Grand Strategy (1): Money
Money. Wealth, riches, gold, capital power... No matter how you phrase it, this single element has thousands upon thousands of names, but to the employees of Atlas, it was a word that set their teeth on edge.
From the perspective of modern people living in a capitalist world, wealth and money should be as vital as blood and flesh—so why did it grind on them so much? The reason was simple.
"...Nebula again?"
Nebula. That cursed name.
If you had to pin it down, Nebula was practically a foreign corporation. Even its chairman, Seol Hwi, had only adopted a Korean name as a token gesture after lingering in Korea for ages—her collection of names acquired over decades of wandering the globe would easily fill dozens of pages. To give you an idea, if she got birthday texts for every single one, her phone's storage would overload and refuse to send them all at once.
The chairman herself was already far from normal, so what about the employees under her? There's an old saying: clear water above makes clear water below. Or, put another way:
"What? A Labor Office inspector?! Hey, hey! Put the interns up front and shred all the important documents!"
"Oh dear, Inspector sir. We're barely scraping by as it is. Here, a little token of our sincerity—please accept it graciously~!"
"Ahem! Ahem!"
From the top down, Nebula was rotten enough that even an industrial-era Englishman catching a whiff would shake his head and mutter, "Ugh, sewage."
The chairman was a 1st-rank hunter who'd lived not just decades, but centuries. She was a next-gen octopus queen with tentacles planted worldwide—Korea, Japan, America, Canada, Australia, you name it. Her underlings kept things to mere bribes and corruption(?) because they didn't want major trouble, but to them, law and morality were as meaningless as the neighbor's dog shit compared to their doghouse or food bowl.
Of course, Seol Hwi's direct executives—the so-called board of directors—were a different story...
"As long as the results are good? It's fine, right? Probably?"
"Exactly. There's an old saying: if you don't get caught, it's not a crime."
Seol Hwi had handpicked every board member herself, and not one had a shred of conscience left. For money and personal gain, they'd fabricate one from nothing, dunk it in the cesspool, and scream, "I did what you said—pay up!" They were efficiency zealots through and through.
In the end, Atlas's predecessor began as a steel mill during the Nakgi era, weathered the turbulent Korean War, and absorbed chaebol-style management techniques (a sort of forbidden art?) from the Japanese occupiers. After the gates opened, it plunged into the superhuman corporate market faster than any Korean firm—but...
"...What did you say?"
"I told you a hundred times! We've already contracted with Nebula!"
While Atlas was still fiddling with magic stones and monster parts, scrutinizing business viability, Nebula barreled ahead, flushing laws and regulations down the toilet like a pack of mad destroyer tanks. No way could Atlas match that ferocity.
To compete with these Iron Mask users—who traded conscience and morals for infinite wealth and corrupt power—Atlas poured everything it had into the fight. They got crushed in most areas anyway. So they picked one spot and stabbed with a awl.
If it were that easy, every young startup founder who jumped into Silicon Valley back in the day would be a global billionaire. There's a reason unicorn companies are called unicorns. They're mythical beasts—about as common in reality as seeing one, which matches the rarity of a "just pay it back later" venture actually succeeding.
Was it fate's trickery, or the goddess of justice shielding them from Nebula's tyranny any longer?
"It's done! It's done!"
Of course, calling it the goddess's protection was a stretch, given Atlas's own adorable diehard fanboy streak—they'd mastered every end-times martial art from illegal political slush funds to thug mercenaries, straight out of a barbaric era megacorp playbook, just to chase Nebula's heels.
Still, they succeeded.
"Atlas has secured the world's first technology capable of surveying the interior of a non-entry gate."
"That possible? Even Europe and America failed at that."
"See for yourself."
Incredibly, it was real.
"Why'd this work?"
"12 months at 1.2% discount—special for you, valued customer." (Not "sucker.")
Leading with Inactive Gate Non-invasive Internal Sensing (IGNIS), Atlas—still just a challenger against the traditional titan of trust, Nebula—proudly claimed second place among Korea's superhuman corporations.
Sure, there was that minor sabotage incident where a Korean-descended PhD from UC Berkeley—who stubbornly researched "useless" mana tech while others spat on him—went mysteriously missing, but it fizzled out quick and had nothing to do with model citizen Atlas anyway.
Anyway, armed with IGNIS tech, Atlas finally gained a local edge over Nebula and charged ahead triumphantly...
"Arrrgh! Nebula, you bastards!"
"Why the hell are these pricks using second-gen mana shields all by themselves? Are they torturing aliens or something...?"
Not even close. They'd barely clawed Nebula's monopoly down from over 90% to around 70%—the world was still Nebula's playground. For a regular person, that'd be thumbs-up worthy, but for Atlas employees who'd chased Nebula's tail from playground trips holding Daddy's hand to potbellied middle-manager status, it was an archenemy worthy of a thousand—no, ten thousand—beatings with a club.
Thus battered by Nebula yet clinging to its ankle like mustard through tears, Atlas one day faced bolt-from-the-blue bad news.
"What?"
"...Th-that Busan Oncheon Gate Nebula snagged in last year's bid. They've detected a 5th-rank magic stone vein there."
"Investigate further."
Atlas's potbellied Resources Team deputy manager swallowed rage that could've popped his eyes and issued a cool-headed order. A modern-day Zhuge Liang, unshaken by fleeting emotions—a true man's way of the world. But...
"R-report! The 5th-rank intel was an error!"
"Knew it. These bastards can't keep winning forever—"
"A deep vein has 4th-rank-equivalent stones embedded, and depending on the survey... it could go up to 3rd-rank..."
That day, Atlas's Resources Team, the board who heard the report, and the chairman's sole granddaughter—who acted as the company's real control tower in his sickbed stead—all wailed to the heavens, begging for mercy.
"Arrrghhh! Heavens above! Why do you shower that conscienceless star-thief scum (Nebula) with resources and luck, while scorning us Atlas, bearers of Korea's spirit?! Oh heeeavens!!"
Of course, Atlas hadn't held back either. But compared to foreign-backed Nebula, wasn't it natural for homegrown (foreign capital stake: 49.99%) Atlas to shine brighter?
Did the Big Dipper hear their pathetic prayer?
"...Acting Chairman? These guys aren't developing it."
"What?!"
Only then did Atlas snap out of defeatism and launch frantic follow-up probes. The results were stunning. By sheer luck, the magic stone vein was buried deep underground, hidden from the Heavy Equipment Knights' shallow digs at the surface.
Sure, the knights had trusted their initial 18m contract depth enough to push to 20m, but how could they know the mana vein started around 38m down? Risking millions in test drilling was gambler's territory—better to lay out a mat on Baekdu Mountain and tell fortunes.
In the end, Busan Oncheon Gate sold to Nebula, but they clearly didn't know its true value.
...For now, at least.
Atlas's acting chairman, Yu Chae-rin, devised a desperate scheme.
"Looks like Nebula has no clue what's under Busan Oncheon. Right, Ha-yun?"
"...Chairman, it's past quitting time."
As Seong Ha-yun yawned listlessly and tapped her watch, the woman—barely 140cm tall, with golden hair and lavender eyes—grabbed Ha-yun's wrist as she tried to leave.
"J-just 10, 10 minutes~! Please? I won't skimp on overtime!"
"......Fine. Exactly 10 minutes."
Seong Ha-yun plopped back into the chair opposite Yu Chae-rin with another yawn. As Chae-rin lit up and chattered away, Ha-yun smirked at the heart-shaped cuff buttons fluttering on her sleeve.
Our chairman's tastes...
Chae-rin knew she looked too young to pass off as "baby-faced," so she stuck to high heels and suits. But heart buttons? Bear phone cases? Or that hamster-puff face with teary eyes whenever she felt wronged...?
Cute.
"—that's why, Ha-yun? Ha-Yu-un? You listening?"
Probably dropped some heavy jargon again. Seong Ha-yun knew Yu Chae-rin wasn't just a kid in looks—she'd proven her chops running megacorp Atlas for years as CEO. So she nodded along.
"Yeah, yeah~."
"Great! With your help, this'll be easy!"
'?'
By the time she tuned back in...
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Seo Han-gyeol, Chief Secretary of Nebula's Secretariat."
"Atlas Strategic Business Division, 3rd Department Head, Namgung Jun. But..."
Atlas's Strategic Division had dispatched her and the crazy buzzcut psycho, Namgung Jun, to Nebula for Busan Oncheon Gate development talks. Ha-yun—who'd never revealed her true identity(?) to Seo Han-gyeol—paced anxiously behind the wall. Meanwhile, the skinhead across the table eyed Han-gyeol intently and tossed out a wild proposal.
"Ever thought about becoming an idol?"
"......?"
As Seo Han-gyeol's face screamed What nonsense is this—like a tiger munching grass?, Namgung Jun raised a hand to calm him.
"Ah, I skipped my ability intro. Mine's [Dream and Hope]. Reverses the gender of all mammals. On human males, it always turns 'em into beautiful girls."
"........."
"You'd make a once-in-a-century cool beauty type. Care to bloom that potential?"
Calm? Hardly. It was straight-up insanity.
Thus proving the "Atlas's Crazy Buzzcut" moniker no exaggeration, Namgung Jun plunged the first Atlas-Nebula negotiation in a year into eerie silence...