The Favor Repaid
"How should we handle the currency exchange?"
Late October 2008, the Reborn Capital office.
Jung Tae-sung flipped through the documents as he asked. The settlement from the aftermath of the Lehman collapse had come to $3.1 billion (roughly 4.3 trillion won), and deciding what to do with it was the task at hand.
"Convert thirty percent to won. Keep the rest in dollars."
"Thirty percent?"
Jung Tae-sung's eyes widened slightly.
The exchange rate had just broken through 1,400 won — its highest level since the Asian financial crisis. Normally, this would be the moment to rush the conversion and pocket the exchange gains.
"Yes. There's no need to rush. It'll hit 1,500 won by year's end."
Jung Tae-sung nodded.
He no longer questioned my predictions. Not since I'd called the subprime crisis to the day.
"And holding dollars can be a source of leverage."
"Leverage?"
Jung Tae-sung echoed.
"We may be acquiring overseas assets soon. Converting won to dollars at that point would mean a painful exchange cost. If we hold dollars from the start, we can move immediately without any of that."
With asset prices around the world in free fall thanks to the financial crisis, holding dollars also meant being ready to swallow up bargains the moment they hit the market.
If we converted everything to won, we'd waste time and money converting back the next time we needed dollars.
And since Reborn was legally an offshore asset management firm, operating in dollars conveniently kept my movements under wraps as well.
"Understood. I'll proceed with the conversion gradually, in tranches of thirty percent."
"Take it slowly. Don't move the market."
Jung Tae-sung nodded while taking notes.
"Shall I report on the domestic operations?"
"Go ahead."
"Shinhwa Weltech's third-quarter revenue grew thirty-five percent year over year."
Not a bad number.
With the global economy frozen solid by the financial crisis, double-digit growth counted as holding the line.
"I take it the Shinei joint venture is starting to pay off?"
"That's exactly where the results are coming from. Japanese technical expertise combined with our manufacturing costs — orders for the ultra-pure semiconductor wash chemicals keep coming in."
Shinei was a Japanese specialty chemicals company.
We had established the joint venture with Shinhma Weltech before I enlisted in the military, and the synergy was materializing faster than expected.
Japan's signature artisanal craftsmanship layered on top of Korean price competitiveness — for semiconductor makers, it was an option that delivered quality and cost in one package.
Of course, the yield problem still made it expensive, but with semiconductor companies diversifying their supply chains, we could slip in smaller volumes.
"Director Park Jin-hyuk is considering an expansion into secondary batteries. Ultra-pure electrolyte additives — he says it's feasible by applying our existing chemical refining technology."
"Tell him to proceed. The secondary battery market will only keep growing."
When the age of electric vehicles arrived, battery demand would explode.
And it was the materials that determined battery performance. If we built up the technology now, we could claim the market a decade from now.
"Now, let's talk about Synapse."
"CEO Seo Min-seung is targeting early next year for the reveal of his robotic arm prototype."
I focused on Jung Tae-sung's words.
"It's controlled through algorithmic motion commands, and he says the precision has improved considerably. However..."
Jung Tae-sung let the sentence trail off.
"Is there a problem?"
"He says the learning AI is still lacking. With current technology, someone has to input every single motion manually, so there's a limit to its versatility."
A problem I had anticipated.
Artificial intelligence at this point was still taking its first steps. You had to teach a robot each movement one by one, and self-adapting to new situations was impossible.
But this was a problem time would solve.
Before I came back, learning AI had advanced explosively.
The arrival of deep learning had enabled machines to analyze data and find patterns on their own. Countless companies competed and poured out breakthroughs, and some of that technology was released as open source.
Open source meant source code made publicly available, free for anyone to use.
When that era arrived, we could give our robots a self-learning brain.
What mattered was having the body built before that day came. The best brain in the world was useless without a body to move it.
"Pass this along to CEO Seo Min-seung: don't worry about AI — focus entirely on the robot manufacturing technology. We'll attach the brain later."
"Understood."
Jung Tae-sung finished his notes, paused for a moment, then spoke up carefully.
"Shall I also report on the Sunjin Group's movements?"
"Yes."
"The financial crisis has hit the automotive side hard. There are rumors that Chairman Kang Tae-yong is considering restructuring."
"And Chairman Kang Byung-chul?"
"Aluminum prices have collapsed, so Sunjin Aluminum has swung into the red. They were already strapped for cash after the management dispute — this is a direct hit."
The corner of my mouth lifted slightly.
While they staggered, I had made four trillion won. It wasn't time for a direct confrontation yet, but the gap in weight classes was narrowing.
"Understood. Let's end today's report here."
"Yes. If you have any other instructions..."
Just then, my phone rang. Looking at the name on the screen, my eyes narrowed.
"One moment."
I answered.
"Yes, this is Kang Seon-woo."
"It's been a while, Representative Kang."
"Is your schedule open? Come see my face."
"This isn't a conversation for the phone. Can you come?"
Kim Jong-soo's voice. It wasn't his usual relaxed tone — there was weight behind it.
It had been a year since his last call. And now he was asking me to come to him.
"Is something the matter?"
"Not a phone conversation. Can you come?"
"Of course. I'll see you this evening."
I hung up and looked at Jung Tae-sung.
"I'll need to visit Bukchon tonight."
"Bukchon?"
Jung Tae-sung's expression shifted. He, too, knew what Bukchon meant.
"Yes. If that old man is calling on me, something important must be up."
The road to Bukchon.
I remembered the first time I'd climbed this path, four years ago.
Back then I'd come as a borrower seeking twenty billion won. Now was different.
Unless I'd misread things, Kim Jong-soo reaching out to me first meant he had a favor to ask. And I had a pretty good idea what it might be.
When I stopped at the gate, a familiar face greeted me.
"Welcome, sir. He's been waiting for you."
Kim Jong-soo's executive secretary. I followed him inside.
Passing through the courtyard toward the main house, the serene scenery of the traditional hanok registered in my eyes.
At the door of the room, the secretary announced me.
"Chairman, Representative Kang Seon-woo has arrived."
"Send him in."
I opened the door to find Kim Jong-soo seated in his usual spot.
Something was off. Instead of his customary easy smile, his face was rigid.
The Kim Jong-soo I knew was always unhurried.
He spoke slowly and moved slowly, as if there were nothing in the world worth rushing for. Today, the man seemed almost anxious.
"It's been a while."
I greeted him and took my seat.
"You ran off to the military without a word, and our connection rather dried up, didn't it."
Kim Jong-soo spoke as though laying a small blame at my feet, and I answered with a smile instead of a reply.
"Let's have some tea first."
At Kim Jong-soo's gesture, the attendant waiting outside the door came in carrying the tea.
A brief silence settled over the room as cups were filled.
"You're a busy man, so let's get to the point."
Kim Jong-soo took a sip of tea and began.
"Do you remember Shinsung Savings Bank?"
"I do. I mentioned it four years ago, sir."
It was the information I'd tossed out as I borrowed that twenty billion won.
I'll use it well and pay it back. Point your radar toward Shinsung Mutual Savings Bank.
Back then, I hadn't just owed Kim Jong-soo money — I had paid him with information from the future.
"I made contact, just as you said. Late 2004."
"How did it go?"
"The majority shareholder was receptive at first. We even got as far as negotiating price."
Kim Jong-soo paused.
"But in early 2005, he suddenly changed his tune. Said he wouldn't sell."
"...What was the reason?"
"Real estate had gone insane."
2005.
The year property prices began their runaway climb. The government had unleashed regulation after regulation, only to make things worse.
Housing prices shot up without regard for the sky, and all that money had to come from somewhere.
"The savings banks started pumping out real estate PF loans. Shinsung was no exception. When the money keeps rolling in, why on earth would you sell?"
Project financing. Loans extended to construction firms before they ever broke ground on an apartment complex.
The structure was simple: repayment came once the apartments were completed and pre-sold. While real estate was rising, it was a win-win for everyone.
"I kept at them for three years. Every time, the same answer: no intention of selling now."
Fatigue had seeped into Kim Jong-soo's voice. Three years was no short wait.
"And you're calling me in now because the situation has changed."
At my words, Kim Jong-soo nodded.
"That's right. The financial crisis hit."
The aftershocks of the subprime collapse had rolled into Korea as well. The real estate market froze over, and construction firms began to fall.
The savings banks that had flooded the market with PF loans found themselves saddled with mountains of bad debt.
"The financial authorities are applying pressure. Clean up the insolvent savings banks. Shinsung is on that list."
"A forced sale?"
"They'll slap the label of voluntary sale on it, but in practice, that's exactly what it is."
Kim Jong-soo looked me straight in the eye.
"The real deal has finally come to market."
An opportunity he had waited four years for. Avarice flickered across Kim Jong-soo's eyes.
But behind it, there was another emotion.
I could see the impatience. The anxiety.
"Is there a problem?"
"I'm not the only one hunting it."
Exactly the answer I'd expected.
"Who is it?"
"A major conglomerate has entered the picture. The Jeongseong Group."
The Jeongseong Group ranked within Korea's top twenty conglomerates.
Banks in the first financial sector could not be owned by chaebol families under the separation of finance and industry laws. But savings banks belonged to the second financial sector — legally, they weren't banks at all, but mutual finance institutions serving ordinary citizens.
Chaebols could own savings banks for the same reason they owned insurers, card companies, and brokerages.
And with the coming savings bank crisis, the government needed a rescue closer — which meant it needed chaebol money.
"Jeongseong Construction, I'd guess."
And their core business was construction. Jeongseong Construction ranked among the top three in the industry by contracted volume.
A construction firm needed a PF loan window of its own — that had to be why they were wading in. And in both capital and lobbying power, they would outrank Kim Jong-soo.
In my previous life, after all, Shinsung Savings Bank had ended up in the Jeongseong Group's hands.
"On my own, I can be pushed aside."
Kim Jong-soo spoke slowly.
"Help me, Representative Kang."
The positions from four years ago had reversed.
Back then, I had been the one bowing my head to ask — lend me twenty billion won, trust one man and invest in him.
Now Kim Jong-soo was extending his hand to me.
I regarded him in silence for a moment.
Four years ago, this was the man who had readily handed twenty billion won to a nobody with nothing, and I had not forgotten that debt.
But business was business.
"Looking back, everything between you and me, Chairman, has been a transaction. If you need me this time, I assume you're prepared to give something up in return?"
Kim Jong-soo nodded, as if he'd expected the question.
True to a man whose trade was money itself, giving and taking in equal measure had long since become second nature to him.
"For the record, information is of no use to me."
"Naturally. You carry information decades better than anything I could offer."
Kim Jong-soo gazed at me quietly, then opened his mouth at last.
"I'll buy shares in Sunjin Sangsa and become your staunch ally. Long-term, that is."