A Game Already Won
For some time now, the Strategic Planning Office had been a hive of frenzied activity.
The Daeguk Fertilizer bid had been transferred from the Secretariat and dropped squarely into their laps.
“How’s it looking? You finished the calculations?”
“Yes, sir. The valuation based on the last three years of operating profit is…”
“Three years? Why only three? Didn’t you run five—hell, ten?”
Lee Gyeong-deuk, Deputy Head of the Strategic Planning Office, scanned the papers with a voice thick with frustration, then exploded.
“You’re telling me you calculated the bid price off a three-year profit trend? Have you lost your mind?!”
He shot up from his chair and stormed out of the deputy head’s office, then barked at the bustling staff.
“Everyone, listen up!”
The Strategic Planning Office employees froze as one and turned toward Director Lee.
He drove the stakes home once more.
“Daeguk Fertilizer was founded by our late founder, former Chairman Lee Jung-seok himself. He left a will saying we were to reclaim it no matter how long it took—he cherished that company. Are we going to sit here and let Homyeong Group or Dugyeong Group snatch it away? We take it. No exceptions. Understood? No exceptions.”
He repeated the phrase until the staff looked ready to snap, then pressed on.
“If we lose this bid, every last one of us packs our bags and leaves the Ilhyeon Group. For the company—and for ourselves—this bid has to succeed. Clear?”
“Yes, sir! Understood!”
Lee Gyeong-deuk nodded at their shout and returned to his office, where he immediately issued fresh orders to the waiting staffer.
“Run every scrap of data. That’s the only way this works. We need the lowest price that still wins. Got it?”
Winning mattered. So did the price at which they won.
Under his orders, every employee in the Strategic Planning Office tore through the numbers, hunting for the rock-bottom bid that would still take the prize.
Section Chief Jeong Byeong-ju watched Lee vanish back into his office, then turned to Kim Seong-ho beside him.
“The Chairman’s pretty invested in this Daeguk Fertilizer bid, isn’t he?”
Seong-ho gave a light smile and a nod.
“How could he not be? It’s a company with the founder’s dying wish attached. He’s deadly serious. We have to acquire it.”
“Right. We do. But…”
Jeong glanced around, then dropped his voice.
“Acquisition’s important, sure, but so’s the price. Worst case, if we just throw five hundred billion or more at it, the bid itself isn’t a problem.”
Seong-ho answered with only a quiet smile, then let his eyes drift to the open diary on his desk.
There, in his own handwriting from another life, sat the record of the Daeguk Fertilizer bid.
The Daeguk Fertilizer bid went forward. Led by the Secretariat under the absolute premise that we had to acquire it. The competition was just as aggressive. Homyeong Group put Director Choi Byeong-mu of Homyeong Construction—already whispered as the next heir—and his uncle, President Choi Cheol-jin, in charge. Dugyeong Group…
Seong-ho lifted his gaze from the diary, laced his fingers behind his head, and let a faint smile curl at the corner of his mouth.
I already know exactly how the bidding will unfold and where the price will land. No problems there.
Homyeong Group: 200 billion won
Dugyeong Group: 195 billion won
Ilhyeon Group: 300 billion won
Back then, Ilhyeon had written a number a full hundred billion above the second-place bid and become a laughingstock. A company worth only 130 billion at the time had been bought for more than double. People said the group had been blinded by the founder’s will and made an irrational call. The blame landed on Chief of Staff Hwang Do-beom; he was forced out of the Secretariat and sidelined to a subsidiary presidency.
It was a failure then. It won’t be this time.
Knowing every competitor’s bid price was a chance to take one decisive step further.
For revenge, I can’t afford even a single setback.
At that moment Team Leader Yoon Gi-seok stood and called to the members of Team Two.
“We’re meeting on the Daeguk Fertilizer bid. Team Two, conference room. Now.”
He headed in first. Jeong Byeong-ju followed and beckoned Seong-ho along.
Seong-ho rose from his seat, thinking.
All the cards are already face-up. I just have to decide the order I play them.
He walked toward the conference room already calculating how to make an already-won game pay out even bigger.
In the car bound for the pre-bid briefing at the Industrial Bank of Korea, Jeong Byeong-ju spoke in a worried tone.
“You sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Just trust me.”
“Yeah, well… when the Chairman’s son-in-law says ‘trust me,’ I guess I do, but…”
Jeong kept his hands on the wheel while shooting glances at Seong-ho in the passenger seat. He was replaying what Seong-ho had said in the strategy meeting.
“I have a personal connection with Director Choi Byeong-mu of Homyeong Group. I’d like to sound out their intentions and use that as the baseline for our own bid.”
Every eye in the room had gone round. The fact that he knew a direct competitor—Homyeong’s Choi Byeong-mu—had kindled real hope.
Seong-ho had only piled on more fuel.
“Director Choi is a close childhood friend of my wife. He even attended our wedding. Last weekend I had a quick chat with him at the new North Seoul CC Homyeong just opened. He looked as clumsy as the rumors say. If I play him right, learning Homyeong’s bid number shouldn’t be difficult.”
In the industry, Choi Byeong-mu was known as the young director who had risen too fast and still stumbled. Seong-ho’s words therefore carried weight. And if they really could learn the competing bid in advance, they would hold the high ground. The Strategic Planning Office had been thoroughly electrified.
“If we know Homyeong’s play, planning gets a whole lot easier.”
“Nothing better than seeing the other side’s cards.”
“Exactly. When the highest bidder wins, their number matters more than any valuation model.”
They had hung high hopes on Seong-ho bringing back Homyeong’s figure. That was why Director Lee Gyeong-deuk had sent him as Ilhyeon’s representative to the pre-bid briefing—to meet Choi Byeong-mu, dig for intelligence, and, if possible, walk away with their bid price.
“We’re here.”
Jeong parked in the Industrial Bank lot and tried to ease the pressure.
“You don’t have to land Homyeong’s number today. We’ve still got time. No need to force it.”
“Understood. Don’t worry.”
Seong-ho reassured the visibly tense section chief, then turned his head. A luxury sedan was just rolling in.
He watched it and smiled.
“Speak of the devil.”
Jeong twisted around and murmured,
“Homyeong Construction?”
“Director Choi Byeong-mu’s car.”
Jeong nodded silently and watched the sedan park. A familiar figure climbed out of the driver’s seat, spotted Seong-ho, and twisted his face into pure irritation.
“What the hell? Why are you here?”
“For the same reason as you, Director Choi, I would imagine.”
Bang!
Apparently Seong-ho’s smile was too much to bear; Choi slammed the door hard enough to break it, then turned to the man stepping from the passenger side, face still crumpled.
“Uncle, isn’t this Ilhyeon treating us with contempt? Sending some low-level nobody as their company representative?”
Director Choi addressed his uncle—President Choi Cheol-jin of Homyeong Construction—with open disbelief.
Choi Cheol-jin looked Seong-ho over and frowned.
“Isn’t that Chairman Lee’s youngest son-in-law?”
“Yes. Gyeong-eun’s husband. Still just an assistant manager, I hear… Sending a nobody assistant manager as their face? They’re clearly looking down on us!”
“Fine by us if they underestimate us.”
Choi Cheol-jin gave a short laugh, walked over, and extended his hand.
“Pleasure. Choi Cheol-jin, Homyeong Construction.”
“First time since the wedding, isn’t it? You’ve been well, I hope, President Choi?”
“I’ve been fine enough… But are you really Ilhyeon’s representative?”
“Yes. Somehow it ended up that way.”
Still holding the handshake, Choi Cheol-jin studied him.
“The Chairman’s pushing too hard.”
“It wasn’t the Chairman’s decision. It was the Strategic Planning Office’s.”
“Well, either way it works out nicely for us. Best of luck, then.”
He chuckled lightly at the idea of Seong-ho as the face of Ilhyeon and turned away. Choi Byeong-mu glared at Seong-ho a moment longer before trailing after his uncle toward the briefing hall.
Jeong Byeong-ju, who had watched the entire exchange without blinking, grabbed Seong-ho’s shoulder the instant the two men left.
“Hey. Assistant Manager Kim.”
His face had gone white. He seized both of Seong-ho’s shoulders and demanded in a rush,
“You said you knew Director Choi well?”
“Yes. You saw it yourself, Section Chief. He recognized me the second he got out of the car.”
“No.”
Jeong shook his head, expression pure disbelief.
“That’s not what ‘close’ means… You said you could dig up information because you were close?”
“Isn’t this close enough? We know each other’s names and can exchange greetings.”
Seong-ho’s deadpan calm only made Jeong drop his hands in exasperation.
“How is this close? The man clearly can’t stand you.”
Seong-ho nodded slowly.
“Hmm. You’re right—he does seem to dislike me.”
“Then why the hell did you tell us you were close?”
“I said we were close. I never said he liked me.”
Jeong’s mouth fell open; no words came out. He wanted to argue that “close” usually implied at least a lack of active hatred, but he could only stand there, stunned.
Seong-ho smirked at the frozen section chief, took his arm, and started walking.
“Don’t worry. Whether the target likes me or hates me has nothing to do with extracting information.”
With the corner of his mouth still lifted, he set off in the direction Choi Byeong-mu had gone.
For a man already holding the answer key, the process itself meant nothing.
Only Jeong Byeong-ju, pale as a sheet and completely in the dark, hurried after him into the Industrial Bank of Korea’s pre-bid briefing room.