Spec +24
At the lounge bar on the 32nd floor of a hotel in the heart of the city, three men and women sat in a private room overlooking the glittering night skyline.
There was Yoon Taejin, the Executive Director of Finance, the woman who held Hanseo Defense’s money supply in the palm of her hand and shook it whenever she pleased.
And with her were the heads of the guided weapons division, Park Jeonggil, and the firepower systems division, Oh Taekhune.
By then, Hanseo Defense had already split in two.
On one side stood the engineering faction led by Chairman Cho Seunghyun, a man who had started his career as an engineer himself.
On the other stood the finance faction centered on Yoon, backed by domestic private equity capital and moving to manufacture the “numbers” those investors demanded.
Until recently, the guided weapons division and the firepower systems division had belonged to the engineering faction.
But now that private equity funds had been concentrated behind Yoon’s camp, and the voting rights secured with that money propped her up, both divisions had chosen to stay at her side.
“...Well, one way or another, they’ll have to cut some flesh off the ground weapons side. But doesn’t that excuse feel a lot thinner now?”
Oh Taekhune swirled his whiskey and spoke first.
“A 4.5-second loading cycle... Honestly, I didn’t expect much, but still. Our next self-propelled howitzer’s loading system is already getting strangled by shell jams, and honestly, whatever the restructuring says, I’d like to apply that technology on our side too.”
“You too? We’re thinking the same thing. I’ve been eyeing that servo motor control tech.”
Park Jeonggil cut in.
“The missile fin actuation unit’s precision isn’t holding up, defect rates are climbing, and that ground systems guy’s way of dealing with backlash looked pretty good to me. I think it would work for us too.”
The two executives’ interests were converging into one.
On a single mid-level manager under Chief Executive Choi’s supervision—the key man who was practically grabbing the ground equipment division by the collar and dragging the whole thing back to life.
“That guy’s name was... Baek Geunwoo?”
“Baek Gunwoo.”
“Ah, Baek Gunwoo. Either way, the man’s the real deal. He could open up the blocked blood vessels in our project. I’m thinking about requesting manpower support, but I wonder if Chief Executive Choi will give him up.”
“If you were him, would you hand him over? No way. You’ve got to keep someone like that in your hand if you want any leverage at all.”
“Tsk... isn’t there any way around this?”
Then Yoon, who had been listening quietly, let out a small laugh and said, “You don’t need to worry about Chief Executive Choi’s mood.”
“Hm?”
“After all, he’s an engineer by background. He’s never been very sharp with the numbers. What moves the board isn’t technology; it’s people. And what moves people is numbers.”
She took a sip of the wine in her glass before continuing.
“There’s no need to rush. He’s coming to our side eventually anyway.”
“You really think so?”
“If he doesn’t, then we’ll make sure he does. That’s why I’m sitting in this chair, isn’t it?”
Yoon smiled sweetly.
Oh Taekhune nodded with a pleased expression.
“I’m counting on you. I trust only you, Executive Director Yoon.”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
At the same time, in the powertrain development lab.
Silence so deep you couldn’t even hear breathing.
Only the soft whir of the computer tower’s cooling fan drifted through the room and brushed my ears.
Needle-sharp gazes were stabbing into my back.
Chief Researcher Jo Seokhun, Department Head Maeng Giyong, and dozens of researchers.
Every one of them was surely darting his eyes between my back and the monitor, their faces taut with tension.
Once I hit Enter, the computer would run the simulation based on the data and algorithms we’d modified so far.
And depending on that result, the success or failure of everything we’d done up to now would be decided.
I stared at the data on the screen.
[TCU Logic Ver 7.4 - Finalizing...]
The final revision of the shift shock mitigation algorithm and the hydraulic control duty values.
The long, grueling work of shaving down the rough edges of the hardware and filling the gaps with software had finally reached its end.
Watching it all, I remembered.
Only hours ago, the screen had been overflowing with veins of red.
The grinding howl of gears that refused to mesh, the red haze of hydraulic pressure with nowhere to go.
All of it had now vanished cleanly.
In its place were transparent blue lines.
Smooth as a still river, they represented an unbroken flow of energy.
Perfect.
If what I saw was right—if my ability wasn’t some kind of fake—then there was nothing more to think about.
This was the answer.
Without hesitation, I tightened the finger resting on the keyboard.
Tap—
The last press of the Enter key rang out unnaturally loud.
Ding—
A bright notification sound.
At the same time, the loading bar filled to the end, and vivid green letters appeared across the screen.
“Hah...”
A breathy sound slipped from Jo Seokhun’s mouth.
He pushed his glasses up with trembling fingers, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and moved closer to the monitor.
“Shift shock zero. Hydraulic temperature... dead center in the normal range. The slip phenomenon is gone.”
Jo slowly turned his head and looked at me.
His eyes held pure amazement, and something deeper than that—wonder.
The others who had been watching me from beside him were no different.
Just as I was giving them an awkward smile, Jo’s voice rang out again.
“It worked... it worked!!”
As if that were the starting gun, the room exploded.
“Aaaaaaaah!”
The researchers, exhaling the breath they’d been holding in, shouted like maniacs.
Just like they had when the hardware modifications were completed, they were yelling, hugging one another, and celebrating.
I went to a corner, leaned against the wall, and watched them.
I felt happy, sure, but more than that, I was stunned.
Not long ago, I had been nothing more than an ordinary engineer with a lot of experience.
There had been times when I worried that I’d wake up and find the ability gone, or that at any moment I might start seeing some absurdly different thing instead.
But at the very least, I didn’t seem to need to worry about that yet.
What I saw was still there, and what it showed me was still accurate.
While I was thinking that to myself, someone came running up and slapped me on the shoulder.
It was Department Head Maeng Giyong.
“Everyone’s going wild with joy, so why’re you standing off here looking like the funeral’s yours?”
“I am enjoying myself.”
“Oh, is that your setting? So you’re an uppercase I on the MBTI?”
At Maeng’s words, I let out a snort of laughter.
Maeng chuckled too, then leaned against the wall beside me and went on.
“You worked hard. You saved us. Me too, and my guys too.”
“Still, isn’t it too soon to relax? The Germans are flying in. We’ve really not got much time left.”
“Well, technically, we still don’t know yet. The validation review still has to conclude that our technology is superior. But we’ve got plenty of time to prepare. Those German guys got delayed by Finance.”
“...Excuse me?”
Delayed?
The Germans?
Everyone had been killing themselves because they thought they were arriving tomorrow.
As I stared at him in confusion, Maeng grinned to himself, nudged my side with his elbow, then shouted toward the others.
“Everybody, listen up for a second!”
At his shout, the researchers who’d been laughing and chatting in a frenzy turned their attention to him.
Maeng looked around for a moment and then said, “You all worked hard. You probably thought the Germans were arriving tomorrow and were wondering when you’d have to go back to work, but at least for today, you can all get some real rest.”
“...Rest? Where would we even find time for that?” Jo Seokhun asked, looking baffled.
The corner of Maeng’s mouth curled upward in a vicious grin.
“The Germans. Their entry into the country’s been pushed back a week because of Finance.”
“...What?”
“What do you mean, pushed back? Since when?”
Someone else asked after Jo.
“I was told by the division head the day before yesterday. Finance threw a wrench in the works and delayed the schedule.”
“Then why are you only telling us now!” Jo shouted, sounding deeply wronged.
The other researchers around him were much the same, even if they hadn’t said it outright.
They all had those hollow eyes that come from too many nights of sleepless work.
Maeng paid them no mind and draped an arm shamelessly over my shoulder.
“You idiots. If I’d told you yesterday, would you have bullied Baek and stayed up all night finishing this thing today? You’d have just slacked off thinking, ‘Oh, we’ve got a week left.’”
“Ugh, seriously, sir!”
“Wow, our boss is vicious.”
Voices of complaint rose from here and there, but relief was mixed into every one of them.
“Feel wronged? If you’re wronged, go get it out of your system! Forget all about work for tonight. It’s company dinner time!”
Maeng winked at me.
“Tonight’s hero, Manager Baek Gunwoo, gets to choose the menu. What do you want?”
Expectant eyes from everyone turned to my lips.
I smirked and answered, “Hmm... beef? Korean beef, if possible?”
“Woooooo! Beef!”
“Let’s go, beef!”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
At a large barbecue restaurant near the company.
Thick smoke, the smell of sizzling beef, and boisterous noise filled the entire space.
“Gunwoo! No, Manager Baek! I really respect you! Let me pour you a drink!”
“Ah, yes. Chief Researcher. Calm down and...”
Jo Seokhun had already tied his necktie around his head.
He was pressed right up against my side, endlessly pouring drinks.
“To be hiiiiiinest... I looost faith in you, Manager! I was a complet’ idiot! What’s the use of a KAIST PhD anyway? Huh? I reaaally... will serve you as my broooother!”
“What do you mean, brother...”
“Drink! Tonight, Gunwoo is king!”
Maeng, too, was red-faced from alcohol and piling beef high onto my plate.
They were all people who had been steeped in crushing defeat.
Now they were laughing again, talking again, and talking about hope again.
Just watching that made for a pretty decent side dish.
That was when—
Rattle—
The restaurant’s sliding door opened.
Employees who had lazily turned toward the newcomer froze as if someone had pressed pause.
“......”
Silence fell, as if cold water had been dumped over the noisy restaurant.
The arrival of a presence that had nothing to do with this place, where charcoal smoke and the smell of soju hung thick in the air.
A luxury suit cut to perfection.
An imperious expression.
Executive Director Yoon Taejin.
“...Executive Director Yoon?”
Maeng’s voice dropped flat.
As if the alcohol had instantly burned off, his face went cold in an instant.
Yoon, meanwhile, lifted a hand as if to brush the whole situation aside.
“Sit. I didn’t come here to ruin a good mood.”
She strode to the counter, pulled a black card from her wallet, and held it out.
“Put all of this on my tab. And keep the meat coming.”
The owner took the card and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Yoon didn’t even look back as she walked toward me.
The employees’ eyes flicked nervously back and forth between me and her.
“Manager Baek.”
“Yes.”
“Shall we step outside for a moment? Maybe let the food settle.”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
On the bench in front of the restaurant.
The night air was cold, but because I’d had alcohol, it didn’t feel especially chilly.
Yoon stood in front of the bench and looked at me.
“The German team’s schedule delay was my gift.”
“I see.”
“Thanks to that, your preparations must be complete.”
“That’s how it’ll turn out.”
This woman was the one who had raised the knife of restructuring against the ground equipment division—and against me personally.
There was no chance my tone toward her would be pleasant.
But Yoon seemed not to care in the slightest, and with a strange smile on her face, she said, “Manager Baek. Come over to our finance headquarters.”
“...Excuse me?”
“I’m thinking of creating a new team called the Technical Audit Team. If you come, you’ll be promoted to a position worthy of Manager Baek.”
I hadn’t expected to hear that.
I stared at Yoon, dumbfounded.
She was still smiling.
“You’re probably thinking this: I don’t know anything about numbers. I’m an engineer.”
“...Something like that. And there’s another thought in there too, one I don’t think you’ve noticed.”
“I do like how confident you are, Manager Baek. Well, I suppose that’s part of why a position like this was created.”
Yoon took a cigarette from her handbag and put it to her lips.
Then she lit it and exhaled the smoke.
As I frowned and stepped back a little, her voice went on.
“You don’t need to be able to read numbers. All I need is for you to make technical judgments—tell me where the money is leaking, and what can be cut without stopping the machine. How long are you planning to stare at ground equipment?”
“So you’re trying to show me something else?”
“Why not? Missiles, artillery, radar, high-performance explosives. You could get involved in the production process of every product our company makes. If you’d only make up your mind.”
Objectively, it was a sweet offer.
From being a target for voluntary retirement to becoming a core figure in the group.
More than that, I’d be moving into a position with the power to oversee and control every division.
But the crease between my brows only deepened.
Hanseo Defense’s technology was connected.
From materials to suspension systems, from drive trains to whole platforms.
Guided weapons and firepower systems were simply continuations of that chain.
If I went over there and solved those problems?
I might really become a super-specialist—a man everyone else had to defer to.
With my ability, I could probably solve all sorts of problems.
But.
If I went there, I’d only become Finance’s knife man.
The moment I left the ground equipment division, I’d lose the sturdy shield that was Chief Executive Choi.
This had to be my base camp.
Exposing myself to a variety of technologies, solving a variety of problems?
That would be no bad thing for me, either.
Being able to tear apart all kinds of machines freely, regardless of the outcomes, was thrilling enough on its own.
But I didn’t want to do that work for Yoon Taejin, or for Finance.
I lifted my head and looked her straight in the eye.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to refuse. I do my best where I am.”
“...You plan to spend your whole life eating grease and machine oil?”
“Not exactly. But I have no intention of taking that road through Finance.”
“Wouldn’t it be a shame to throw away such a good opportunity for emotional reasons?”
“Whether this is a good opportunity for me or not is for me to decide. Not you, Executive Director Yoon.”
Yoon’s eyes narrowed as she looked at me through her cigarette smoke.
“Fine. It’s no big deal if you don’t take it right now. If you change your mind, call me anytime.”
“I don’t think that’ll happen.”
“We’ll see once time passes.”
Yoon turned on her heel without any lingering hesitation.
Watching her leave as if to say I’d have no choice but to accept her offer eventually, I couldn’t help but snort.
“That’s not going to happen.”
In my head, which had only been thinking about getting revenge on the Finance line, a single short-term goal was starting to take shape.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
A few days later, in the large conference room.
The air was as heavy as lead, and taut tension was tightening around everyone’s throats.
At last, they had arrived.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Schmidt, chief engineer of Kank.”
An elderly gentleman with white hair.
As he sat down, Dr. Schmidt flung a thin technical proposal onto the table with a haughty air.
He looked exactly like someone who had come to bestow charity upon a backward company with inferior technology.
“A revised Korean power pack design? I’ll review it, certainly, but... well. I do wonder whether it can keep up with Kank’s next-generation design.”
At Schmidt’s gesture, a large graph appeared on the screen.
The moment I saw it, Maeng’s pupils trembled as if an earthquake had struck them.
“...Insane.”
“Power transmission efficiency, 97.8 percent. Lock-up clutch slip rate, under 0.05 percent. And shift response time, 0.15 seconds.”
Schmidt recited the numbers in a dry voice.
“This is the specification of the new V-Power P300 we are proposing.”
“......”
Silence settled over the conference room.
Chief Executive Choi’s face had gone rigid.
The figure we had scraped together through sleepless nights and blood-and-sweat revisions stood at 95 percent efficiency and a 0.2-second response time.
Even that had felt like a miracle.
And now they were claiming 97.8 percent?
To a layman, it might sound like a trivial 2.8 percent gap.
But any engineer knew better.
Once you crossed the cursed 95 percent mark, each additional 0.1 percent demanded astronomical cost and the very pinnacle of materials engineering.
If that spec was real, they were a generation ahead—no, maybe two.
If that spec was real.
In the defense industry, people often played games with specifications.
Maximum values pulled under very specific conditions were packaged as though they represented ordinary performance.
When performance looked too overwhelmingly good, that was exactly the sort of thing you had to suspect.
“Why insist on local development and put yourselves through all that trouble, when an already completed solution is sitting right here?”
“No, those numbers... are you saying this is data from a mass-production model? Isn’t it optimized lab data?”
“You’re doubting Kank? Department Head, this is a difference in materials engineering level. That 95 percent you people scraped and polished yourselves to reach? For us, that’s the floor.”
I ignored the conversation between Maeng and Chief Executive Choi and Schmidt’s side chatter, and stared at the proposal with total focus.
An exhibition of numbers that seemed perfect.
But there couldn’t be no flaw.
As I focused harder and harder, scanning the proposal like a madman, one tiny number in the corner caught my eye.
[Input shaft torsional stiffness: 18.5 MNm/rad]
...Wait. What’s this?
A strange sense of wrongness brushed past me.
The number was too high.
A high stiffness meant it was strong.
In general, that was a good thing.
But did the transmission input shaft really need to be this rigid...?