That night.
Grandfather didn't give a definite answer.
But, well.
"There's no other way, is there?"
We really do need someone to manage the company.
"Who would be good?"
I tried to recall future successful entrepreneurs.
I wanted to use the privilege of knowing the future here, but!
"..."
Maybe because it's not my area of interest, no names came to mind.
You ask about the entrepreneurs who created giant portals?
"They're still in high school."
Even looking abroad, the situation was similar.
But I couldn't just rely on my grandfather either!
What could I do?
In times like this, you have to call on your connections.
I called Chairman Dazai, who had gifted me a Bugatti.
The reason was simple.
"Do many entrepreneurs still come to see you these days?"
(Of course. Young people in need of capital are everywhere.)
"Could you recommend one suitable person from among them?"
I quickly explained my situation.
Chairman Dazai let out a small laugh.
(If they were that capable, I would've already taken them under my wing, don't you think?)
Sure, that could be the case.
But still.
"You don't drive all the cars you have piled up in the garage, do you? You gift some of them. Wouldn't it be the same with people?"
Was he mulling over my words?
The chairman stayed silent.
Then, with some difficulty, he spoke his first words.
(Didn't you say you're sixteen?)
"Yes."
(I know that, but I can't help asking your age every time. It's amazing.)
"Will you help me?"
After a brief pause, the chairman continued.
(If the result is good, Ji-hoon, you'll have to return the favor someday.)
"Of course."
I didn't forget to add,
"If the result is good."
(How much time will you give me?)
"The sooner, the better…"
(Would four days be alright?)
"That would be excellent."
(Then I'll send someone by then.)
And so the call ended.
'If it's Chairman Dazai… he won't send someone unreliable.'
It certainly felt like a weight had been lifted.
'The Royal School in London, huh?'
Now that I think of it, didn't Martin graduate from Oxford?
Maybe I could get some information if I asked him?
'I wonder if he's at the office right now.'
I started walking slowly, getting some exercise along the way.
***
Chairman Dazai glanced at the pile of documents.
Entrepreneurs seeking investment visited him daily.
Sorting out the gems among them was the chairman's only hobby.
"Hmmm."
He picked up a document marked with a sticky note.
3rd generation Korean-Japanese.
Graduated from UC Berkeley with a degree in Economics.>
It was about a year and a half ago.
That was when he first came with his proposal, and since then, he's visited weekly without fail, tirelessly presenting his ideas.
Dazai continued reading the document.
However, in the process, he inherited a 1 billion yen debt under the company's name.>
The business idea wasn't bad.
But maybe because of his tragic life, his eyes, full of desperation, weighed on Dazai's mind.
He was definitely someone with the potential for success someday, driven by a steely determination to make up for his past failures.
Eyes that lacked even a trace of composure.
It would take at least a few more years to rid him of such eyes.
That's why he'd been holding off on investing and keeping an eye on him.
'Even if starting his own business now is too much.'
But managing a business under someone else's supervision, that might be…
Perhaps because his thoughts had already tilted in that direction,
Dazai carefully picked up the receiver.
He slowly dialed the number listed on the resume.
"Yasumoto-kun, it's Dazai."
(C-Chairman!)
The voice on the other end trembled slightly at the unexpected call.
"I saw on your resume that you're a Zainichi Korean."
(That's correct.)
"Good."
(...?)
"Do you speak Korean?"
(No, I've lived in Japan all my life…)
"You don't speak it at all?"
(Only a few curse words I've heard my father mutter when he was angry, though I don't know what they mean…)
"It would've been helpful if you did."
Dazai shook his head, as if disappointed.
"I'm not calling to invest in you."
(T-Then, why are you calling…?)
"But this will be a rare opportunity. I can guarantee that."
After finishing the call, he carefully reviewed Yasumoto's proposal.
'An IT expert who studied in the U.S.'
He should get along well with the young CEO, Park Ji-hoon.
Eventually, Dazai's eyes landed on the last line of the document.
A debt of 1 billion yen to the bank…
And the company's name even had the word 'bank' in it.
Dazai couldn't help but let out a bitter smile at the ironic misfortune.
***
Unfortunately, Martin was away on a business trip to the U.S.
"He said he was meeting someone for work."
"…Who?"
"He mentioned the person who made this."
The employee handed me a package.
'Commander Keen'?
It was a game I'd never seen before.
As I examined the package, the employee continued,
"The game itself isn't great, but apparently, the technology behind it is exceptional. Martin said the developer is undoubtedly a genius…"
I've never met anyone as quick-witted as Martin.
For him to call someone a 'genius'?
Curious, I inspected the package more closely.
And then I spotted a familiar name at the end of the manual.
Of course!
If it's John Carmack, he's one of the legendary programmers in the gaming world.
The man who established the rules of the modern FPS genre with 'Wolfenstein 3D,' 'Doom,' and 'Quake'!
'But I've never heard of "Commander Keen."'
Was it an early work of his?
Maybe it didn't make a hit, which is why I wasn't aware of it.
'The game isn't great, but the technology is superb, huh.'
Did Martin recognize John Carmack's brilliance, even from a failed project?
'As expected, a genius is still a genius.'
My trust in Martin, already high, shot through the roof!
But that aside.
'Why did I come looking for Martin again…?'
Ah, right. I came to ask him about the Royal School.
It wasn't urgent, so I could ask him next time.
With a bit of disappointment, I turned to leave.
***
Three days later, at a boxing gym.
"Wanna do some sparring?"
The coach didn't know my true identity.
If he knew I was a third-generation chaebol, he wouldn't have suggested sparring, let alone made me run laps.
"Why sparring all of a sudden?"
"Well, you know those punks who used to be the local bullies? One of them signed up last week, and he's been acting up a lot. I want to knock him down a peg."
"Me?"
"I can't exactly go at him myself, and putting him against one of the pros wouldn't be right either."
In short, he wanted me, as someone relatively inexperienced, to spar with this guy so that the lesson would hit home more effectively.
"I don't think he's an ordinary guy…"
Sure enough, when he peeled off his shirt, a flashy goblin tattoo emerged.
In a past life, I probably wouldn't even have dared to make eye contact.
But the coach seemed to think otherwise.
"For you, he'll be no problem."
"...?"
"The pro fighters here are all begging to recruit you. Your punch is no joke."
"Come on."
"Do I ever lie?"
That brief exchange didn't last long.
By the time I regained my senses, I was already up in the ring, wearing a headgear.
But what's this?
My opponent was full of bravado.
He refused to wear the headgear or even a mouthguard!
He claimed he could knock down a mere kid like me with one punch.
I glanced over at the coach.
'If he's like this, it'll be hard to even throw a jab.'
'Just target the body.'
'Hey, I'm not a pro!'
'That's why I'm telling you to join the pro division!'
After that quick exchange of glances, the bell rang!
Round one started.
I cautiously extended both hands.
Glove touch.
A sign of respect in the ring.
"Looking forward to—"
But then.
Whoosh!
My opponent suddenly threw a punch at me.
Whoa, wait!
I pulled back my left hand and blocked his punch.
Smack!
'He's heavier than I thought.'
He immediately followed up with another punch.
Looks like he's had his share of street fights; his aggression was impressive.
But still.
Whoosh!
It was a typical wild swing.
He wasn't aiming carefully.
Whoosh!
It was just a blind, reckless swing, hoping it might land.
Swoosh, swoosh.
I dodged his punches with just my upper body movement.
Frustrated, he extended both arms and tried to push me into the corner like a sumo wrestler.
His strategy was clear: trap me in the corner and beat me up, nullifying any technique I might have.
But.
Swoosh.
I feinted a jab.
Swoosh.
With one sidestep, I was out of the corner.
The same pattern kept repeating after that.
He kept throwing punches, trying to pressure me, and swoosh, swoosh, I kept slipping out with footwork.
Since he was an amateur, I didn't bother throwing punches, just thinking I'd end it soon.
"Huff… huff…"
Look at him, panting from exhaustion.
I thought he might give up any moment now when suddenly.
Thud, thud, thud.
He charged at me recklessly again.
But what's this?
Thud.
He stomped on my foot while pretending to throw a punch.
And if that wasn't enough, he grabbed the back of my neck with his left arm.
Hold on, this isn't boxing.
"Try running now… let's see…"
With a sinister grin, he attempted to throw an elbow.
That was probably his plan.
But.
Pow!
The moment my fist connected with his abdomen.
"Ugh!"
He collapsed right there.
So weak, he even hit his chin on his own knee when he fell.
'Tsk.'
If it weren't for the foul play, I would've kept dodging.
But he pinned my foot down, forcing me to throw a punch.
"Are you okay?"
I've heard that body shots take time to show their effects, but…
"I… I can't breathe…"
He seemed to be exaggerating.
I looked over at the coach.
And then the coach said,
"Told you your punch isn't ordinary, didn't I?"
Come on, it wasn't that big of a deal.
"Look at him."
"Call an ambulance, please…"
Hmm.
I guess today's workout is done.
After thanking the coach, I decided to leave the gym.
Too bad I couldn't shower!
But, oh well.
The office is just around the corner.
As I was swallowing my disappointment and heading down the stairs.
"Hajimemashite (Nice to meet you)."
At the entrance of the building.
A man in a shabby suit stood there.
I thought he was a tourist asking for directions, so I approached him kindly.
"Are you CEO Park Ji-hoon?"
Suddenly, he mentioned my name.
"Who are you?"
He bowed slightly and introduced himself.
"I'm Yasumoto, sent by Chairman Dazai."
Ah.
So he's already found the right person.
"Nice to meet you."
I greeted him and looked at his face.
He appeared to be in his late 30s.
Aside from the sharp look in his eyes, his appearance wasn't particularly striking.
At least, that's what I thought.
But somehow, he seemed strangely familiar.
"Have we… met somewhere before?"