The Card on the Table
“Th-that's…….”
Nakamura Kenji couldn't find the words. His mouth simply hung open.
The callow aide-de-camp standing before him had just switched to fluent Japanese—and declared that he was the owner.
Of course he found it hard to believe.
“Exactly as I told you.”
I dabbed lightly at the corner of my mouth with my napkin and met his gaze squarely.
“I do apologize for concealing my identity from the start. I'm well aware it wasn't proper business etiquette. But I needed to know.”
“…….”
“What Shin-ei was really thinking. If you'll believe me, this was a necessary expedient—one I chose in order to see the board on a wider, deeper scale.”
Nakamura Kenji still wore a dazed expression at my words. His eyes kept sliding between my face and the suit I was wearing.
“I suppose my appearance is harder to believe than my words.”
Even if I had been Nakamura Kenji, I wouldn't have believed it either. A kid who looked barely old enough for university, sitting across the table as a negotiation counterpart—it was beyond common sense.
“But then, President Nakamura, you approached us hiding a great deal as well. Why don't we call it even?”
I went on with a faint smile.
“The poison pill buried in that 51-to-49 split. The profit siphon built into the raw material supply chain. The roadmap for swallowing the joint venture whole. If we offset my hidden identity against your hidden intentions, then all of each other's earlier discourtesies never happened. Agreed?”
“……!”
Nakamura's face flushed red and pale by turns. But he couldn't argue back—because every word I'd said was true.
“Dinner was excellent. I've learned that Japan has a truly remarkable food culture.”
I drew the business card holder I'd prepared in advance from my jacket, then reverently laid a single card bearing the SJ Holdings logo on the table.
“I'll return to my lodgings and wait. When you're ready to set aside the fake proposal meant to deceive us, and sit down for a real negotiation where both sides win—give me a call.”
I rose from my seat and bowed politely.
“Then, if you'll excuse me.”
Leaving the frozen Nakamura behind me, I turned without a trace of hesitation and stepped out of the room.
Slide— thud.
The sound of the sliding door closing echoed with unusual loudness.
In the corridor, Jeong Tae-sung and Park Jin-hyuk—waiting at the far end, pretending they'd just come back from the restroom—hurried toward me when they saw me. Their eyes were asking how it had gone.
I flashed a grin and loosened my tie slightly.
“Let's go. Today's business is finished.”
The next morning. Shin-ei Chemical headquarters, Osaka. The CEO's office.
Nakamura Kenji was staring down at the thick research dossier his chief secretary had delivered. His fingertips were trembling, ever so slightly.
“So…… he's a high school student? One who just took his college entrance exams?”
Clipped to the front page of the dossier was a scrap from a Korean newspaper. Beneath the sensational headline—Miracle Perfect Score on the CSAT, the Chaebol Heir's Rebellion—was a photo sharp enough to make out the silhouette of the very boy he'd seen yesterday.
“And a direct-line third-generation heir of Sunjin Group—third in Korea's business rankings at that?”
Every question was snapping into place like puzzle pieces.
At the kaiseki restaurant yesterday, when the boy who had called himself an executive aide revealed his true identity, Nakamura had felt insulted. He'd assumed it was a cruel prank, a humiliation of a business partner.
But it hadn't been.
“However, according to the report, the registered representative of SJ Holdings is a man named Kim Seok-jun. He was said to be a trusted retainer and vault-keeper for the Sunjin Group chairman……”
Nakamura Kenji raised a hand, cutting off his chief secretary's careful explanation.
“He's the true owner. Among the zaibatsu, hiding one's identity and exercising power from behind the scenes is hardly rare.”
It was no different for Japan's own chaebol dynasties. When an heir was still too young to step forward comfortably, the common succession method was to install a trusted retainer as a figurehead president and pull the strings from behind—governance from the shadows.
If anything, the fact that the boy could set up a heavyweight like Kim Seok-jun as his proxy was proof of just how secure his standing was within the group.
“What shall we do? Shall we dig further into the background check?”
At the chief secretary's question, Nakamura Kenji slowly shook his head.
“No. If he chose to reveal his hidden identity himself, then that was him extending me the courtesy of sincerity.”
Nakamura Kenji closed his eyes and recalled Seon-woo from the night before. The fluent Japanese. The unnervingly cool gaze that made you forget his age. And the piercing insight that had driven straight into his weak points.
It hadn't looked like the mere bravado of a rich man's son. There was a weight to him—an aura that only someone who had made countless decisions and shouldered the consequences could possess.
Innate, is it…….
He was undeniably young, yet the way Seon-woo carried himself was that of a seasoned executive—the very image Nakamura himself had never quite managed to attain. Capable and unhesitating to the point of being a mirror held up to his own face.
“Every file we've compiled on Kang Seon-woo—destroy it. All of it.”
“……You want it destroyed, sir?”
“Yes. My counterpart has changed, so I owe him the courtesy that demands. He revealed himself of his own accord—digging further would be in poor faith.”
“Understood, sir. I'll see to it immediately.”
Once the chief secretary bowed deeply and withdrew, a heavy silence settled over the office again.
Nakamura Kenji pulled from his suit's inner pocket the business card he'd received the day before. Beneath the name, in firmly inked pen, was a direct line to a Japanese hotel.
If you're ready to negotiate in earnest, give me a call.
The words lingered in his ears.
Nakamura turned the card over and over in his fingers, deliberating for a long while. His pride was bruised—but there was no denying it. The hilt of the sword was in the other man's hand.
As if arriving at a decision, he lifted the receiver.
The sitting room of the hotel suite.
After breakfast, we were catching our breath over coffee. But Jeong Tae-sung's expression still didn't look easy.
“Will it be all right, sir? Revealing your identity, I mean.”
Jeong Tae-sung asked with a deliberately worried face. “In Korea, the only people who know the owner of SJ Holdings is you are the three of us here, Managing Director Kim Seok-jun, and a bare handful of others. And yet you handed over information that could be used against you—to a negotiation counterpart, in a foreign country, far too easily……”
He was clearly worried that my identity might leak out and become rumor in the Korean business world. I was still a high school student, after all, and my position within Sunjin Group was a delicate one.
I set down my coffee cup with a smile.
“Ah, it'll be fine. I sleep with my legs stretched toward where the bed lies, as they say. By now he'll have checked whether what I said was true.”
I looked around at the three of them.
“And once he confirms it's the truth, he'll have no reason to investigate further.”
“What do you mean by that, sir?”
“The title of chaebol blood is a convenient pretext that makes anything I do read as extraordinary, no matter my age. People simply nod and think, ah, his blood is different—that's why he's so brilliant even at his age.”
When people confront an unfathomable genius, a plausible background lets them accept it without resistance. For me, being a third-generation heir of Sunjin Group would serve exactly that role.
“At the very least, if the Nakamura Kenji I'd met had struck me as thoughtless and frivolous, I would never have revealed myself. He's a man who weighs gains and losses with utter rigor. He'll instinctively understand that keeping my secret and forging a bond with me is far more profitable for him.”
At my words, everyone nodded as if convinced. Nakamura was a merchant at heart—a man who chased profit, not gossip.
“Will he really call?”
Park Jin-hyuk, who had been listening quietly, asked.
“He will.”
I answered in a voice full of certainty.
“Every move I've watched Nakamura Kenji make so far looked like a man with his life staked on this. A man standing at the edge of a cliff doesn't pick and choose his ropes. And if he's already checked whether that rope is rotten or spun from gold—all the more so.”
Just then—
The hotel room's telephone shattered the silence, ringing shrilly.
Riiing—
Every head turned toward the phone. I could practically hear Jeong Tae-sung and Park Jin-hyuk swallowing dryly.
I gave them a composed nod and picked up the receiver.
“Kang Seon-woo speaking.”
A brief silence passed through the earpiece before a low, weighty voice came through.
—……
“Very good. Come to where I'm staying tonight.”
I arranged the time with him and set the receiver down. When I turned my head, the three of them were watching me with tense expressions. I smiled and nodded at them.
“Cola's fine with you, I hope?”
I asked Nakamura Kenji, who had come to my lodgings. As he'd requested, it was a private meeting—no attendants on either side.
“I'm at an age where I can't drink, you see.”
“Cola is perfectly fine.”
I took two cans from the minibar and handed one to Nakamura. He received it courteously, with both hands.
“Thank you for coming to me. I'm afraid I'm not in a position to move about freely.”
“I understand. In fact, I'm the grateful one—for the chance to speak frankly, the two of us alone like this.”
Nakamura Kenji's manner had grown oddly deferential. After yesterday's shock and this morning's verification, he appeared to have accepted me as an equal partner.
“My personal view is that we should reach a broad agreement here, between you and me, and then hand the details to the working teams. As you know, we've spent so long feeling each other out that the deck needs reshuffling.”
“I'm in complete agreement. May I speak candidly first?”
I nodded as I cracked open my can.
“As you've already surmised, we did build in a number of safeguards to keep from losing control of the joint venture after entering Korea. For that, I apologize.”
“I understand. You needed them.”
I had made it sound as though their scheming were some villainy, but looked at coldly, self-interest always comes first in business. All the more so for sharing a roof in unfamiliar territory called Korea.
“There's no need to apologize. What I took issue with was never the intent—it was the approach, starting from our very first contact, the deliberately murky way you moved as though you meant to deceive us.”
“Thank you for your generosity in understanding. From Shin-ei's position, our stance is that we must retain, at minimum, a degree of managerial defense and safeguards within the joint venture.”
I nodded. That was something Shinhwa Weltech needed as well—not just them.
“Good. With that framework accepted, let me present Shinhwa Weltech's revised proposal.”
I set my cola can down on the table and spread out my fingers.
“First. The 51-to-49 equity split stands, and we agree to the board composition as proposed. However—you'll appoint one additional neutral outside director. When a deadlock arises, that single neutral voice holds the casting vote.”
“The appointment of an outside director……”
“We stipulate that both sides must agree on the candidate. And further—we'll codify the CEO's authority in writing. Day-to-day management such as procurement, hiring, and line operations is locked in as the CEO's sole discretion; the board convenes only for policy decisions and major investments above a set threshold.”
At my words, Nakamura Kenji nodded. Arranged this way, neither side could weaponize the board to paralyze management. A genuinely neutral safeguard, for the company's own sake.
And by maintaining our position as the 51% majority shareholder, we also secured the tangible benefit of Korean tax incentives and government support.
“Good. I agree.”
“Second. We'll accept the clause guaranteeing 100% raw material supply for three years. In exchange, the raw material pricing formula becomes transparent, with a cap pegged to international supply prices.”
The single greatest fear for Shinhwa Weltech had been profit bleeding out through dependence on Shin-ei's supply chain. But we couldn't simply reject it. Securing early quality stability required Shin-ei's proven materials—and Nakamura needed the carrot of a guaranteed revenue floor.
“In addition, I'll include a clause that mandatorily lowers the exclusivity after five years. Down to 80%, then 50% the following year, then 30% the year after.”
“That is…… far too unfavorable a proposal for us. If the supply chain is shaken, we can't guarantee quality either.”
Nakamura looked troubled. I'd expected the reaction.
“It's purely an upper limit to prevent monopoly. I'll add a right of first refusal—so long as there are no issues with price or quality, we keep buying Shin-ei's materials.”
“And the standard for judging quality……?”
“A third-party accredited certification body, running comparative analysis against the raw materials of the global majors. If Shin-ei's quality is equal to or better than theirs, we'd have no reason to buy elsewhere, would we?”
What Shin-ei needed most was for the chemicals they made to enter a new market and accumulate track record. This compromise guaranteed them that opportunity while blocking the ills of monopoly.
“……That's reasonable. I accept.”
“And last—the joint venture's initial capital goes in proportion to shareholding. Since we hold 51%, we'll contribute that share in cash. Shin-ei covers the remaining 49%. Any future expansion or additional investment follows the same principle: paid-in capital increases strictly pro rata.”
This was the safeguard for Shinhwa Weltech. It outright blocked the scenario where Shin-ei later flexed its financial muscle with a capital raise, diluted our stake, and snatched away control. SJ Holdings' vault was overflowing with money—when it came to a war of cash, I was confident I wouldn't lose.
With that, I finished the proposal and looked at Nakamura Kenji.
“That's the framework I'm offering. What do you say? I believe this is the most realistic and fairest proposal possible—one where we both truly win.”
Nakamura Kenji crossed his arms and fell silent for a moment. You could almost hear the gears turning as he tallied gains against losses in his head.
“If one proposal from our side is added, I will accept.”
I nodded for him to go on.
“Process improvements and refinement technologies—please make these jointly owned. With the explicit premise, of course, that each company's pre-existing foundational technologies remain its own, clearly delineated.”
The word improvement, arising in the course of running a joint venture, has always been a seed of dispute. I nodded, and even as I did, weighed in advance exactly what benefit he was after.
“Very well. But let's nail down the definition. Improvements derived from equipment, process, recipe, or quality control are bundled as joint-venture improvement technology—jointly filed, jointly owned. Everything outside that remains foundational technology.”
I could see Nakamura draw a small, steadying breath. Now only the core remained.
“And external use will be governed by prior consultation, not mere notification. Uses that go directly to competitors, or that conflict with the joint venture in the Korean market, are restricted. In exchange, non-competing uses—serving existing client accounts within Japan, for instance—go through a fast-track approval process. How does that sound?”
Safeguards on everything suited Shin-ei and us alike.
“An excellent proposal. With Shin-ei's future on the line, I will take Shinhwa Weltech's hand.”
Nakamura Kenji rose from his seat and extended his hand with formal courtesy. I rose as well, and with a smile, took it in a firm grasp.