The Hunt for Talent

The business had grown.

Well, to be precise, the business registration was still just one — it was the number of registered business items that had multiplied.

The next morning, the one who rejoiced most at the news that Father would be resuming work was neither Mother nor me. It was Grandfather.

"M-Mr. Seo, well done indeed!"

At Grandfather's hearty encouragement, Father finally broke down in tears.

He sobbed that it was thanks to his father-in-law, who had supported him time and again, that he'd been able to hold on. I slipped out of the house, leaving him behind in that blubbering embrace.

It was a weekend morning, but hovering around a family moment between the elders felt awkward, so it was only right to give them space.

Ah — the effects of the Hangover Relief ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Lettuce Pill were remarkable.

True to the promise of doubled speed, Grandfather shook off his hangover a mere five minutes after taking the pill.

Father was set to receive sales approval for these pills today.

The process was complicated, but it would take at most two weeks, he said. It could turn out shorter still.

To sell them properly, we needed to order containers to package the pills in, and Mother and Grandfather had volunteered to take charge of that. Mother would handle the logo design and the like, while Grandfather declared he'd take care of negotiating the packaging orders.

Everything clicking along like a well-oiled machine.

So this is why people sing that old tune about talent, talent.

People who handle things on their own are the best.

With things moving this fast, my plans needed a little revision too. The faster we grew, the more we'd need people to fill the gaps. Which meant I had to find a way to discover or cultivate talent like that.

And as it happened, an expert in exactly that field lived next door.

It felt wrong to show up empty-handed, so I brought a gift along.

Ding-dong—

"Hm? If it isn't our Ji-on. What brings you out here?"

My destination was, of course, Grandfather Choi's house.

"There's something I was curious about, and I wanted to see your face, too."

"Ho ho, is that so? Curious about something, eh... Well then, come on in!"

"Oh, this is a gift for you. I made it myself."

"Yourself?"

With intrigued eyes, Grandfather Choi peered into the small transparent plastic bag I held out.

"Pills made from lettuce. For whenever your hangover hits hard."

"...Made from crops you grew yourself?"

"Yes. Starting with this lettuce batch, I'm planning to sell them directly."

"Now that's a shame..."

Grandfather Choi smacked his lips and headed inside. When I followed him in, the sparse interior met my eyes.

Not a soul around. Secretary Jang Woo-jin being off for the weekend I could understand, but I hadn't expected Choi Seo-dan to be missing too.

"Where's Seo-dan?"

"She's out back with Secretary Jang. She's been in a fuss about trying to grow carrots."

"Carrots?"

Why on earth would she suddenly want to grow carrots? At my question, Grandfather Choi looked pained as he explained.

"That's right. She insists that your Clear Eye Carrots, which grew so splendidly whenever you were around to see them, simply won't grow for her."

"Haha... Well, the seeds are different, so there's not much to be done."

"Exactly. No matter how many times I explain, she refuses to believe it."

When I laughed awkwardly, Grandfather chuckled along and continued.

"That's just how young people are. They don't feel satisfied until they've tried it themselves, so I decided to leave her to it. Secretary Jang's the one suffering for it, of course."

Grandfather Choi brought over a cup of tea and settled onto the living room sofa.

"So, what was it you were curious about?"

"May I ask you straight to the point?"

"Go ahead. I like a direct approach."

I took a sip of my tea and spoke.

"People."

"Hm?"

"Taeram is full of capable people, isn't it?"

A company runs on its people. The more capable, the better. The same went for Managing Director Lee Myeong-jin, who'd been in contact with me recently over the contract. At this stage, with everything about to expand rapidly, what I needed most was people.

"Where do you find people like that? How do you develop them?"

At my question, Grandfather Choi leaned back against the sofa.

"Oho. Now that's the kind of thing that's the very lifeblood of anyone in business."

Did that mean he found it hard to share freely? But I was in a fairly urgent position myself.

"I am, after all, the man who saved your life, Grandfather."

"Ha ha! That's right, you are. Well, then..."

Grandfather stroked his chin for a moment, then spoke as though he'd made up his mind.

"In that case, how about we go take a look at the place together?"

The place we arrived at was a three-story building on the outskirts of Seoul.

"There," he'd said, steeling himself as if announcing it, so I'd braced for somewhere enormous — but its scale turned out rather modest compared to my expectations.

Stepping into the first floor, I saw display cases lining the walls, filled with plaques and group photographs.

"What is this place?"

"It's called the Taeram Foundation."

A foundation? At my puzzled expression, Grandfather added an explanation.

"When you make a great deal of money, you inevitably run into situations where you absolutely must spend it."

Companies that earn a certain amount in society find society's yardsticks pressed against them — social responsibility, and things like that. Taxes and the circulation of the economy, for instance.

"Among those obligations, establishing a foundation is actually a rather efficient way to spend."

There were several reasons for the efficiency, but the best one by far was the growth of talent.

"Simply by seeking out and sponsoring exceptional students and researchers, you secure the talent of the future."

I nodded. It wasn't simple charity or volunteer work — it was an institution operated with long-term investment in mind.

On a nearby display case, I spotted a black-and-white photograph of young children, a woman who appeared to be a nun, and a young Grandfather Choi standing together.

At a glance, he'd be just another corporate president donating to an orphanage — but this was not a one-way relationship of giving and receiving. There was benefit on both sides.

It struck me anew that this, too, was a way of opening a path for people to live by.

Before heading up to the second floor, Grandfather Choi spoke up.

"Secretary Jang, take Seo-dan and drop by your son's place while you're in Seoul."

"Yes, understood."

Having seen Seo-dan and Secretary Jang off, Grandfather Choi led me deeper into the building.

"Taeram's HR operations team is based here."

The team that dictated Taeram's deployment of talent — and at its very core, the pivot of the entire system, HR Team 1.

Choi Tae-seok was now heading straight for it.

At the end of the second-floor corridor stood a large glass door, beside which a small sign was mounted.

"So this is where you'll find the people you're looking for today, Ji-on."

I was rather taken aback.

"You're telling me to take people directly from Taeram?"

I'd asked him to teach me how to find people, and he was simply handing them to me. This was exactly the sort of thing that bred bad habits, you know.

At my question, Grandfather put on an enigmatic expression, then smiled.

"Yes. Go on and take them. If you can."

Inside the HR Team 1 office, small meeting room.

Assistant Manager Lee Kang-yeol, stuck with weekend duty, had set a paper cup of green tea down on the table in an awkward, hunched posture. After arranging all three cups of tea, he carefully took the empty seat at the table.

"May I ask what brings you to the HR department, sir?"

He'd merely been on standby for personnel support in case of an emergency — and now this sudden display of protocol.

Lee Kang-yeol stole glances at the old man seated across from him.

Honorary Chairman Choi Tae-seok.

These days he was a great man retired from the front lines, but everyone working at Taeram knew his formidable reputation well.

The pressure was crushing.

Gulp—

Is it really all right for me to be sitting here?

Just as that thought crossed his mind, the student seated beside Choi Tae-seok posed a question.

"What criteria does this department use to assign people?"

Was he allowed to answer? Lee Kang-yeol glanced furtively at Choi Tae-seok. Only after the old man smiled faintly and nodded did Lee Kang-yeol open his mouth.

"Experience is the top priority, first of all. We assess what work an individual has handled and what results they've achieved so far, along with their working style and temperament."

After that came checking which department they'd be placed in and how many results the assigned personnel would go on to deliver.

The boy listening to Lee Kang-yeol's explanation nodded — then suddenly turned to Choi Tae-seok and asked:

"How many are you going to give me?"

"Hrk—!"

Startled by the boy's utter lack of hesitation, Lee Kang-yeol sucked in a breath. The conversation itself was strange, too. Give? Give what? Surely not... people?

"'Giving' is a bit of an odd way to put it. Well, if we're counting heads, two at most. If you can present terms they find convincing and take them, I have nothing to say against it."

Scouting. It happened constantly in the industry. There was nothing strange about it at all — unless, of course, the chairman of the company those people belonged to was personally arranging it.

As Lee Kang-yeol sat there blankly, frozen, Chairman Choi Tae-seok beckoned to him.

"Could you go pull up a list of personnel eligible for dispatch or transfer?"

He understood in an instant. That meant: pull up a list ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of everyone except the core staff. Well, sure — this boy was someone the Chairman personally bothered to escort, but surely he wouldn't just hand over talent left and right...

"Bring all of them. No exclusions."

"...Yes, sir."

Not that, apparently.

Stumbling back to his desk, Lee Kang-yeol began compiling the entire personnel list.

The department-by-department roster of employees arrived in Seo Ji-on's hands, and among them, the two who caught his eye were one from the HR team and one from marketing.

"Ho, I didn't expect you to pick out talent like this."

Choi Tae-seok let out an admiring exclamation.

He said he needed people, and he's striking right at the vitals.

Lee Jin-ho of HR Team 3, promoted to team leader just a few months ago. He was a case of exceptional ability being recognized despite hailing from outside the Taeram Foundation scholarship network — all the more remarkable given how hard it was to get results acknowledged in an HR department. As it happened, he too was on duty today.

And the other was Song Yu-jin, a rookie from the marketing department. At Taeram, she was a fresh face with less than a year of tenure — but with a dazzling résumé from before joining.

"I'd like to make these two an offer."

"Hmm, Team Leader Lee Jin-ho we can meet right away."

Song Yu-jin worked at headquarters in central Seoul. Whether she'd be in on a weekend was uncertain, but given the nature of the marketing team... the odds of her being at the office were fairly high.

"Since we'll be near headquarters later anyway, I suppose I should see my son's face for the first time in a while."

Before long, Lee Jin-ho arrived at the small meeting room. He was also on standby, so finding the time proved easy.

"Good day, sir."

He bowed crisply and took his seat. There was not a trace of arrogance in his bearing, his expression, or his manner of speech.

For a man who clinched an improbable team leader title in his early thirties, a touch of hubris would be forgivable — yet he shows none.

With that thought, Choi Tae-seok spoke.

"Pleased to meet you. The reason I've called you here is, well, that I have someone to introduce to you."

"An... introduction, sir?"

Lee Jin-ho asked back with a doubtful look. The people in this meeting room were himself, Honorary Chairman Choi Tae-seok, and the one student sitting beside him. Which meant the person being introduced could only be that student.

Why, of all things, a student?

After a moment's thought, Lee Jin-ho recalled a rumor circulating around the company.

They said the farm supplying the raw materials for the new product was run by a student.

But that was one thing; there was no reason to introduce this student to him.

Just as he was puzzling over the unresolved question, Choi Tae-seok suddenly rose from his seat.

"Then you two, take your time and talk."

The moment Choi Tae-seok stepped out of the meeting room, a brief silence settled inside. It didn't last — the student, Seo Ji-on, broke it almost immediately.

"I'd like to make you a scouting offer."

So saying, Seo Ji-on pushed something across the desk.

"What is this?"

"The lettuce pill our company is about to launch."

So they were pills made from lettuce, it seemed. A few small, dark-green beads sat sealed inside a small transparent plastic bag.

"I run a farm that grows 'special crops.'"

Nod. Lee Jin-ho inclined his head.

"And now we're expanding from the farm into a company — no, I suppose I should say we've ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠already founded one."

As of yesterday, when Seo Jae-mun filed the paperwork to add new business items, the company was as good as established.

"As you well know, Team Leader, the most important thing for a young company is 'people.'"

"That's true."

"Which is why I'm telling you: I want to scout you."

Lee Jin-ho nodded at the student's proposal. It was a reasonable judgment for such a young man — and he seemed to have the competence to secure himself a seat at the negotiating table in the first place.

But that was all. He was already satisfied at Taeram. A stable income of sixty million won a year, and a commute from the outskirts of Seoul. No work-life balance, granted — but it was a major corporation, and the baseline benefits were on another level compared to other companies. In other words, he had zero intention of changing jobs.

That's what he thought.

Until he heard Seo Ji-on's terms.

"Double."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'll add exactly double your current annual salary. Your performance bonus doubles too, I'd imagine."

"...Er."

As Lee Jin-ho faltered, flustered, the words kept coming.

"Since the workplace won't be in Seoul, I'll buy you a house near the office. We'll provide a company car as well. And finally — one percent of the company's stock. That's my offer."

"..."

This was... far too much money to turn down.