The Two Paths
Kim Mujin held a master’s degree in life sciences. He had been working at a pharmaceutical company ranked around 70th in the country when he was scouted by Lee Inhae. Considering the compensation, there was naturally no reason to refuse. He had told her he would think about it positively, leaving the final decision pending. But then, someone offered him ten million won to act as an industrial spy. Honestly speaking, it was a tremendously attractive offer.
“We aren’t offering this just once. We’ll give you ten million won as an advance, and you just need to send us information periodically. We promise to pay you consistently based on the value of that information.”
If it were still the JD regime, no company would have had the guts to pull such a stunt against YK. But with the inauguration of the N regime, the situation had shifted slightly. It was the change in how other corporations behaved. Just a few months ago, if a corporate head so much as ruffled the regime’s feathers, they could have been dragged off to Namyeong-dong. But things were different now. Thanks to the arrival of a democratic government, companies were relatively less wary of the state, which meant YK’s influence over domestic firms had diminished.
The reason Kim Mujin was being offered an industrial spy role was for the same reason. Since it had become a situation where one could simply feign ignorance even if caught, domestic companies were now able to push through actions against YK that would have been unimaginable in the past.
“Hmm… but…”
Just as Kim Mujin began to look troubled, the other man quickly cut him off. As the saying goes, there is a world of difference between a sentence cut short and one fully spoken aloud.
“Are you worried that ten million won is too little? That’s just the advance. If the information you provide is of high enough value, hundreds of millions of won is not just a dream. Think carefully. It’s an advance—the advance is ten million won.”
“Hmm…”
Kim Mujin began to sink into deep thought once again. Ten million won. In truth, if Kim Mujin had been working at a top-tier domestic pharmaceutical company, he likely wouldn’t have been swayed by such an amount. However, the salaries for master’s and doctoral degree holders in the life sciences working at mid-tier domestic firms were notoriously stingy. They were practically half of what those at top-tier firms earned. By the standards of the 2010s, the annual salary for someone with a master’s or doctorate was around 30 million won. Considering the time and money spent to graduate from graduate school, it was an amount so low it was hard to fathom.
This was exactly why Lee Inhae had scouted acquaintances working at mid-tier pharmaceutical companies rather than those at top-tier ones.
[Because they are easier to recruit.]
Lee Inhae’s strategy was certainly rational, but because that same rationality applied to those looking to create industrial spies, this situation was inevitable.
“Why are you worrying so much? You just have to hand over the information to us. Do you think we’re crazy enough to say, ‘We got this information from Kim Mujin!’? To us, you are a gold nugget. No fool would tell others where their gold nugget is hidden.”
In the end, Kim Mujin’s heart couldn’t help but be violently shaken.
“Then, the ten million won is…”
“Ah, the ten million won? Here it is.”
The man clicked open his briefcase in front of Kim Mujin. Inside, the beautiful sight of ten million won was revealed. A gulping sound naturally escaped Kim Mujin’s throat, and his hand reached toward the briefcase without him even realizing it.
However.
“…?”
Kim Mujin wore a puzzled expression at the man’s action of slightly pulling the briefcase back.
“Before you receive it, I need you to sign here once.”
“A signature?”
“Yes. I need a receipt confirming you received it so I can get reimbursed for the funds later. If there’s no signature, the higher-ups will think I spent the money on something else, so I have no choice.”
At the mention of a signature, a red alert began to ring in Kim Mujin’s head. But he couldn’t quite let go of the temptation.
“Hmm… could you give me a moment to think about it?”
“Ah, is that so? Well… it’s not a difficult request, but I can’t give you too much time. You aren’t the only person we’re contacting. I’d like you to get back to me before all the spots are filled. I’m just a salesman trying to hit my targets, aren’t I?”
“A-alright.”
Once the conversation ended, Kim Mujin left his seat. And the moment he did, the man who had been trying to persuade him let out a cackle, mocking him.
“Stupid fool.”
The man peeled off a recorder he had taped under the table. When he pressed the play button, the entire conversation he’d just had with Kim Mujin began to flow out clearly.
What if Kim Mujin ultimately refused the deal? Even then, he could use this recording to blackmail him as much as he wanted. Kim Mujin hadn’t explicitly said “I’ll do it,” but the moment this recording was handed over to YK Pharmaceutical, his loyalty would be questioned. In short, the moment Kim Mujin sat in that chair, he had walked into a trap.
Whether it’s a master’s degree or a doctorate, what they are good at is limited to knowledge in their specific field. Ultimately, those who don’t know the bitter taste of society are merely used, even when an opportunity presents itself.
If you start a pharmaceutical company, industrial spies will appear. Did Yoon-gi really not know this simple fact? Naturally, Yoon-gi knew better than anyone that industrial spies would emerge. After all, someone who had been a close aide to Ryu Geun-tae had once acted as an industrial spy; how could he not have thought of that? Therefore, Yoon-gi used a very simple method.
“Huh? You’re going to establish the company in the Soviet Union?”
Lee Inhae’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Yes. If we set it up in the Soviet Union, there will be almost no possibility of technology leaks. Furthermore, taxes are almost entirely exempt.”
Currently, Yoon-gi was receiving an enormous level of tax exemptions in the Soviet Union. That was only because he was managing his businesses in a way that was extremely favorable to the Soviets, but if he were to receive tax exemptions on profits earned outside the Soviet Union in the future, the gains would be truly massive. That was why he had considered establishing it there.
“But, will people want to go to the Soviet Union…?”
“It doesn’t matter if they don’t come. We’ll accept those who will, and we won’t accept those who won’t.”
“Huh?”
“Ah, Aunt. You didn’t think that only the people you scouted would be working there, did you?”
At Yoon-gi’s wry smile, Lee Inhae blushed slightly, as if she realized her thoughts had been exposed.
“W-wasn’t it?”
Yoon-gi also gave a wry smile.
“Hey, of course not. Think of how much manpower a pharmaceutical company needs; how could we operate with only the personnel you select? Giving you the authority to select personnel was solely to solidify your system, Aunt.”
“Ah…”
Until just a short while ago, Lee Inhae’s main profession had been an obstetrician. Because of that, she didn’t know how social life worked. She should have either participated in management or worked under someone who did, but unfortunately, Lee Inhae had no such experience.
“The people you need to select don’t have to be incompetent, but they don’t necessarily have to be purely talented, either. People who will reliably support you. It’s better to pick people like that.”
“Ah… so that’s what it was…”
Lee Inhae began to slowly learn what the position of a president was all about. In truth, if it weren’t for Yoon-gi covering her reliably from behind, if she had started a pharmaceutical company in a state of isolation, Lee Inhae would have been perfect for blowing through all her capital and going bankrupt. This applied to most of Yoon-gi’s aides as well. Just thinking of Choi Cheol-jun at MEV or Choi Cheol-jae at the agency, it was certain they would have failed quickly if Yoon-gi hadn’t been standing behind them. The reason second or third-generation chaebols have successful businesses is because the first-generation chaebol stands firmly behind them, ensuring they never fail. If you look at the stories common in the 2010s—the articles about business myths claiming someone succeeded after seven years of losses—the reality is that the person in question was running their business on their father’s golden land with zero rent.
“If they bring their families to the Soviet Union, I’ll take responsibility for their housing and education. It doesn’t matter if they come as individuals, either. So, please pass that on to the people you’ve scouted.”
“You’ll even take responsibility for their education?”
Yoon-gi nodded.
“Yes. We should at least do that much. I think there will be more people than expected, but what’s difficult about that?”
Since the salaries of domestic teachers were stingy to begin with, it was certain that the cost of bringing teachers to the Soviet Union wouldn’t be that high. Furthermore, Yoon-gi already had many excellent teachers with experience, as he had been conducting training for PMC agents in the Soviet Union for nearly a year.
“That’s amazing… But Yoon-gi, is it okay to provide that much welfare? Don’t you need to make money?”
It wasn’t much different in the 2010s, but until the 2000s, if you argued for ‘distribution,’ you were treated like a communist. Then what was it like in the 70s and 80s? You’d be dragged to Namyeong-dong. Until the 80s, the logic of the rich was, ‘Let’s grow the pie first! We’ll definitely distribute it later!’ Because of that, a social atmosphere was created where it was unavoidably tolerated for the president to take almost all of the company’s revenue. But now? Even in the 2010s, more than 30 years later, distribution hadn’t happened. If you compare the ‘small and medium-sized enterprise employee’ standard just before the IMF to the late 2010s, there was almost no difference in salary. Rationally, humans are selfish animals; there’s no way they would distribute the pie when it gets bigger.
“Do you think of the employees as a waste when they are, in the end, my own assets?”
“Huh?”
“People are the greatest asset of all. So shouldn’t we treat them even better?”
It didn’t mean he would treat people like slaves. In the first place, unlike other companies, Yoon-gi was keeping YK unlisted. Therefore, the entire company was solely Yoon-gi’s. Because of that, Yoon-gi viewed the company not as the amount of money it earned, but as something he had to protect itself. The same went for people. To protect people, you have to treat them well. That’s why he treated them well so they wouldn’t leave, and if they did leave, he simply would never take them back.
“In the first place, I could assign one teacher for a year with the money I earn in the time it takes to drink a cup of water, so there’s no reason to think of it as a waste. So, recommend the move to the Soviet Union with peace of mind. I’ll take responsibility for everything.”
It was a statement where it was unclear if there was a slight exaggeration or if he was being sincere, but Lee Inhae couldn’t help but be surprised.
“Oh? Uh… yeah.”
For some reason, Lee Inhae felt like Yoon-gi was older than her.
Lee Inhae hurriedly made more phone calls.
Thanks to this, nearly half of the people rejected the offer. No matter how attractive the proposal was, there was an instinctive fear of the Soviet Union, and living in a neighborhood they knew nothing about was by no means an easy task. However, the other half agreed nonetheless. Since there wasn’t a single person working at YK who complained about the company, they had chosen the future. Because of that, there were also people who couldn’t help but be flustered.
“Yes? I have to live in the Soviet Union, too?”
Jeong Jae-un, who had tried to bribe Kim Mujin with ten million won. Because Kim Mujin had accepted Lee Inhae’s offer, Jeong Jae-un also received an order from his superiors to live in the Soviet Union.