Seo Seong Securities — Seo Minjae (1)
The life path that third-generation chaebol heirs walk is largely the same.
Lee Jaseung and Seo Minjae had both chosen careers in finance, so their courses overlapped even more. They graduated from the same elite high school, entered the same department at Korea University, and even studied abroad at the same time. Among their peers, Jaseung was the one Minjae had grown especially close to.
Still, I barely saw him after he joined Seo Seong Securities… No. I saw him last month at my parents’ funeral.
Aside from that, they hadn’t crossed paths at all—until Jaseung suddenly barged into the company with this:
“You need performance numbers, don’t you?”
Seo Minjae sat across from him and tossed the line back like a joke.
“Performance is always needed, sure. What, you going to fill it for me?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“I just established a family office. I’ll be running investments, and I need prime brokerage services.”
“……?”
He slid a brand-new business card across the table and cut straight to the point with ruthless efficiency. There wasn’t even time to ask how Jaseung already knew about the personnel order that had just dropped.
Makers
Representative
Lee Jaseung
A family office qualified as an institutional investor, which meant it was eligible for prime services. An unexpected client had just appeared right in front of him.
Minjae took the card and muttered,
“It’s real?”
“Of course it’s real.”
“Uh… I figured you’d go to Yuseong Securities. You’re starting your own thing instead? A family office—so you manage chaebol assets?”
“No. Consulting. I’m going to consult on chaebol succession.”
“……Succession consulting?”
Minjae’s eyebrows twisted into question marks. Strategy consulting, management consulting—he’d heard those a thousand times. But succession consulting was a term he’d never encountered.
“You’re saying you’ll help with succession work?”
“That’s right. People sidelined in the heir line. People with ability who got pushed out by politics. I provide succession strategy to people like that.”
Jaseung propped his chin on his hand and smiled.
“And it looks like you need it too.”
The remark pinpointed Minjae’s exact situation. Embarrassed, he laughed awkwardly.
“Come on. What, you’re going to make me the CEO of Seo Seong Securities?”
“Exactly.”
“…….”
Minjae pressed his lips shut. It didn’t make sense. Why show up out of nowhere and dig into his weak spots? And what was this absurd offer about making him CEO? They’d been close in school, but not close enough for a proposal like this.
And yet… he wanted to hear more. Maybe it was the personnel order from moments ago that had left such a bad taste.
If so, the timing’s ridiculously perfect.
Minjae mocked himself inwardly and asked,
“How? You saw the president send me to the PBS department, right? Like you said, the company’s already set a ceiling on me.”
“There are two ways.”
“Two?”
“One: you climb higher. Two…”
Jaseung counted on his fingers as he continued.
“You drag Seo Minju down below you.”
The cold words made Minjae swallow. He could feel the sincerity. Jaseung genuinely intended to intervene in the succession at Seo Seong Securities—and he already seemed to have a method prepared.
“First, I’ll be making investments, but I don’t have the infrastructure, so I need a broker. Why do you think I didn’t go to some other securities firm and came looking for a brand-new department instead?”
“You’re saying you’ll pad my numbers.”
Minjae nodded. A newly established family office would lack investment infrastructure, and Minjae could provide it. At the same time, Minjae would land a deal immediately—win-win.
“Then what’s the second? The way to pull Seo Minju down.”
Doubt was plain in his voice.
Is that even possible?
Seo Minju had received every possible form of support since birth. Compared to her, Minjae wasn’t even an underdog. He was just a dog.
But Jaseung actually had a way.
“Remember last year when Seo Seong Securities invested in Yuseong Group corporate bonds?”
“Yeah. Two hundred billion won scale. Seo Minju led it.”
That deal had been a major portfolio decision for Seo Seong Securities. More than a simple investment, it was proof of an alliance between the Seo Seong Group and the Yuseong Group—a tight coalition between related conglomerates. By leading it, Seo Minju had firmly cemented her position as heir.
“Those bonds are going to turn toxic.”
Sudden silence filled the office.
“……What are you talking about? Corporate bonds suddenly going bad?”
“The affiliates have been hiding their debt. They’re already in capital erosion.”
“For re—”
“It’s real.”
Jaseung cut him off with absolute firmness.
“That’s why I gave up my stake in Yuseong Group.”
Minjae’s mouth fell open. He had a rough idea of the value of the shares Jaseung would have inherited.
Two hundred billion won.
Jaseung gave up two hundred billion?
People could lie, but money never did. If Jaseung had abandoned two hundred billion—if he had abandoned a stake in a major conglomerate like Yuseong Group—there was only one reason.
Something really is wrong with Yuseong Group!
Come to think of it…
I naturally assumed Jaseung would go to Yuseong Securities, but he suddenly founded a family office.
He’d thought it was just because Jaseung wanted his own business. But what if that wasn’t it? What if it was because something had gone wrong at Yuseong Group?
Only then did Jaseung’s recent moves start to make sense. Good God. Minjae pressed a hand to his forehead.
Trouble with two hundred billion won in corporate bonds. This went beyond simple losses—it would deal a serious blow to Seo Seong Securities’ capital soundness.
But.
Seo Minju has never once taken responsibility for anything.
Because every single arrow had always landed on him.
“I’m going to get stuck holding the bag again.”
In that moment Minjae understood with perfect clarity why Jaseung had opened such valuable information so easily—and what he was still holding in reserve.
“You know a way to avoid that.”
“That’s right.”
“So in the end you’re telling me to become your client.”
“We become each other’s clients. You need performance and an internal base at Seo Seong Securities. I need a reliable broker and my first client. It’s doable, isn’t it?”
Minjae’s gaze fell on his own new business card.
Seo Seong Securities
PBS Department Head
Seo Minjae
He tapped the card lightly with his finger.
“Until a moment ago I hated the PBS department. Now I’m thinking it’s a good thing.”
Minjae had despised this personnel order. It had felt like he was someone who could only become whole by meeting these conditions. He never expected the PBS department would actually help.
He held the card out to Jaseung.
“I’m counting on you.”
Jaseung checked his watch. Exactly thirty minutes had passed. He took the card and stood.
“It’s going to be a good deal.”
Minjae rose and walked him to the office door. Just before his hand touched the handle, he suddenly asked,
“But why me? Not Seo Minju. She’s got more authority and stability.”
“Ah, that…”
Jaseung smiled faintly. He recalled the greed he had seen in Minjae from the future. Chaebols were insane. Lust for power, lust for advancement, the desire to be recognized, the obsession of the sidelined. Whatever name it went by, that madness was the most powerful fuel for succession consulting.
“Because you were the crazier one.”
The contract terms were simple.
Lee Jaseung would provide Seo Minjae with succession strategy. The advisory scope was limited strictly to matters related to the Yuseong Group corporate bonds.
In return, Seo Minjae would provide Makers with prime brokerage services. That service was limited to the current investment deal.
It was a one-time contract. That understanding had formed tacitly between them. Without saying a word, the two men were testing each other—whether Minjae was a reliable broker to Jaseung, whether Jaseung was a competent consultant to Minjae. This contract was the first stage of that trial.
And a few days later, Seo Minjae visited Jaseung’s penthouse.
It was Minjae’s first time at Jaseung’s home. He glanced around the interior and couldn’t help admiring it.
A real chaebol’s place really is different.
Minjae himself lived in a luxury apartment near Banpo Station, but the place Jaseung occupied was on another level entirely.
Jaseung guided him in.
“Come in. Let’s go to the study.”
The two men headed straight down the wide corridor to the study. The moment the door opened, Minjae let out a small exclamation.
“……Wow.”
A display case occupying an entire wall seized his attention. Balls arranged in perfectly identical positions in every compartment, ordered by color spectrum—it almost created a sense of rhythm.
“You still collect balls?”
“Not balls. Art pieces.”
“No matter how many times I look at this…”
“Beautiful, right?”
“It looks like a fetish. Remember high school? When the kids scribbled all over that Pete Sampras signed ball.”
“Ah.”
Jaseung’s expression shifted for a moment. These days he used them like totems to distinguish reality from the future, but collecting balls had been an old hobby since his school days.
He opened a case and took out the ball in question. The surface still bore a faint signature along with the scrawled words “Lee Jaseung, you son of a bitch.” He still hadn’t found the bastard who had defaced an eighty-million-won signed ball.
“This one?”
“That’s it. You still have it.”
Jaseung bounced the ball lightly. The bounce was weak now, but that only made it more comfortable.
“Alright, talk. How’s the assets situation?”
Minjae’s expression turned serious at once. He pulled out a stack of documents and spread them across the desk.
A broker provides a wide range of services to institutional investors. Makers was a one-man firm, so many functions had to be outsourced. Supporting operations in the early days of establishment was also part of a broker’s role. His first task was transferring Jaseung’s personal assets into Makers.
“Your assets. They were scattered all over the place.”
“Probably because of the inheritance. Still not fully sorted.”
“Looked that way. I’ve moved everything under Makers.”
Until now Jaseung’s assets had been split across Yuseong Securities, private banking, overseas accounts, and various financial assets from the inheritance. Minjae had brought every last one under the single structure of Makers.
He finally handed over a document containing the comprehensive asset status report.
“Available funds come to about fifty billion won.”
“……Fifty billion? Even after liquidating every Yuseong Group asset under my name?”
“Yeah. There wasn’t much left to liquidate. The big items were inheritance property, and you gave those up.”
“So the total is fifty billion?”
“That’s right.”
Jaseung’s eyebrows twitched slightly. He leaned forward and began examining the documents in detail. Something was clearly not sitting well with him.
“Why? Is there… a problem?”
After reading every page carefully, Jaseung sighed.
“There’s a lot less money than I thought.”
“???”
Minjae’s jaw dropped.
“F-fifty billion won? Not fifty won—fifty billion. That’s enough to play around for the rest of your life.”
Jaseung looked at him as if he were an idiot.
“Seo Minjae.”
“What.”
“How much is your CC membership?”
“Uh… around two billion, I think?”
Even as he answered, Minjae felt awkward. It was a membership his father had forced on him to maintain chaebol dignity. The luxury still felt foreign, as if it didn’t belong to him—and in a way, even an illegitimate son like him was dumping two billion on a country-club membership. How much more so for Jaseung?
“You have to manage networks. Charity events mean donations of hundreds of millions each. Sometimes joint investment proposals come in—startups, fund commitments. Minimum participation starts at tens of billions.”
“…….”
“And that’s all assuming nothing fails. One or two bad investments and hundreds of billions vanish overnight. Fifty billion? That might barely last five years.”
When Yuseong Group had been thriving it had ranked in the top ten of the business world. The people Jaseung associated with were all heirs of similar stature. Surviving in that circle required the kind of spending he had just described. Or… lower your standards.
And Minjae knew perfectly well that Jaseung was not the type to do that. A man whose very gesture of tossing a ball radiated elegance—how could he possibly lower his standards?
“So fifty billion isn’t enough?”
“Of course not. That amount means you have to stay home and just breathe.”
Fifty billion won. Looking at this pitiful sum, Jaseung felt a fresh shock. Money had always been like air to him. In his entire life he had never once spent while conscious of the amount.
……He never imagined the remaining air would be this thin. He was at the point of needing an oxygen tank.
“I’ll have to make money.”
“That investment you mentioned?”
Jaseung nodded. The reason he had signed the broker contract with Seo Seong Securities was precisely to execute this investment. Beyond simple asset management, he now needed aggressive asset growth.
“Do you have a target in mind?”
“U.S. Treasuries. I put it together here.”
Jaseung pushed the documents toward Minjae.
The moment he took the document, Minjae understood.
“U.S. Treasuries. Stable.”
At first glance there was nothing unusual about it. Buying U.S. Treasuries was a staple of institutional portfolios—low volatility, steady returns.
But that impression didn’t last.
Wait. Hold on.
He read it carefully again. Investment horizon: two months. Treasury price rise: 1.5 percentage points.
It’s a long position, but aggressive.
As if going all-in on a specific event.
“You’re assuming Treasury prices will spike within two months?”
“That’s right.”
“U.S. Treasury prices rising that much in two months? No positive catalyst could make that happen.”
Jaseung nodded slowly.
“A positive catalyst would make it impossible. It’s the opposite. A negative one is coming.”
“A negative one?”
Jaseung recalled the timeline. In just two months the Yuseong Securities financial fraud would be exposed. Now then—
How exactly did the Yuseong Securities fraud get uncovered?
Whistleblower? Routine inspection by the Financial Supervisory Service? External auditor discovery? Market suspicion?
None of those. His uncle had been meticulous about things like this. Problems that had piled up, and piled up, and piled up under perfect camouflage finally collapsed in one blow under an external shock that could not be controlled.
From across the Pacific.
“U.S. credit rating downgrade.”
Watching the giant question mark form on Minjae’s face, Jaseung repeated himself.
“In one month, S&P will downgrade the United States’ credit rating.”
“……What?”
The U.S. credit rating gets downgraded. So do U.S. Treasury prices fall?
No. Exactly the opposite. Shockwaves slam into global financial markets. Uncertainty explodes. Investors panic. In a crisis they flee to safe assets.
And the asset considered the safest in the world is—
U.S. Treasuries.
Paradoxically so. Capital floods into U.S. Treasuries, driving prices higher. A scenario of a sharp two-month rally becomes possible.
But at the same time, it was a scenario almost impossible to imagine.
“That doesn’t make sense! U.S. Treasury yields are basically the global benchmark rate. Touch those and the entire world financial system shakes—and a rating agency is going to do that? Are they looking to get shot?”
Minjae fired back immediately. A normal reaction.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Would you, if you were me?”
Jaseung smiled at his leisure.
“Then wait a little longer. Until the belief comes.”
“……Waiting’s going to make me believe it?”
.
.
.
But then that event happened.
※ This work is a work of fiction. All characters, groups, place names, and events appearing in the work are entirely fabricated and have no connection whatsoever to anything that exists in reality. Specialized knowledge described herein has also been reconstructed and adapted to fit the story and may differ from actual information.