A Single Drop of Liquor
After the 1985 Plaza Accord, the surging value of the yen plunged Japan's economy into a sharp recession. To stimulate growth, the government pulled out all the stops with low interest rates and loosened lending regulations. Individuals and companies alike pounced on this easy money, snapping up stocks and real estate. The flood of capital drove prices skyrocketing. Things got so wild that jokes circulated about selling Tokyo to buy all of America. It seemed like the party would last forever—but it was over in a flash. A sudden austerity policy burst the bubble overnight. That marked the beginning of the bubble economy's collapse: the Ministry of Finance's total lending cap, which outright banned new real estate loans. What followed was the chaos everyone knows, etched into history as the bubble burst.
Kang Jin-gwang wasn't about to sit idly by while such a tantalizing feast unfolded. He handpicked the sharpest minds from the group and dispatched them to Tokyo, where their efforts were ripening nicely. They had amassed prime Ginza land—the most expensive in Tokyo—along with buildings, artwork, and even golf club memberships, valued at over 300 billion won. But no matter how lofty the figures, they were just numbers until cashed in. If Chairman Kang heeded Min-ho's advice and pulled out before the party ended, Min-ho's standing would flip 180 degrees.
"If you don't pull it out now, it'll all vanish," Min-ho had said. Chairman Kang could scarcely believe his ears. The implication was that Japan, the economic superpower that seemed invincible, was headed for ruin.
Min-ho's words chilled the room. Kang Du-seong dismissed it as the ravings of a foolish boy, barely containing his fury as he cut him off. "Kang Min-ho... What nonsense is that in front of your grandfather? Shut up and eat."
Min-ho neither affirmed nor denied it, simply shifting his gaze to his grandfather. If Chairman Kang echoed Du-seong's reaction, Min-ho's plan would crumble. But did Min-ho not know this? He knew the chairman's tastes inside out. He anticipated a different response.
Chairman Kang set down his chopsticks and raised a hand slightly, silencing Du-seong. "In this world... sometimes the most outlandish tales come true. Have you forgotten what I've always said?"
"No, Father. You taught us businessmen must keep every possibility open."
"The only certainties are birth and death. Let's first hear why our grandson thinks this way."
Unlike the emotional, stubborn Du-seong, Chairman Kang showed a different side, nodding to Min-ho.
"There was a huge party in the neighborhood. Joyous songs poured out endlessly, and soon folks from other villages flocked in, drawn by the fun."
"Go on."
"The revelry dragged on for years, not a sign of ending. People got used to playing over working. No one even imagined it stopping."
Chairman Kang listened intently, chopsticks forgotten, clearly intrigued.
"Years of feasting left them perpetually drunk. They slaughtered not just their pigs but even the mules they rode in on—no thought for tomorrow."
"They planned for nothing beyond the moment."
"Yes. Then a massive flood hit out of nowhere. Rain poured without mercy, and the party ended in a day."
"What of the people?"
"After years of gorging and guzzling, they had no homes to return to, no mules left—swept away by the waters."
Min-ho knew exactly what was coming but couldn't produce hard evidence for events yet to unfold. Repeating "pull the funds" like a parrot would earn dismissal. Instead, he played a different card: a fitting metaphor to pique the chairman's interest. The effect was immediate.
"So you're saying the party's in Japan, and it's time to end?"
"Yes, Grandfather. Dark clouds are gathering. A flood's about to swallow the village."
No one recognizes a bubble until it pops—not even Chairman Kang. He couldn't easily swallow that mighty Japan would fall.
"I get your point, but Japan is a global economic giant. It won't crumble so easily."
"They've already raised rates twice as a warning. Stocks have dipped."
"Markets fluctuate. You endure that to make money."
Chairman Kang drained his glass and continued. "I'm thrilled. I fretted you'd only cause trouble forever, but now you share thoughts like this with your old grandpa—I'm deeply moved."
"It's not baseless worry; those clouds are thick."
"I know your concern, but I track Japan closer than you do."
He spoke true. With subsidiaries in Tokyo and ties across every sector, Chairman Kang would hear of trouble first. Yet Min-ho stood firm.
"What if an unexpected policy drops out of the blue? Thieves don't knock—they slip in while you're asleep and take everything."
"What makes you think that?"
"The two rate hikes since last year? Mere cat's paws."
"If that's a cat... what comes next?"
"The reaper's footsteps. Each one will make Japan stagger."
Min-ho grasped the precise economic picture. Chairman Kang couldn't brush it off as wordplay. What began as light banter now drew a grave look from him.
"I know land and real estate have soared nonstop. Even if you're right, they'll manage a soft landing."
"That's just your hope that the Japanese government acts wisely—purely subjective."
Min-ho pushed harder to force reconsideration. Kang Du-seong scowled and glared, trying to intervene again. "What kind of tone is that?"
Chairman Kang lifted and set down his chopsticks with evident irritation—a sound that filled the silent living room. A clear signal: stay out. Du-seong nodded quickly and fell silent.
Min-ho pressed on. "Japan always makes baffling calls at crucial moments. After the Plaza Accord, they slashed rates and eased lending rules rashly—no one batted an eye."
Min-ho picked up the sake bottle and slowly filled Chairman Kang's glass to the brim, just shy of spilling.
"What if they slam the brakes with a total new-loan ban?"
"That would be disastrous."
Min-ho lifted the bottle again, adding a single drop to the brimming glass. It overflowed, slowly soaking the table.
"Just one drop makes the cup run over—not a flood."
Chairman Kang, who had listened quietly, could no longer dismiss it as youthful antics. If Japan unleashed such a drastic policy, the outcome was plain as day. The third rate hike loomed in a month. Sensing time slipping away, he revealed his hand.
"Did you orchestrate that auction talk to get this audience?"
"Yes, Grandfather. Pull out now, or it'll slip away forever."
"I'm human; I err sometimes. But my intel and money never lie."
"The Dutch who paid house-prices for tulips didn't know either—only after."
"So the next rate hike is ominous?"
"Yes. Exactly one month left."
Chairman Kang sipped slowly, mulling Min-ho's words. A total lending cap was unlikely, but he couldn't rule it out 100%. If it happened, their assets would evaporate. He recalled his mantra to his children: always prepare for the worst.
"Suppose you're right—what do you want from your grandpa?"
"I'll ask after the results. It's your call now, Grandfather. Don't worry; no unreasonable demands."
***
Min-ho left after the brief but powerful dinner, leaving a deep impression. Chairman Kang gazed out the window at his retreating figure, emotions swirling.
"He's changed—dramatically. You were right."
"It's like the sharp wit of his childhood has returned."
"I said long ago Min-ho had the greatest potential... We'll see. But first, your thoughts?"
Moon Sang-oh hesitated, then spoke. "In short, it's a bit detached from reality."
"If you buy eggs on a train, grab a drink too—don't choke."
"If they impose lending caps as Young Master says, Japan will descend into hell."
"Exactly. Recovery could take a decade—or more."
Moon wondered what choice the chairman would make and ventured carefully. "Sir, may I ask your plans?"
Gazing at Min-ho's departing car, Chairman Kang replied. "Our ancestors said 'ask the lowly without shame, learn from the young.' That's why I always seek your view."
"I'll remember, sir."
"If a downpour's coming, what's packing an umbrella?"
"I'll contact Tokyo."
Chairman Kang nodded. "Use any means—find out what cards those Japs are holding."