What Should We Start With?
Aurora, headquarters of the Aurora Group—which had instantly merged seven companies into one ultra-massive conglomerate—was a pure holding company.
It ran no businesses of its own. Instead it founded subsidiaries and harvested profits through them. As a result, although Jeong-Hoon had become chairman of this colossal group, the only real change was the public’s intensified scrutiny; as chairman he still had almost nothing to do.
“Huh. Somehow I feel like my brand value just exploded even higher.”
“It isn’t a feeling. It’s reality.”
What had once been merely the top floor of the Lumen Seoul branch—and the chairman’s private suite—had now become headquarters of the Aurora Group. As Jeong-Hoon muttered the thought, Lee Yeong, standing ready beside him, answered at once.
The Chief Butler was temporarily away performing his duties as Lumen’s representative.
The reason the top floor of the Lumen Seoul branch could serve as Aurora’s headquarters was that Jeong-Hoon had gone to considerable lengths to preserve the family’s traditional method: handling every family affair while remaining centered at Lumen, without ever changing residences. By having Aurora own every piece of real estate belonging to the businesses and lease it back to them, they established a clear center of gravity as a holding company. Thus even the Lumen Seoul branch was formally leased from Aurora, allowing the top floor alone to belong to Aurora rather than Lumen.
There had been more complicated maneuvers, but this was as much as Jeong-Hoon understood. As Gaju he displayed outstanding ability, yet grasping domains that lay outside his knowledge remained impossible. It was enough simply to understand that, as the sole owner of the holding company Aurora—which commanded countless subsidiaries—and the holder of one hundred percent of its shares, Jeong-Hoon’s brand value had soared still higher.
“But Head Maid, I went to the trouble of giving you the title of Chief Secretary, yet you’re still wearing a maid uniform?”
“I take pride in this maid uniform. Except for official occasions, I will continue to wear it.”
Jeong-Hoon had once pointed out that she wore ordinary women’s business attire on her days off, yet Lee Yeong’s firm stance left him with nothing to show for the remark.
“Ah—training time already. Let’s head down.”
“I shall accompany you.”
He could have ordered her to work in a suit instead of the maid uniform, but he chose to respect her will. Jeong-Hoon, who had been sipping tea and watching the news, checked the time and rose from his seat. In any case the news was nothing but stories about the Aurora Group, so it held little interest.
After finishing training and showering, Jeong-Hoon was about to return to his room when he stopped mid-stride. Curiosity about the reactions of Lumen’s guests suddenly rose, and he changed direction toward one of Lumen’s restaurants.
“The Chairman going to the restaurant? That’s quite rare.”
The Chief Butler, who had finished his work and rejoined them during training, expressed surprise. Jeong-Hoon tilted his head, wondering if it really was that unusual.
“…Come to think of it, this is the first time.”
While So-hyeon was alive he had toured every restaurant in Lumen simply to treat her, yet this was the first time Jeong-Hoon was visiting a restaurant of his own free will. He nodded blankly. He already possessed full awareness as Gaju. What he now realized was that his awareness as chairman was still lacking.
“The company is part of the family too. I’ve been too neglectful.”
“It hasn’t even been half a year yet. You’re already doing splendidly.”
Deliberately omitting the words “Gaju” and “Chairman,” the Chief Butler followed Jeong-Hoon into the restaurant.
The restaurant Jeong-Hoon chose was the most publicly recognized among all those inside Lumen. It was the place that offered cuisine befitting Lumen’s standards at the lowest possible prices so that visitors could leave feeling they had truly enjoyed Lumen. Consequently it was always thronged with people eager for the experience.
“Hey, why not? Isn’t this Lumen?”
With so many patrons the atmosphere was lively and noisy—until a single shout silenced everything at once. Jeong-Hoon’s and the Chief Butler’s gazes turned naturally toward the source.
A man in his early thirties, neat-haired and wearing glasses, had seized the employee taking orders and was berating him. He occupied a table alone; no companions were in sight. Instead he had set his phone on the table and was filming something.
“Ah—could he be a streamer?”
“All facilities in Lumen prohibit live broadcasting without prior permission.”
“Right. Then he’s just recording.”
Recording for later upload was allowed, but because it could inconvenience other guests, live streams were forbidden without advance filming approval. Jeong-Hoon wondered whether the employee was trying to stop a live broadcast and the man was protesting, but that was not the case. Discovery of a live stream meant immediate expulsion, no arguments accepted. That was Lumen’s rule. Refusal to leave left only a lawsuit from Lumen’s—no, from the now-independent law firm headed by Ko Yu-Yeon—as the remaining option.
“What’s going on here?”
Curious why the employee was flustered and unable to handle the situation properly, Jeong-Hoon stepped in without warning.
“Ch-Chairman!?”
The ordinary employee—who was not a vassal—rolled his eyes in shock at the intervention. Had the employee been a vassal, the commotion would never have arisen. Every vassal assigned to the businesses was at least a mid-level manager possessing independent authority; whatever disturbance occurred, they had both the power and the right to resolve it the moment it began.
“It’s all right. Explain it carefully.”
“…This customer ordered a meal, but there’s a problem with the order.”
At the employee’s explanation Jeong-Hoon turned toward the protesting customer with an expression of genuine incomprehension. Although the restaurant provided food as cheaply as possible, that standard was Lumen’s own. To the guests who came here the prices were still high enough to count as a small luxury. Therefore the principle was to cook whatever a customer requested, even if it was not on the menu, whenever feasible. Of course such specially prepared dishes cost more than the listed items.
“Sir, could you tell me what the problem is?”
“…This is Lumen, right? Lumen restaurants cook and serve whatever food the customer wants, don’t they?”
The man who met Jeong-Hoon’s eyes hesitated for a heartbeat, then smiled and spoke with renewed confidence.
“Even if it isn’t on the menu, we provide it within possible limits. Is the inconvenience that we cannot cook the dish you want?”
“It isn’t even a difficult order, yet they said absolutely no because the ingredients aren’t available. Shouldn’t you source them and cook them if that’s what the customer wants?”
The demand sounded absurd, yet for this restaurant it was entirely feasible, so Jeong-Hoon nodded. Of course, if the desired ingredients had to be specially sourced, the price would rise sharply. He saw no need to mention that point. There was no chance a Lumen employee had failed to explain it already.
“If you don’t mind, may I hear which ingredients you require? If possible, I will obtain them under my own authority.”
Assuming the ingredients must be so rare that the restaurant itself could not handle the request and was therefore refusing, Jeong-Hoon offered a gentle smile. Now that the enterprise had just been corporatized, he was prepared to accommodate a certain amount of unreasonable behavior.
“Monster-meat steak. Any monster will do. I simply want to taste monster meat.”
“…What?”
Believing he had already won thanks to Jeong-Hoon’s courteous response, the man stiffened his neck and spoke. Jeong-Hoon doubted his own ears.
Among gourmets who sought unusual dishes, a few did desire monster meat. Yet research conducted over the past decade had concluded that monster meat was simply not edible. Setting taste aside, the instinctive revulsion every human felt toward monsters made the mere act of chewing it an ordeal. Moreover, monsters were extraordinarily tenacious of life; finishing them off thoroughly usually left the corpse anything but intact. Consequently monster meat was never handled except by restaurants that catered specifically to gourmets with truly bizarre tastes.
“Sir, if you want monster meat I recommend visiting another establishment. Lumen does not handle monster meat.”
Thinking the man might simply be an eccentric who had come under the mistaken belief that Lumen could obtain anything, Jeong-Hoon answered as politely as possible. What he failed to notice was that the words he had just spoken were exactly the same as those the flustered employee had already used.
“Ha! Lumen’s nothing special after all! How can you call yourselves the world’s best hotel and restaurant when you can’t even get what a customer wants?”
“Sir—”
“Ha, you boast so much, but in the end you can’t get it, right? Then say it clearly—right here.”
He pointed at the phone still recording on the table. Jeong-Hoon finally understood what the man wanted. He was a professional troublemaker staging a scene in order to find fault with Lumen’s service.
“We simply cook dishes that aren’t on the menu whenever we can; we don’t grant every request unconditionally. So either eat what’s on the menu or, if that bothers you, get out.”
Meeting the man’s expectations exactly, Jeong-Hoon raised his middle finger and delivered the line he had been waiting for.
The restaurant inspection-cum-dinner ended with the expulsion of the troublemaker. Back in his room, Jeong-Hoon read the profile Han Su-Ho had already compiled on the earlier nuisance.
“So he’s a guy who takes money from reporters and deliberately goes around provoking scenes that can become articles?”
“Yes, Gaju. With the founding of the Aurora Group it became a special-news goldmine drawing every eye, so he accepted a commission to generate negative coverage.”
Han Su-Ho, who in that short time had even identified the commissioner, answered with a troubled look. Jeong-Hoon had expected a certain amount of targeting, but he had never imagined such a foolish provocation.
“That reporter—no, which media company is he affiliated with?”
“A company called Cheonrian Daily. It’s a major outlet of sorts—”
“Chief Butler, buy Cheonrian Daily and shut it down at once.”
“I shall execute it, Gaju.”
Without waiting for Han Su-Ho to finish, Jeong-Hoon ordered immediate retaliation and shook his head.
“Haa… Why poke someone who’s just minding his own business? I’m busy enough as it is.”
“It’s all because you’ve become famous, Gaju. It’s simply the price of renown; please don’t let it trouble you too much.”
Although Jeong-Hoon had grumbled to Lee Yeong that he had nothing to do as chairman of Aurora, it was not true that he did nothing. Now that they were a corporation, equipping the proper appearance of a corporation required him to keep proposing and ordering new projects and businesses. The goal was not profit; it was to maintain the form of a mega-conglomerate. Even losses could be converted into gains with nearly infinite capital—which was precisely why he had complained of having nothing to do. At this very moment he had to decide which of the numerous business proposals stacked before his eyes to pursue.
“Then what should we start with?”
“You may do whatever you wish, Gaju.”
Every proposal had already undergone rigorous review; none would fail. The Chief Butler answered nonchalantly.
“Proceeding with all of them is also possible.”
“No, that’s a bit— Huh?”
Bzzzt! Bzzzt!
About to brush off the Chief Butler’s not-quite-joke, Jeong-Hoon suddenly picked up the phone ringing on the table.
“Sir Fernandez? What could have happened?”
Fernandez now headed the subsidiary that oversaw the financial sector—including dungeon-development ventures where vast sums of money moved. When he called, Jeong-Hoon accepted the connection in surprise. A call from Fernandez meant something extraordinary had occurred. He frequently phoned and scolded the other vassals, yet for Gaju Jeong-Hoon he always came in person whenever he had something to say.
“Hello? Sir Fernandez, what is it?”
“Gaju, I apologize for contacting you by telephone. It appears you need to come here.”
The words implied a situation that prevented him from leaving his post. Jeong-Hoon snapped his fingers to locate him.
“Why is it that place again…?”
When the Chief Butler displayed Fernandez’s current position on the large television screen, Jeong-Hoon nearly dropped his phone in momentary panic.
The place where Fernandez stood was the Engine Guild’s relic dungeon—leased for excavation purposes at Kim Sang-Myeong’s request.