A Nose for Fortune

"So, what does this one smell like?"

"Hey. Get this one right too, and I'll give you ten thousand won."

"Isn't ten thousand won a bit stingy of you?"

"Okay, okay—fifty thousand, then!"

I closed my eyes for a moment and focused on the bag. Almost at once, a sharp, grassy sting pricked at the tip of my nose—the scent of something green and freshly cut.

"You brought a cucumber, didn't you?"

!?

"What? Look at this rascal's face—he got it, didn't he? Is it really cucumber?"

"All I can smell is a lonely old bachelor. Is it true? Open it, quick."

The elder who had proposed the bet opened the bag, the soul knocked clean out of him. Inside sat a plastic container, double-wrapped in a thick bag on top of everything else. When the lid came off, fresh cucumbers emerged along with that pungent green scent.

"Wow. It really is."

"No, seriously—how did you guess that?"

"No matter how strong cucumbers smell, wrapped up like that inside a bag? There's no way you could have smelled it. Right?"

I smiled sheepishly.

"I only got it because it was a cucumber. Anything else, and I'd have missed."

"Ha. This guy really is a bloodhound. How on earth did you know? Here—fifty thousand won."

"I was joking. You don't have to pay me."

"Oh, come now. A man honors his bets. Take it. When your elders give you something, you say thank you and you take it."

"Heh. Then I'll gratefully accept."

Beaming, I took the fifty thousand won. To an unemployed bum like me, that was serious money.

"Gentlemen, we'll be heading down soon—go easy on the drinks, and make sure you pack out your trash."

"Right. One cup of makgeolli apiece, then down we go. Anyone who gets drunk gets left on the mountain, so watch yourselves!"

At my words and the club president's, everyone answered at the top of their lungs.

"Yes, sir!"

With that, the president draped an arm around my shoulders, easy and familiar.

"Suho. How did you do that just now? You already knew what was in that bag, didn't you?"

"I really did smell it?"

"Oh, come on. How do you smell something sealed up like that? At least say something that makes sense."

It was no lie. It was the truth. My nose was several times more sensitive than other people's—I could pick up a scent with uncanny precision.

The trouble was, it was severe to a fault. Out in the city, daily life was impossible without a mask.

"Come to think of it, you did get hospital treatment for that nose of yours, didn't you?"

"I did. It didn't help at all, though. Apparently the problem's on the brain side, where smell gets processed. I don't know the exact diagnosis myself."

"Well, at least you can breathe easy up on the mountain."

And that was why I loved the mountains. Hiking was honestly brutal, but being able to breathe freely made it more than worth it—I had even seriously entertained the thought of shaving my head, becoming a monk, and living out my days deep in the mountains.

"It's been about two years since you joined us, hasn't it?"

"Yes. Time flies."

The truth was, I'd never planned to join any club. I'd simply been hiking as usual when I ran into these people, got what you'd call a street—no, a mountain-trail—scouting pitch, and somehow ended up trekking with them for two years running.

"Not a single young one among us, and you're stuck hiking with a pack of cranky old codgers. You've had it rough."

"Not at all. They've looked after me as the baby of the group. It's been great, really."

I wasn't just saying it. Thanks to these men, hiking had become far more enjoyable. People really are better off belonging somewhere and doing things together than going it alone.

Best of all, this club was nothing but middle-aged men. No networking, no private agendas—not one bit of it. Just people who had gathered for one purpose and one purpose only: to climb mountains, thoroughly and completely.

"By the way, Mr. President."

"Hmm?"

"I... I don't think I'll be able to come out with the club for a while."

"What? No—why? You rascal. Don't you know leaving our organization costs an arm?"

When I gave a faint smile, the president caught on that this was no joke.

"You're serious? Is it because you've been stuck with a bunch of old-timers ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who do nothing but tell lame jokes all day?"

"Good grief, I keep telling you, that's not it."

"Then why all of a sudden? Did we do something to hurt your feelings?"

"No. You've all been so good to me—I'm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the one who's grateful, always."

I let out a short breath and pressed on.

"It's just... I think I need to push hard on the job hunt for a while."

"Ah—."

Truth be told, I was starting to feel the stares at home, too. I'd been preparing for employment ever since I got out of the army, even before I finished my degree, but just as the news kept saying, the job market had frozen solid—literally.

"I've heard the talk. They say finding work isn't easy these days."

"It isn't. But before I get any older, I need to land a proper job somehow. I'm cutting off all my hobbies for the time being."

"Hmm... So that's how things stand. I haven't been paying attention. I'm sorry."

"Not at all. It's my own burden to carry."

"So, anything decided yet? Is there anything you actually want to do?"

Something I wanted to do. When I was young, all I'd wanted was to be rich. The hero of a drama I'd watched back then had been a genius investor, and he'd looked so impossibly cool.

But now, older and face-to-face with reality, I understood just how fanciful that dream had been. Something I wanted to do—please. Whatever company was willing to hire me and whatever they told me to do—that was what I wanted to do.

"No, sir. I keep sending out applications. I've got interviews lined up at a few places, but nothing's certain."

I was doing my best, or telling myself I was. The real problem was the countless young people stuck in exactly the same situation, all grinding through the same job hunt. The competition kept sharpening, and the door to employment kept narrowing—that was the reality.

"You're still young. Keep at it."

"So you can't come out with us for a while? You're not about to disappear on us for good, are you?"

"That... I'll have to see how things go. That's why I wanted to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tell you first today, Mr. President, and then break it to the others."

We had years of shared history between us; vanishing without a word would have been discourteous.

"Hold on. Don't say anything to them yet."

"Sorry?"

"Suho. If I told you there was work for you right now, would you take it?"

I must have looked completely lost.

"If you're going to work at a company anyway, isn't it better to go with someone you know? Want to try mine?"

"Y-your company, Mr. President? Weren't you retired?"

"Why, you rascal. How old do you think I am, that I'd already be retired? Are you saying I look old?"

With that, the president held out a single business card.

"It's been a long time since I gave one of these to anyone."

!?

Daesung Group, of all things. A corporate giant—one of Korea's Three Major Financial Groups, no less.

And if his family name really is Geum...

Daesung Group had been founded by the Geum family, and they ran it to this very day.

"Mr. President—don't tell me you're Royal Family?!"

"Shh. Not a soul here knows."

I had never caught so much as a whiff of it. Who would ever suspect that a man in plain, ordinary clothes—who hiked along with everyone and drank his makgeolli like anybody else—was a member of the Royal Family?

"I told you I used to be quite somebody, back in the day."

"Well, that's..."

I'd always taken it for the bluster old men liked to toss around. Everyone claims they were somebody once.

"In any case, wait right here."

The president dialed a number somewhere far away.

"Yes, yes, it's me. What's got you so startled, man? Seen a ghost? Quit the theatrics and get the HR team on the phone."

True to his usual temperament, the president bulldozed straight through the matter on the spot, then laid down the law.

"Suho. Decide."

"Sorry?"

"If you want out of our organization, hand over an arm—or quietly come work at my company."

...

It was the moment the door to employment, jammed shut for so long, suddenly swung wide open.

"What is all this? Director Geum Gaho, of all people?!"

They called it a bolt from the blue for a reason. A sudden directive had just landed on the peaceful HR department of Daeseong Securities—and not just any directive, but one handed down from the Group itself.

"Director Geum Gaho... wasn't he retired?"

"We don't know, sir. He called headquarters HR out of the blue and told them to look into whether there was a suitable opening."

"And that's how it landed on us here at Daeseong Securities?"

"Yes. No other affiliate is hiring new employees right now, but our brokerage happens to be taking on interns this round. It seems he intends to plant a Parachute Hire among them."

Brokerages hiring interns was routine. It was the perfect arrangement, after all—pile on the grunt work, then let them go.

But this intern was different. This was an intern descending from the heavens, plain and simple.

"He could just quietly toss headquarters a seat and be done with it. Why complicate things like this?"

"That's the trend these days, isn't it? You tuck a parachute in quietly with a batch of new hires, and no one's the wiser—anyone below the senior ranks never knows. Saves you any trouble with the media, too."

"Still, an intern is a novel one. First time anyone's parachuted someone in as an intern, no?"

"Yes. And the fact that it's Director Geum Gaho, of all people..."

Director Geum Gaho had been quite famous within Daesung Group. Barely a few years ago, he'd even been named the most likely candidate for the next chairmanship. But then he lost his only son in a sudden accident, and word was he'd been reduced to a complete wreck.

"Ugh. The atmosphere at that funeral was truly horrific."

"You attended that funeral too, Team Leader?"

"An executive's son had died young—how could anyone not go? Everyone from section chief on up was there."

That bleak, suffocating atmosphere was not something anyone wanted to relive a second time.

"Didn't he leave the company after that day?"

"That's what I thought, too. But he's Royal Family, first of all. And his abilities were exceptional, on top of it. If only his son hadn't... ahem. Anyway. Did we receive his résumé?"

"No, sir. He only gave us his name, his age, and where he finished university. He says the remaining documents will be sent separately."

So the identity of the young master descending with this parachute was not something the likes of them needed to know in detail. How considerate.

"Different family name, isn't it?"

"Well, a different surname doesn't mean he's not Royal Family."

He could simply be a nephew being ushered into the company, for all anyone knew.

"Which department did he ask to be placed in?"

"He said somewhere he could accumulate plenty of experience and broaden his horizons."

Broad experience, widened horizons. In a securities firm, there was exactly one place that fit the bill.

"Research, then. Nowhere else."

"Yes. The Research Operations Team would seem the natural fit. There's less pressure over results there, and examining sector after sector does broaden one's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠financial horizons."

If the goal was to build broad financial knowledge, nothing rivaled the Research Operations Team. It researched and investigated every field, putting out predictions of what value lay ahead.

"Besides, we can't have our young master suffering under performance pressure."

Research had its own pressure, of course. A report that fell short could deal a fatal blow to the brand, and everyone from institutional clients to ordinary customers would walk away.

So naturally, one had to write good reports and make good calls. That was how you gathered clients and made your money on fees.

"But trading carries several times that pressure."

And their precious young master had no business sitting in such a brutal, chaotic arena.

"Shall we place him in the Research Center, then?"

"Yes. Tell the center director to see to him properly. That's as far as our job goes."

A parachute handed down from the Group itself, no less. Getting tangled up any deeper would do no one any good. It was widely known fact that most Royal Family members were hopeless, wasn't it?

"The Research Center is in for quite a shock, then."

"Their results haven't been good lately, either. Time they pulled themselves together. Heh heh."

The General Manager closed the personnel file with a satisfied smile. The rest was the Research Center's problem now.

And yet, they would have to keep a careful watch. There was no telling what might unfold at Daeseong Securities around their precious young master.