The Illegitimate Heir
"Rule Breaker!"
Stepping outside, Yoo Jae-won found the president of the rice bran oil factory waiting just beyond the office door. Aside from the man's own aging Mercedes, there was no sign of a chauffeur, so he had clearly driven himself.
"Chairman, good afternoon. I apologize for dropping by without an appointment."
Upon seeing Yoo Jae-won emerge, Park Sang-kwon offered a deep, respectful bow. Jae-won waved both hands in protest.
"Chairman? And why the formal speech? Speak to me the way you used to."
"How could I possibly do that? You've even absorbed Microsoft, and now employ thousands of people. Please don't feel burdened by the respect."
Park Sang-kwon smiled as he spoke, but there was no teasing in his tone—only genuine seriousness. Jae-won found himself unsure how to respond. Already, rumors of his own supposed rudeness and lack of manners circulated on PC communications; if word of Park Sang-kwon's deference spread, those whispers would only grow louder.
"By that logic, you're one of the few shareholders in ID Group. How can you not feel burdened?"
"Haha. Deciding to invest in ID Group was one of the proudest moments of my life."
"Anyway, it's good to see your face after so long. I should have visited you first—I'm sorry. So please, treat me like before. If you don't, I'll be too uncomfortable to bear it."
"Haha, very well, I understand."
Even as he agreed, Park Sang-kwon continued using honorifics to the very end. Deciding to settle the matter of titles and speech later, Jae-won guided him into his office for now.
Even inside the office, a small tug-of-war ensued over who would take the seat of honor. Park Sang-kwon was stubborn, but Jae-won had his own share of pride, so they eventually settled on sitting directly across from each other.
"Have you seen the phenol news?"
Once they were seated, Park Sang-kwon spoke first. Jae-won felt a flicker of surprise. He had assumed the factory president had come simply because he was curious about recent events. Yet the business at hand turned out to be the phenol incident. The direction of the conversation was impossible to predict.
"Of course. Ever since the incident broke, the news hasn't stopped. Don't tell me you've been implicated in it, President?"
The only plausible guess was that Park Sang-kwon had some connection to the phenol case. That would explain why he had come all this way looking awkward. But the president had no ties to the Nakdong River region. Yeoju and the Nakdong were hundreds of kilometers apart, and there was no reason for a grain dealer like Park Sang-kwon to run operations in that manner. As for Yukyeong Foods—the company he and Jae-won's father had invested in—the business was centered in Gyeonggi Province and Seoul. Recent reports indicated that Yukyeong Chicken already had over thirty franchises, with a sharp increase in suppliers for live chickens and byproducts. Daily shipments exceeded five thousand birds, a remarkably steep growth curve. At this rate, by the end of 1991 they might well be selling ten to twenty thousand birds a day. Even so, Yukyeong Foods had yet to expand into the Gyeongsang region.
"Well, broadly speaking, I suppose one could say that."
"What?!"
Jae-won had been expecting a denial, so Park Sang-kwon's ready agreement caught him off guard.
"Haha, no need to look so alarmed. It's not as serious as it sounds. When I say 'broadly,' I mean it wasn't me personally, but members of my family who were involved."
Family? The phenol incident had been caused by Busan Electronics, a subsidiary of the Busan Group. The Busan Group's founding family bore the surname Park. The chairman who had recently resigned to take responsibility was named Park Sang-yong. The two characters of that name matched those of the man sitting before him. Moreover, studying Park Sang-kwon's face up close, Jae-won noticed a certain resemblance to Park Sang-yong, who had appeared at the resignation press conference.
That could only mean—
"That's right. My father is Busan Group Chairman Park Byeong-cheol."
Jae-won's mouth fell open. Park Byeong-cheol had been the second chairman of the Busan Group. The past tense was necessary because he had died more than ten years earlier. After his death, his eldest son, Park Sang-yong, had become the third chairman—only to step down after the phenol scandal. The Busan Group was a chaebol in its own right, ranked within the top ten of Korean business conglomerates, so Jae-won's Memory Palace held some information on it. Still, the records up to the early 1990s were extremely sparse; the group had not truly distinguished itself until the early 2000s.
At the same time, a question arose. If he was Chairman Park Byeong-cheol's son, Park Sang-kwon should have occupied a prominent position. Park Sang-yong had been chairman, and the other sons and daughters each held posts in Busan Group affiliates. So why was Park Sang-kwon running nothing more than a rice bran oil factory in the small city of Yeoju?
"Well, it's a little awkward to say, but… I'm an illegitimate son."
An illegitimate son?
"So… your mother is different from Chairman Park Sang-yong and the others?"
"Yes. Thanks to my father entering me in the family register before he passed, I was at least able to use the Park surname properly. Even so, the treatment I received was vastly different from that given to the legitimate children. In terms of age, I come right after former Chairman Park Sang-yong. Of course, I was never allowed to call him 'elder brother,' nor did the younger siblings ever treat me as one."
Good heavens. A chaebol and a secret birth. Jae-won had never imagined that someone so close to him would carry the very trope that twenty-first-century Koreans loved in their dramas. Now that he mingled with Korea's top chaebol families, the existence of such a secret was, in its own way, fascinating—even if it was hardly something one should voice lightly in front of the person who had suffered because of it.
Still, thanks to Park Sang-kwon's story, Jae-won could now guess why the man had sought him out.
"So you want to claim your rightful place this time?"
With the eldest son stepping down from the chairmanship, the second son should naturally succeed him.
"Not at the moment."
The phrase "at the moment" suggested he did harbor ambitions, though practical constraints had forced him to set them aside for now. Yet this conversation carried a strange sense of déjà vu. It reminded him of dramas. In his previous life, watching dramas had been one of Jae-won's few hobbies. Even while preparing for regression, he could not study and train around the clock; dramas had served as a way to cool an overheated mind. From the moment he regained his senses until just before his death, he had easily watched over a hundred dramas from beginning to end. After three years of "study-hall dog" life, he could confidently call himself something of a drama expert. The dominant trend in twenty-first-century Korean dramas was the chaebol. Except for a few that focused exclusively on ordinary people, virtually every drama featured chaebols or the wealthy. And among those, secret births were a staple. The character carrying that secret almost always ended up inheriting the group.
Park Sang-kwon had every possibility of following the same path.
What if President Park Sang-kwon became chairman of the Busan Group?
It would be a good thing for Jae-won. The greatest obstacle to reforming Korea was the chaebols. Even if he grew ID Group larger than it was now, the combined power of Korea's chaebol families would still be a heavy burden. He was already maintaining close ties with Mirae Group, but that alone was not enough. Adding the Busan Group to the equation would be a tremendous help. Above all, Park Sang-kwon's character was on an entirely different level from the other Busan Group owners Jae-won knew. His greatest flaw was his love of contrarian betting, but thanks to that very trait, Jae-won had received Park Sang-kwon's full support and been able to build ID Group far more rapidly.
"How can I help? Shall I do the same as I did with Mirae Electronics?"
"Surely you don't mean to make a massive investment and step forward publicly, the way you did with Mirae Electronics a few days ago?"
"That's exactly what I mean."
Jae-won was willing to do anything for Park Sang-kwon. Acquiring Busan Brewery would be the same. At first it would be only one company, but it would serve as a foothold to formally plant one foot inside the Busan Group. With Jae-won's backing and his own abilities, it would not be impossible for Park Sang-kwon to seize control of the entire Busan Group.
"That's too much. Besides, it would place an enormous burden on a world-class chairman like yourself."
"Then you already have another plan in mind?"
"Well, it's a little embarrassing to ask, but… would it be possible to withdraw the money I invested in ID Investment right now? I'd like to make use of it."
Of course it was possible. Even ordinary investors could do the same. The notice stated that early termination was not allowed, but enforcing that literally would create legal problems. Anyone could withdraw by paying a penalty. They could even take the profits earned during the investment period. Moreover, Park Sang-kwon ranked higher than a regular investor. He could deposit and withdraw funds with far greater freedom.
"Of course it's possible! But do you know how much your investment has grown? You should check the amount before withdrawing."
"Hmm? How much could it possibly be…?"
"Take a look. And brace yourself."
Jae-won powered on the Egg PC set on the table. It had not been there when the branch manager from the telephone office visited, but because ID was a software company, they often needed computers during meetings, so one had been placed on the table as well.
The Egg PC's form factor differed slightly from conventional models. To put it exaggeratedly, it was half the size—or even a quarter. That was because the machine on the table was a second-generation Egg PC equipped with an LCD monitor. It was a 12-inch TFT-LCD developed on a trial basis by Japan's Sharp, supporting a full 16-bit color palette. Being an early, still-maturing technology, it had glaring drawbacks: severe afterimages, sluggish response times, and—most critically—a narrow viewing angle.