Chapter 84
Chapter 84
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 84
Chapter Title: THE SAGE
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In the end, my shamelessness combined with the research team leader's resignation, and we made it all the way to the door of the president's office.
With a perfunctory 'knock knock,' I turned the doorknob and stepped inside.
The president's office was just as shabby and cramped as the outer workspace.
We sat facing each other on the worn-out sofa set: me, Choi Yang, the research team leader who'd been dragged along in a daze, and the company president, Choi Shin-soo.
On the table sat four cups of steaming instant coffee that the research team leader had just brewed, poured into paper cups.
Choi Shin-soo, the president in his late forties with a friendly face, opened his mouth with a bewildered expression, as if he had no clue what was going on.
"So... you want to invest?"
"Yes, that's right, President."
I began laying out my carefully prepared 'story' in the most intellectual and trustworthy voice I could muster.
"After our internal meetings at 'Blue Sky Investment,' we've concluded that Silla Biotech has unlimited growth potential. Especially with the Alzheimer's new drug development you're currently working on..."
At that point, President Choi cut me off.
"Blue... Sky... Investment, you said?"
"Yes, President. That's correct."
I answered confidently, assuming he'd been impressed by our company name. But his next serious question made my brain freeze for a moment.
"By any chance... are you connected to that actress, Eun Ha-neul...?"
"...Pardon?"
A dumb sound escaped my lips.
At that instant, Choi Yang, sitting beside me like a secretary, started trembling with her shoulders shaking.
She kept her head down, desperately holding back the laughter bubbling up.
Blue Sky.
Blue Sky.
And the legendary erotic actress from the '90s, Eun Ha-neul.
In the mind of this failing company's president, it wasn't my grand ambitions that came to mind first, but memories of an actress from over twenty years ago.
An awkward silence fell for a moment.
President Choi cleared his throat once and tried to steer back to the main topic.
"Ah, sorry about that... I'm a long-time fan of Ms. Eun Ha-neul... Anyway, Alzheimer's treatment... that's what you were saying?"
"Yes, that's right."
At my response, President Choi's face grew even more puzzled.
"...We shelved that because it had no prospects."
"...Pardon? Why?"
"Because it had no prospects."
"No, I mean, why?"
Unable to comprehend, I tilted my head, and finally, the exasperated research team leader, Kim Seul-gi, spoke up instead.
Her voice was laced with deep regret and exhaustion.
"I think you're referring to the neural targeting antibody we were developing, 'NTA-7.' It selectively binds to amyloid plaques in the brain to remove neurotoxicity. The animal trials showed excellent results. But..."
She paused and let out a sigh.
"Once we entered clinical trials, even though the antibody successfully removed the plaques, the improvement in patients' cognitive function wasn't statistically significant. In short, we pinpointed and eliminated the cause, but the disease didn't get better—a utterly hopeless outcome. So we officially dropped the project a year ago. Now it's just a dead project existing only on paper."
Hearing that, I looked even more baffled.
Choi Yang, beside me, wore a bored expression like 'See, I told you this would happen.'
But I knew they were wrong.
"There's no reason it shouldn't work, though?"
I paused for effect, then recited what I'd seen during Post-Nut Clarity—as if it were a paper I'd researched myself.
"As you explained, team leader, the antibody successfully removed the plaques. I've reviewed a few related papers, but was there any data on NTA-7's mechanism regarding reuptake inhibition of specific neurotransmitters? For example, synergy effects when maintaining acetylcholine levels above a certain threshold. I recall an overseas paper saying that cognitive function only improves significantly when you combine plaque removal with acetylcholinesterase inhibitors to forcibly boost neuronal activity."
As soon as I finished, President Choi and Team Leader Kim Seul-gi's faces went pale.
Their eyes stared at me like they'd seen a ghost—or a talking gorilla.
A moment later, Team Leader Kim Seul-gi finally managed to speak in disbelief.
"Aren't you... an investor?"
"Correct."
I struck the most intellectual and wise expression I'd prepared for this moment.
"The basis of investing is knowing what you're doing. Blindly throwing money at something you know nothing about? That's not for me."
Hmm... that line just now was pretty cool.
Definitely using it if it airs on a broadcast later.
Put it in the 'Kim Cheolsu Book of Quotes' too.
I could feel Choi Yang glaring at me like I was a guy whose conscience had crumbled to dust, but I coolly ignored her.
Instead, I flashed the most trustworthy smile at President Choi and Team Leader Kim Seul-gi.
Kim Seul-gi, still looking confused, asked,
"...But you're not even a specialist, how do you know it that deeply...?"
"Pardon? I went to an agricultural high school."
I answered with the most innocent, sunny smile.
"...Pardon?"
This time, a dumb sound burst from both President Choi and Team Leader Kim Seul-gi.
Their faces screamed, 'It's more unrealistic that you, an ag high grad, know this than developing an Alzheimer's drug.'
Savoring their confusion, I drove the nail in.
"Anyway, that's beside the point. I see this project as having a very high chance of success. That's why I've decided to invest."
At my words, President Choi gave a wry smile and shook his head.
"Well, it's a project we officially ended a year ago... And our financial situation isn't great enough to restart the Alzheimer's project."
"We'll cover the entire project funding from our company."
Even at my crisp response, his expression didn't soften.
"That's great news, but President, as you know, new drug development doesn't wrap up in a few months. It takes years at minimum... We had a similar investment before, but when results were delayed, they sued us right away. A small company like ours can't survive a single dispute."
"We can just include a clause in the contract stating no legal liability until research results come out."
I answered every issue without hesitation.
But President Choi brought up the final, most practical problem.
"Above all... we lack manpower. The Alzheimer's team was disbanded, and the remaining researchers are all on other tasks. Honestly, our company now is less a pharma research lab and more an importer of diet foods."
Ah... That explained the '[Get Out! Calorie-Cut Diet Jelly]' prominently listed as a main product in their company brochure earlier...
I was momentarily speechless, offering silent condolences that a dragon poised to change humanity's future was scraping by selling diet jelly.
I recalled Silla Biotech's financial statements in my mind.
Current market cap: just over 30 billion won. Embarrassing to even call it a KOSDAQ-listed company.
Average annual revenue over the last three years: 4 billion won.
But that was all from importing and selling '[Get Out! Calorie-Cut]' jelly—basically distribution business.
The problem was the operating losses.
Four straight years of over 5 billion won deficits annually.
R&D costs aside, the money was evaporating faster than they could pay salaries.
A terminal patient with a death sentence of management designation or delisting right around the corner.
Liquid assets they could mobilize right now: less than 1 billion won.
In a few months, they wouldn't even cover salaries or this rundown office rent.
I opened my eyes again and looked at the desperate-faced President Choi.
Now all the puzzle pieces fit.
Why they couldn't outright reject my absurd proposal.
Why they kept talking even after hearing I was an ag high grad, looking at me like I'd lost my mind.
They were drowning, grasping at any straw.
And I was the only one offering them a lifeboat.
I gave them the most benevolent, trustworthy smile and extended a hand of salvation.
"Initial investment: 3 billion. Then 1 billion per month for R&D costs and company operations to bolster manpower."
"...Pardon? 1 billion... per month?"
President Choi's voice quavered like a goat's.
I nodded and added my condition.
"One condition: immediately revive the Alzheimer's project halted a year ago, and continue research without mid-project abandonment."
At my proposal, tears seemed ready to burst from Team Leader Kim Seul-gi's eyes.
For her, it was hope beyond money—the chance to continue her research.
Of course, I'm no philanthropist.
Considering standard new drug timelines, pouring 1 billion monthly into a multi-year project is insanely expensive.
But according to my Post-Nut Clarity research, they folded right before completion, failing the final hurdle.
Generously, 2 years; shortest, 1 year.
15 to 27 billion total investment for absolute shares in a humanity-saving drug?
This was a massive profit.
At my outrageous proposal, President Choi was speechless for a moment.
He swallowed dryly and asked the most crucial, thorniest question.
"Wh-what about... the equity terms?"
His voice trembled with fear of handing over more than half the company.
I smiled leisurely at him.
"No need for anything else. 80% of the royalties from the developed drug."
"...Pardon? Not equity?"
My unexpected answer brought confusion back to President Choi and Team Leader Kim Seul-gi's faces.
I explained patiently, like a teacher.
"Silla Biotech isn't a company that 'makes' drugs; it's a lab that develops 'how to make' them—patents, right?"
"Yes, that's true, but..."
"What's the point of me taking your company equity? I'd inherit your debts that could explode any moment. Manage your '[Get Out! Calorie-Cut Diet Jelly]' inventory too? Not my thing."
At my blunt words, their faces flushed red.
I continued undeterred.
"If this drug succeeds, you won't produce and sell it yourselves. You'll license the tech to global Big Pharma for hundreds of billions or trillions. That's 'license out' in jargon. And in return, you'll get royalties—a percentage of net sales every time the drug sells."
I tapped the table with my finger.
"I'm skipping all that messy middle and sticking a straw straight into the final product: those 'royalties.' Pure, clean cash flow, untouched by Silla Biotech's debts or diet jelly stock. 80% of the new drug sales."
Now they finally grasped the true meaning of my proposal.
I had zero interest in their 'company.'
I wanted only the one diamond buried in the ashes: the Alzheimer's drug itself.
President Choi stared into space for a moment.
The confusion was gone from his eyes.
Instead, awe at this bizarre deal structure he'd never imagined—and at my insight piercing it—took its place.
Savoring his expression, I envisioned the true value of this deal in my mind.
The power of royalties from an Alzheimer's-level blockbuster drug.
It transcends the 'rich' people imagine.
People call those with hundreds of billions or trillions in assets rich.
A building in Gangnam, a few luxury foreign cars, occasional overseas trips—that level.
But what I'm grabbing isn't that trivial.
Tens of millions of Alzheimer's patients worldwide.
Imagine them taking this drug monthly, yearly.
Its annual sales will dwarf even major conglomerates' revenue.
Tens of trillions in cash flowing yearly worldwide to a single 'patent.'
I get 80% of that, doing nothing, straight to Blue Sky's account.
That's no longer 'assets.'
It's 'power.'
Cash equivalent to a major Korean group's full-year operating profit, minus a bit of tax, landing in my pocket annually.
With it, I could buy shares in disliked companies and shake their control, fund promising politicians for invisible power.
Buy a whole island in a country I like and build my kingdom.
This isn't just making money.
It's directly engaging world economic flows—sometimes becoming the 'system' that dictates them.
I'm not investing in the ashes of 'Silla Biotech,' but in the 'ticket to becoming king of the world' hidden inside.