After the hot summer passed, real fear finally arrived in the market.

Daeil Precision — a solid company famous for posting over 10 billion won in annual operating profit every year, with last year’s 20 billion marking the highest since its founding — went bankrupt. A manufacturer of computer peripherals that had steadily grown its business, its sudden collapse threw the market into panic.

Daeil Precision was nowhere near the scale of Dubo or Doa Motors, yet its bankruptcy still struck fear into the market — for a specific reason. A company that had posted tens of billions in profit every year had gone under simply for lack of 4 billion won in cash, and market observers were now confronted with the terror of profitable insolvency. Even a profitable company had gone under for want of cash. The fear that a company running a deficit, or one not turning enough of a profit, could collapse literally overnight had become reality.

Companies grew desperate to hoard cash, and as banks shut their teller windows, money began drying up across the market.

Chairman Tak-hyeon gathered the group’s senior leadership around Vice-Chairman Mun-jong. With an urgent situation upon them, he meant to bring the group’s core minds together to put their heads to it. But however urgent the situation, Ilhyeon Group itself wasn’t in danger. Nor did putting their heads together mean fighting through a crisis. Compared to other companies, it was an extraordinarily calm gathering — meant simply to review the restructuring’s results so far and discuss what Ilhyeon Group ought to do next. Naturally, everything said there carried a warm, congenial air.

“Through the restructuring, Ilhyeon has brought every affiliate’s debt ratio below 200%. Our cash reserve ratio is also markedly high compared to other companies, so we expect no significant impact from the current credit crisis.”

Seong-ho reported Ilhyeon Group’s current standing to Tak-hyeon. At his words, smiles spread across the faces not just of Tak-hyeon but of Vice-Chairman Mun-jong and the rest of the group’s core leadership. It struck them that Ilhyeon might be the only company in all of Korea that could say it stood essentially untouched by the current crisis.

Listening to Seong-ho with bright expressions, they looked at him with something like wonder — astonished that he’d sensed a risk that had seemed faint and uncertain, and carried out the restructuring in advance to sidestep it.

Tak-hyeon, too, couldn’t hide his astonishment. “Head Kim has done something truly great.”

“Not at all. It’s entirely thanks to you, Chairman, for laying out clearly the path I should take. I merely followed your instructions and worked in your place.”

Bowing his head, Seong-ho credited everything to Tak-hyeon. Everyone present, Tak-hyeon included, knew perfectly well that both the forceful execution and the very design of the restructuring had been Seong-ho’s alone. Yet seeing him humble himself this way, deflecting all credit to the chairman, they couldn’t help finding it remarkable that a man of his age and experience could carry himself so.

Just then, Do-beom relayed to Tak-hyeon the flood of inquiries that had lately been pouring into the secretariat. “Chairman. Other companies are asking for our help.”

“Help? What kind of help?”

Tak-hyeon, his face still blooming with pleasure, turned his head to look at Do-beom.

“Calls keep pouring in like rain, asking how to carry out a restructuring — saying they want to do it but don’t know how.”

“They’re asking us to teach them how to restructure?”

“Yes.”

Do-beom glanced at Seong-ho, then explained the calls in more detail. “It seems most companies had understood restructuring simply as cutting staff and winding down operations. But they’ve realized that alone won’t clear out their bad debt, and now they’re asking for help. Naturally — we’re the ones who carried out restructuring in the true sense of the word, successfully.”

“That’s right. We could be called the textbook example of proper restructuring.”

Tak-hyeon wore a satisfied expression. Then, curling the corner of his mouth up, he said, “If requests keep coming in, just take note of each one as it comes.”

“And how should we respond?”

“Don’t respond. Just say you understand.”

“Then…”

Do-beom sent Tak-hyeon a look, silently asking what should come after that.

Still with the corner of his mouth curled up, Tak-hyeon answered his gaze. “These are the same people who sneered at us while we were carrying out our own restructuring. There’s no reason for us to help them. Just listen and take no action at all. We don’t need to help anyone until they come crawling on their knees, heads bowed to the floor.”

“And if they do bow their heads — would you consider helping them then?”

Mun-jong asked, on the off chance.

Tak-hyeon turned his gaze from Do-beom to Mun-jong and let out a scornful laugh. “Not a chance. Not unless I’ve taken a bullet to the head. Everyone else struggling while only we’re fine? That’s exactly the world opening up in our favor — why would we step in to help other struggling companies? Do we get paid for helping? At best, all we’d get for it is a few words of thanks as a courtesy. Why bother helping?”

Tak-hyeon turned his gaze to Seong-ho. “And I remember that day clearly. Don’t you?”

Tak-hyeon asked, looking at him.

“Yes. That’s a day we mustn’t forget.”

Seong-ho’s manner made plain he held the memory of the Federation of Korean Industries gathering deep in his heart. Tak-hyeon wore a satisfied expression at Seong-ho’s attitude. Then, in a loud voice, he addressed those present.

“When we went to the Federation of Korean Industries, every last one of them pointed fingers at our Ilhyeon — as if Korea’s economy had turned bad because of us. So why should we help them now? If anything, if they collapse and come onto the market cheap, we’ll gladly pick them up with a smile.”

At Tak-hyeon’s words, Seong-ho bowed his head and smiled quietly. Because those words matched his own thinking exactly.

Having finished, Tak-hyeon put a direct question to Seong-ho. “Head Kim. What do you think? Isn’t that exactly the expansion side of the second-phase restructuring?”

“That’s correct.”

Seong-ho, who’d been bowing his head, lifted it and spoke to Tak-hyeon and the assembled group leadership. “That’s precisely why we carried out the restructuring through such bone-shaving pain.”

He looked around at those seated. “As the market collapses, companies will come pouring onto it in droves. All we need do is wait for that moment and pick up the good ones, one by one, and put them in our pocket.”

“Hahaha. Right. That’s exactly it.”

Tak-hyeon slapped the table with his palm and burst into delighted laughter. Matching his mood, Seong-ho went on saying whatever would please him further.

“If we make good use of the Ilhyeon Electronics investment, we’ll be able to hold the upper hand not just with the current government but with whatever government comes next as well. We hold the hilt of the blade. My own thought is that we mustn’t let this chance — one that won’t come again — slip away.”

“Right. A chance that won’t come again.”

Tak-hyeon agreed with Seong-ho’s words and threw his weight further behind the Restructuring Headquarters. “So all of you keep your wits about you and follow the Restructuring Headquarters’ instructions. Understood?”

“Yes, understood.”

At the loud, unified answer, Tak-hyeon wore a satisfied expression. Seong-ho, too, answered that he’d produce results that wouldn’t fall short of Tak-hyeon’s expectations.

Do-beom could feel that the Restructuring Headquarters had grown so powerful it could no longer even be managed under the secretariat. He sensed, intuitively, that the day wasn’t far off when it would step out from under the secretariat entirely and stand shoulder to shoulder with it, reporting directly to the chairman alone.

Head Kim’s power is only going to grow stronger.

Do-beom looked back and forth between Seong-ho and Mun-jong with a gaze that couldn’t tell whether Seong-ho’s growing strength boded well for Mun-jong at all.

“Heading home, sir?”

The security guard seated in the guard booth opened the small window and offered a warm greeting.

Seong-ho paused on his way in and bowed his head slightly to the guard. “Yes. Have you eaten?”

“It’s almost shift-change time, so I’ll eat once I get home after handing off.”

“You must be hungry, staying this late.”

“Hahaha, thank you just for saying so. Get on up safely, then.”

“I will.”

Having exchanged greetings, Seong-ho went inside. The guard coming to take over the shift watched the exchange with interest before heading to the booth.

“Mr. Kim. You’re out.”

“You’re early.”

Mr. Kim, who’d just greeted Seong-ho, greeted Mr. Park, arriving for the handoff, warmly in turn.

Park glanced at the open little window and asked Kim, “Who was that young fellow who just greeted you?”

“That young fellow? Ah, you mean the one who moved into the 11th floor recently.”

“11th floor?”

“Yeah. A young couple moved into the 11th floor not long ago. Both of them are polite and friendly — not like most young people these days.”

“Just the couple moved in? Into that big place?”

Park cocked his head. “Wasn’t that Dr. Kim’s place originally?”

“Right, it was Dr. Kim’s house. Then for whatever reason he sold it, and it seems that young couple bought it.”

“That expensive a place?”

Park looked at the open window with startled eyes and clicked his tongue. “The young couple must have plenty of money. Not even renting — buying the place outright. What’s the fellow do? Doctor, like the last owner? Must be some high-paying job to afford a place that expensive.”

At Park’s words, Kim shook his head. “Doesn’t seem like a doctor. Sounds like they’re both office workers.”

“Both of them?”

Park clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. Just says ‘office worker’ — doesn’t sound like much, then. The man ought to be the one with real ability.”

“If he had no ability, could he have bought a place here at all? He must have ability, or he wouldn’t have. Whatever the case…”

Kim rose from his seat and gathered up his lunchbox bag. He waved a hand at Park. “I’ll be off, then.”

“Sure. Get home safe.”

Park waved back and settled into the now-empty chair.

While the shift changed at the building entrance, up on the 11th floor, Gyeong-eun — mid-cooking, still in her apron — greeted the just-arrived Seong-ho warmly.

“Seong-ho, welcome home. You must be hungry. Wash your hands and come to the table — I made a delicious pot of doenjang jjigae.”

Greeting him warmly, Gyeong-eun took the bag he’d brought.

Catching the delicious smell even from the entrance, Seong-ho’s nose flared, and he asked her with a smile, “You made doenjang jjigae? Really?”

At the question, Gyeong-eun laughed awkwardly. “Well… to be precise, Mrs. Oh made the whole thing and left before I got home, but… oh, what does that matter? I put it on the stove and heated it up, but whoever turns off the flame last is the one who cooked it, isn’t that right?”

Gyeong-eun put her hands on her hips and gave him a coy look, and Seong-ho laughed and nodded. “That’s right. You cooked it, Gyeong-eun. I’ll go wash up quickly.”

Smiling easily, Seong-ho headed to the bathroom, and Gyeong-eun, smiling too, went back to the kitchen.

“I haven’t eaten either, waiting for you, so hurry back. I’ll finish setting the table.”

Seong-ho said he understood and went into the bathroom to wash his hands, looking at himself in the mirror. In the mirror, a Seong-ho who looked thirty years younger than in that former life gazed back at him with a bright face. A sense of happiness showed through that bright face — surely because a newlywed life he’d never experienced in that former life was now welcoming him.

In that former life, Seong-ho had never once left Pyeongchang-dong until the day Gyeong-eun died. And once her funeral ended, he’d been driven out of Pyeongchang-dong as though cast out. The perpetually thin-ice atmosphere of Pyeongchang-dong had made a heart that should have been happy in newlywed life uneasy instead, and once he left Pyeongchang-dong, emptiness and loneliness had made happiness impossible to find at all.

But now was different. Enjoying a belated but genuinely joyful newlywed life, alone with a healthy Gyeong-eun in a space that belonged to just the two of them, Seong-ho wished this happiness wouldn’t end here. He wanted, more than anyone, for it to keep going — and step by step, he was carrying out the work to make that so. Along with the revenge from that former life…

Seong-ho smiled back at the young, smiling Seong-ho in the mirror, then left the bathroom to join Gyeong-eun waiting in the kitchen.

After dinner, the two of them sat together comfortably in the living room, watching a drama and talking over what had happened at work that day. Before bed, they read together, turned off the light, and settled in for the night, spending the close of the day together in their own space.

7 a.m.

After a simple breakfast, Gyeong-eun left the house first.

“An important guest from Washington, D.C. is coming to the hotel today, so I’m heading out early. Have a good day, Seong-ho.”

“Will you be all right driving yourself?”

“Of course.”

Unlike the Pyeongchang-dong days, when a driver had always been with her, now, on mornings like this when she had to be at the office early, Gyeong-eun had to drive herself.

“I may not look it, but I’ve got a Class 1 regular license. So don’t worry. I’ll head off first.”

Having seen Gyeong-eun off to work, Seong-ho spent the time before his own commute at leisure, watching television.

Ring, ring.

Just then, unexpectedly, a call came in from Gyeong-eun, who’d only just left for work.

(End of Chapter 93)