The One Thing That Never Changes
After I finished the call with Yang Eokgwan, I looked quietly around the room.
A single day without cleaning, and the dust had already begun to settle. This was when you wanted a vacuum—especially a cordless one. You know the kind. A motor tuned to within an inch of its life, swallowing whatever came into view. Yes. Something like that would have made life easy.
Even imagining it was enough.
Heh heh heh.
A smile drew itself across my mouth. I had spent ten billion won, and yet it felt as if I had swept the money right back in. In high spirits, I stretched out on the bed.
Eight at night. A little early to sleep—and having only just come in, heading out again felt awkward. I thought of slipping next door for a visit, then caught myself.
Baker needs his rest too.
I was about to let the idea go when something stopped me.
Hm.
Maybe it was because I had thought of Baker. I remembered his face from around the time the Grosvenor Estate had come up—how thoroughly uncomfortable he had looked.
Nobles, in an age like this.
That they were among London's great landlords was beyond dispute.
Even so, what real trouble could there be?
The aristocrats could play their games as they liked. I would be over here cheering on Dr. Dyson.
With my thoughts settled, I turned slowly toward the window. Tonight, of all nights, London's sky looked unusually beautiful.
At that same hour, in Grosvenor Castle.
Tennessee Grosvenor, heir of the Grosvenor Estate, received a grueling private lesson every night.
"Young master, would you summarize what you learned today?"
At the tutor's words, Tennessee answered with a thoroughly bored face.
"The history of mankind is the history of invasion."
"Correct. An advanced civilization cannot simply leave a lesser world alone. If you are the first to invent the gun, you must collect what you are owed. Wouldn't you agree?"
Tennessee gave no answer. He looked down instead at the city spread beyond the window.
"Young master, would you focus?"
"......"
"Let us continue. The Cold War is over. At a glance, the history of invasion seems to have ended with it. But is human nature ever so obliging?"
"......"
"An advanced civilization is bound to invade a world that is not. Only the weapons change to suit the age. Once, we pressed guns and blades to their throats. And now?"
Even at the question, Tennessee's gaze stayed fixed on nothing but the window.
"Young master? If you persist in this halfhearted attitude, I will have no choice but to report you to the Duke......"
"Then report me."
"Pardon?"
"Tell him my attitude displeases you. Only—"
"......?"
"Don't forget to add that you had nothing left to teach."
"Nothing left to teach?"
Tennessee answered slowly, still watching London's night sky.
"You asked what it's like now, if once we fought with guns and swords."
The tutor nodded.
"Today's weapon is advanced finance. This is an age when money itself becomes the gun and the blade. Isn't it?"
"Would you elaborate?"
"There are countries with room to grow, and no system to speak of."
"Targets of invasion?"
Tennessee went on as if the name hardly mattered.
"You buy up the failing companies in such a country, restructure them, and take a proper price on the way out."
"There is more, I imagine."
"You drive in a blade that calls itself investment, seize the industries a nation stands on, and collect enormous dividends."
Only then did a satisfied smile rise on the tutor's face.
"And how did you come to know that?"
"It's our family's business. All of it."
"You prepared in advance?"
"Let's say I did."
"Very good. One last thing to confirm."
"......?"
"However backward they may be, the other party is still very much a sovereign state. Failing firms or core industries—if the government itself rushes in, swearing to defend them, what will you do then?"
"Ruin the country."
"And the method?"
"Let them get drunk on a flood of investment. Then, in a single stroke, collapse their foreign-exchange liquidity."
"Hoh."
The tutor's eyes lit as he spoke.
"I thought you had only done a little preparation. It seems you've finished the advanced course as well."
"Then there won't be lessons for a while?"
"Once I report to the Duke, I'm sure he will have the appropriate word."
At that, Tennessee nodded, perfectly calm.
The next day, I left the lodgings early in the morning to watch a football match with Baker.
If I was dreaming of buying Manchester United, then of course I ought to be watching a Manchester United match—wasn't that obvious?
Well, yes.
But where we went was a youth ground. Watch the first team now, and there was hardly a player I would recognize. The names familiar to me all belonged to an age when they were still on the youth sides. So of course I was glad to watch a youth match.
The ground was quiet. However mad people were for football, turning out even for the youth games was a hard ask, and thanks to that I had a seat in the very front row.
Thump. Thump. Players loosened up, one and then another. Among them, one figure stood sharply apart.
Thwack!
You could tell from the sound alone.
Whssssh! The ball bent along an impossible arc and—crack!—split the net before the keeper had time to move.
"Waaaaah!"
The crowd burst into startled cheers, but the player only shrugged and struck the free kick as if it were nothing, shaking the net just as cleanly a second time. A player who literally shone, thanks to that monstrous kicking power.
Or maybe not. Setting the skill aside, what shone might simply have been his looks.
His name was David Beckham—the man who would grow into an icon of English football.
Another player stood beside him, looking somewhat smaller than Beckham. But when it came to striking a ball, Beckham could step aside.
Thwack! Especially when he meant it, and split the pitch with a pass.
"Waaah!"
The cheers poured out without fail. Anyone devoted enough to come out for a youth match could fairly be called a true fanatic, and even those maniacs were left shaking their heads.
"How do you even pass like that......"
"That's impossible!"
Fair enough. This was the man Zidane and Guardiola would both name the greatest midfielder alive. His name was Paul Scholes—a man so steeped in football that even after he retired, Ferguson would summon him back onto the pitch.
Good thing I had come. How many Koreans would ever see Beckham and Scholes in their youth? It was a different feeling entirely from watching Jordan in person.
And at fullback, there's Gary Neville.
Hm. A familiar face, sure, but in the interest of player welfare (?), I would withhold the evaluation......
Anyway!
The youth sides of Manchester United and Newcastle finished 6–1. And with that, I had handsomely achieved my purpose in coming to Britain.
Heh heh heh.
On the way out of the ground, I said to Baker,
"I'm going to buy Manchester United. No matter what."
Perhaps he felt the resolve packed into it.
"I'll make it happen, one way or another."
There was no need for him to let it become a burden. I would be in Britain for at least three years myself. Fortunately, my meaning seemed to have landed.
"It's not as if I'm doing it alone... Was I too grim?"
He grinned.
"That aside, Boss—once you leave this time, when will you be back?"
"Not until it's time to enroll, I suppose."
"That'll be a few months."
"Time flies."
"Aren't you talking a bit too much like a grown-up?"
I answered with a small laugh instead of words. It really was time to go home. Short as it had been, my fierce little British schedule was drawing to a close.
I boarded a plane out of London with Baker seeing me off, and—
Oh?
Jo Sudeok was waiting at Gimpo Airport. Now this was being looked after.
"What did you do about your luggage?"
"I went empty-handed."
"Japan, perhaps. But going all the way to London with nothing in your hands isn't easy......"
"My wallet was thick enough."
"Aigoo!"
Jo Sudeok's laugh always left a person in a good mood.
"How did you know I was coming?"
"The chairman's office called. They said you'd arrive this afternoon."
I hadn't made a single call. As expected, Grandfather missed nothing.
"I'm to take you to the art museum."
"Not home?"
"No. He's decided on a large-scale investment in the arts. The Chairman himself will give the address."
"The whole family will be there, then?"
"That's what I was told."
Jo Sudeok glanced at his watch.
"Boss, shall we get moving?"
Time must have been tight. I nodded quietly.
Vroom!
In Britain it had been Bentley limousines the whole way. Riding in a Schultz S-Class again after so long felt entirely different—especially through the shifts, when aside from the note of the engine you could hear no noise at all.
Ah. Wait.
Keep this up, and I'd end up inheriting Hyeon-gang Motors!
Best to stop thinking about cars......
I turned to Jo Sudeok, seated beside me in the back.
"I got in thanks to your painting, Professor."
"Thanks to me? It was all you, Boss......"
"You flew all the way to the Maltese coast to paint it yourself."
"Only because you gave such specific instructions......"
"Carrying those instructions out without a single gap—that was your doing."
Only then did Jo Sudeok laugh, a little shy.
Vroooom!
The car picked up speed. We really were in a hurry. Even so, it would take thirty minutes.
Might as well see Seoul again, for the first time in a while.
I simply gazed out the window at my ease.
The Hyeon-gang Art Museum.
By the time Jo Sudeok and I arrived, the address had already begun, and thanks to that I was able to take a seat far in the back.
Better this way.
I was about to let my mind wander when—
Hm?
My eyes met Grandfather's, dead on. And that was not all. He stopped mid-sentence and studied me, long and hard. At this rate it was man-to-man marking......
When I straightened in my seat, Grandfather stepped back to the microphone.
"I know some of you are wondering. A fellow who's lived blood-mad for money—what's he doing, talking about investing in artists?"
The hall was in a fine mood. Laughter kept breaking out here and there.
"And you'd be right to wonder. Park Yonghak ain't the sort to throw good money after nonsense. Which is to say—if I'm the one standing up here and calling for us to spend it, then the time has come when art needs the investment. Ain't that so?"
He briefly laid out where Hyeon-gang stood: the founder lays the foundation, and the next generation advances the technology. Everyone already knew that picture. Grandfather went a step further.
"Technology gets better, and that's the end of it?"
"......"
"If we can manage it, the ones coming up behind us can manage the very same thing, can't they?"
Technological progress would hit a wall someday. Could they really withstand China's flood of sheer volume? Every ear in the hall pricked up, waiting for the answer.
"The world can turn itself over as many times as it likes. The one thing that does not change is that human beings are drawn to beauty."
In the end, he meant that Hyeon-gang's way forward lay in design.
And then—wouldn't you know it? Of all moments, Grandfather chose this one. He fell silent, and fixed his gaze on me once more.