A School Even Grandfather Can't Refuse

It had been an impulsive thought. If I wanted out from under Grandfather's pressure, perhaps I really would have to go as far as studying abroad. Of course it wasn't a realistic plan. University, maybe. But—

Who studies abroad for high school?

He'd see straight through me. There wasn't a chance he'd allow it. Ahem. Still, what else could I do? On the off chance, I pressed the pound key.

The day's work was finished, which meant I was supposed to head over to Hyeon-gang Motors headquarters next.

Mm.

I had no heart for it, so I picked up the receiver again.

Anything left undone...?

I called Daisho, and the answer came back much as it had the week before. Development on Capsulemon was about sixty percent complete, and they were working hard toward a launch next June. Well. I no longer had a pretext for dragging my feet.

Ugh.

So it was time to go see Grandfather after all. I hauled my heavy body up.

Suwon. The Hyeon-gang Motors plant.

Grandfather had been reporting to the auto plant day after day, as if in protest. Officially, it was to prepare a flagship sedan.

Obvious.

He was pressuring me to inherit the cars.

And sure enough, whenever I showed up there was a routine I had to follow.

"Let's go."

Every time, Grandfather walked a full circuit of the plant with me.

"This here's the powertrain."

Sometimes he explained the equipment.

"Say hello. This is President Hwang Dongu."

From the shop floor all the way up to the executives, he kept making me show my face and learn their names. Do this every visit, and it started to feel like a settled fact that I would inherit Hyeon-gang Motors.

And near the end of the so-called tour, the same line always arrived.

"Dongu. You know how much this kid loves cars?"

I know. You said so last time.

Even so, President Hwang Dongu lit up as if he were dying to hear it. Then came the follow-up.

"Loves them so much he packed the garage full before he even had a license, didn't he?"

"......"

At moments like that, regret would hit—I never should have bought those cars!—and then, from the other side, resignation. Knowing Grandfather, he would have pushed this hard sooner or later anyway.

What could I do? I'd muddle through high school on the excuse of studying, then make my escape at university by announcing I was going abroad.

That was when it happened. Had he read my mind? Grandfather stepped closer and asked.

"What are you going to do about high school?"

"Yes?"

"You thinking of some ordinary school?"

"I'm not sure."

"While you're at it, how's a science high school?"

"......"

"If you're going to take over the cars, a science high school wouldn't be half bad."

"Grandfather."

"What?"

"If I inherit the auto company..."

Was the mere imagining enough to please him? Just as Grandfather's eyes began to shine with satisfaction—

"I'll shut down engine-based development completely. I'd rather prepare for the next generation."

In plain terms, I wouldn't make money. I'd only do research. It was the very thing Grandfather hated most.

And yet he had clearly decided to take my words in the best possible light.

"The age of the internal combustion engine passes, and the next generation comes. That what you mean?"

"Who knows."

"Who knows, my foot. You've already got something in mind."

There was no beating his instincts.

"Outside pressure might force the change."

"Force it?"

"Oil doesn't last forever, and there's the environment to think about."

"Say the change comes, just like you claim. Then the power source gets swapped out from the root. That it?"

"I suppose so."

"Then a new platform would be essential."

"Yes. A dedicated platform alone would easily cost several trillion won. We'd be diving headfirst onto bare ground."

Plant me in that seat, and I'll pour trillions into bracing for a future that isn't even certain. So please, just give it up.

That was what I wanted to say. But Grandfather produced an answer I never saw coming.

"Yes?"

"Take the company, and dig however you like. That's what I'm telling you."

No—I'm saying I'll run the place into the ground and just spend the money.

"Didn't you say a new age is coming? Then we'd better get ready, hadn't we?"

That was when I became certain.

Run.

I wasn't going to last until university. Britain, America, Japan—it didn't matter. I was swearing I'd bolt no matter where, and in that very instant—

"What are you thinking so hard about?"

All I could offer him was an awkward smile.

Jo Sudeok's student, Jeong Jinwook, was building a rather unusual career. He had started by taking charge of the publishing house, and now his stage had widened all the way to football.

The days blurred past with no time to breathe, but he had no real complaints. The work had doubled, and so had the salary. Fortunately, the football side of things was enjoyable. The job was mostly meeting people and talking with them, and for someone as socially agile as Jeong Jinwook, it was practically a calling.

"Good morning."

The first thing he did when he arrived was check on the youth players—the talents Representative Park Jihoon had handpicked and brought in himself. Careful, systematic management was only natural. Among them, the trio of Ahn Jeongwan, Park Jinseong, and Yoo Cheonsu received special care, all the way down to tuition and living expenses.

"We've got students with birthdays this month, haven't we? Please have gifts ready."

Boys that age were usually folded into a school team and raised as spare parts. Forget a player's growth. They were made to run, and run again, for the win in front of them—and usually on hard dirt, battering their bodies as they went. Representative Park Jihoon had opposed all of it. Don't obsess over wins and losses. Let them enjoy the game. The youth coaches could hardly believe their luck.

After checking the youth players, Jeong Jinwook turned to his own work: documents the representative had already approved. Most of them could be handled quickly.

Hm? Wait.

A single yellow note was tucked between the approval papers. The representative's handwriting.

In short: name better terms than the J.League and hijack the manager.

If the war chest is deep enough...

Jeong Jinwook carefully studied the information written along the bottom of the note.

Arsene Wenger? A name he'd never heard. Well, if the man were famous, he wouldn't be considering the J.League. Anyway, it was a special instruction from the representative, so he had to move quickly. Jeong Jinwook picked up the receiver at once.

"Would you look up the earliest flight? Yes. To France."

I had started spending more and more time at the Hannam-dong office, hiding from Grandfather.

Maybe I should go work out.

I was just getting up when—

Ring-ring-ring!

The phone was clamoring. I lifted the receiver, and a welcome voice came through.

Baker. He must have checked the message late.

"You know what they say—out of sight, out of mind? I happen to need exactly that."

I'd only ever told Jo Sudeok about my situation with Grandfather. So, for now, I had to skate past it.

"Did you look into what I asked?"

A moment later I heard pages turning.

The explanation that followed made one thing clear: unless you were rich, admission was simply impossible. Even among the state schools, though, a few were excellent.

They had been founded so that ordinary people could receive the education of an elite private school, and you had to pass an exam to get in.

"Wait. Then the private schools don't have exams?"

"Then what do they look at?"

"You mean they look at money?"

Everyone knew Britain had a royal family. But were they still going on about aristocrats?

"What do they get out of sorting people like that?"

"Is that so?"

Wait.

This might actually work.

Knowing Grandfather, high school abroad was something he would never allow. But a Royal School that produced British prime ministers as a matter of course? They shove one another upward like mad! Frankly, if the expected return was this solid, even Grandfather would have no grounds to refuse outright.

Of course! Networks, my foot. The goal was to get in, loaf around, and come home. Heh.

"But the peak of a British network is usually Oxford, isn't it?"

"Then why fuss over high school as well?"

"......?"

"So being a Royal School old boy is far more special?"

A thoroughly unappetizing way of thinking. But was there a better school anywhere for persuading adults?

Right. So that's how it is.

I quietly lifted the corner of my mouth.

After the call, I looked into Britain's school system.

The structure's unusual.

Secondary education ran five years, middle school and high school combined. Then came a special two-year course for students aiming at university—upper secondary. Seven years in all before you could go on.

A year later than us?

Perhaps that was why British universities were three-year programs. One extra year while you were young, one fewer once you were grown.

Reasonable enough, in its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way.

But if you decided on study abroad partway through, the system cost you a year. Thanks to that, the Royal School operated on the American model: six years of secondary education. Attend secondary school for three years, enter the Royal School, complete three more, and you qualified to sit the university entrance exams. In other words, what normally took seven years, Royal School students could finish a year early.

If that's a privilege, it's a privilege.

It might look like nothing to us, but to the British it was apparently quite a sensitive matter. A golden network, and an earlier start in society besides.

The competition won't be gentle.

Fine. All the better. Strike while the iron was hot—I got to my feet at once.

"You want to study abroad?"

Grandfather's reaction was, as expected, fierce.

"You think I don't know you're scheming because you don't want the cars!"

But the moment I brought up the Royal School, his eyes changed, visibly.

"If I study in Korea, I can't escape the title of third-generation Hyeon-gang. I'll be given special treatment one way or another..."

Plenty of chaebol heirs were waited on at home, then failed the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moment they stepped onto the world stage. But if I entered the London Royal School? I'd be treated as a foreigner come from overseas and forced to face a cold reality.

"Is there a better place to scrub away a chaebol's sense of privilege?"

Grandfather seemed to agree, more than a little. He was not, however, a man who gave in easily. He raised the problem at once.

"You go study in Britain, and what happens to your company? Don't tell me a boy who went all the way abroad is going to run the business from over there."

Mm.

"You thinking of shutting the doors the whole time you're away?"

"Of course not."

"Then?"

"I'll hire someone to run it in my place before I go."

"A professional manager. That what you mean?"

Grandfather's reaction was not encouraging. His ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠face asked whether anyone could really fill my seat.

"In that case, Grandfather."

"......?"

"If I bring you a truly excellent manager, you'll allow it then, won't you?"

At my question, Grandfather's brow gave a small twitch.