Park Minho's summit fame had transformed Hansung Technology's fortunes. Before, as an obscure Gyeonggi startup, Hansung faced dismissive suppliers who jacked up accessory prices, forcing Minho to risk bankruptcy on a 500-million-won order to secure discounts. Now, armed with national recognition, Hansung commanded respect. Suppliers would offer low prices upfront, eager to curry favor with Korea's "super genius." In Korea's guanxi-driven business world, Minho's face—his summit glow—was a currency that could unlock doors and fuel Hansung's rise.
This newfound clout laid the groundwork for Hansung to conquer the national mobile market. Previously, Hansung's sales reps, pitching Labor Edition 12 phones to stores outside Gyeonggi, faced skepticism. At 29,900 won, the phones seemed a steal, but shop owners balked: *Is this brand legit? What if returns tank my reputation?* Hansung's "copycat" stigma hurt.
Now, post-summit, Hansung was a name. Industry insiders knew Minho, his walnut-smashing phones, and his Industry 4.0 vision. Store owners wouldn't hesitate—they'd stock Hansung's phones, test sales, and reorder if they moved. Minho's fame had cleared the path to Korea's retail networks.
His rural push—sales teams hawking phones village-to-village—was clever but unscalable. Even with thousands of reps, covering Korea's vast countryside was a pipe dream. Partnering with mobile stores was inevitable. Rural sales could persist small-scale, but retail chains were Hansung's future.
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That evening, the summit's "Success Celebration Party" kicked off at Busan's Hilton Hotel, a glittering hub of power. The grand hall teemed with over a thousand bosses and elites, each worth at least 500 million won or tied to someone who was. To workers, these were untouchable titans, yet here they swarmed bigger fish, fawning like lapdogs for a nod, a deal, a scrap of opportunity.
The party was no mere bash—it was a guanxi bazaar, where CEOs traded favors and forged alliances. Tonight, and the days after, would see billions in deals sealed over wine and flattery. This was the summit's true pulse, the reason bosses flocked to Busan.
Minho, once ignored, was now a minor "island" in the crowd—a knot of admirers circling him. A far cry from his early summit anonymity, but their motives irked him. *Why are they after my potential?* he thought, half-amused, half-wary.
"Congrats, Brother Park," a portly CEO gushed. "Your Industry 4.0 speech stole the show. Brilliant stuff!"
Another, a wiry man in his fifties, chimed in. "Indeed! Say, do you have a girlfriend? My daughter's in college—quite a looker."
Minho glanced at the man's square-jawed face and suppressed a shudder. Before he could reply, a silver-haired boss in his sixties scoffed, shoving a photo at Minho. "Forget his daughter—look at this face, she's no prize. Here's my granddaughter, now *she's* a catch."
"Wait!" Square-Jaw protested, fumbling for his phone. "I've got photos too!"
Minho's mouth twitched, a wry smile forming. *Why are they so bullish on me?* These bosses, sniffing his summit fame and Hansung's potential, were pitching daughters and granddaughters, angling for a stake in his future. *Door-to-door son-in-law? No thanks.*
"Thanks for the enthusiasm," Minho said, raising his hands. "But I'm focused on my career right now—no plans for romance or marriage."
The crowd groaned. "Career?" an uncle barked. "Family first, then business! A wife steadies you."
"Exactly," another nodded. "A good home keeps you strong through startup hells."
"Spot on," a third echoed. "Marry, settle, then soar."
Minho sighed, their persistence grating. They saw him as a golden goose—marry him in, ride Hansung's rise. He opened his mouth to refuse again when the crowd hushed. A figure approached, flanked by aides: Yoon Woo-bin of Gao-Seong Securities.
"Mr. Yoon," Minho greeted, his voice cool, the *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System* keeping him steady.
"Mr. Park, splendid summit," Yoon said, his smile polished but hollow. "You were the star."
No one saw the venom beneath Yoon's charm. Minho's summit speech had foiled Gao-Seong's ploy to sabotage his slot, a move Yoon had quietly backed. Now, Yoon's eyes gleamed with hunger—Hansung's 180,000 monthly sales, its 10-million-unit factory plan, Minho's chip ambitions. He'd secure a stake, whatever it took.
"Thanks," Minho said, modest but guarded. Yoon's warmth didn't fool him. Those eyes—dark, calculating—betrayed a predator. Minho disliked him; Yoon's fake smile hid a blade.
"Average, really," Minho added, deflecting. The crowd chuckled, but Yoon's grin tightened. Minho's gut screamed caution—this man was trouble, and Hansung's national climb would draw his fire. Xu Jia-Hu's low-end phones, TLC's copycats, Gao-Seong's schemes—they loomed. But Minho saw the detour: chips, AI, fame. Hansung was Korea's, and he'd fight for it.
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(end of this chapter)