Don't Let the Story Go to Waste
“Jihun, you ain’t gonna be satisfied with Guccio alone. What—you fixing to pick up Luy Vuitton and haul it off too?”
How did he even land on the brand? Saying yes, that’s right felt like a bad idea, so I nudged the talk onto another track.
“The thing is, Grandfather.”
“……?”
“It’s been months. How have you been. How’s school going. Isn’t that the sort of conversation people usually have?”
“You think I’m a usual man?”
Put like that, there was nothing to argue. Ahem.
“Capsulemon going to be enough?”
“I’ll make it enough.”
“Instead of that, how about you spread the business out while you’re at it?”
Surely this isn’t another buildup toward Hyeon-gang Motors… is it? I was giving him a suspicious look when he went on.
“Today’s rugby. A thing like that drawing the whole country—where’s that easy?”
“It’s next to impossible.”
“You made the impossible possible. Then you’ve got to take what’s owed you for it.”
What was owed.
I had thought a successful Ultimate × Guccio collaboration would be plenty. In Grandfather’s eyes, though, the room to grow was plain as day.
And if it isn’t that… Maybe he had already sniffed out my little scheme to retire, and was egging me on to start more trouble. Had he read that look? He went on, slow.
“Jihun, a story’s what you like, ain’t it? The whole country knows you fought the second-years and won. You planning to just sit on that and let it rot?”
Listen only to Grandfather, and you’d think I’d bought a single piece of candy with a hundred dollars and walked out forgetting the change.
“With that good head of yours, you really gonna let this slip?”
“But, Grandfather.”
“……?”
“On a day you’ve just come off a match, don’t people usually say forget everything and get some rest?”
“Why? You a usual kid?”
I had never been afraid of him in a war of words!
Is it because I’ve been so deep in rugby lately? I kept feeling as if I were taking hit after hit.
Right then, as if to second his opinion, the television began to run a story about us.
The look in his eyes said it plainly. Even after this, you’re not going to expand?
“Must be the dinner. I’m awfully sleepy.”
And with that excuse I fled the living room in a scramble.
At the same hour, in Leona Harris’s office, Leona sat with her face gone hard, staring at the television. It was the flagship evening news of a famous network. A mere year-against-year rugby match was leading the broadcast. How did that even make sense?
Nor was that all.
Ha! The broadcast itself had stepped in to advertise one particular brand. The single mercy was that nothing about her son had aired. The reason Leona had been watching with her eyes on fire was, of course, Carl.
She lifted the receiver and had them put her through to the head of protocol.
“How are the other networks?”
“They did not run it, as promised.”
Damn it. How much had she spent just to kill a single story?
Only after she had quietly pressed a hand to her chest did she speak again.
“And the papers?”
“Most of them are holding the story… but the London Times in particular is being stubborn…”
“Tell them we’ll buy a year of advertising. Top rate.”
“We’ll do our best, but they’re quite firm…”
“Then threaten them if you have to!”
“……”
“For heaven’s sake, there’s no evidence, is there? No evidence! Some worthless PE teacher runs his mouth, and they write an article and make a scene—honestly!”
Had all that stored anger finally blown? Leona shouted until her face went red.
“If that fails, buy the PE teacher. How much can a salary like his be? Put ten years’ pay in his hand and he’ll listen, won’t he?”
“I’m sorry, but neither persuasion nor threats are likely to work.”
“And why not! What on earth is the problem!”
“That teacher, Devon… he is the only son of the Director of the Royal Prosecution Service…”
She did not wait to hear the rest.
Crack!
She slammed the receiver down hard enough to break it.
I had escaped on the excuse of being sleepy, but—
“Ugh.”
Honestly, sleep would not come. Grandfather’s voice was still booming in my ear.
Capsulemon was a super IP that would pour out enormous profit every year, and there was no doubt it would keep climbing. Even so! Just because Capsulemon existed, there was no need to plug up every hole money might come out of.
Above all. An idea for turning the rugby story into sales had chosen that moment to surface. And I had already seen it in my previous life: a business model that made money and looked like fun besides. Honestly, that left me in a bit of a bind.
Jihun, you’re not going to retire? Start more work here. Think you’ll still be able to walk away?
Right. How many times have I said this is the last one? Keep on like this and you’ll never… But quitting smoking and going on a diet both start tomorrow. Isn’t that the universal rule?
While the angel and the devil in my chest were locked in a violent grapple, the thought came through clear. What’s the point of agonizing? The idea had started with rugby anyway. So long as I put Tennessee forward as the hero of this story, I would need his help. Should I just ask?
A glance at the clock said it was still early for sleep. Pretending I was giving in, I picked up the receiver. Would he be in the dormitory? If he doesn’t answer, well, nothing I can do.
I dialed.
“Yeah.”
Tennessee’s voice came back before I had time to wait. In that instant I felt the scales of fate tip.
“You’re up?”
“It’s only ten.”
I was about to ask if he was free tomorrow when something completely unexpected came back.
“You called because of my favor.”
Huh? Ah—the wish ticket.
“What did your grandfather say?”
At the dinner Tennessee had said he’d grown interested in business, and asked to be allowed to meet Grandfather. The man had raised an empire called Hyeon-gang on the ruins of Korea, so there would be a great deal to learn—and along with the request he had sent a wine allocated only to the ducal house. I had lost the verbal sparring with Grandfather, come to bed like a fugitive, and missed the moment to tell him.
Tch. I changed the subject at once.
“That wine you gave him. Grandfather said it was incredibly expensive?”
“A gift ought to be at least that much.”
He had handed over a wine worth an entire S-Class and spent a wish ticket besides, so I did have to arrange the meeting.
“He came on a business trip. He’ll have plans tomorrow.”
“It doesn’t have to be tomorrow.”
“Mm… all right. I’ll try for sometime this week.”
Tennessee was about to hang up, so I added the rest in a hurry.
“You free tomorrow?”
“……?”
“A business idea came to me. I think I’m going to need you.”
“What kind of idea?”
“I’m going to make an energy drink.”
“An energy drink?”
“There are the things we showed all through the rugby match. Hunger for victory. A passion that never tires. A fighting spirit that will not break. I want to make a drink that stands for all of it.”
“Too good a story to let rot?”
Sharp, as expected.
“You interested?”
“What do you need me to do?”
“How about we talk the details when we meet?”
The next day, Park Yonghak finished a meeting with Rolls-Royce early in the morning. It was a meeting that confirmed how far apart the two sides stood. Park Yonghak wanted a technology partnership; Rolls-Royce wanted a large-scale investment. The technology they were willing to hand over and the money they expected in return were miles apart.
He was leaving the headquarters with that regret still in him when a voice called after him.
“Chairman Park?”
Carter, chief executive of Rolls-Royce, was the one who asked.
“By any chance, are you on your way to the Grosvenor estate?”
“I am.”
“I hear the house has sent a helicopter. It should be here within five minutes.”
By car it was about an hour. Sending a helicopter all the same was courtesy, plain and simple. He must want that painting rather badly. Park Yonghak had sunk into the thought when Carter spoke again.
“Chairman, might I ask just one thing?”
“……?”
“Do you have some special connection with the Grosvenor house?”
Park Yonghak stared straight at the man’s face. It was a look that said today’s negotiation could change entirely, depending on the answer. So Grosvenor really is that formidable. He gave a bitter smile.
The helicopter set down in the grounds of the Grosvenor family.
“We’ll escort you to the annex.”
Even reaching the building seemed to require a car. There were two of them: a McLaren sports car and an Aston Martin sports sedan. Both were two-seaters, so Park Yonghak took the lead car and Jo Sudeok the one behind.
The engine roared. Even in a powerful car you had to drive a good while before the building came within reach. They called it Europe’s greatest house, and it truly called to mind the king of a nation.
Where they were bound was a kind of banquet hall, three stories in all. In films, the masked balls of the highest society always seemed to unfold in rooms like this—a place you would think well suited, if you ever booked it. Five more minutes of walking brought them to a dining room.
The first thing to catch the eye was a table more than ten meters long. As if laying siege to it, world-famous paintings showed themselves on every side: from Raphael to van Gogh, Munch, Monet, Cézanne, and Picasso. Above each place a canvas hung like a guardian star.
But one spot alone. Only the seat of honor stood empty, without a single work. Had they left it vacant for a da Vinci?
Just then came the sound of heavy steps. A tall middle-aged man advanced toward them.
“I hope the long journey has not tired you.”
Park Yonghak was fluent in English, but he deliberately went through Jo Sudeok. If trouble arose, he could slip free on the excuse that a misunderstanding had occurred in the translation.
“He says that, thanks to your care, he arrived in perfect comfort.”
“I am glad.”
The man took one step closer to Chairman Park.
“I am Grosvenor.”
“Park Yonghak.”
The two shook hands and went to their places.
While the meal went on, there was not a great deal of talk. It was a first meeting, for one thing, and with so much distance between them, serious conversation had a hard time traveling. Perhaps that was why. Until the dessert wine arrived, the Duke never once brought up da Vinci.
And yet this space, reminiscent of a museum, and that bare place still visible above the seat of honor, seemed to cry out in a single voice on behalf of the silent Duke. Let the room and the atmosphere speak the sensitive lines for you? All of it had to be the result of thorough diplomatic training.
Perhaps because he felt, for the first time in a long while, that he had met a proper opponent, a bright smile spread across Park Yonghak’s mouth.