All It Took Was One Call to Grandpa
"Do you know how the pecking order in the Twins organization actually works?"
"Honestly, you people need to tighten up your security... Yes, the front office restructuring plan that's been circulating lately is in fact a real project on our agenda."
It was the Seoul Twins' regular executive meeting, with every department head and above packed into one room, and President Han Jang-yeon dropped the bomb as breezily as ever.
The room erupted instantly. He raised a hand as if to say settle down, then pointed at a single person and passed him the floor.
"Ask your question."
The front office employee's eyes were brimming with resentment. Swallowing his anger in gulps, he fired off one final, confirming question.
"Then is the list of people targeted by this restructuring actually consistent with the real plan?"
"It's not identical, but for the most part, yes."
At President Han's answer, the meeting room grew even more chaotic. Questions were no longer the point — raw protests and accusations were flying from every direction.
"What kind of restructuring is this? You're just telling the old guard to clear out, aren't you!"
"President Han, don't live like this. You're kicking out the very people who devoted themselves to this club? Forget running a business — this is morally unforgivable!"
"I quit. This place disgusts me. I'm Kim Jong-soo, and you really think I'm going to sit here quietly and take this kind of treatment?"
It had already descended into such a free-for-all that any real conversation was impossible.
And Han Seo-hee had absolutely no idea how to handle the situation she was standing in.
Her original plan had been modest: secure a private meeting with President Han Jang-yeon, quietly convey the chairman's will, and have the restructuring plan scrapped peacefully. If it had ended that way, no one would have been hurt, and that would have been the end of it.
But while her attention had been swallowed up by Kim Yi-seon's championship run and the documentary production, the restructuring plan — which had been classified information, shared only with a handful of team leaders — had somehow spread through the entire club.
Within a single day, the mood of the whole organization had curdled into open hostility.
"Anyone who wishes to resign, please direct your inquiries to the HR team, not this room. And what was that? You're asking what kind of treatment you deserve?"
A contemptuous smile spread across President Han Jang-yeon's face.
"Well then, what treatment did you expect? You were happy enough reaching your hands out to Seoul Group for money while turning a blind eye to the results — and now you object to settling the bill?"
"Our record this year was due to the departure of core players and the underperformance of our foreign imports—"
"And which other club was it that scouted those players, managed them, and selected those foreign players for contract? You all insist professional sports means answering for results with your jobs — so why should the front office be the exception?"
With President Han's words, the atmosphere hit rock bottom. There was nothing left to talk about.
If this meeting ended as it stood, then even if the restructuring plan were withdrawn, the club could never go back to the way it was.
There was no choice. Even if it trampled proper procedure badly — even if it humiliated her uncle in front of everyone...
"Ah, Team Leader Han. You have the floor."
When Han Seo-hee raised her hand, President Han Jang-yeon smiled brightly and granted her permission to speak. Every eye in the room turned to her as well.
"Regarding this restructuring — I reported it to the Chairman in advance. And I received his answer that he will not approve it."
The room fell silent for a moment. Even the people who hadn't been looking at her turned their heads, and every gaze in the hall converged on Han Seo-hee.
She wanted nothing more than to disappear on the spot.
"Yi-seon... your noona is dying over here..."
The baseball team had won the Golden Lion Championship, and the season was well and truly over. The filming contract between the Seoul Twins and the Wirye Jeil High baseball team had already concluded.
But contract or no contract, Seo-hee kept coming by the school like this, once every so often.
The official pretext was that she'd come to brief us on the editing process for the team documentary. The reality was that she just showed up, vented her troubles, and rested for a while before leaving.
"Sounds rough. So is the president still being his stubborn old self?"
"Ugh... he insists that even if it's the Chairman's order, he's the one who's president of the club, and he's dug in his heels..."
It was the reaction I'd expected. No — anyone would feel terrible if a subordinate went over their head and spoke directly to the higher-ups.
Still, what was the point of the president digging in? In the end, things flowed according to the wishes of the person at the very top.
"Honestly, watching this, you really are talented, noona. How did you even manage to report directly to the Chairman?"
"Huh? Oh... well, yes..."
A mere team leader of a single baseball club, reporting straight to the chairman of a chaebol. Just having the nerve to attempt it was extraordinary enough, and how she'd actually managed to get a meeting with the Chairman was beyond imagination.
"But if it gets too hard, tell me. Should I go do a real interview with the press? Something like, 'If the Seoul Twins keep spiraling into chaos, I'm heading straight to the States'?"
"Don't say that even as a joke. What if word gets out that a rookie is already holding the club in the palm of his hand?"
"Okay, okay."
Coming from the person who was actually holding the club in the palm of his hand right now, the situation was honestly kind of funny.
"Anyway, the Chairman himself is coming now... and the team documentary is nearly finished... once that happens, everything will work out."
Seo-hee curled up into a ball all over again. Lately, she'd been grinding away at the editing, saying that borrowing the Chairman's name alone didn't give her enough legitimacy — the documentary project had to succeed before her words would carry any real weight.
She'd supposedly had most of it done since mid-season, and was now working to weave in the Golden Lion Championship finale naturally and patch up a few sections that needed revision.
The documentary would probably do well. Our school already had a devoted fanbase, Wirye Jeil High's story was genuinely compelling, and above all, wasn't Seo-hee working this hard on it?
"It's all going to work out. So for now, just rest, okay?"
"Mm..."
Hoping her hard work would be rewarded, I found myself draping a blanket over the noona who had dozed off without realizing it, and quietly slipped out of the club room.
The audiovisual theater inside Seoul Twins headquarters.
The Wirye Jeil High documentary was complete, and this was its first screening within the club itself. An exceptionally well-made documentary had just finished playing — but almost no one in the room had been able to pay attention to a single frame of it.
Because of the three people seated in the front row.
President Han Jang-hyun with a face carved from stone, Chairman Han Tae-gun with no expression at all, and Team Leader Han Seo-hee sat shoulder to shoulder in the very front.
"So this is the video our Team Leader Han planned and edited all by herself, start to finish, is it?"
"Yes, that's correct, Chairman."
The secretary seated in the row behind answered.
"Father, enough with the 'Team Leader Han.' Just call her Seo-hee."
"What's gotten into you? Even so, at the company you address people by their titles."
"A person who bypasses her president and files direct appeals to the Chairman with no regard for hierarchy — how is that an employee, let alone my subordinate? She's a niece who doesn't listen, that's what."
President Han Jang-yeon grumbled on, sulking in earnest.
Chairman Han clicked his tongue once, mounted the stage, and took hold of the microphone.
Every gaze in the room locked onto him, tense and alert.
"Ahem — greetings, employees of the Seoul Twins. I am Han Tae-gun of Seoul Group."
An awkward ripple of applause. With their livelihoods hanging on the Chairman's every word, more than a few employees had gone completely rigid.
Yet amid all those frozen stares, the Chairman began his remarks with the ease of an old habit.
"This old man, you see, is terribly fond of baseball. Back when they first said they'd create professional baseball here, I too declared I'd build a team of my own — and failed. Every single time."
What followed was the Chairman's long, bloody history of failed franchise ventures. He mixed a fair amount of self-deprecation and humor into the storytelling, but the mood didn't thaw one degree.
"In any case, after going through all that, I finally managed to become family with all of you — and I confess, my ambitions and my enthusiasm grew rather large."
How he'd installed his beloved son Han Jang-hyun as president, recruited capable experts from outside, and even sent his granddaughter — a famous prodigy straight out of America — to the baseball club.
Somehow, he seemed to be emphasizing that last part the most.
"But when I visited today, it appears this old man's enthusiasm ran a bit too hot. For that, I offer you my apology."
In that instant, dead silence. The Chairman Han Tae-gun, apologizing personally? For a single baseball club?
While everyone was still mired in confusion, the Chairman carried on his speech as if nothing at all had happened.
"I'd stayed out of club affairs, assuming President Han would manage things on his own — and then who comes to see me personally but our Team Leader Han Seo-hee. She says to me: 'Are you planning to strip the Seoul Twins down to an empty shell and throw away everything inside?'"
A low murmur rolled through the hall as every eye swung toward Han Seo-hee. Under the crushing weight of that attention, she felt less burdened than faint.
"And she insisted I come watch the documentary she made with her own hands, so here I am. And watching this film Team Leader Han created now, I find myself thinking deeply. Wirye Jeil High and the Seoul Twins — don't they look remarkably alike, in so many ways?"
A late-founded franchise. Poor conditions. But ironclad bonds, and a burning passion for baseball.
Chairman Han Tae-gun went on, describing how the traits that defined the Seoul Twins and Wirye Jeil High mirrored one another.
The club employees who had begun the day wary and defensive found themselves nodding along with the Chairman's words, one by one, before they even realized it.
Having apparently confirmed that the mood had turned friendly, Chairman Han Tae-gun finally arrived at the heart of the matter.
"And so, I have decided. First — the restructuring plan President Han laid out is hereby scrapped in its entirety."
At the bombshell, even the murmuring in the audiovisual theater stopped dead.
Only President Han Jang-yeon cried out a single protest, his voice full of wounded grievance.
"Father! I am the president of this club!"
"Quiet, you insolent brat! You're being reassigned. From the day you were first sent to the baseball club, I wondered what on earth qualified you for it. I'll move you to a good post, so go along quietly!"
At the Chairman's words, President Han Jang-yeon sputtered that this was unacceptable, then stormed out of his seat in a huff.
The president of the club, replaced in the span of a single breath.
The Seoul Twins' employees, buffeted by the whiplash pace of events, couldn't collect themselves at all.
And into that chaos, the final nail was driven.
"Furthermore, to prevent a recurrence of today's events, I have decided to strengthen communication between the Twins and Seoul Group. A concrete plan will be announced in due course, at which point we will revisit the matter together."
By now, the Twins' staff had passed beyond being unable to keep up — they could only listen with blank, hollow expressions.
Their brains were refusing to process the situation. It had been a full year since management control passed entirely to Seoul Group. How many restructurings and how much interference in team operations had they endured in that time?
And it could all have been resolved with one direct appeal to the Chairman? Then what, exactly, had all our efforts been for?
Futility, a flicker of indignation, and beneath it all, the bitter realization that blood ties trump everything. Every one of those feelings converged, and in every heart in that room, a single name rose up with sudden, unstoppable force.
Han Seo-hee.
In the end, if Team Leader Han simply spoke nicely to the Chairman, every problem would solve itself, wouldn't it?
Han Seo-hee's reputation among the front office staff had never actually been bad.
She had none of the spoiled entitlement people picture when they hear "third-generation chaebol parachute hire," none of the reckless meddling of someone who didn't understand the field. And though she seemed cold on the surface, once you got to know her there were plenty of moments that revealed a hopeless softness underneath.
It was the moment a new power behind the throne began sprouting, quietly and steadily, in the hearts of the Seoul Twins' employees.
Han Seo-hee thought, with every fiber of her being, that she wanted this gathering to be over as soon as possible.
Her original plan had been wonderfully modest and simple: somehow talk her grandfather around, quietly deliver the message to her uncle that it was time to step down, and make the whole thing vanish as if it had never happened, with no one the wiser.
Even after the plan leaked and her uncle dropped his bombshell at the meeting, her role had been nothing more than a pager to summon her grandfather. She had never intended to stand front and center.
But what, exactly, was happening now?
"Team Leader Han, thank you. Honestly, at first I wondered if you weren't on President Han's side, but Manager Park said no — our Team Leader Han would never be like that. Turns out he was right."
"No, Manager Kim... I really only said one thing to the Chairman..."
After the Chairman's speech ended, they were coming up to her one by one, each offering a word of thanks. All she'd done was whine about tattling to a grown-up — elementary school antics, nothing more — and yet everyone was this grateful. The weight of it was unbearable.
Over something this small, everyone was calling her amazing, showering her with praise — she felt like a toddler being congratulated for eating all her dinner and using the potty properly.
Shame and discomfort screamed at her to flee her seat, but she couldn't run from the employees' earnest faces, and so she sat there meekly, trapped.
"Team Leader Han Seo-hee. The Chairman requests your presence."
Her grandfather's summons descended like the hand of salvation.
Meeting her grandfather wasn't exactly relaxing either, but it was still far better than this. Accepting the call with a promise to come right away, Han Seo-hee quickly begged the surrounding employees for their understanding and hurried after the secretary.
Then she opened the door of the car she'd been led to —
"Oh? I didn't realize our Seo-hee was the type to stab her uncle in the back."
A scream climbed all the way up her throat and died there.
The person sitting right beside her seat was President Han Jang-yeon.
"That's quite the face. Still haven't figured it out? You really are hopelessly naive."
All trace of the man who'd been raging at his father and his niece moments ago was gone; President Han Jang-yeon was teasing her with a mischievous grin. Wait — no, his presidency had just been dissolved, so he was just Uncle now?
Her stunned, sputtering brain forced out a question by brute force.
"Umm... Uncle? Didn't you leave already?"
Hadn't he been so furious he'd stormed straight out of the room?
"Well, obviously. I still have to go see you and Father, don't I?"
Weren't you fighting with that grandfather of mine not five minutes ago?
While she was still untangling the mess in her head, her uncle abruptly tossed out a question.
"Seo-hee. Do you know the hardest part of any restructuring?"
"...I couldn't say."
"Ending it."
Like a magician cheerfully explaining his trick to a duped audience, her uncle launched into the lesson with evident relish.
"Say the leader who was just laying off his own colleagues suddenly announces, 'There will be no more purges in this organization. Trust me and do your jobs!' — do you think anyone buys it?"
The point was that a leader with blood on his hands could no longer lead. No matter how normally he ran things afterward, even ordinary personnel decisions or layoffs would trigger the remaining employees' trauma or shatter what little trust was left.
"So eventually the knife comes down, and someone else has to arrive to truly lead the organization. But it's hard to swap out the head without a pretext, isn't it?"
That was why, in most organizations, events tended to follow this exact script.
Pile every one of the old organization's failures and missteps onto whoever played the executioner, then crown the new leader in an environment wiped clean. It was the method used by most companies and institutions.
"Originally this was just meant to be headquarters intervening from the outside... but you stepped forward, Seo-hee, and it made the picture a great deal cleaner."
Hearing that, Han Seo-hee sat in silence for a long moment, then carefully asked, in a slightly trembling voice, whether she'd understood correctly.
"Hold on... so this restructuring... you never actually intended to carry it out...? It was all just a pretext... for you to step down...?"
Han Jang-yeon gave a light, careless nod. For an instant, a surge of fury boiled up in her — and she barely managed to choke it down.
Her scrambled head was finally settling. That's right — she had a mountain of things she wanted to say and anger stacked to the ceiling, but it had all ended well, one way or another. The best move was probably to laugh it off and let it go.
But there was one thing — the most important thing, and somehow the shadiest — that she couldn't stop herself from asking.
"So then, Uncle... who's the next president of the baseball club?"
The smile her uncle wore at that moment was, without question, the most scheming smile she had ever seen in her life.
Seo-hee's face, unseen for several days, had been reduced to roughly half of itself.
"Noona! Didn't everything work out for you? Are you even sleeping properly? And wait — president? Where did that come from?"
Dark circles stretched long beneath her eyes, and not a flicker of life moved in her body.
Dragging herself over like a walking corpse, Seo-hee left me with exactly one sentence.
"Yi-seon."
"Yes, noona."
"If you go to the States instead of joining our club, I will curse you for the rest of your life..."
Her eyes, as she said it, were brimming to the brim with tears.
Um. Why?