The cool night air on the Hilton's balcony did little to ease Park Minho's unease as he ended the call with Kim Soo-jin, his "sister" in this reborn life. Her voice—light, melodic, tinged with hurt—lingered in his mind. At seventeen, a sophomore at a private girls' school in Busan, Soo-jin was a beauty Minho's past life, steeped in filtered online images, could scarcely imagine. Meeting her at their father's funeral had stunned him—God's craftsmanship, undeniable. Yet, her familiarity with "Minho" clashed with his stranger's soul, leaving him stiff, awkward, lost.
"Soo-jin, you sound so stiff," she'd teased, her voice dipping with disappointment. "No joy at all."
Minho had deflected, promising local Busan gifts—crab snacks, maybe—for her and their mother. "Don't forget Mom," Soo-jin had chirped, her mood lifting. But Minho, trapped by his secret, cut the call short. "Party's on, gotta go," he'd said, escaping deeper talk that risked exposing his impostor heart.
Her final "Congrats, brother…" trembled with warmth, stirring something in Minho. Guilt? Duty? He shook it off, pocketing his Hansung Labor Edition 12. This body's family—mother, sister—came with strings he couldn't untangle. He'd inherited their wealth, their trust, but closeness felt like a minefield. For now, distance was safer, though duty gnawed: he owed them care, even if he wasn't *their* Minho.
Inside, the summit's closing party thrummed with ambition. Minho reentered the hall, slipping onto a sofa, expecting another wave of bosses pitching daughters or granddaughters. Oddly, none came. The crowd—once eager to latch onto Hansung's rising star—kept their distance, spooked by the old man's warning: *Minho's a shooting star, doomed to crash.* His defiance of Gao-Seong Securities, his aloof charm, had marked him as reckless in Korea's guanxi-driven world. The uncle, once eager to marry off his daughter, now saw only risk.
Minho exhaled, relieved yet wary. The *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System* kept his pulse steady, but the old man's prophecy—bankruptcy in six months—lingered. Yoon Woo-bin's "Smiling Viper" grudge, Xu Jia-Hu's Jaehan Mobile plotting low-cost floods, TLC's scale—they were sharks circling Hansung's 180,000 monthly sales. But Minho's tech—proprietary OS, chip dreams, Industry 4.0—would outshine favors. He'd prove them wrong.
Then, two figures approached, drawing gasps from the hall: Ni Kwang-soo and Choi Sang-Woo, Hanbit Academy academicians, Korea's intellectual titans. Their presence was seismic—national treasures, their knowledge unmatched. Bosses froze, eyes wide, as the pair zeroed in on Minho.
"Park Minho," Ni greeted, his smile warm.
Minho shot to his feet, bowing deeply. "Academician Ni, Academician Choi, an honor." Their summit defense—crushing Yang Joon-ho's attack, endorsing Minho's vision—had made him. Gratitude burned; his smile was genuine.
Choi chuckled, settling beside Minho with easy familiarity. "Kid, your mind's sharp as a blade. No college? No matter. I bet you could master a degree in a year. Come to Seoul, study under me. I'll guide you to a Ph.D. in aerospace—rockets, the future."
Ni, not to be outdone, grabbed Minho's hand, patting it firmly. "Don't listen to Choi's rocket nonsense—boring stuff! Join me for a Ph.D. instead. Your ideas—Industry 4.0, triple play—show genius. No college? Irrelevant. I'll get you into Hanbit University, no exam. I'll teach you myself, guarantee a degree, bachelor's to doctorate, no sweat."
The hall buzzed, bosses gaping. Hanbit Academy, Korea's pinnacle, was offering Minho a golden ticket—direct entry, personal mentorship, degrees assured. Choi's aerospace lure, Ni's chip expertise—they saw Minho as a prodigy worth molding. CEOs, worth billions, burned with envy. *What makes this kid so special?*
Minho's heart raced. A Ph.D. under Ni, a chip legend who'd birthed Korea's Ark 1 processor, was a dream. The *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System* gave him textbook knowledge, photographic memory, but chips were a beast—complex, multidisciplinary. Ni's guidance could fast-track Hansung's chip ambitions, dodging Wassenaar's bans. A degree would also silence critics, burnishing his image from "dropout" to "doctor."
But Hansung tethered him. Nearly a thousand employees, a factory scaling to 10 million units, a mobile war against Jaehan, TLC, Amoi—Minho couldn't leave Gyeonggi. "I'm tied to Hansung," he admitted, hesitating. "No time for Seoul."
Ni frowned, then grinned, undeterred. "No problem. I'll mail textbooks, mentor you remotely—internet calls, phone chats. We'll make it work."
The crowd gasped again. An academician bending for a dropout? Ni's offer—distance learning, personal guidance—was unheard of. Bosses stared, awestruck. Minho's talent had humbled a titan. Even Xu Jia-Hu, lurking nearby, scowled deeper, sensing Minho's untouchable rise. Big Kim of JunSeok nodded, impressed; Motorola's Edward Kang, watching, recalculated his plans.
Minho wavered. Ni's offer was a lifeline—knowledge, prestige, a chip mentor. But Hansung's war loomed. Jaehan's low-cost phones, backed by Gao-Seong's billions, aimed to flood his rural niche. TLC's self-made parts kept costs low, a chaebol edge Minho lacked. Yoon's grudge, now personal, promised sabotage. Yet, Ni's mentorship could arm him—chips to rival TLC, an OS to outshine Jaehan.
"I'll consider it," Minho said, bowing. "Thank you, Academician Ni, Academician Choi." His mind churned: could he balance Hansung and study? The *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System* could juggle both, maybe. For now, he'd stall, weigh the path.
The hall watched, whispering. Minho wasn't just a summit star—he was Hanbit's chosen. MaumNet would explode: *Genius backed by academicians!* His Labor Edition 12, selling 180,000 monthly at 29,900 won, and Hansung 3, soon at 49,900, were Korea's pride. Yoon's schemes, Xu's war—they'd hit hard. But with Ni's wisdom, Choi's fire, and his black tech, Minho saw the detour. No shooting star—he'd build a constellation.
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