.
Perhaps because of that freedom, the engineers didn't need to be pushed—many volunteered for overtime and night shifts, throwing themselves passionately into their work.
Choi Tae-ho was no exception. Even on the morning he was scheduled to accompany Seok-won for the site inspection, he had already held an early meeting with the engineering team before coming out.
"Everything inside the space center requires advanced technology, but the launch pad in particular demands extremely high-level expertise and know-how. Didn't you say earlier that construction might be delayed because of that?"
At Seok-won's question, CEO Choi Tae-ho answered with a smile.
"That's right. Korea has no prior experience in this field, and given the sensitivity of space technology, we expected Russia would refuse to cooperate, which would slow progress dramatically."
"So how did you get around that?"
Choi's smile grew even wider.
"We solved the problem by recruiting a large number of engineers and researchers from Russian space companies—especially from Khrunichev."
"Oh? I see."
"We've been bringing in top-tier talent consistently. At this point, we have more than four hundred Russian staff members working at Blue Space."
"Four hundred? Really?"
Seok-won asked again, looking slightly surprised.
"As you know, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia's situation deteriorated badly. In recent years, they even declared a moratorium. Because of that economic instability—along with concerns for their families' futures—many skilled specialists accepted our offers and came to Korea."
Understanding the situation, Seok-won nodded.
"For Russia it's unfortunate, but for us, being able to acquire technology and experience that money alone normally can't buy… it's a favorable situation."
"Exactly. Honestly, it's strange that the Russian government isn't trying to stop this massive outflow of talent. They're just watching it happen."
Hearing Choi's offhand remark, Seok-won thought of Yuri Mikhailov, the man who had recently been sworn in as President of the Russian Federation.
Looks like he's doing a fine job earning the money he's been paid.
Well, he had to deliver at least that much to make the investment worthwhile.
"And among the tens of millions of pages of documents you brought from Russia along with the Proton rocket itself, a significant portion contained design blueprints and materials related to space center construction. Those were extremely helpful as well."
Puffing out his chest proudly, CEO Choi Tae-ho continued:
"Using those Russian technical documents and the engineers we recruited, our top Korean engineers worked together day and night for the past year. Thanks to that, we were able to fully complete the detailed designs for the Mosulpo Space Center, including the launch pad."
After hearing the explanation, Seok-won nodded.
"That couldn't have been easy. Everyone must have worked really hard."
"It was a grueling process—overnight shifts and weekend overtime became routine. But the pride and sense of mission in building Korea's first space center with our own hands kept everyone going. Even after finishing the work, the team felt incredibly accomplished."
Watching Choi Tae-ho's shining eyes, Seok-won had a fleeting thought:
Maybe there really is nothing engineers can't do—as long as you pay them well and grind them hard enough.
Brrr.
"Mr. Choi? Why are you suddenly shivering?"
"I-I suddenly felt a chill…"
"Oh dear. It must be the sea breeze. It's strong out here."
"But it's summer…"
"That's what happens when you're glued to your desk all day. You should get out of the office and exercise sometimes."
President Jung Gyu-chul of Bluehole Construction said worriedly as he looked at Choi.
Glancing at the two of them, Seok-won shifted the conversation smoothly.
"Speaking of which—how's Hyunwoo Construction holding up? No issues on the project?"
Jung understood what he meant immediately.
"You mean because of the massive net loss?"
"Yes."
Recently, the main creditor bank—Korea Exchange Bank—conducted an audit with an accounting firm and announced that Hyunwoo Construction had posted a net loss of 2.9 trillion won in the previous year, putting it into complete capital impairment.
Compared to their earlier disclosure at the start of the year—which claimed a loss of only 120.8 billion won—the loss had ballooned to twenty-four times that figure.
"Mosulpo Space Center's entire construction has been contracted to Hyunwoo Construction. I'm worried this situation might cause delays."
With concern written all over his face, CEO Choi Tae-ho spoke anxiously.
President Jung Gyu-chul answered as if to reassure him.
"We're staying in constant contact with Hyunwoo Construction and keeping a close eye on the situation. Fortunately, there haven't been any issues so far."
"That's good to hear. From Hyunwoo Construction's perspective, this is a huge project. And since we're paying the construction costs in cash every quarter, they'll do anything they can to make sure work at Mosulpo continues without interruption."
"But if their cash flow freezes and they go bankrupt, the site would have to shut down, wouldn't it?"
Choi's voice tightened as he revealed his worry.
"The government and the creditor banks are actively considering converting Hyunwoo Construction's debt into equity. If that happens, I don't think it'll reach the point of bankruptcy."
Hearing Jung's explanation, Seok-won nodded.
"I think so too. Hansae and Daegwang Group collapsed, and the phrase 'too big to fail' doesn't mean much anymore. Still, if the number one construction firm in Korea goes under, the shock would be huge. The government will try to keep them alive if at all possible."
"If the debt-to-equity swap goes through, the creditors will become the largest shareholders. The owner family would completely lose control over the company that was the foundation of their entire group."
"That's how it would go."
The fallout from the succession battle had already driven Chairman Jung Yong-gil and his brothers to split off, each taking a major affiliate with them. If Hyunwoo Construction were to fall into the hands of the creditor banks on top of that, the number-one conglomerate in Korea would have no choice but to shrink dramatically.
And Seok-won, who remembered all too well how Hyunwoo Group later collapsed under the shock of the inter-Korean business scandal, couldn't help but feel a bitter twist inside.
"If the worst happens and construction grinds to a halt, then I'll personally acquire Hyunwoo Construction and make sure nothing interferes with the space center. So don't worry about it."
Knowing just how deep Seok-won's pockets ran, CEO Choi Tae-ho finally let out a relieved breath.
After that, Seok-won rode with them across the sprawling construction site, examining each area closely. As he looked around, he pictured in his mind what the completed Mosulpo Space Center would look like a few years from now.
He imagined Korea's first fully developed space rocket roaring off the launch pad, flames pouring beneath it as it surged upward, pierced the atmosphere, and rose into the darkness of space. The image alone made his chest tighten with anticipation.
Meanwhile, a massive storm cloud was sweeping in from the east—a force dark enough to plunge the world's stock markets into chaos and outright panic.