The First Homework Assignment
The teahouse in Seongbuk-dong where we had agreed to meet was quiet to the point of silence.
There wasn't a single customer in sight — it felt as if the entire place had been rented out for the afternoon. In that corner seat where only the faint fragrance of tea lingered in the air, a man sat as still as a statue.
I took a deep breath and approached him.
"Hello."
At the sound of my footsteps, the man rose to his feet at once.
I had come out in casual clothes instead of my school uniform, but to anyone watching, I was still an obviously young high school student. It would have been understandable for him to be taken aback, yet he didn't so much as raise an eyebrow as he bowed politely.
"Jeong Tae-sung."
"Kang Seon-woo."
I looked him over. Neatly combed hair, a suit without a single wrinkle, and a flat, dry expression that looked like it wouldn't bleed if you stabbed it. Everything about him radiated the aura of a man who did one thing, and did it with ruthless precision.
'Pass, for starters.'
And on top of that, he hadn't flinched at the sight of me. A man who kept his mouth shut and his hands quick. Exactly the kind of talent I was looking for.
The moment I sat down across from him, Jeong Tae-sung spoke quietly.
"This teahouse is run by my younger sister."
"Ah, I see. It's quiet. Nice place."
"I've asked her to step out for a while so we can speak freely. There are no listening ears here — you needn't worry."
Preparedness: also a pass. It meant he understood exactly how much discretion our relationship demanded.
I lifted my teacup and asked, "How much did Managing Director Kim Seok-jun tell you about me?"
"Only that you were someone I would be serving from now on."
Well, that's a remarkably clean way to put it. No mention of a high schooler, or a third-generation chaebol heir — just 'someone I would be serving.' That was Kim Seok-jun's style through and through.
"Do you have questions for me? As you can see, I'm a high school student."
"I don't."
Jeong Tae-sung answered without a moment's hesitation.
"If the Managing Director chose you, I assume there's a reason. I will simply follow whatever instructions you give."
An attitude stripped of everything unnecessary. He wouldn't ask why — only execute.
'Well, this kind of arrangement suits us fine for now.'
Trust was something you built over time, not something you could demand from the start. I nodded.
"Good. Jeong Tae-sung... let's make you a Director. If you're going to operate externally, you'll need an official title."
"Director, you say?"
"Yes. Director of Strategic Planning at SJ Holdings. Please have business cards prepared."
"Understood."
He didn't add a single word of argument — just made a note in his planner.
Now it was time to get down to business.
"Director, there's one thing you need to do immediately."
"Please tell me."
"Find me a company that fits the conditions I'm about to give you."
I drew an imaginary map on the table with my finger.
"Start with the Banwol industrial complex nearby, or Siheung — or look out toward Ulsan. Check whether any fine-chemical companies in those industrial zones have recently entered court receivership or come up for sale."
"Fine chemicals... did you say?"
"Yes."
I had chosen fine chemicals as my target industry.
From the ultra-high-purity materials that went into semiconductor fabrication to the specialty coatings essential for automotive and heavy-industry painting — it was a foundational materials industry, and one whose high-difficulty technology China could not simply stamp out with capital and volume, at least not in the short term.
Best of all, it was an indispensable supply for the automotive and heavy-industry businesses my cousins held — while also being the single best place to hide where I was sharpening my knife.
"There will be plenty of struggling companies in those areas."
My words were no exaggeration. Around this time, Korea's chemical and materials SMEs were lined up on the edge of ruin.
The IMF crisis had landed a direct hit — banks were clawing back corporate loans, and solid, profitable companies that couldn't survive the punishing interest rates were collapsing into bankruptcy even while in the black.
Fine chemicals in particular was a field that lived and died on R&D, and technology development was a money-devouring behemoth. No sooner had the IMF crisis passed than the semiconductor downturn rolled in, and companies whose funding lines had run dry were forced to shut their doors even holding valuable technology in hand.
"Right now is the perfect time for scavenging — if you can separate the gems from the stones."
"Do you have specific conditions?"
"Yes. It can't be just any small business. The company must hold all the relevant chemical permits, including hazardous-materials handling licenses. And the larger the factory site, the better."
Jeong Tae-sung's eyes sharpened. He, too, seemed to have grasped my intent.
The real barrier to entry in fine chemicals wasn't technology — it was permits. Because of explosion risks and environmental hazards, the government rarely granted new licenses. Building a factory from bare ground meant years spent on regulatory approval alone.
But what if you acquired a failed company whose permits were already in hand?
'You're buying time.'
Those licenses themselves were the weapon I needed most right now.
"And one last thing — the mindset of the person running the company matters too."
"Mindset, you say...?"
"I'm asking you to do a thorough reference check."
I fiddled with the cup in front of me as I went on.
"Why the company failed — that's what matters. Did they burn through every won chasing technology? Or did the owner raid a different till, or care more about his golf game than his business?"
"You're saying it has to be the former."
"Yes. Though ideally, both cases would have been genuinely devoted to the technology. Someone so obsessed with the technology that they neglected management would be even better. The management, we can handle ourselves."
Jeong Tae-sung nodded and took careful notes.
"Let me summarize. A fine-chemical company in court receivership, located within an industrial complex. In possession of its operating licenses, with a spacious site. And a CEO who is technology-oriented."
"Exactly right."
"I will compile a list of companies that satisfy all three conditions."
"How long will that take?"
At my question, Jeong Tae-sung thought for a moment, then looked me straight in the eye and answered with a question of his own.
"Give me a deadline, and I will meet it."
Confidence, pure and uncut. I liked it.
I couldn't stand people who dragged their feet, and this man clearly understood what it meant to fight a speed war.
"Could two months work?"
"I will have the report on your desk within two months."
"If you need more people, you're free to hire them."
"Then I'll bring on two staff to assist me."
"That I'll leave to your own judgment, Director."
"Thank you. I'll prepare this properly and deliver."
"Good. I'll be waiting."
I lifted my teacup and took a sip. Bitter on the tongue, sweet at the finish.
At last, I had hands and feet that would move at my word.
One day in December. The school was bustling after the closing ceremony that marked the start of winter break.
But our clubroom on the third floor of the annex was filled with nothing but warmth.
'Wow. Even seeing it again, it's moving.'
I looked around the clubroom. The dust-covered desks and yellowed wallpaper were nowhere to be found. Fresh, clean paper covered the walls, and above all, on the desks stood three state-of-the-art LCD monitors and towers — prizes from the competition — gleaming resplendently.
Winning the competition had changed the way the school treated us, one hundred and eighty degrees. The heating worked properly now too, and the room had finally become a place fit for actual human beings. That was where we were holding our modest little party.
"Senior Jae-yi, congratulations on getting into Yonhee Business School! For real!"
Pow—!
When a first-year underclassman set off a party popper, Han Jae-yi laughed shyly and brushed the paper confetti from her hair.
"Thanks, guys."
Everyone broke into sincere applause.
Han Jae-yi had been proudly admitted through early admission to the business school of Yonhee University, the most prestigious private school in the country. And she had no worries about tuition — she had been selected as the very first scholarship recipient of the foundation I had, or rather, SJ Holdings had, created.
"It's all because of you guys. I never could have done it alone. Especially..."
Her gaze came to rest on me. She didn't need to say it — I could read it in her eyes. A deep, quiet gratitude.
"Thank you for trusting a broke club president and sticking with me. I'll come visit often once I'm at university. My treat."
"Whoa! You'd better keep that promise!"
"Of course."
Just as the warm atmosphere was peaking, one of the first-years asked, with all the tact of a brick:
"Oh, then once Jae-yi graduates... there'll be four of us again?"
In an instant, a silence fell over the clubroom as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on it. We could recruit new members next year, sure — but it also meant the leader who had carried this club was about to walk out the door.
'Ugh, I'll never get used to moods like this.'
Spending time with high schoolers at my age had taught me one thing: these kids had sensitivity in abundance. Way too much of it. The saying about laughing or crying over a falling leaf hadn't come from nowhere.
"Don't worry. Next year a new, more capable president will take you over. And plenty of freshmen will join — our club's famous now, remember?"
"A new president?"
"Yep."
"Who's it gonna be?"
Four pairs of eyes swung toward me at once. Min-jae, and every other member in the room.
'...What.'
I frowned. Why are you all looking at me? Not me. Had these kids conspired to dump this on me?
"If you're all fine with it, may I designate the next president?"
At Han Jae-yi's words, the kids nodded. So did I, arms crossed.
In truth, Han Jae-yi had offered the position to me first, and I'd turned her down flat — I was too busy. She'd chided me, asking what on earth a high schooler could possibly be busy with, but in the end she'd accepted my wishes.
"I think Min-jae should be our next president."
Han Jae-yi's finger pointed at Min-jae, seated beside me. In that instant, a peculiar sound of collective relief filled the clubroom.
"Phew..."
"Oh, thank goodness."
'...Huh?'
A hollow laugh escaped me at their reaction. It wasn't that they wanted me to be president — it was the opposite, wasn't it? They were praying I wouldn't take the job, terrified that if I did, the club would turn into a military boot camp.
'Heh. Honestly. Am I really that scary?'
Still, I couldn't entirely disagree. For a role like this, warm and diligent Min-jae was far better suited than I was.
"M-me?"
Min-jae's eyes went wide with flustered panic. "But... Seon-woo's here, and I still don't know that much about stocks..."
"No, you're doing it," I cut him off, raising a hand.
"Lee Min-jae, there's no one else for this. You punk, where do you think you're running off to?"
At my words, the other members nodded vigorously in agreement.
"He's right, Min-jae hyung is perfect for it!"
"Seon-woo is... well, he's just so busy, you know?"
'Busy' was the excuse. The real reason was that I'd be terrifying.
Min-jae seemed to wrestle with it for a moment, then bit his lip as if he'd made up his mind.
"...All right. I'm not much, but I'll work hard at it."
"That's right, Min-jae. You'll do great. Congratulations, next president!"
When Han Jae-yi started clapping, the clubroom filled once more with celebratory warmth.
Watching the rambunctious kids, I leaned back deep into my chair.
'A year already, huh.'
The time since my regression had flown by in a blur, and now I was a third-year in high school. A college entrance exam student — the cruelest and most pivotal stretch in any Korean teenager's life.
'This break is going to be a busy one.'
Company business was one thing, but I needed to get into university myself. The human network that a campus offered was something I genuinely required. If I wanted to catch both rabbits — studying and business — this winter break would offer no room to rest.
'Still... not bad.'
Having a goal made me feel alive.
The after-party for the closing ceremony was just winding down in that cozy atmosphere when—
Bzzzt—
My flip phone buzzed briefly in my pocket. I slipped it out and flipped it open. The sender was an unsaved number, but I knew exactly who it was.
A short, terse message. But its weight was anything but light.
Two months. In that time, Director Jeong Tae-sung had evidently completed the homework I'd assigned him to perfection.
'Good.'
A smile crept onto my lips before I realized it.
'Shall we go, then.'
I closed the phone and rose from my seat. With the start of winter break, SJ Holdings' first business venture had also begun.