Rest (8)
Lee Dong-ho boarded business class.
The reason he hadn’t bothered with first class was simple: he was traveling with the others, and the A380’s 94 business-class seats were packed with idols.
Dong-ho looked over Lunatines, Jewelries, Girlfriends, Lemon Pink, and the rest with a satisfied smile. There were plenty of boy groups too, but male idols were outside his field of interest.
Hong Seo-jin, the CEO of Mable Entertainment, came over.
“Are you uncomfortable at all?”
“Not at all. Don’t worry about me.”
Usually, only celebrities and entertainment executives rode business class. The ordinary staff were all back in economy.
Unlike Dong-ho, who was perfectly at ease, the agency executives were restless. They kept glancing at one another, waiting for a chance to speak to him.
Right now, Continue Capital was the biggest whale in Korean entertainment. Han Miru hadn’t told them to target any single company; he’d ordered them to invest across the entire entertainment industry. So whether it was an agency or a production company, if it looked promising, they put money into it.
For unlisted companies, they negotiated directly and bought stakes by hand. For listed firms, they accumulated shares on the open market, usually up to around ten percent.
Even the most successful entertainment companies had market caps of only one or two trillion won.
So three trillion won was “only” money now.
A conglomerate heir would probably choke on the thought. But compared with the profits from GL Chemical and GL Entech, it was a drop in the bucket.
In fact, within Continue Capital’s overall portfolio, it wasn’t even a particularly large position. Compared with its core investments in IT and gaming, this was practically pocket change. If the whole thing vanished tomorrow, Miru probably wouldn’t even blink.
In the old days, I would have been shut up in an office writing reports. Now my place in the world was completely different.
Who would’ve thought I’d get to live this well thanks to a junior I raised properly?
Just then, the woman sitting beside him spoke up.
“You’re really the head of Continue Capital Korea?”
“I am.”
The announcer Jin Se-yeon. The reason she could talk to Dong-ho so casually was that they’d gone to the same school—she was his junior in the same department.
Se-yeon couldn’t hide her surprise.
She’d heard that he worked at Continue Capital, but she’d never imagined he’d be the branch manager.
“H-how?”
“Heh. I worked hard and got poached.”
“Then what about Miru?”
“Hm? He’s around team-lead level at the Korea branch.”
It wasn’t a lie. That was literally what his business card in Korea said.
At headquarters, though, I’m the co-CEO.
In a private equity firm, team-lead level could easily outrank most securities-firm assistant managers. And that was doubly true if the firm was Continue Capital.
“So why are you going to LA, senior?”
“To check K-pop’s chances in the global market and see whether the companies we’ve invested in are performing well. That’ll help set our investment direction going forward.”
At that, the executives and managers all tensed visibly.
There was no shortage of entertainment companies hoping for Continue Capital’s money.
Is he going to watch the concert and decide whether to invest?
I need to make a good impression this time.
I’ve got to leave a strong mark on him.
Whether he noticed their thoughts or not, Dong-ho kept chatting with his junior as if nothing were happening.
“Oh! Miru’s in LA too right now.”
That time, it was the woman sitting beside Se-yeon who asked.
“Really? Senior Miru?”
“Yeah.”
It was one of those things you only understood after people left: once Sena and her friends were gone, the place suddenly felt empty. Luckily, Senior Dong-ho arrived the very next day.
“You’re here?”
“Hey. Long time no see.”
Compared with the rumpled look he’d had back when he worked at the securities firm, he was now dressed in a suit that fit him perfectly. He wore a tie pin and cuff links, and expensive shoes on his feet. Clothes really did make the man; he looked every bit the successful businessman.
“You look like a real success story in that.”
“Yeah? Ah-reum picked it out. Pretty good, right?”
“Do you meet up often?”
“We work in the same building, so unless she’s on a business trip, I see her almost every day.”
Min Ah-reum’s fashion business was doing well too. She’d bought up new brands and struck partnerships with established ones. Entertainment and fashion made a pretty good match.
“There were fans swarming the airport earlier. Is K-pop really that popular now?”
“You think?”
“Yeah. This isn’t the old K-pop. The concert sold out five minutes after tickets went on sale, and scalpers are already reselling them for ten times face value.”
Outside Korea, K-pop concerts were held all the time, but events on this scale were rare. This was a full-blown K-pop festival, with nearly every major idol in Korea taking part.
“It looks like people were booking from all over the U.S. mainland, and even from Canada and Mexico.”
Well, whether fans were coming from another part of the United States or from Canada or Mexico, they still had to get on a plane. That much never changed.
With fans flooding in from all over the country, most of the nearby mid-range and smaller hotels were already sold out, and Koreatown was enjoying a sudden boom. Sensing an opportunity, the Korean Cultural Center and the tourism board had even set up booths to promote Korean culture and travel.
“I booked you a room, senior.”
I led him to the presidential suite.
When Dong-ho checked the room out, his eyes went wide.
“You want me to stay here?”
“Yes.”
“This place is incredible. You live like this all the time?”
“Not all the time. Usually I just use a suite.”
No matter how big the room was, you only ever used it to sleep.
“Having Blackwood as a client has its perks.”
“It really does.”
Money aside, the biggest advantage was being able to use hotels all over the world like they were my own home, without ever worrying about reservations.
“Oh! I’m meeting Se-yeon later.”
“Can she make time?”
“Yeah. Compared with singers, announcers seem to have a lot more free time.”
Unlike singers signed to agencies, announcers worked for a broadcasting station. Once their hours were done, they could do whatever they wanted.
We headed to the hotel bar.
Through the glass wall, the night view of LA stretched out below us.
I ordered a simple meal and a whiskey.
“Expensive liquor really does taste better. Back then, I couldn’t understand why anyone would pay this much to drink.”
“There’s a reason it’s expensive.”
“Feels like just yesterday we were drinking soju together at that bar in front of campus.”
“Yeah.”
Back then, I’d had no idea I’d ever make it this far.
We drank and talked.
“How’s Korea these days?”
“Same as always. Oh— you know Representative Namgung Seok won the Woori Kookmin Party primary, right?”
“I saw the article.”
After the GL Entech disaster, I’d assumed Representative Namgung Seok would breeze through the primary. That just showed how little I understood politics.
Representative Im Chang-sik was tougher than I’d given him credit for. When the party set its primary rules, it weighted members and public polling seventy-thirty, and the setup favored Im Chang-sik enough that the race turned into a near dead heat.
“And then he ran on scrapping cryptocurrency regulations, so he got completely wrecked. Who could’ve known that, right when he said it, Saturn and Titan would both crater and the whole market would blow up? My dad was cursing him too after that stunt. He was such a hardcore supporter of Im Chang-sik he even donated to his campaign.”
With public sentiment for a change of administration so high, winning the primary would have been a free pass to the presidential election. Even if some miracle upset had happened, at least the worst-case scenario—Im Chang-sik becoming president—had been avoided.
No one knew it, but I had saved South Korea.
“I wonder if Representative Namgung Seok knows how hard you worked to make him president.”
“Better if he doesn’t.”
Even if he did know, it wasn’t like he’d be able to do anything for me.
“Continue Capital’s clout is no joke these days. How much did you make by crushing Pether this time?”
“About $35 billion.”
Dong-ho clicked his tongue.
“$35 billion from one investment. If other conglomerates heard that, they’d probably clutch their necks and collapse.”
Well, GL Electronics employed 40,000 people and still only made about one trillion won a year.
And we’d earned forty times that much from a single investment. That was the kind of thing only finance could do.
“What you’ve done so far might not make you a legend, but at least it makes you legendary.”
“This is only the beginning.”
Everything we’d done so far was just laying the groundwork for future growth. We still hadn’t taken over the cloud market or the gaming market, and the metaverse hadn’t even opened up yet.
I thought back to my first life.
Right before I regressed, the metaverse was just beginning to stir.
This time, thanks to me, that moment had come years earlier. Unlike the first timeline, we’d driven out Rolf Buchi and Alex Preston right away, and Syd had become CEO.
“Oh! Looks like Se-yeon’s here. Over here!”
Dong-ho waved.
Se-yeon was dressed casually in skinny jeans, a padded jacket, and sneakers. She still looked pretty and full of life.
“Long time no see.”
“You doing okay?”
“Pretty much.”
Jin Se-yeon sat down across from me.
“It’s strange seeing juniors I used to run into at school all the way out here in LA. Come on, let’s have a drink.”
We clinked glasses.
Dong-ho asked, “What’s Jiyu doing?”
“She went to practice choreography.”
“Sounds like she’s been put to work the second she got here. Being a singer isn’t easy.”
“I heard Continue Capital bought a stake in Jiyu’s agency too.”
“Yeah.”
We’d already bought stakes in a number of sizeable partner agencies, as well as drama and film production companies, and that included Rainbow Records, Jiyu’s label.
Se-yeon asked casually, “Senior, have you ever thought about going on TV?”
“TV?”
“Since we can say we’re senior and junior from the same department, people were saying we should try to get you booked on a show.”
“What would I even say on TV?”
“Something about Continue Capital’s vision and the outlook for the world economy?”
“How would I know any of that?”
That was the honest answer. If I went on television and started spouting nonsense, a lot of investors could get hurt.
“Anyway, they’re saying they really want you to come on.”
“I’ll think about it. Or maybe I’ll send Beom-seok instead. Oh— speaking of which, I heard Ju-young got married?”
“Yes. Her husband’s Australian. They kept the wedding small and held it in Melbourne.”
“Wow, an international marriage. So where are they planning to live? Australia?”
“She says she’s coming back to Korea.”
Once we started talking, there was no end to it.
A few hours later, Dong-ho let out a long yawn and said, “I’m too sleepy. I’m heading to bed first.”
“Already?”
“I’m worn out from the flight.”
After Dong-ho left, I asked Se-yeon, “What do you want to do?”
“There’s still liquor left. It’d be a waste to leave it.”
“You want to finish it?”
I drank with my ex-girlfriend, just the two of us.
“You’re staying at this hotel?”
“Yeah.”
“This place must be expensive.”
“Blackwood’s working with Continue Capital, so they give us a pretty big discount.”
“Lucky you.”
We talked about what had happened in our lives since then.
“I heard you’re doing really well these days.”
“Doing well? I’m still just an office worker. Though I’ll admit it’s a lot more fun than when I was at the company.”
“Guess it suits you.”
“Yeah.”
Whatever it was I did, it seemed to fit me.
When I mentioned that I’d taken a vacation in Barbados, Se-yeon looked genuinely shocked.
“Seriously? I’ve always wanted to go there. Did you go alone?”
“I went alone, but my little sister came by with her friends.”
“She must’ve had a great time.”
“She had the time of her life.”
Normally, after having that much fun, a person might feel inspired to study or something—but there was no way my little sister would be that kind of person.
Se-yeon took a sip of her drink and asked, “Shouldn’t you go to a place like that with your lover?”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
“You aren’t seeing anyone right now?”
“Nope.”
“Then is there someone you like?”
“Hmm.”
The moment I heard that, someone seemed to drift through my mind.
Se-yeon said in a slightly tipsy voice, “Why did we break up again?”
I thought back to all those years ago.
“I don’t really remember. I probably did something wrong.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I was too young back then.”
For some reason, the thought crossed my mind.
What if I’d regressed back to when I was still dating Jin Se-yeon? Would we have stayed together instead of breaking up?
But too much time had passed since then. There was no way I could go back to that point again.
So if I ever met someone like that again, I was going to make sure I didn’t repeat the same mistakes.
Se-yeon asked it like a joke. “Would it be weird if we started dating again?”
It didn’t sound like she still had lingering feelings so much as she was just checking.
“I think it’s better if we stay friends like this.”
She gave a small snort of laughter.
“Come to think of it, we’ve been friends since middle school.”
“If you ever run into trouble, call me anytime.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm. That’s reassuring.”
We clinked our glasses again.