The Path to Entrepreneurship (1)

The next day arrived — the day Kim Chirok was due in court over Oh Ha-young's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sexual molestation charge. He had come up to Seoul late the previous evening and spent the night at his mother's place in Bongcheon-dong.

His mother had made breakfast.

"So you came up to Seoul for work, then? Are you heading straight back down to that Hyangnam-eup place in the afternoon?"

"That's the plan."

"They say small companies are hard. Are you holding up all right? Your face looks rougher than when you were at H Group."

"That's just how you see it. Everyone else tells me I have clear skin."

"Then build up some experience there and try for a big company again. That way I can start looking for a girl for you to marry."

"Please stop that. I'll take care of it myself."

"A monk can't shave his own head. Mom will handle it, so just try applying to a conglomerate or a bank again. People who aren't even as good as you are all working at big companies and banks."

"That's enough. Breakfast was good."

Kim Chirok headed for the Seoul District Court in Seocho-dong.

Today's hearing is in Annex Courtroom 404, right? I wonder if Oh Ha-young will even show.

If he ran into her, he was sorely tempted to spit right in that smug face of hers. Then it occurred to him that spitting might itself constitute assault. So, sitting on the subway, he looked up what happened if you spat in someone else's face.

A legal Q&A site called A1 Briefing had this answer:

One wrong move and he could end up serving time. The judge would surely say that while the circumstances were understandable, spitting in someone's face had humiliated the other party — and then hand down a year in prison, suspended for two. That would tack an assault charge onto the sex crime. Two strikes. And with that, any hope of landing a job at a conglomerate or a bank would be gone forever.

I really am living in a filthy world.

A number of people were already waiting outside Courtroom 404. A notice board posted at the entrance listed the case numbers and names of those appearing today.

Chirok looked — and there was his own name. The words Defendant: Kim Chirok were printed in stark, unmistakable type. Next to the case number, the board also identified the matter as a sexual molestation case. If anyone he knew happened to see it, it would be mortifying.

As the hour drew near, Chirok approached the courtroom. He showed his resident registration card to the person seated at the entrance and went inside. The judge had not yet appeared.

He scanned the gallery. Oh Ha-young was nowhere to be seen.

The judge entered, and everyone rose to bow. Fortunately, he was an older man. Chirok was relieved it wasn't a woman. A female judge might have sided with the other woman on principle — birds of a feather, and all that. The prosecutor, however, was a young woman.

The hearing began. The court worked through the people ahead of him, one after another.

After a considerable wait, Chirok's turn came. The judge called the case number and the name of the defendant, Kim Chirok.

Then, unexpectedly, a middle-aged man also stepped forward and sat down at the counsel's table.

Huh. This must be the lawyer Oh Ha-young hired.

Chirok took his seat in the defendant's dock. The judge's voice carried across the room.

"We will now hear Case No. 2025Godan-XXXX, a charge of sexual molestation."

The young female prosecutor spoke in a quiet voice.

"The defendant seized the complainant at Sindorim Station and pulled her along with the intent of forcibly committing an indecent act. We find this to be willful. Therefore, under the Criminal Act..."

Chirok broke in at once, agitated.

"That's not true. All I said that day was that the train was running late, so we should just go home. The photograph the complainant submitted is a picture of me taking her arm to tell her we should leave. This is a stretch."

The complainant's lawyer spoke up.

"A photograph has been submitted as evidence. On the day in question, the defendant deliberately plied the complainant with alcohol and suggested they spend the night, intending to drag her to a hotel. Looking at the photograph, it is clearly a scene of him forcibly pulling her toward a hotel."

The judge turned to the court clerk below the bench.

"Put the photograph up on the large screen."

A large display lit up on the wall to Chirok's left, and the photograph appeared. The judge studied it. Everyone in the gallery studied it too.

The prosecutor barely said a word. But Oh Ha-young's lawyer spoke up again.

"Look at that. That is the defendant coercively dragging the complainant while telling her they were going to a hotel."

Chirok shot back.

"No. The last subway was about to leave. I was telling her we should go home."

The judge let out a low, thoughtful hum as he examined the photograph. But even a judge could not decide much from that single image. He asked them to enlarge the left side, then to show the right side again — and stopped short of any conclusion.

"The photograph alone does not appear to constitute sufficient evidence."

"The complainant's friend was there at the time as well," Chirok said.

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized they could cut against him. The woman was Oh Ha-young's friend, not his. If she testified unfavorably, he would be in even worse shape.

"If you can obtain a written statement from a reference witness, please submit it," the judge said. "This hearing is adjourned. The next hearing will be held at 10:00 a.m. on X month, X day."

Then the judge began calling the next person's case number. The hearing had been postponed. Oh Ha-young's lawyer left without so much as a backward glance.

More than a month until the next hearing. At this rate, the whole trial could drag on for over a year.

Chirok left the courthouse and headed for Sadang Station, where he had to catch the bus back to Hyangnam-eup. Riding the bus, he sank into thought.

That friend who came along with Oh Ha-young that night — she said she worked at a corrugated box company in Bucheon, didn't she?

If he could find her and get a witness statement, it might work in his favor. The problem was he didn't know the woman's name. He didn't know the name of the corrugated box company in Bucheon, either. Tracking her down would be difficult, and even if he succeeded, it might not be worth much. If she gave a statement against him, he would only be in deeper trouble.

Better to drop the idea of finding the friend.

His phone rang. It was Manager Lee from H Chemical. If he picked up, the man would inevitably ask what he was doing these days. So he let it ring. After a few chimes, it stopped.

Then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he remembered something Manager Lee had said. The day after Chirok had met Oh Ha-young at Sindorim Station, Manager Lee had laughed and called him a sly one, saying he'd been strolling around arm in arm with her. Apparently a photo like that had shown up on her Instagram.

If I look through Oh Ha-young's Instagram, would there be a photo I could use as evidence?

He decided to check after work.

When Chirok arrived at the company that afternoon, the Accounting Manager put him to work. On the president's orders, she said, he was to draw up this month's labor-cost disbursement report and submit it. The company's labor costs, however, included outsourced processing fees and contract service charges, all of which had to be pulled and totaled. Chirok groaned his way through it. When he was done, he could see that labor accounted for a fairly high share of revenue.

After hours, he stayed behind alone in the office and went through Oh Ha-young's Facebook and Instagram. He didn't use either platform himself, so he rarely looked at other people's accounts. But he wanted to see whether any of the photos ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she had posted might work in his favor.

She had deleted a great many of the pictures taken with him. Still, he searched diligently. There was one photograph of the two of them waving at each other inside a subway station. The figures were small and hard to make out, but the man was unmistakably him.

Should I submit this photo to the court, at least?

It might at least prove he hadn't been trying to take her to a hotel. He captured the image. As far as he knew, screenshotting an ordinary Instagram post or photo did not send the other person a notification, so he went ahead and saved it.

He left the office to use the restroom, which was on the first floor. There he ran into the Production Manager.

"Working late again tonight, sir?"

"We've got gasket products to deliver tomorrow. I'll have to work with a few of the foreign workers."

"That's a lot of trouble."

"What about you, Mr. Kim? You working late too?"

"Yes. I have some work to finish, and I wanted to study the rubber products we make here a bit."

In truth, "studying rubber products" was just an excuse. He could hardly admit he was staying behind alone, burning electricity, to take care of personal business.

The Production Manager smiled.

"You won't learn much about the rubber we make here from a book. You've got to come down to the floor and see it for yourself."

"I didn't want to get in the workers' way..."

"You're just looking. What's the harm? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Come find me at lunch tomorrow. I'll walk you through the whole process."

"Aigoo, you're so busy as it is. Thank you."

"No — we're the ones who should be thanking you. You're nothing like the general affairs people we used to have. The last guy had a bit of college in him and was insufferably full of himself."

"Was he?"

"That assistant manager punk tried to act like my boss even though I was a manager. No manners at all. But everyone here likes you, Mr. Kim."

"Haha. I appreciate that."

"The production ladies especially. They love that you send out the pay slips like clockwork before payday."

"Isn't that just the basic thing to do?"

"Anyway. Come find me at lunch tomorrow."

Chirok decided he ought to get along with the people on the floor as well. Now that he was at this company, there was no harm in learning the production side of things.

The next day, Chirok took delivery of a car from the Sales Director. It was a silver Santa Fe CM. It was not, however, a vehicle with 160,000 kilometers on it. The odometer read 180,000. The car was thoroughly worn out.

The Sales Director handed over the keys.

"You won't need to change the tires yet. The radiator's leaking, though, so check the coolant now and then."

"Understood."

Having a car of his own put him in a good mood. He had no confidence, however, about driving the thing all the way to Seoul. He decided to use it just for commuting around Hyangnam-eup.

He took it for a test drive. Sure enough, the engine was loud, and the window frames rattled plenty. Now that he had a car, he suspected the Accounting Manager and the Managing Director would start piling errands on him. But he had come here to learn, so he resolved to take it without complaint.

When he pulled back in from the test drive, the Japanese woman made a little clapping motion at him.

"Hohoho. So you've got a car now, Mr. Kim."

"Do you have a driver's license, Ayaka?"

"I don't. I'm too scared to drive."

"Ah, so you take the bus to work? I don't think I've ever seen you at the stop."

"Hohoho. I carpool with the cutting-room supervisor. She has an Avante."

Chirok thanked the Accounting Manager for arranging the car. She smiled.

"Did you take it for a spin?"

"I did. It's drivable enough."

"Noisy, though, right?"

"It is, but I'll live with it."

"Use this. The gas station past the intersection is our designated station."

She slipped him a voucher for twenty liters of gasoline.

After lunch, Chirok went to find the Production Manager, who had offered to walk him through the floor processes.

"All right, let's start with the lora room. That's where the rubber comes in and gets mixed."

"Isn't 'lora' just another word for roller?"

"I wouldn't know, but around here we call it lora."

The roller room was stacked with lumps that looked like white, hardened rice cakes.

"What is this?"

"This is raw rubber."

"This is rubber? Then why is it white?"

"Rubber is white to begin with. It turns pitch-black because we mix in carbon black."

"Ah, I see."

"And to make the rubber tougher, and to keep its cold resistance and heat resistance, we mix in all kinds of chemicals. Getting that compound right is the know-how that makes a good product."

A massive machine was turning, kneading the rubber. The compounded rubber was then dried and put through an aging process. Once aging was complete, it was sent to the injection room, where enormous hydraulic injection molding machines stamped it into finished products.

The production workers at the machines looked up and greeted him.

"What brings you down here, Mr. Kim?"

"Hehe. I figured I should learn a thing or two."

"You just stick to general affairs, Mr. Kim. You're doing a great job already. We're comfortable with you."

Chirok was beginning to fit in with the production staff as well.

Even then, Kim Chirok had no idea that he was already walking the path toward starting his own business.