Are You Baek Gunwoo Too? +13
A moment later, Manager Kim came running in a panic and spread an A3-sized hydraulic circuit diagram across the table.
The tips of his fingers were trembling ever so slightly.
“I-I brought it.”
I pulled out a red felt-tip pen.
The maze of tangled hydraulic lines lay before me, and I could see the traces of all the ugly revisions that had been layered on when the original German drawing was localized.
Without hesitation, I drew a bold line straight through the middle of the schematic.
Screech—!
“Here. The return line. Cut this section out.”
“Huh?”
“And put a counterbalance valve here. Set the pressure to around 30 bar.”
At my instruction, Manager Kim’s eyes went wide.
“30 bar? If we put that much back pressure on the return line, the oil temperature will hit 80 degrees in less than ten minutes! It’ll exceed the cooler’s capacity!”
“Exactly. So we’ll finish it within ten minutes.”
I tapped the diagram against Manager Kim’s chest and handed it over.
“The test only needs to run for five minutes at most. Let’s get it done in that time. We don’t need to show off the whole thing anyway. We’re just proving the possibility this time.”
“No, but even so…”
Unable to accept it, Manager Kim stared at me with a complicated expression as Kang Chulmin walked over.
Then he gave Manager Kim’s shoulder a few firm pats.
“Let’s just try it first. We were never getting anywhere by ourselves anyway, and now that Baek Manager has shown up, we’ve at least got a lead, right?”
“...Well, that’s true, but.”
“We’ll see for ourselves. What’s there to lose if it doesn’t work? We were going to have to take the voluntary retirement package and leave anyway.”
Kang Chulmin patted Manager Kim’s shoulder again.
Manager Kim let out a long sigh.
*
In the end, the Automatic Loader TF’s laboratory turned into what was essentially a construction site.
Equipment that you’d normally only see in a production team making prototypes started getting hauled in.
“Bring the grinder over here! Cut the piping!”
“Welder! Open the argon gas!”
As the researchers busied themselves, I took off my jacket, tossed it over a chair, and rolled up my shirt sleeves.
I was the one who’d caused this mess, so there was no way I could just sit back and watch.
Whirrrr—
Crack!
Sparks flew, and the smell of oil filled the air.
Spanner in hand, I crawled right into the hydraulic unit.
It was the work of tearing out the existing piping and building a bypass line for the new valve.
It had been about five years since I’d done this kind of thing.
The thought had crossed my mind when I first lay down beside the machine: Could I even do this anymore?
But once I actually started, my body moved as naturally as if it had never stopped.
It was remembering the days when I’d worked with a spanner in my own hands.
“Hand me an adjustable wrench.”
“Ah, yes! Here you go.”
Manager Kim, completely caught up in the moment, found himself playing assistant and passed me the tool.
With practiced hands, I tightened the union nut on the piping.
Crick, crick. Tight.
A connection made without hesitation.
A perfect seal, with no leaks.
Good. Cleanly done.
As I checked it and smiled to myself in satisfaction, Manager Kim’s curious voice came from beside me.
“Baek Manager. May I ask you one thing?”
“Yes?”
“How can you do all this?”
“...How can I do what?”
“You’re in the design team, aren’t you? Usually designers can only draw the blueprints. Half the time, they don’t even know what wrench size to use on site…”
I dragged the worktable I’d been lying on out from under the machine and crawled free.
In Manager Kim’s eyes, there was pure curiosity mixed with surprise and admiration.
RoetenMetal, the German defense company with a global reputation.
For someone like him, who worked in a highly specialized system built on rigid division of labor, it must have been hard to understand a designer crawling around like a plumber.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with an oil-stained glove and gave a dry chuckle.
“I spent fifteen years in Hanseo Defense’s Land Systems Division.”
“...Excuse me?”
“I was a design drudge. Getting sent everywhere, doing whatever I was told. We’re in the Land Systems Division, after all.”
“...Ah?”
Manager Kim looked as though he half understood, but not quite.
I shrugged and went on calmly.
“In the development stage, everyone likes to act polished and talk about R&D and all that. The roles are neat and tidy, too. But once production starts, the design side turns into a mud pit.”
As I spoke, the last fifteen years flashed through my mind.
I’d endured every kind of hardship imaginable, clawing my way through fifteen years to get here.
And now it felt like all that suffering had come back as the foundation of who I was today.
With a light smile, I said, “Military requirements change every day, parts get rejected on the shop floor because they won’t assemble properly, good components get discontinued out of nowhere, partner companies go bankrupt and vanish…”
“...”
“Those are probably things you don’t see often in Germany, but in Korea, they happen all the time. And who do you think ends up cleaning it all up? The design team patches it and handles the fallout. While getting cursed at on site.”
I tapped the machine lightly with my hand.
“The conclusion is that you end up becoming a jack-of-all-trades. Not a master of everything, maybe, but you learn how to put out whatever fire lands in front of you.”
“...I see.”
Manager Kim nodded.
His expression had changed.
It was as if he were looking at some unfamiliar veteran, someone from a completely different world, with a mixture of interest and respect.
He was from RoetenMetal, and while he might not have been able to adapt to Korea’s drudge-like system, by any fair measure he was still an elite engineer.
If someone like that looked at me with goodwill, that could only be a good thing.
“Shall we tighten things up again? We’re short on time.”
“Ah, yes. Understood.”
Manager Kim moved again without another word.
His movements were much quicker than before.
*
“Work complete! Hydraulic line connection finished!”
Thirty minutes later.
What had once been a sleek prototype loader now had a rough cluster of valves grafted onto its side like a scar.
A ragged, patched-up mess.
But that hideous valve assembly was the very thing that would choke the machine’s breathing and produce the result we wanted.
“Baek Manager, shall we run it now?” Kang Chulmin asked, his voice tense.
I nodded.
“Yes. Turn it on.”
Kang Chulmin flipped the switch with trembling fingers.
Kuuuuuuung—!!
“...W-what?!”
Kang Chulmin’s startled voice burst out.
The sound coming from the machine was completely different from before.
The lively motor noise was gone.
Like an ox dragging an impossible load, the motor growled low and rough.
Watching it, I narrowed my eyes.
I could see it.
The machine’s pain, its load, was blooming in color.
The servo motor at the heart of the machine.
Just moments ago it had been a tranquil blue, but now it was screaming.
Overload.
The entire body of the motor was flashing with harsh yellow warning lights.
“Currents spiking! It’s already at 90% of rated load! This is dangerous!” Jo Assistant Manager screamed at the monitor.
But I said firmly, “Ignore it.”
“What? But if we keep going like this…”
“Burning out one motor is cheaper than blowing up the whole team. Just run it.”
At my snap, Jo Assistant Manager shut his mouth.
I ignored the motors glowing yellow with strain and fixed my gaze only on the end of the robotic arm.
“Move to the virtual chamber coordinate.”
Clack.
Grrrrr.
The robotic arm began to move.
It was slower than before.
That was only natural with the hydraulic pressure clamping down from behind.
But the density of the motion had changed.
The lightness that had once characterized the machine was gone, replaced now by a heavy, pressurized stillness.
And then, at last—
When the lump of steel sliced through the air and reached the virtual chamber coordinate—
Click.
“...!”
The vibration vanished.
Not even 0.1 millimeters of stray movement. Not a single rattling sound.
It was so quiet that, if you closed your eyes, you wouldn’t even know the machine was moving.
At the same time, I could see it.
The red haze that had been dancing a moment ago had disappeared without a trace.
In its place was only a stable flow, traced in an unbroken blue line.
The gears that had been thrashing from play were now clamped tight by the hydraulic pressure, falling into a silence as if they were one single body.
The motor was screaming in yellow, yet the machine’s end point had become eerily still.
It was an abnormal success.
“De-deviation…”
Manager Kim read the monitor in a trembling voice.
“Position deviation... 0.00 mm. Repeatability... less than 0.01 mm...”
Manager Kim lifted his head, dazed.
“It’s the same as RoetenMetal’s precision-grade specs...”
The instant those words fell—
“W-whoa...”
Cutting through the silence, a breathless sound escaped Kang Chulmin.
He looked from Manager Kim to the machine and then to me again.
How long had it been like that?
“WOOOOAAAHHH!!!”
With a wild shout, Kang Chulmin charged at me.
“It worked! It’s locked in! Baek Manager, you got it! Hahaha! Hahaha!”
He grabbed my hand like a madman and shook it up and down. His eyes were already glistening with tears.
“Thank you! Thank you, Baek Manager! Thank you so much!”
“B-Branch Head. My arm’s going to come off.”
“No way! This is really...! From today on, I’m officially on Baek Manager’s side! Tell Song Deputy Head to take number two! I’m number one! Got it? Hahaha!”
Throwing dignity to the wind, Kang Chulmin jumped around like a child.
It was pure joy, the kind you see in someone who has been hauled back from the grave.
Behind him—
“Ha, haha...”
Manager Kim’s legs had gone weak.
He gave a powerless laugh and sank straight to the floor.
“Ha... so I don’t... have to take voluntary retirement after all...”
“Manager Kim... hhh...”
Jo Assistant Manager, standing nearby, was openly bawling his eyes out.
“We’re alive... we’re really alive...”
The people who had been laughing and chattering only moments before now fell quiet.
Kang Chulmin was trying, with mixed and complicated expressions, to comfort Manager Kim and Jo Assistant Manager.
The two of them were each relieving their emotions in their own way.
And I... watching all of that, went over to a chair nearby and sat down.
The pressure of the voluntary retirement package.
It was called voluntary retirement, but in truth it was little more than the company handing you a sum of money and sending you out the door.
It was practically impossible to build a lifelong livelihood on that money.
So whether you could leave this company and get hired elsewhere was almost beside the point.
The moment you became a voluntary retirement candidate, you were forced to feel extreme stress, as though your heart had simply dropped out from under you.
How great must the relief be when you escape that situation?
I had been in the same position as them only a few days ago, so I could sympathize at least somewhat, if not entirely.
But still.
That didn’t mean I could just stand around waiting forever.
I quietly turned my head and checked the temperature gauge on the hydraulic unit.
The needle was climbing at a frightening speed.
55 degrees, 58, 60...
The massive heat generated by the back pressure was boiling the oil.
The instant that needle crossed 80 degrees, the system would overheat and shut down.
“Branch Head. Save the emotion for later and let’s turn off the machine first.”
I spoke coldly.
“The oil’s cooking.”
“Huh? Ah, right! Off! Turn it off, quick!”
Kang Chulmin jumped and slapped down the main switch.
Kuuung...
The harshly roaring motor died down, and silence returned to the lab.
Then Manager Kim wiped sweat from his forehead and opened his mouth.
“...This is basically on a timer, isn’t it?”
“On a timer?”
“Right now it can hold for about ten minutes, but if we run it in front of the executives and it crosses five minutes and shuts down by mistake... then we’re really finished. And if we keep forcing it to run like this, we can’t guarantee the motor’s lifespan either.”
Manager Kim was right.
As an engineer, there was no way I could present this as a finished product.
But I shook my head.
“That’s why we’re only selling possibility.”
“Possibility?”
“What we’re showing them isn’t the final product. It’s proof that we found a solution.”
I walked over to the whiteboard and picked up a marker.
“The logic is simple. First, the reason we couldn’t control the vibration until now was because of the play. That’s a fact, right?”
“Right.”
“Second, once we applied back pressure and forcibly eliminated the play, the vibration was controlled. We just saw that with our own eyes.”
I drew a big circle on the board.
“So what’s the conclusion?”
“...We need to replace the motor?”
“Bingo.”
I smiled and continued, “To apply this method to mass production, we’ll need a high-performance motor that can handle the back pressure, plus a large-capacity cooler to handle the heat. So now they need to give us a bigger budget.”
“Exactly, exactly.”
“With that logic, the finance team won’t have a leg to stand on. We’re not whining that something can’t be done. We’re changing the game into: we found a way to make it work, but we don’t have enough money.”
“Man, our Baek Manager really knows how to wrap things up. You fixed it, sure, but now you’ve even given us a reason to squeeze money out of them? At this point, how could I not get on Baek Manager’s side? Hahaha!”
Kang Chulmin burst out laughing heartily.
Only then did color return to Manager Kim and Jo Assistant Manager’s faces.
“We don’t even need a long demonstration. Let’s run it back and forth three times, then shut it down. And then ask for the budget with your chin up.”
“Got it. I’ll make those finance bastards bow their heads.”
Kang Chulmin said it with a clenched fist.
Confidence had returned to his face.
*
4:00 p.m. Division Headquarters Office.
This was the command center overseeing the entire ground weapons systems business.
At the same time, for department heads without results, it was a guillotine that could fall at any moment.
“...”
Director Choi was staring hard at the approval documents, his brow deeply furrowed.
The budget plan had been shredded by a red pen.
It was a cost-cutting recommendation from the finance team.
“Kang Chulmin.”
Only after a long silence did Director Choi close the file and speak.
Fatigue was thick in his voice.
“Those finance bastards are at it again. They sent another official notice saying your team has to be wrapped up by this quarter.”
“...”
“I tried to hold them off somehow, but now I’ve run out of cards too. Four years and seven months... to be honest, I’ve done more than enough, haven’t I?”
Director Choi took off his glasses and set them down on the desk as if dropping them.
He was an engineer to the bone.
He despised the finance team, who sat at their desks playing with numbers, and he had always tried to protect the field engineers in whatever way he could.
But if there were no results, then there was no justification.
His face was full of the bitterness of a leader who had to cut down his own people with his own hands.
“I’m sorry. Just until the demonstration tomorrow... get ready for the worst.”
It was, in effect, a death sentence.
But—
“I don’t think I need to prepare for that, Director.”
Kang Chulmin’s voice was unexpectedly firm.
Director Choi looked up, puzzled.
“What?”
“We found the solution.”
“...The solution?”
“Yes. We’ve got the play issue nailed down for sure. Please go ahead with tomorrow’s demonstration as planned.”
Director Choi let out a dry laugh.
“Hey, Kang Chulmin. Are you trying to comfort me? You already feel bad enough about sending us off, and now you’re going to lie to me and give me false hope?”
“I’m not lying.”
Kang Chulmin took a step forward.
His eyes burned.
“I know you’ve been fighting for us every time those finance bastards ran their mouths about budget cuts without knowing the first thing about technology. I came to repay that debt.”
“And how exactly are you going to repay it, you idiot? You’d better spend the time trying to save yourself instead.”
“Please come see for yourself tomorrow. And if you still aren’t satisfied after seeing it with your own eyes...”
Kang Chulmin swallowed hard and went on.
“Then I’ll quit before anyone else. On my own.”
Director Choi leaned back deeply in his chair.
The guy who had been walking around looking half-dead had suddenly grown teeth.
As if he’d gotten his hands on some very definite weapon.
Where have I seen that look before? Ah.
It had been a few days ago.
Deputy Head Song had come in to report approval for prototype production on the composite armor project.
Deputy Head Song, who had been deeply downcast at the thought that someone on his team would be subject to voluntary retirement, had looked very different that day.
Just like Kang Chulmin was looking now.
What, had all the guys who were impossible to deal with suddenly taken some kind of miracle drug together?
Or maybe...
A puzzle piece clicked into place in Director Choi’s head.
“Hey, Kang Chulmin.”
“Yes, Director.”
“Are you Baek Gunwoo too?”
At that question, Kang Chulmin’s shoulders jolted.
No formal request had been filed to pull personnel from other departments.
Kang Chulmin hesitated for a moment, then nodded shyly.
“...Yes. We got some help.”
“Hah.”
A dry chuckle escaped Director Choi.
Deputy Head Song’s composite armor.
Team Lead Ma’s five-axis machining center.
And now Kang Chulmin’s automatic loader, too.
These were all the kinds of problems that would normally have been escalated all the way up to Director Choi himself, giving him headaches and then making him want to spit blood.
And yet now they were all being resolved through one name: Baek Gunwoo.
At this point, it definitely wasn’t a coincidence.
“That’s something else. Does that Baek Manager kid have magic attached to his hands or something? Everything he touches gets fixed. When I saw him before, he didn’t seem all that special, though.”
“I didn’t believe it at first either... but once I saw it myself, he really is incredible. He’s the real thing. The kid’s completely changed. He’s insanely competent now.”
“Really? If you’re saying that much, Kang Chulmin... can I trust this for real?”
“Didn’t I tell you? If it doesn’t work, I’ll leave.”
“So that’s how it is?”
Director Choi pressed the intercom button on his desk.
“Yes, Director?”
“Clear my whole schedule for tomorrow afternoon.”
“Pardon? Tomorrow I have a budget meeting with the vice president from the finance team...”
“Then clear it and tell those old geezers this: I’m about to pull a rotten tooth, so come watch.”
Director Choi cut the intercom and looked at Kang Chulmin.
“Go get ready. I’m looking forward to seeing the finance team’s faces tomorrow when they start collapsing.”
“Understood!”
Kang Chulmin saluted energetically and left.
Director Choi’s finger tapped softly against the desk as he watched the closed door.
“Baek Gunwoo...”
---