A Pact Over Broken Tea
Pyeongchang-dong, Seoul.
Beyond the high garden wall, the mansion lay wrapped in perfect silence. Inside the study of that mansion — the home of Kang Byung-chul, Chairman of Sunjin Aluminum — a heavy quiet hung in the air.
"……"
Kang Tae-yong set down his teacup and stared at the old man across from him. His uncle, his father's younger brother, the sibling of Sunjin Group's founding chairman — Kang Byung-chul.
"So. With Chuseok coming up, you dropped by to pay your respects, hm?"
Byung-chul chuckled heartily and raised his cup to his lips.
"Don't feed me that transparent nonsense, boy. You grew up on my knee. I changed your diapers, and you think you can fool my eyes?"
"Ha-ha……"
The corners of Tae-yong's mouth lifted in an embarrassed grin.
"You're right. I can't get anything past you, Uncle. Is it that obvious?"
"Your face looks exactly like it did when you were a boy — the day you got into trouble and came crawling to me to fix it. Out with it. No stalling. What is it?"
Byung-chul set his cup down and leaned back in his chair. Tae-yong drew a slow breath.
"With Tae-jin gone so suddenly…… it feels like the family needs to be put in order. And you're the eldest of the household now, aren't you, Uncle."
Byung-chul's eyes narrowed to slits. He already knew exactly what his nephew had come to say.
"Put in order……"
Byung-chul clicked his tongue.
"And why come to me to discuss it? You're the head of this family now. The eldest son handles his own affairs. What's an old man supposed to do about it?"
A spark lit in Tae-yong's eyes. That was approval, delivered in code. Since a mere collateral branch like me has no standing to act, you — the true bloodline — take up the knife and swing it. A silent pledge of support.
"So I did try. To put things in order."
"Tried?"
"Yes. I sent people to my sister-in-law. Suggested she install a professional manager, since the children are still young and know nothing of running a company."
"And she refused?"
"……She did. More stubbornly than I expected. Says she'll manage everything herself."
Byung-chul burst into a dry snort of laughter.
"A woman with teeth on her. Tae-jin married well, at least. But what's the problem, exactly?"
"……"
"You're hardly the sort to cower because some housewife who never balanced a ledger is baring her claws. And if that were all it was, you'd have no reason to come begging to me, would you?"
Byung-chul's gaze bored into Tae-yong as if dissecting his very soul.
"The fault is mine, Uncle."
"Useless boy."
Byung-chul clucked his tongue.
"So you've come to borrow this old man's hands, have you? Playing the dutiful eldest brother-in-law for one breath and grabbing your sister-in-law by the collar the next — that's hardly a good look, you know."
"……I won't deny it."
"Fine. Say I help you. What exactly do you want from me?"
Tae-yong straightened in his seat, and strength gathered in his voice.
"Give me the name of Sunjin Group. Let it be mine."
A strange expression crossed Byung-chul's face.
"The name?"
"Yes. The Sunjin banner itself."
Sunjin Motors. A colossus ranked among the top five corporate groups in all of Korea. And Tae-yong was its owner. By revenue, by scale, it dwarfed the Sunjin Group his younger brother had inherited beyond any comparison.
And yet a thirst in Tae-yong had never been quenched.
A hollow shell.
That was what the world whispered. Even if Kang Tae-yong earned all the money in the world, the true heir to their father's spirit was the youngest — Kang Tae-jin — because he had inherited the two characters of Sunjin, the name of the founding company the chairman had cherished above all else in his lifetime.
So Tae-yong was nothing but a money-making machine — or a bastard-born giant, all bulk and no legitimacy. That inferiority complex had chained him his entire life.
"Hah, honestly. You are a tiresome creature. The biggest earner in the family, obsessing over an empty justification like that?"
"Money can always be earned again. But the legitimacy of the true bloodline — that's the one thing money cannot buy."
"So you want me to shake the board for you?"
"Yes. If I move directly, the whole world will tear my name apart in gossip. But if you step forward, Uncle, it becomes a matter of the family elder disciplining his kin. Who could object to that?"
Byung-chul stroked his chin in silence. A slippery old snake. He's got his calculator clicking away in there right now, Tae-yong thought.
"Helping you is no trouble at all."
"……"
"But businessmen settle accounts precisely. An old man doesn't move for free."
There it was — his true nature. Tae-yong spoke as if he'd been waiting for exactly that.
"If you help me, Uncle, I'll give Sunjin Aluminum the one thing it needs most."
"What we need? And what would that be?"
"I'll carve off the trading company for you."
Byung-chul's eyebrows twitched.
"……"
"To be precise — the merchant fleet line underneath it."
Tae-yong knew his mark perfectly. The heart of aluminum smelting lay in importing raw materials and exporting processed goods. Until now, Sunjin Aluminum had entrusted all of that logistics to the group's trading arm — and paid a toll for the privilege, every single time.
"I hear you suffer for lack of ships every time you import bauxite. Take the merchant fleet, and you'll have five vessels of your own. The logistics savings alone would add hundreds of billions of won to your operating profit."
An unmistakable greed spread across Byung-chul's lips. Vertical integration — the dream of every manufacturer alive.
"Hmm……"
Byung-chul feigned deliberation, drawing out the pause. But the calculator had already finished its work. They would tear the trading company — the very root of Sunjin Group — apart and devour it. His nephew would carry the justification while he pocketed the spoils. A profitable trade, all around.
"Well, now. My appetite is whetted."
"Just handle it…… a little roughly. Rough enough that my sister-in-law comes crawling to me with both hands raised in surrender."
Byung-chul raised his teacup and took a slow sip.
"It'll take us some time to mobilize cash. Gathering bonds, working the share structure…… We can't properly move until next year. Will that do?"
"Perfectly. I can't act openly for the moment either. Just do it slowly — and do it thoroughly."
"Good. Then that's how we proceed."
The deal was struck. The moment Byung-chul's consent fell, the air in the study grew noticeably warmer.
"Hahaha! You truly are the head of the family, Uncle. I will never forget this kindness."
"Kindness, my foot. It's all for the good of the family."
The two men laughed together. On the surface, a picture of warm, harmonious kinship — but behind those smiles, each man concealed a blade of his own. One for honor, one for money. The conspiracy to carve up their prey — Sunjin — was complete.
The next morning.
The only sound at the breakfast table was the clink of chopsticks and spoons. Into that silence, my mother spoke up carefully.
"Kids — we're not going to the main house this Chuseok."
Sun-ah's chopsticks and mine froze at the same instant.
"We're not going?"
"That's right. We only just held your father's funeral, and everyone agreed there's too much on our plates — your uncle said we should spend this one quietly at home."
Mother said it matter-of-factly, but my grip tightened around my rice bowl. Quietly, my ass.
It was garbage. The funeral was nothing but an excuse. If my memory served, from this day forward our family would never again be invited to the main house. Not for Chuseok, not for Lunar New Year — not even for Grandfather's memorial day.
He's cutting us out. Kang Tae-yong. That man was, at this very moment, erasing us from the family tree. Cold indifference and systematic exclusion — that was the first weapon our relatives had chosen.
But I kept it off my face. Telling my mother that kind of cold truth right now would only wound her.
"That works for me, actually. I wasn't looking forward to going anyway."
When I answered so casually, Mother seemed to relax with relief. Then, as if eager to change the subject, she turned to Sun-ah.
"How's school going these days, Sun-ah? Are you keeping up with your studies?"
"……Same as always."
Sun-ah replied with a shrug. Honestly, the question hardly needed asking — she was a model student who played comfortably in the top ranks of the whole school.
The moment Sun-ah finished, both pairs of eyes swung to me in unison. Of course. I'm the problem child.
That worried look oddly made my skin prickle. I scooped up a spoonful of soup and tossed the words out as if they were nothing.
"I'm doing fine. I told you last time, remember? I joined the stock investment club."
"……"
"And I'm entering a high school investing competition. Teaming up with some friends."
Sun-ah's eyes went round as saucers.
"What? You?"
"What's so surprising about that? I mean, I……"
"No, but you sleep through every class at school. What club are we even talking about……"
Sun-ah's face said she refused to believe it, but Mother's reaction was different — color bloomed across her cheeks. Grades and competition results didn't matter to her one bit. The mere fact that her son was adapting to school life and throwing himself into something had made her genuinely happy.
"Well, I never. Our Seon-woo, entering a competition. Thank goodness. Thank goodness, truly……"
Watching her face, I thought — I should have tried harder in my past life too.
"And now, Mother — your turn. Please."
"Hm? Me?"
"Yes, Mom. How's the company?"
Sun-ah chimed in, and Mother smiled.
"It's fine. I have people helping me with the work."
"That's a relief. The company's…… doing okay, right?"
At my question, Mother hesitated over her answer. Of course it wasn't okay. I knew exactly what the situation was. And Choi Dong-soo wasn't a man who created strategy so much as a man who perfected strategies someone else handed him. Which meant we had to give him something — anything — to build a strategy from……
Just then, the news drifted from the TV, and I thought — there it is.
"Wow, China is growing at a terrifying pace. You know China joined the WTO the year before last, right? People are saying the effects really kick in starting this year."
Mother and Sun-ah both wore the wary expression of people waiting to see where this was going.
"We looked at similar news in my club, actually. And one of my seniors brought up Sunjin Sangsa."
"Sunjin Sangsa?"
"Yeah. China's about to suck up raw materials from every corner of the world — but the seniors said China doesn't have the ships to carry them. And Sunjin Sangsa has a fleet. He said it'd be even better if they expanded it."
"……So high schoolers are having conversations like that now?"
As if. But it was the perfect cover story for the situation at hand.
"Sure. It's good practice for the essay section of the college exams, too. When I heard it, I just wanted to share it with you, Mom."
"Well, thank you. Seon-woo, keeping an eye on the company for me. Now — everyone, eat up."
Mother said that, but her gaze had already drifted to the news playing on the TV.
That should be enough. I slipped back into my role as the high-school son and returned to my breakfast.
Vreeeeee—
The tower case whirred like a struggling farm tractor. The hourglass icon on the screen spun without any intention of stopping.
"Hmm. The computer's slow, but it'll do."
One day before the competition began. We were huddled in front of the CRT monitor, holding our breath.
Han Jae-yi spoke with the considerate air of someone worried she might frustrate Min-jae or me — though the one actually driving the machine was probably dying inside.
Jae-yi sat down at the chair and tapped at the keyboard, while Min-jae and I stood behind her like a folding screen.
"Take it slow, noona."
Jae-yi nodded at Min-jae's words.
"Everyone's clear on the rules? This is a high school competition — no intraday trading. The organizers locked it down so we can't goof off during class."
"Then how do we place orders?"
"You submit advance orders the night before. They execute at the next day's opening price. After market close, we review the results, adjust the portfolio, place the next day's orders — and repeat."
Jae-yi pointed at the calendar with her finger.
"The Chuseok holiday is almost on us. Which means whatever we set up today has to hold for at least a week."
"So the first move matters most."
"Exactly. Alright — shopping time."
At last the screen changed, and the order window appeared. Jae-yi's eyes turned razor-sharp. Without a moment's hesitation, her fingers flew across the keyboard.
Tap-tap. Tak.
"First — Zenith Games, 20%, as Seon-woo called it."
Two million won of our ten-million-won virtual seed capital vanished into buy orders in an instant.
"That's our team's flagship. Biggest weight. Next — Min-jae's Hyunbo Computer, 15%."
Another 1.5 million won went in.
"The rest are my defensive picks — Korea Electric Power, Future Telecom…… four stocks at 10% each."
Four million won in total. A solid line of shields, all in place.
"And the remaining 25% stays in cash. Just in case."
The order window displayed the remaining balance: 2.5 million won. I stood with my arms crossed, looking down at the screen.
Clean. 35% attackers, 40% defenders, and 25% cash standing guard like a goalkeeper. A golden ratio so perfect no one would believe a high schooler had built it.
Of course, I had no intention of honoring that portfolio. In fact, just last night, I'd quietly moved five million won from my personal account into my brokerage account.
And then — I'd shoved every last won of it into Zenith Games. A move only possible because I knew the future.
"And one more thing — we hold these weights exactly, to the letter, until the competition ends."
Just as I was lost in thought, Han Jae-yi dropped something astonishing on us.
"Hold them?"
"Yes. Say Zenith Games hits the daily limit tomorrow and its share of the account swells to 30%. Then we sell down 10% without mercy. No exceptions."
"……"
"And if it drops and the weight shrinks? We buy back until it's 20% again."
I clicked my tongue inwardly. Whoa. She's ruthless.
That was mechanical trading, pure and simple. Sell when it rises, buy when it falls. Easy to say — nearly impossible to obey, because human greed always interferes. And here was a high school student reciting the asset-allocation strategies that professional fund managers lived by.
"So you're planning constant rebalancing, then?"
At my words, Jae-yi's hand froze dead on the mouse. She turned her head and looked up at me, unblinking.
"……You know what rebalancing is?"
"Of course. You readjust your asset weights, right? Sell what's run up to lock in gains, buy what's lagged to restore the balance."
Jae-yi let out a hollow, disbelieving laugh, as if the wind had been knocked out of her. For a moment I thought, really, it's nothing to be shocked about — but then I remembered: this was an era without YouTube. To learn something like this, you had to hunt down books or pay for specialized instruction.
Seen that way, it was impressive that Jae-yi had sought it out — and equally startling that a high schooler like me knew the term at all.
"Seon-woo, you're genuinely something. You know more than the teachers do."
"You're the impressive one, sunbae."
"How so?"
"That tedious chore — you're planning to do it every single day for a one-month competition. Most people skip it out of sheer laziness."
The two greatest drawbacks of rebalancing were tedium and transaction fees. But Jae-yi was resolute.
"I'm doing it because it's tedious."
"Sorry?"
"We can't react during market hours. If the market craters while we're sitting in class staring at the blackboard, there's nothing we can do about it. So mechanically resetting the ratios after close every day is the only way to control the risk."
Her eyes burned with absolute conviction.
"A miracle streak? That's luck. And I refuse to hand my money — no, our team's victory — over to something as cheap as luck."
I nodded. Respect. This woman was the real deal. Armed not with luck but with relentless, rigorous skill. And she'd been like this since high school. Remarkable.
"All bought. Setup complete."
Jae-yi hit the Enter key with a decisive thack and rose from her chair.
"This is the format until Chuseok. Any objections?"
"Nope."
"Sounds great, noona!"
Min-jae answered with a bright, sunny grin. Jae-yi braced her hands on the desk and looked back and forth between us. Her expression was deadly serious.
"Alright then…… shall we do it?"
"Do what?"
"You know. That thing."
Jae-yi cleared her throat, visibly awkward, and held out her hand.
"We have to do a fighting chant at least once."
"Ah……"
Min-jae slapped his hand on top of hers, thrilled. Both of them turned their gaze on me, standing there stiff and bewildered. I swallowed a long, deep sigh.
Ha. I'm a man in his forties on the inside, and I'm supposed to stack hands with teenagers and shout 'fighting'? It was so cringe-inducing my fingers refused to uncurl.
But what could I do? I couldn't bear to let down these wide-eyed, sparkling kids.
"……Sure. Let's do it."
Feigning reluctant surrender, I stepped forward and laid my hand lightly on the backs of theirs. Warmth passed through the stack of hands.
"Okay — I'll lead the charge."
Jae-yi drew in a breath.
"The gold standard of returns — FIGHTING!"
"FIGHTING!"
The voices of three people rang through the shabby old clubroom. And so, in September of 2003 — our war began.