An Offer Too Perfect to Trust
“Japan?”
Mother's eyes went wide as she repeated the word back to me.
“Yes, a trip with some friends from my club.”
“Just you kids, all alone?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, it's not that it's a problem, it's just……”
Mother couldn't quite hide the worry settling over her face.
Before I'd come back, backpacking trips among college students were common enough — but these days, high schoolers traveling abroad, and to Japan of all places, was hardly the norm. The yen was brutally expensive, and anti-Japanese sentiment over the Dokdo dispute still ran hot.
“Everyone did well on the CSAT, and soon it'll be nothing but applications and interviews, so we wanted to clear our heads before all that.”
I had the ultimate absolution in hand: a perfect score on the CSAT.
When I'd handed her my score report, Mother had smiled more brightly than she had the day our family survived its greatest crisis. That was Korean parents for you — there was no helping it.
Maybe I should have studied harder in my past life, too.
They say the unfilial son only learns devotion after he regresses. That was me, exactly.
“Come on, Mom. Oppa got a perfect score on the CSAT this time, so send him on a trip already. He should go out and rough it a little. It's perfect timing.”
Seon-a, still working through her rice at the table, chimed in and shot me a wink.
You little rascal — worth every won for once. I cheered silently.
“All right, fine. But you call every single day. And I'll have Secretary Kim book you the best hotel and flights, so……”
“Mom.”
I cut her off gently.
“Secretary Kim is your secretary, not mine. Besides, what's the whole point of traveling? Booking your own tickets, finding your own lodging, getting lost along the way — that's the fun of it. If everything's arranged for me, what kind of trip would that even be?”
At my words, Mother's surprise melted, almost at once, into a look of genuine being moved.
Most chaebol heirs never lift a finger and are carried around on imperial tours — so the sight of her son volunteering for hardship must have struck her as endearing. No parent, after all, ever says no to a child who wants to challenge himself.
“Our boy's all grown up. Fine, Seon-woo — do it your way. I'll make sure you have more than enough for expenses.”
“Thank you.”
Done.
With that, I'd secured a business trip to Japan — relaxed, quiet, and free of anyone's watchful eyes.
Inside a rental car winding through the streets of Osaka, Choi Sung-hoon gripped the wheel in silent concentration while I sat in the passenger seat, glancing at the back seat through the rearview mirror.
“Wait — Director Jung is going as your executive secretary?”
Director Park Jin-hyuk, seated in the back, asked with rounded eyes.
“That's right. If someone as young as I am steps forward as the CEO, they'll smile to our faces and dismiss us behind their hands. Better they take one of us seriously.”
“Frankly, sir, looking at you now, I don't see how anyone could dismiss you.”
At Park Jin-hyuk's remark, I let out a small laugh.
It was true — the man reflected in the dashboard mirror cut a fairly convincing figure. Tailored suit, hair neatly combed back, and while the youth hadn't left my face, there was an air about me that was hard to come by.
“Isn't that so, Director Jung?”
Park Jin-hyuk turned to Jung Tae-sung beside him for confirmation.
“Indeed. In my eyes, he is every inch the chairman. Honestly, a man of your seat should not be riding shotgun — it puts me in an impossible position.”
Jung Tae-sung's dry wit loosened the atmosphere in the car, and even Choi Sung-hoon allowed himself a faint smile in my direction.
But I shook my head.
“The two of you feel the contrast so strongly because you've seen me in a school uniform and in casual clothes. They haven't. Preconceptions are a dangerous thing.”
I took a breath and straightened my tie.
“More importantly — if I sit at the head of the negotiating table and drive the meeting myself, there are things I can no longer see.”
“Things you can't see, sir?”
“Their hidden intentions. The flickers of expression that cross their faces.”
The principal negotiator is often locked in a staring contest with the man across the table, blind to the room as a whole. An observer set one step back is different. A lowly aide seated in the corner of the table commands a view of the entire board.
“If Director Jung draws their eyes and applies pressure at the front, I'll read the signals they pass back and forth beneath the table. Which means, Director, you'll need to play the part of an arrogant, exacting investment-firm executive to the hilt.”
“……The weight on my shoulders grows, sir.”
I turned around to face Jung Tae-sung and began pulling the information in my head into the open. Know your enemy and know yourself, and you will never be defeated.
“What kind of man is Nakamura Kenji?”
He answered without a beat's delay.
“Third-generation president of Shinei. His grandfather founded the company, and until two years ago his father ran it — he retired early due to health problems.”
“The succession came sooner than expected.”
“Yes. As a result, he took the helm in his early forties. Recently, Japanese business circles have praised him as a young and capable executive, but……”
“Which is another way of saying he's on the chopping block, waiting to be proven.”
“Precisely. The prevailing view is that he's crushed under the pressure of growing the company beyond what his predecessors achieved. He's been on an aggressive offensive lately, trying to close the gap with the major players.”
I nodded slowly.
Pressure.
Nothing makes a man more impatient than a young owner who has results to prove. That impatience was what had driven him to this unorthodox joint venture proposal.
He was capable — and, at the same time, cornered. Just as I had once been, in my previous life.
“He'll negotiate well. So we'll simply make use of that impatience of his.”
The car eased off the accelerator. Osaka's skyline slid past the window, and soon a stately building rose up before us, declaring its presence — the tower that housed Shinei Chemical's headquarters.
Choi Sung-hoon brought the car smoothly to a stop in front of the lobby.
“We've arrived.”
At his words, I opened my door and stepped out first, then hurried around to open the rear door, helping Jung Tae-sung and Park Jin-hyuk out of the car.
The movements of a consummate executive secretary.
“After you, Director.”
Jung Tae-sung stepped out with a deliberately weighty bearing, while Park Jin-hyuk smoothed his clothes with a nervous hand. Choi Sung-hoon would wait with the car.
The moment we passed through the revolving doors into the lobby, a group of Japanese men who had been waiting for us came forward.
My eye caught the man at their head. A solidly built figure, with sharp features that somehow still carried a gentle cast. Shinei Chemical's CEO — Nakamura Kenji.
Nakamura walked straight to Jung Tae-sung and extended his hand.
“Thank you for making the long journey. I'm Nakamura Kenji, of Shinei Chemical.”
His Korean was fluent.
He must have practiced considerably.
Jung Tae-sung, unflustered, returned an easy smile and clasped his hand.
“The pleasure is mine. I'm Jung Tae-sung, Director at SJ Holdings. This is Park Jin-hyuk, CTO and head of research at Shinhwa Weltech — and this is my executive secretary.”
At the introductions, Nakamura's gaze swept across Park Jin-hyuk and me.
For me, it lingered only the briefest moment — the polite, incurious glance one gives a young aide carrying luggage — before returning its full attention to Jung Tae-sung.
“It is an honor to host such distinguished guests. Please, allow me to show you to the conference room.”
Nakamura gestured us forward with elaborate courtesy.
I walked at the very back and began studying Nakamura Kenji.
Some twenty minutes had passed since the meeting began.
The pleasantries and preliminary sparring were over, and a thick proposal now lay spread across the table.
Nakamura Kenji carried the presentation forward with practiced eloquence, his voice steeped in the confidence of a man offering terms that could not reasonably be refused.
“The structure we propose is simple. Shinhwa Weltech and Shinei Chemical will establish a joint venture in Korea's Ulsan petrochemical complex.”
At Nakamura's signal, an aide standing behind him put a chart up on the screen.
“The purpose is the joint development and production of high-purity wet chemicals and related specialty gases. Our primary objective will be the mass production of that groundbreaking process from Director Park's published paper.”
“And what are your thoughts on the equity structure?”
Jung Tae-sung leaned back in his chair with a deliberately arrogant posture as he asked.
“We are prepared to concede to a striking degree. Shinhwa Weltech fifty-one, Shinei forty-nine. We will also cede management control and the right to nominate the CEO to the Korean side. In form and in substance alike, we want a structure where the Korean company leads.”
Fifty-one to forty-nine.
I was taking notes in the back, and my pen stopped.
Far too generous. It was standard practice for whoever supplied the technology and the capital to take management control — yet they were offering up majority shareholder status.
“For the board, we propose equal representation, with major decisions made by mutual agreement. A matter of respecting one another, you understand.”
Nakamura's explanation flowed without a hitch.
“Next, the most critical piece — technology and R&D. We will establish a joint R&D center within the JV, and our headquarters will dispatch twelve veteran engineers and researchers immediately. We will bear their salaries for the first year.”
“And the production line?”
“We will transplant Shinei's standard process systems as they are. And to bring down the initial defect rate, we will support you in procuring key raw materials through supply chains we have already vetted.”
“Support,” is it.
I fought the urge to furrow my brow.
Every condition seemed to favor Shinhwa Weltech. A larger equity stake, personnel for free, even the raw material supply handed to us on a plate.
But there is no free lunch in business.
This is too perfect. Which is exactly why I don't trust it. They've got a trap dug somewhere — I just can't see where yet.
What could Shinei possibly stand to gain, if it meant surrendering equity? Simple entry into the Korean market? An indirect recoupment of profits through a monopoly on raw material supply? Or technological subjugation disguised as a loan of engineers?
However I turned it over, an unease clung to the whole arrangement.
This was bait you weren't supposed to swallow whole.
“And what timeline are you considering for the raw material procurement?”
Then, for the first time, Park Jin-hyuk — silent until now — spoke up, and Nakamura turned to him.
“We will take responsibility for the first three years. Think of it as a quality stabilization period.”
“Three years is quite a long time.”
Park Jin-hyuk's voice was calm, but something in it carried a note of quiet suspicion.
Nakamura answered with a smile.
“With high-purity chemicals, the purity of the raw material is the quality of the product. If we used unvetted materials and your yield collapsed, we would both lose. Please think of it as a period of building trust.”
Park Jin-hyuk nodded, but his eyes still seemed to be turning something over.
Like me, he apparently felt it too — something that didn't quite sit right.
“And finally, sales. Products manufactured by the JV will be supplied first to semiconductor and display customers within Korea. Combine Shinei's brand power with Shinhwa Weltech's local responsiveness, and dominating the market is only a matter of time.”
Nakamura's presentation ended. He turned to Jung Tae-sung with an air of triumph.
“Well, Director? We have set aside our pride and conceded everything. As a partner to take the Korean market with us, you will find no better terms.”
Jung Tae-sung put on a thoughtful frown and leaned toward Park Jin-hyuk beside him. The two began whispering back and forth with grave expressions.
“……”
“……”
Nakamura and the Shinei executives watched them with bated breath, their faces betraying the hope of an affirmative answer.
That was when it happened.
I rose quietly from my seat in the corner and stepped up behind Jung Tae-sung. Then, in a voice pitched just clearly enough for the Shinei interpreter to catch, I said:
“Director.”
Jung Tae-sung turned his head to look up at me.
“My apologies for interrupting, but your appointment with Otsu Industries is coming up shortly. If we don't leave soon, I'm afraid you'll be late.”
The air in the conference room froze.
Nakamura's eyes went wide. He whipped his head toward the interpreter seated beside him.
“What did he say?”
“Um… that they have an appointment… with Otsu Industries……”
I could hear the interpreter's flustered whisper.
Otsu Industries.
Another chemical company, in direct competition with Shinei within Japan — and one that had recently declared its entry into the Korean market. The moment its name was spoken, the expression on Nakamura's face visibly hardened.
Jung Tae-sung caught my signal perfectly. Wearing a look of mild dismay, he checked his watch and nodded.
“Ah — is it that time already?”
He rose from his seat and smoothed his suit.
“I appreciate the proposal, President Nakamura. Thank you for the extraordinary terms. But this is far too important a matter for us to give you an answer on the spot. We'll need to review it internally as well.”
“No — Director, please, just a moment……”
Nakamura shot to his feet in haste. The easy confidence of moments ago had vanished without a trace.
“How much longer will you be staying in Japan?”
“About a week, we expect. We'll complete our review within that time and be in touch.”
Jung Tae-sung offered a polished business smile and extended his hand.
Nakamura took it as if in a daze, but his eyes kept drifting past Jung Tae-sung — to me, standing behind him, and to the next destination we were so evidently bound for.
“Then, we'll take our leave. You'll hear from us within a few days.”
We walked out of the conference room, leaving Shinei's stunned management standing frozen behind us.