Gwangjin Distribution
Gwangjin Distribution was Kim Gwangjin's company.
In the hunter-goods trade it clung, just barely, to a place inside the top ten. Not small enough to dismiss outright — and yet if you asked whether it belonged among the names people actually counted on their fingers, five out of ten would hesitate and say, well... hard to tell. An awkward company, parked in the middle of nowhere in particular.
There were plenty of companies like that. People still called the hunter industry a blue ocean, and the forecasts had it growing for the next hundred years. Dozens of little firms sprang up in a single day, and just as many shut their doors on insolvency and bankruptcy. Do it right, and you struck it rich. That much was already certain: in the absurdly short span of ten years, CEOs tied to the hunter trade had come to occupy more than half the world's wealth rankings.
The world had changed. Lives and livelihoods had changed with it, until there was nowhere dungeon resources failed to reach, and the businesses built on them swelled by the day. Established corporations threw themselves into dungeon ventures and remade themselves without hesitation. Firms that could not adapt collapsing overnight, before a soul knew they were gone, had stopped being anything strange.
In that sense Kim Suhyun's father — Kim Sujeong's father, Kim Gwangjin — had to be counted among the ones who adapted to the new reality, kept trying, kept taking swings, and survived. He had founded the company in the early days of the hunter market, worn through his shoes building a network, sold what he could sell, and clawed his way this far.
The road had not been smooth. Luck had not been kind, either. Ask him whether he lived high and loud, and he would sigh. Money? He was not without it. One son, one daughter, and a wife besides — he could raise them in an apartment they owned in Seoul, wanting for nothing essential. But was he the sort of president who could have whatever he pleased, fly overseas whenever the mood took him, and put up buildings of his own? He was not.
The company was still buried in debt. This line of work could not exist without debt in the first place. No matter how well the sales came in — the better they came, the more you had to invest, the finer the items you had to chase, the greater the volume of consumables you had to move, if you wanted to grow at all. A firm with no debt either had so much cash it could run the whole operation out of pocket, or it was already preparing to pack up and leave. That was simply the reality. You needed goods on order, ready to move, or no guild, no company, no hunter anywhere would trust the name Gwangjin Distribution enough to promise steady trade.
If a client named what they needed ahead of time, set a date, and placed the order, that was easy enough. Sourcing was still work, but in this day and age, short of a truly rare resource, anything you set out to find could be found. The trouble came when they ordered what they needed right now. You cannot sell what you do not have. Fail to deliver, and from the buyer's side there was no reason to keep using Gwangjin Distribution. Distributors were everywhere. Start splitting orders with someone else, find that someone more convenient — even a little cheaper — and no one could blame you for walking.
So the heart of hunter distribution came down to three questions. How much volume could you lock down. How many rare resources. How many items hunters actually coveted. Kim Gwangjin had chewed on those questions for ten years, and he was still chewing. Lately had been a hard stretch — not because the world itself had turned hard. What was bound to burst had simply stacked, and stacked, until it was ready to go. In the end this unfair society, where only first place got to eat, was a cold floor. Even Gwangjin Distribution, holding tenth by its teeth, would have to climb or be pushed down.
The worries had piled up with it. He had to sell the hunter items he had already bought if he wanted cash moving and new stock coming in, but sales only held steady or slipped. So he marketed, he hustled, the red ink mounted, and the cycle fed itself. He was not yet the kind of company that borrowed until it could not pay and went under — but he was walking that road, and it sat heavy on him. Asking anyone for help was not easy, either.
Then his son took care of it. Strictly speaking, he had not taken care of it. He had only cracked a window so a little air could get in. The boy who had done nothing but game in his room vanished for a week, came back a completely different person, and started acting filial. A different person? Think back, and ever since he was small the boy had lived inside a game console, while Kim Gwangjin — busy growing the company — had never found the time, or even the thought, for a real conversation. Maybe this was simply who his son had always been.
Out of nowhere he dragged in an A-rank alchemist and told his father to invest a hundred million won, on the promise of a potion supply. Then he turned up with two B-minus items you could barely find anywhere. When he pulled out a glass stone as if it were nothing, Kim Gwangjin very nearly jumped out of his skin. He would have been lying if he said greed had not stirred. The boy did not even have to hand it over as a gift to his father. If he would only let Gwangjin Distribution handle the sale — it would not make the dream of industry number one come true overnight, but it would open the airways well enough. Regrettably, his son wrapped the matter up by announcing he would give the glass stone to his sister.
Should he lay out how things stood and ask for help? His heart burned for it. Kim Gwangjin's character would not allow it. They were still kids. Feeding a family and carrying the responsibility — that was a father's duty. And had he not already landed the contract with the alchemist supplying the potions? That alone was enough. In practice, he could breathe again.
"Well now. Where on earth did you get potions like these? Any chance of a regular supply? We'll pay you handsomely, same as we're doing now."
"Ah, I'm sorry. We aren't receiving them on a fixed schedule ourselves just yet... If stock turns up, you'll be the first call we make."
"Now that's reassuring. The rest of the goods are quality, too. I can see this becoming a very good relationship."
Guild rank three. He had closed a deal with the Golden Guild, one of the three best-run guilds in the country, and swept up the side contracts that came with it, and the money's throat opened all at once. Nor was that the whole of it. From now on, whenever the Golden Guild needed dungeon goods, they would come asking Gwangjin Distribution. Top-tier hunters earned astronomical sums clearing dungeons and poured just as much back in; by that measure, this was a considerable windfall. Above all, behind the Golden Guild stood the Golden Group, second in the business rankings. Kim Gwangjin's shoulders had no choice but to rise.
At a gathering with friends he had not seen in a long while, he bragged and picked up the tab in style.
"Well, how long's it been since Gwangjin bought a round?"
"Heard you're doing well these days?"
"Yeah. My boy pulled something off."
"He awakened, didn't he? What rank?"
"Ah, the rank's nothing special. Just... seems he's good at finding things in dungeons."
"Hey, hey. An ability like that matters more than rank. That little squirt who used to lock himself in his room all day grew up and started looking after his old man."
His friends congratulated him. Not all of them.
"Spare me the fuss. You think Golden lost its mind and signed an exclusive with your outfit? They're just sniffing around because the potions are decent. You haven't even put an exclusive on paper yet, have you? Fail to deliver the same quality next time and they'll cut you loose before you can blink. And what — you're running a company on one son? A business needs viability. Viability. I hear you're brewing potions out of Recovery Herbs the boy scrounges up and selling those. You think that'll hold? What if he can't find any more? What if something happens to him?"
"Hey, hey. The way you're talking..."
"What? I'm right, aren't I? A man in business — that's not business. That's gambling."
The one lobbing the jab with a mouth full of sneer was Yoo Hyunjong. No manners on him, but there was nothing Kim Gwangjin could say back. Third son of Hansu Group, the country's number-one conglomerate — a second-generation chaebol — and, riding that group's ironclad support, the man who ran Hyunjong Distribution, a hunter distribution company in the very same business. Hyunjong Distribution was, of course, number one in the industry. Hansu Group's backing fed it resources without limit; under the Hansu name it moved goods steadily into guild after guild, and through its affiliates it imported hunter items from every corner of the country and from overseas besides. The infrastructure was perfect. Only nine rungs separated it from Gwangjin Distribution, and yet the gap was crushing. They had ended up tangled together somehow, but crossing Yoo Hyunjong would do Gwangjin Distribution no good, so he could not even bring himself to get angry. His friends could only step in halfway. And the man was not wrong.
His son's luck might end right there. Ten years in hunter distribution had shown him plenty of hunters who flared bright and vanished just as fast. Thanks to his boy he had caught his breath for a moment, but keeping that spark alive would be Kim Gwangjin's work. He told himself so, then drank himself senseless on a heavy heart and went home.
The next day, the drink had not fully left him, but he had to go in, so he showered in cold water and stepped out.
"Dad! I've got business to discuss on behalf of our President Kim Suhyun, so we're heading in together!"
This time the daughter who had vanished along with his son appeared, linked her arm through his, and tagged along.
"Huh? Uh..."
Still half-drunk, with no idea what was happening, he reached the company — and what met Kim Gwangjin there were the kinds of sights that knock the alcohol clean out of a man.
"This is..."
Hundreds of Recovery Herb berries. Leaves. Pure Dew mushrooms. Medicinal herbs and hides of every sort.
"What on earth did you two..."
"Boss. Think you can sell all of this?"
Kim Gwangjin was not the only one staring. The staff of Gwangjin Distribution, the people who worked beside him every day, stood around the long conference table with its spread of luminous resources, and not one of them could shut their open mouths. Both hands came up to cover them.