The Path to Entrepreneurship (2)

Kim Chirok made a circuit of the factory floor and headed back up to the office. Settling in at his desk, he drew up a process flow chart, recording the number of machines in each section, the workers on duty, and the daily output. Laid out like that, the entire operation of the plant came into view at a glance.

The Accounting Manager spoke up.

"What are you working on?"

"A process flow chart of the factory floor. Plus the headcount and output for each section."

"Ho-ho. You really can't sit still at a desk, can you, Mr. Kim? You're quite the hard worker."

"By the way — there's a mold that mounts on the injection machine to stamp out the products, right?"

"Ah, you mean the dies?"

"Those are expensive, aren't they?"

"Some are, some aren't. But the molds we use for products going out to Mitsutech, our main client, aren't ours."

"What? They're not ours?"

"They belong to Mitsutech. They machine them and send them over, and we mount them on the injection machines to make the parts."

"Ah, so they want whatever they receive stamped to their own molds."

"That's right. For the smaller clients, though, we have molds we made ourselves. Some companies just send us the blueprints and tell us to make the molds."

"So we fabricate molds ourselves as well."

"Ho-ho. There's a specialist shop for that. We just outsource the mold work."

"I see."

When the Accounting Manager stepped away from her desk, Kim Chirok copied down every client phone number. Raw material suppliers, mold makers, delivery destinations — he copied them all. This was not the kind of information one person ought to keep to herself.

The next day arrived.

Kim Chirok enjoyed driving the Santa Fe to work in the morning. No more waiting around for the village bus. The car was old and rattled as it went, but it was convenient. Unlike Seoul, parking here was easy. At the factory he simply left it along the wall; back at his studio, he parked it beside Songgok Park in Hyangnam-eup.

If only the salary were on par with a conglomerate, working here wouldn't be half bad.

The thought actually crossed his mind.

The Managing Director walked past Kim Chirok's desk and stopped.

"Mr. Kim! How's the car treating you?"

"It's great, sir. Thank you for giving it to me."

"I didn't give it to you for free. I gave it to you so you can run company errands now and then."

"I understand, sir."

"Then come over here. I've got a little errand for you."

Kim Chirok walked over to the Managing Director's desk. The old man pulled out a white envelope and wrote across it with a thick marker: Congratulations on Your Wedding. Being of the old school, his Chinese calligraphy was remarkably fine.

"You'll need to go to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a wedding. The son of a partner company's president is getting married, so we ought to send a gift, don't you think? The venue's in Suwon."

"Understood. I'll go right away."

The Managing Director slipped two fifty-thousand-won bills into the envelope.

"When you get to the wedding hall, make sure you write my name in the guestbook."

"Yes, sir. I'll do that."

"You can drive as far as Suwon, right? If you don't know the way, just turn on the GPS."

Kim Chirok drove toward Suwon. He'd had a license for years but had barely ever gotten behind the wheel; having a car now meant he was getting practice, which suited him fine. Yesterday's test drive had felt awkward, but he was starting to find a bit of room to breathe.

The Accounting Manager didn't say a word when she heard he was heading to a Suwon wedding hall on the Managing Director's errand.

Back at the conglomerate, Kim Chirok had never left the office. Driving around like this after coming here felt good. The problem was that the factory was too small, too shabby, and the pay was too low.

Time flew. It had been nearly a month since he'd come down to Hyangnam-eup.

Tomorrow's Jeong Chan-young's wedding.

Kim Chirok considered driving all the way to Lotte Tower in Jamsil, where the ceremony would be held. Then he thought better of it. Showing up in this clunker would only cost him face. And if he had the rotten luck of running ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into a classmate pulling up in a foreign car in the parking lot, it would be even more humiliating. So he decided to leave the car behind.

But if he ran into anyone he knew, they would inevitably ask what he was doing these days. So he resolved to arrive late. Once the ceremony had started and the bride and groom had made their entrance, he would just drop the gift envelope at the reception desk and leave. That way he wouldn't have to see anyone he knew.

The next day arrived. It was the day of Jeong Chan-young's wedding.

Kim Chirok put on a white dress shirt and tied his necktie neatly. He couldn't show up at a lavish wedding hall dressed the way he did for a small-company commute. In his suit, he walked toward the Hyangnam transfer terminal to catch an express bus to Seoul.

He'd been walking for a while when someone called his name in front of the Hwaseong Fire Station.

"Mr. Kim Chirok!"

A head popped out of a compact car stopped at a red light. It was the Japanese lady. There were school-age kids in the car with her, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a man was behind the wheel. Her family, it seemed.

"Where are you going, Mr. Kim? Seoul?"

"Ah, Ayako!"

"You look so handsome today, Mr. Kim. Ho-ho-ho."

"Yes. I'm heading to a wedding in Seoul."

Ayako waved. She seemed to be heading somewhere with her family for a day out. She didn't live in Seoul — she lived in a small provincial city like this — but she looked thoroughly happy. Kim Chirok didn't know who her husband was, but he thought the man was a lucky fellow.

Kim Chirok arrived at Jamsil Station in Seoul. If he went to the wedding hall now, he would run into too many people he knew, so he waited in the underground plaza beneath the station, scrolling through his phone.

He arrived at the wedding hall a little late. So many floral wreaths had been delivered that they spilled out into the hallway. Front and center, the H Group Chairman's wreath stood in imposing pride of place.

The ceremony seemed to have already started. Something like applause drifted out from inside the hall. The person at the reception desk was already tallying the gift envelopes.

Kim Chirok paid his congratulations money and wrote his name in the guestbook. He was turning to leave when he ran into a classmate — Min Gyeong-sik, who worked as a full-time lecturer at a regional university.

"Chirok! I'm a bit late. Hah, hah."

"The ceremony's started. Hurry in."

"You're not going in?"

"Nah. I've got somewhere else to be."

"All our classmates showed up, right?"

"Yeah. They're all here. Go on in."

Kim Chirok didn't look back. He headed straight down to Hyangnam-eup.

He pictured Jeong Chan-young, dressed to the nines, exchanging wedding vows with Bang Mihee in her white gown. And here he was, sitting in a tiny studio in the provinces. The thought made him feel pathetic.

So he changed clothes, fired up the rattling Santa Fe, and headed outdoors. He drove along the coastal road with a view of Asan Bay. Passing the Namyang Seawall, where Namyang Lake stretched out before him, the vast sea came into view, and it felt good.

Those guys in the H Group Strategic Planning Office would have a hard time seeing a sea like this. Driving along the coast like this — how great does this feel?

After driving for a while, a massive national industrial complex came into view.

Where is this? Why are there so many factories? It looks just like the Changwon National Industrial Complex.

He checked the sign.

Ah, so this is the Pyeongtaek Poseung District. Then Mitsutech — the company Hyangnam Tech supplies — must be around here too.

Kim Chirok searched for Mitsutech Co., Ltd. on his smartphone GPS. It seemed to be nearby. He found the plant inside the industrial complex. Mitsutech was a massive factory as well. It looked every bit the listed company it was.

So this is the plant with 300 billion won in revenue and 850 employees?

If he owned a company of this scale, his classmates would be at his feet. Lim Jae-geun might be a lawyer, but he couldn't possibly have 850 subordinates. And even if Jeong Chan-young's father was the president of an H Group affiliate, he was still just a salaried employee. He wasn't the owner.

But if you owned a company like this, you could pass it down to your children, your grandchildren, even your great-grandchildren — as long as it didn't go under. In fact, wasn't this company's chairman already having his own son serve as president?

A few trucks sat in front of the main gate, waiting to enter the Mitsutech plant. Partner-company vehicles, most likely, here to make deliveries. It was Saturday, so there were only a handful, but on weekdays a long line of trucks would probably be queued up. A uniformed security guard at the gate kept unauthorized visitors out.

Kim Chirok came out toward Pyeongtaek Port. Cars waiting to be loaded for overseas export were stacked in rows.

Wow. That's a lot of cars. How many are there?

This, he thought, was what it meant for a company to serve the nation — exporting on this kind of scale.

Monday arrived.

That day, he received his first paycheck. Two and a half million won. A hollow feeling settled over him. Compared to a conglomerate, it was pitifully small. After the four major insurances were deducted, even less remained.

Kim Chirok sent 1.5 million won to his mother without fail. He couldn't put anything into savings. He figured he would have to cancel his savings account. Still, getting paid felt good, at least. After deducting 300,000 won ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for the studio rent, there was nothing left.

I've still got the deposit from the Incheon studio I had when I was at H Chemical, don't I? Let's just hang on for a few months until I've learned the ropes.

If things got really tight, Kim Chirok thought he might try tutoring middle schoolers on Saturdays and Sundays. Since it would be a side gig, they probably wouldn't ask for a sexual-offense background check. He figured he could go to nearby cities like Suwon, Osan, or Pyeongtaek and tutor on the weekends. He had the Santa Fe now, after all.

But the Accounting Manager's expression was anything but good.

"Manager, are you not feeling well today?"

"Must be nice, Mr. Kim. You got your paycheck. We didn't."

"What? You didn't get paid?"

"Manager-level and above — salaries go out in ten days."

"They decided that?"

"The advance payment we requested from Mitsutech last time is coming through in ten days, apparently."

"Mitsutech is a wealthy company. Can't they just pay sooner?"

"Honestly, even requesting an advance is a violation of the supply contract. We always receive payment a month after delivery."

"Is that so?"

"They don't want to pay first and then get stuck with defective goods, I suppose. This never used to happen. It's really tough."

Kim Chirok quietly went down to the factory floor.

The production workers' faces were bright today. They'd gotten their paychecks. The Japanese lady's face was bright too. She waved at him. But the Production Manager, the Production Department Head, and the Plant Manager all wore expressions like they'd bitten into a bug.

Kim Chirok felt once again just how hard things were at a small-to-medium enterprise.

Assistant Manager Choi from the Quality Control Team looked cheerful as well. He was even whistling. He'd gotten paid too. As an assistant manager, his salary was a bit higher than Kim Chirok's.

The Japanese lady, Ayaka, came over to him.

"Did you make it to the wedding on Saturday?"

"Yes. I went all the way to Seoul."

"You looked so handsome that day, Mr. Kim. All of Hyangnam-eup lit up. You're a real pretty boy. Ho-ho-ho."

"Haha. Thank you."

"It's a waste, Mr. Kim. You're good at your work, you know so many Chinese characters, your Japanese is excellent — and yet you're stuck here. What a waste."

"No. There's so much I don't know. I'm not good at accounting like the Accounting Manager, and I don't know production like the Production Manager. And I don't know quality control like Assistant Manager Choi on the Quality Team, either."

"That may be, but you seem to know general administrative work well, don't you? The Managing Director said you handle all the court documents."

"Haha. Is that so?"

"Oh, and I talked to my friend in Kyoto. She confirmed that Hirosue Yoshiko really has become a famous geisha. So her living situation has improved too, she said. Ho-ho-ho."

"That's good to hear."

"My friend said she'd like to visit Korea sometime. Ho-ho-ho."

"If she comes, we should show her around."

"Of course. I told her I'd go to Incheon Airport myself. There's a limousine bus from the Hynam-eup transfer center to Incheon Airport. Ho-ho-ho."

"That's right. I've seen that bus go by once."

"Two hours from here is plenty of time to reach Incheon Airport. Ho-ho-ho."

"While you're at it, why not invite Hirosue Yoshiko to come sightseeing too when your friend visits? Though she's such a famous star, I don't know if she'd have the time."

"Yoshiko likes Korean dramas and K-pop, she said. Should I tell her to come too? I haven't seen her once since middle school."

"If she comes, I'll carry her bags."

"Ho-ho-ho. You will, Mr. Kim?"

Just then, the Plant Manager, who had been walking by with a scowl, called out to Ayaka.

"Hey, Ayaka! What's so funny? The rest of us haven't even gotten paid — we look like hell!"

At that, Ayaka's head ducked right down. Then she stuck her tongue out.

Aunt Ayaka really was like a naturally mischievous little girl.