No More Looking Away
I paused for a moment at the sight of her bright, beaming face.
Was that a twinge of something like guilt I felt for no good reason?
I brushed the thought aside soon enough and looked around the restaurant.
Kang Bitna was already searching for nearby spots on her smartphone.
Just pick something casual. Searching again.
Of course, I waited quietly.
“What are you craving? Korean, Chinese, Japanese, Western, or snack food?”
I hadn’t realized there were so many categories.
“Nothing in particular. Whatever you’d like, Bitna.”
“Hmm, then! How about the handmade tonkatsu place down that alley? The food’s solid, and it shouldn’t be too crowded at this hour.”
She looked a little surprised, then pointed toward a side alley while checking her phone.
“You found it fast.”
“I’ve memorized every good restaurant near the company!”
She grinned and took the lead.
We headed into a quiet alley near the office, toward a cozy handmade tonkatsu spot.
When we opened the door, the distinctive smell of crispy fried batter and soft jazz music drifted out to meet us.
The interior was antique yet refined—something of a fusion restaurant, you could say.
After we ordered, things fell quiet for a while. Warm mugs of water sat on the table, and outside the window the sun had fully set.
A moment later, Kang Bitna asked,
“By the way, can I ask what that good insight you mentioned earlier actually was?”
As if you haven’t already asked everything.
I looked at her, took a sip of the warm water, then slowly opened my mouth.
“The fact that plenty of people already recognize the problem. And the fact that every last one of them is looking the other way.”
“How do you know plenty of people recognize it?”
“Because you know about it, Bitna.”
“……”
Kang Bitna’s brow furrowed, just for a fraction of a second.
“Are you planning to step up yourself?”
After that brief pause, she asked with open curiosity.
“No reason I can’t.”
I answered without a second’s hesitation.
“Wow. As expected, Noh-ppa… no. You’ve got real backbone.”
“……Is that a compliment?”
“Haha! Of course it is! Let’s do it together. I’ll help however I can.”
Don’t… Staying out of it is helping.
“I’ll reach out if I need to. Until then, just stay put.”
“Tch. Fine.”
Right then, the server arrived with a tray loaded full of food.
Huh? Why did we order this much?
“Shall we dig in?”
Kang Bitna roughly tied her hair back and picked up her fork and knife.
She really does love eating.
Though I was pretty sure she didn’t care much for tonkatsu.
One hour later.
After the meal I parted ways with her.
She left in a hurry after taking a phone call; from her expression, it didn’t look like good news.
While we ate, I’d heard a little about her older brother who worked at the LK Future Technology Center.
But I couldn’t shake the sense that she was holding something back.
Just a researcher? Senior researcher? PhD? Manager? Operator?
Well, there would be another chance later.
Once I got home I headed straight up to Junseok’s room on the second floor.
Naturally he was there, eyes locked on the monitor, mouse clicking away.
“You’re late.”
“Yeah, I stopped for dinner. What about you?”
“Not hungry. Just hand over the list already.”
Back to his old self—focused on the screen, he held out his hand with an irritated edge in his voice.
“I already prepared it.”
I pulled the folded paper from my bag. But I didn’t hand it over.
“No food, no list.”
“Am I livestock now?”
Junseok frowned and glared at me.
“It’s all for your own good.”
“Ha… Fine. Let’s eat. I’ll eat.”
Crack—
Junseok reluctantly pushed himself up from the chair. After sitting all afternoon, every joint in his body popped.
“Do some stretching. You’ll seize up.”
“Already seized.”
We went down to the kitchen and had a simple dinner.
Beomjin had already set things out so we could throw a meal together easily, so it was no trouble at all.
Junseok, as if begrudging every second spent chewing, kept pestering me for the list.
“But why do you always write it out on paper?”
“Security.”
“Security?”
Junseok looked up at me mid-bite.
“Yeah. Digital leaves traces no matter what. File transfers, access times, storage locations—even deletion logs can all be tracked. Encryption isn’t perfect.”
“Who’s watching us…”
“You never know. Better safe than sorry, right?”
“Ah, yes. As you wish.”
Junseok answered half-heartedly and checked the list I finally handed him.
It held a handwritten rundown of undervalued coins, simple analysis, and the criteria I’d used for investment decisions.
I’d also briefly broken down structural flaws in blockchain networks I’d been studying lately, wallet movement histories, and a few suspicious transaction flows between exchanges.
“This isn’t just a list. It’s practically a full report.”
“Figured giving you more detail might actually help.”
“Of course it helps.”
Junseok gave a thumbs-up.
“Beomjin still isn’t back?”
“Yeah, he texted saying he’d be late and to eat without him.”
Huh? He texted?
“You’re already exchanging texts?”
“……Isn’t that normal?”
Something about that felt oddly off.
“But are you really planning to scale this up?”
“For now it’s more of an experiment. Checking how accurate my judgment and analysis actually are.”
At that, Junseok clicked his tongue.
“Calling two hundred million an experiment. How much seed money are you planning to throw in when you go full scale later?”
“I don’t know yet myself.”
“I’m done eating. Heading up.”
“Alright. Good luck.”
He set his rice bowl in the sink, put the side dishes back in the fridge, and went upstairs.
I watched him go in silence, then stepped into my own room.
Current seed money had grown by twenty million to around two hundred twenty million won.
I wonder how much it’ll be tomorrow?
After brushing my teeth I sat down at the computer.
Then I opened a browser and searched for anything related to the LK Future Technology Center.
There wasn’t much, of course, and most of what existed was basic.
I crossed my arms and sank into thought.
Science and technology, huh…
If I ever quit the company to make real money, long-term technology development would be the most efficient path.
Of course development eats capital, so you need solid funding first.
For now I’d stay at the company, collect a paycheck while doing the bare minimum, and keep stacking money through investments.
I should start reading some science books in my spare time.
Early the next morning.
After a solid night’s sleep I opened Upbit on my phone the second I woke up.
Then I checked the evaluated assets.
“Ha.”
A hollow breath slipped out of me.
Two hundred sixty million.
I’d started at two hundred twenty million last evening, so that was a forty-million-won gain. I currently held no coins. Looking at the transaction history, I’d taken profits on eight of the ten positions and cut losses on two.
But the win percentages had been solid.
Nearly twenty percent returns across the board.
I headed straight up to the second floor. Peeking through the slightly open door, I didn’t see Junseok.
I carefully pushed the door open and stepped inside. Blackout curtains hung around the bed. When I peeked past them, Junseok was sleeping like the dead—but his face looked peaceful.
Impressive kid.
I quietly left the room and closed the door behind me.
Then I got ready for work in a hurry.
I planned to arrive early today and prepare the meeting materials ahead of time.
Six-thirty in the morning.
My steps on the way to work felt lighter than usual.
First reason: the coin investments were finally starting to deliver real profits.
I still understood the market risks perfectly well, but if Junseok and I kept coordinating like this, I was confident we could keep making money without major disasters.
Second reason: I’d finally settled on how I was going to handle the company.
Back when I thought I had a brain tumor, I’d done whatever I felt like with a pure whatever-happens attitude.
But once I learned it wasn’t a tumor, my behavior had gradually started sliding back toward the old cautious version of me.
Then watching Kang Bitna’s straightforward, no-nonsense style made me take a hard look at myself.
Yeah. No more fretting over other people’s opinions. Let’s move with confidence.
Walking with purpose, I soon reached the company building.
I strode through the automatic doors without hesitation.
At seven-thirty the place was still empty.
Once I reached the office I immediately began preparing for the morning’s Home AI project meeting.
You had to stay two or three steps ahead of everyone else if you wanted to cut through the buck-passing that always hid under the polite name of “collaboration.”
First I built a summary table of each department’s roles and the core technologies they owned.
I drew clear lines on who covered what so no one could vaguely paper over their responsibilities.
Using every scrap of experience and know-how I’d accumulated at work, plus the mountain of material on the intranet, I ran the divisions through multiple iterations until I locked in the cleanest possible structure.
An ordinary person would never even attempt something like this.
Next I pulled case studies of similar IoT platform failures and customer complaint statistics from the past three months, preparing to show not just technical problems but the actual market pain points with hard numbers.
Finding the data didn’t take long.
No matter how fast the scroll flew, every line on the monitor poured straight into my brain.
Finally I thoroughly organized a summary of the hardware-based communication protocol structure developed by the LK Future Technology Center, along with the open-source algorithm architecture and clear limitations of the AI development team.
I didn’t have access to the confidential tech, but I reverse-engineered every inferable piece so I could raise the points as constructive advice rather than criticism.
I would openly admit what I didn’t know and drive hard on the facts I did.
Nine o’clock arrived.
In just two hours I had finished meeting materials no one would believe had been prepared that quickly.
Team members began filtering in one by one, and I immediately reported to Deputy General Manager Jeon Yonggi.
After studying the presentation materials for a long while, Deputy General Manager Jeon Yonggi looked up at me with a grave expression.
“You put this together really well… but are you sure? This could turn into a much bigger problem.”
“I’ll coordinate it carefully. If it still goes wrong, I’ll take the responsibility.”
“You think that’s something you can shoulder alone? Of course I’ll be on the hook too for green-lighting it.”
“That’s…”
“Do it.”
Deputy General Manager Jeon Yonggi handed the materials straight back and spoke without pause.
“Pardon?”
“I said do it. Looking at this, you’re not wrong. If change is needed, better that you take the lead.”
“Thank you for trusting me.”
“Do well. Well, I have no real doubts, but still.”
Deputy General Manager Jeon Yonggi smirked and waved me off.
I moved straight to the conference room and requested a rehearsal.
I checked the projector and HDMI port, preloaded the prepared PDF, and flipped through the slides in order.
Then, ten minutes before the meeting.
I washed my hands in the bathroom and faced the mirror.
I lightly fixed my hair, smoothed one slightly raised eyebrow, and ran through the entire meeting content in my head.
Ten a.m. Home AI Integration Project conference room.
One team-leader-level attendee, two working-level staff, and even Yoon Junghyuk—the chief researcher from the LK Future Technology Center—were present.
From our Marketing Team 3 it was me, Assistant Manager Jo Cheoljeong, and Deputy General Manager Jeon Yonggi.
Tension hung thick in the room.
This project was a large-scale collaborative effort spanning multiple departments, and previous meetings had already produced more than a few cracks, so today’s atmosphere was anything but easy.
Team Leader Jang Yujeong of the AI Development Team spoke first.
“Today’s meeting will focus on the improvement plans each department needs to share, based on the previous feedback summary and the real-use environment test results.”
Her voice carried confidence, yet a subtle wariness ran underneath it.
“First…”
The moment she started to set the speaking order, I slowly raised my hand.
Her gaze turned to me naturally, and the other employees one by one followed suit, turning their heads my way.
“May I speak first?”
At my bold request, Team Leader Jang Yujeong showed a brief flicker of discomfort, then calmly nodded.