Made in Kang

The moment I got back to the workshop, I started mapping out the golf clubs on a whiteboard I'd salvaged not long ago—someone had thrown it out, and I'd hauled it in off the street.

First priority: directional balance.

That had been his biggest problem. He'd been using clubs that didn't suit him, so of course the balance was off. That was why the ball kept sailing in the wrong direction no matter how he swung.

However ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hard he hit it, the ball had to fly exactly where he wanted it to go.

"In the end, this comes down to body balance too."

I wasn't just making a good product. I was making something that would fix a problem—and that made it a lot less simple than it sounded.

I started listing the materials I'd need, one by one.

Wait… hold on.

As I wrote them down, one of the names gave me pause.

Can I even get this in Korea?

Titanium, aluminum, and vanadium I could have by the end of the day, as long as I had the money. But the last one—rhenium. Rhenium wasn't the kind of material you just picked up on a whim.

It's expensive, and it isn't even commonly used…

Just as I'd expected. I called every supplier I usually dealt with, and every last one of them told me they didn't have it.

"Hmm… now what."

It wasn't as if there were no substitutes. I could have used tungsten if I'd wanted to. But then the clubs I'd pictured—the ones that were a hundred percent perfect—would never exist. No matter how well I made them, I'd be handing over something that was only ninety-nine percent finished.

And even at ninety-nine percent, it would still put any mass-produced set to shame. But I had a hundred years of experience behind me. I was not about to look a client in the eye and call a ninety-nine-percent piece a finished product.

I could talk to him. Tell him it'll take a little longer…

If I imported it from overseas, it would add at least two more weeks. The man had already looked desperate. Asking him to wait another two weeks on top of that—I wasn't sure that was the right call.

"There's got to be another way…"

That was when one of the suppliers who'd hung up promising to look into it called me back. I answered on the off chance they'd found something. They hadn't.

"I understand. Thank you for looking into it anyway."

I hung up and was about to start checking overseas import routes when the man's words snagged in my mind.

"Wait a second… a research lab?"

Come to think of it, I knew exactly one lab that might have a material like this.

Back then, Professor Park definitely said…

I pulled out my phone again and dialed Professor Park Min-soo.

The voice on the other end was genuinely pleased to hear from me. The chamber I'd repaired was apparently running without a hitch.

"Professor. I hope you've been well."

"I'm glad to hear it. Ah—the reason I'm calling is that I have a favor to ask."

There wasn't a trace of falsehood in his voice.

"I need about a kilogram of rhenium powder. Would you be able to source it for me? I have the money, of course. I just need it rather urgently."

Ah…

It wasn't going to be that easy. It wasn't a commonly used material, and it was expensive ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough that even a university research institute of this caliber apparently didn't keep it on hand.

"I see… It can't be helped, then. I'll be in touch another time."

I was already deflated, ready to hang up, when Professor Park caught me before I could.

"Pardon?"

"Ah, no—you really don't have to go that far…"

It felt like too much, and I tried to refuse, but he would not be moved.

And before I could tell him it was fine one more time, the line was already dead.

"Is he serious…? He'd go that far?"

I didn't know the full story, but repairing that chamber must ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been a genuine turning point in his life.

While I waited for his call, I started setting up the rest of the materials, one by one. Two hours passed. Then four. Then six. The phone never rang.

I guess it really is that hard to find.

Even a university professor couldn't conjure up something that wasn't there. I was just about to start checking overseas suppliers again when someone opened the workshop door.

The man who stepped inside looked to be in his late twenties, and he was carrying a large box.

Who is that? He looks familiar.

A face I'd seen recently, somewhere.

"Excuse me—you are Manager Kang Cheolwoo, correct…?"

"Yes, that's me. And you are?"

He set the box down beside him and bowed at a full ninety degrees.

"Good afternoon! I owe you a great deal from last time. Kim Min-gyu, Advanced Materials Research Institute, Seoyun University!"

"Ah…"

Now that he said it, I recognized him from my visit to Seoyun University. Everyone's faces had been the color of dirt that day; no wonder I hadn't placed him.

"What brings you all the way out here, though? Don't tell me…"

"Ah, yes! The professor told me to deliver this to you, so I brought it myself!"

"Wait—you've already found the rhenium powder?"

He nodded.

"Yes! The professor called every company he knew and every firm where he serves as an outside director. It's 1.2 kilograms in total!"

I opened the box he'd brought. The rhenium powder was really in there.

"You should have called me. I would have come to pick it up myself—you didn't have to come all this way."

"Not at all! If you hadn't helped us last time, I probably would have been transferred to another lab. My career would have been completely derailed. You saved me, sir. Truly."

I bowed my head to Min-gyu, the man who had carried the rhenium to my door, and thanked him.

"Thank you. You saved me as well. Ah—where should I send the payment? At the current international market rate…"

The moment money came up, he shook his head with absolute firmness.

"No, sir. The professor was very clear. Under no circumstances was I to accept payment."

"I'm sorry…? A quantity like this has to be worth roughly ten million won. I can't just—"

"The professor was quite insistent, sir. I am not to take any money."

His tone left no room for argument.

Saving the cost is nice, but…

Accepting something of this value for free sat a little heavily on me.

"The professor asked you not to feel burdened by it. He said this rhenium was sitting at those companies like dead stock anyway."

"…All right. For now. But if any of your equipment ever acts up again, call me. Anytime."

Min-gyu's face brightened. He offered a polite farewell and left.

"Hah… at least that's settled."

I'd thank them properly later. Right now, it was time to make golf clubs.

I'll start with just the 7-iron today.

The 7-iron—generally the most-used iron in golf. It was a little dark out, but it wasn't night yet. If I worked until around eleven, I'd have more than enough time.

I fired up the small electric furnace and set the optimal ratio for a 7-iron.

A sharp crackle ran through the furnace. Flames leapt and licked at the air. Sparks jumped in every direction, and the whole workshop filled with heat.

I used titanium as the backbone—the strongest of the four—then folded in aluminum for durability, vanadium to push the rebound to its limit, and finally rhenium to lock the center of gravity in place.

It was only two percent. But that two percent would be what held his balance together.

And so a new alloy was born.

Unlike the last alloy, this one had been made for golf clubs and golf clubs alone.

I started setting the frame, then made minute adjustments all the way through the club head. Correcting his directional balance meant accounting for a great deal: his increased height, the larger hands that had come with it, even the way he gripped the club. Every one of those factors had to be calculated and worked in with precision.

A difference of a fraction of a millimeter could change everything, so whenever I did this kind of work I shut off my phone and anything else in the room that might make a sound.

Let's see… a millimeter more this way… a little further left on this side…

Time kept moving. With exactly ten minutes to spare before my estimated eleven o'clock, the 7-iron was finished.

"Not bad at all."

Whether it was the expensive alloy materials or the fact that my skills were still climbing, the finished piece had a genuine presence to it. Sending something this complete out the door as-is felt like a waste.

This one deserves a mark.

Back on Mount Olympus, I'd had a small hobby I indulged whenever a piece turned out well. I engraved a maker's mark.

On the top of the head, in letters just large enough to catch the eye if you looked for them, I carved a few small words.

Satisfied with the first piece, I spent every spare hour from the next day onward working through the rest of the set, starting with the woods.

Two days before the two weeks I'd promised, the last club—the putter—was finally done.

"Hah… it's finished."

I still had time left. The clubs themselves were perfect; there was nothing more to touch. The only thing that felt unfinished was that these clubs had no home worthy of them.

I've got time, and he paid more than enough. Might as well throw in a little extra.

Even a restaurant can move you with a complimentary fried egg, or a yogurt drink pressed into your hand on the way out the door. The food has to be good first, of course—but still.

I drove up to Seoul, bought a length of premium cowhide, and made a bag to hold the clubs.

And then, at last, the two weeks I'd promised Jae-hak arrived. I called him, and I didn't bother hiding the confidence in my voice.

"It's finished. Let's meet at the golf course—the same one as last time."