Monday morning.
The day of reckoning had arrived.
I reached the office thirty minutes earlier than usual.
I gave the presentation materials I'd prepared overnight one final check, then ran through my presentation flow in my head again and again, dozens of times.
Strangely enough, I wasn't nervous.
It felt as if I were an actor performing on a perfectly written script.
If anything, the restless one was Director Kim.
Every ten minutes, he came over to my desk and repeated the same thing.
"Assistant Manager Park, you're all set, right? You're confident?"
"Yes, sir. No need to worry."
"Good. I'm counting on you. Team Leader Choi at A Electronics is backing us because of me, so all you have to do is nail the presentation. Got it?"
"Of course."
I snorted inwardly.
Team Leader Choi wasn't backing him at all—it was just polite lip service.But Director Kim was the only one too clueless to realize it.
Completely unaware of my thoughts, he worked himself up, beating his own drum and basking in his expectations.
1:00 p.m.
We headed to Gangnam, where A Electronics' current headquarters stood, riding in Director Kim's old domestic mid-size sedan.
Gangnam in 2007 was less congested than it would become—but it was still imposing.
Through the car window, the A Electronics headquarters came into view.
It was already an impressive building, but I knew what would rise beyond it.
Two years later—a glass palace several times larger, a monument to ambition and arrogance.
And I also knew how that palace would fall.
They don't know yet.
I stared at the building in silence.
Eighteen years ago, I would've been crushed by the pressure alone.
But not now.
The first-floor lobby of A Electronics looked like a luxury hotel.
After receiving visitor badges at the information desk, we headed to the conference room on the tenth floor.
Several companies were already waiting.
At a glance, they were in a completely different league from us.
Tailored suits. Confident posture. Even the brands of their briefcases screamed prestige.
They were clearly from the country's top-tier design firms.
Amid them, Jeongin Structural Engineering looked like a duckling lost among swans.
"Ahem…"
Director Kim cleared his throat nervously.
Even he seemed intimidated by the competitors' presence.
He leaned close and whispered,
"Assistant Manager Park, don't get shaken. Those guys are all style over substance. We win with 'safety.' You know that, right?"
"Yes, sir. I know."
I replied calmly.
My composure seemed to surprise him—he tilted his head slightly.
Soon, the conference room door opened, and an A Electronics employee stepped out.
Checking her clipboard, she announced,
"Next, Jeongin Structural Engineering. Please prepare."
Finally.
My turn.
I stood, straightened my tie.
I could feel Director Kim's tense stare—and the faintly condescending gazes of the other firms.
Leaving it all behind, I walked confidently toward the conference room.
It was time to begin the show.
#002
The air inside the conference room was far heavier than outside.
A massive U-shaped table dominated the space.
Middle-aged men—clearly executives—sat at the head, while younger staff members lined the sides, studying me with sharp eyes.
Among them was the infamous Team Leader Choi Director Kim had bragged about.
He didn't spare me a glance, flipping through documents instead.
Contrary to Director Kim's boasts, he looked utterly uninterested in me or my company.
I calmly connected my laptop to the projector.
The screen filled with the opening slide I'd painstakingly crafted all weekend.
[Structural Design Proposal for A Electronics' New Headquarters][An Uncompromising Belief in Absolute Safety]
At the grandiose title, a low murmur rippled through the room.
I stood at the microphone and slowly scanned the audience.
Eighteen years ago, this oppressive atmosphere would've crushed my voice.
But not today.
I met their gazes one by one—almost as if I were evaluating them.
"Good afternoon. I'm Park Cheolmin, Assistant Manager at Jeongin Structural Engineering."
My voice rang out steady and clear.
"What I'm proposing today is not merely a building that looks impressive."
I paused deliberately, savoring their attention.
"What I propose is absolute safety—a structure that will not waver in the face of any natural disaster."
At my audacious opening, disbelief flickered across a few faces.
Ignoring it, I moved to the next slide.
A massive, fortress-like 3D rendering appeared—thick, imposing, reminiscent of medieval walls.
"Whoa…"
A quiet gasp escaped someone.
By 2007 standards, it was a striking visual.
I pressed on, right on cue.
"We did not compromise with fleeting trends or cost-cutting temptations. We pursued only one value—safety—using the most conservative and robust methods available."
The next slide filled with dense graphs and data.
"As you can see, this design withstands a magnitude-7.0 earthquake and typhoon winds exceeding 50 meters per second—over 200 percent beyond current legal requirements."
The room fell silent.
Everyone leaned in, eyes glued to the screen.
Confusion and curiosity mixed across their faces.
A nobody from a tiny firm—where does he get the nerve?
Good.
This was exactly where I wanted them.
Now came the trigger.
Smiling with confidence, I said,
"Of course, achieving absolute safety comes with a corresponding price."
#003
Without hesitation, I flipped to the next slide.
A table filled with enormous figures appeared.
[A Rational Investment for Premium Safety]
Projected costs—1.8 to 2.2 times higher than standard proposals—were itemized in cold detail.
The moment they saw the numbers, the room froze.
The same thought flashed across every face.
Is this lunatic serious?
At last, a man raised his hand—a sharp-eyed architect from A Electronics.
"I have a question. You're Assistant Manager Park Cheolmin from Jeongin Structural Engineering, correct?"
"Yes. Please go ahead."
"The concept is clear—safety matters. But these costs exceed our projected budget by nearly double. This isn't 'rational investment'; it's pure inefficiency. Why should we accept this and contract your firm?"
There it was.
The question I'd been waiting for.
I smiled calmly.
"An excellent question. But let me ask you this instead."
I paused, scanning the room.
"Can efficiency truly be applied to human lives and corporate safety?"
"…."
"In 1995, the Sampoong Department Store collapsed. Shoddy construction and design. Hundreds died, and the company vanished from history. I'm sure they, too, prioritized 'cost efficiency' at the time."
At the mention of Sampoong, several executives stiffened.
I drove the nail in.
"What we propose isn't merely construction expertise. We propose trust—the assurance that A Electronics, Korea's leading company, will stand unshaken for the next fifty or even a hundred years."
I met their eyes without flinching.
"I'll be frank. If A Electronics is a company that values cost-cutting over safety, then we are not the right partner. We work only with those willing to invest in absolute safety."
The silence was suffocating.
My words were both an insult—and an undeniable truth.
I'd turned their budget concerns into a question of principle.
The ball was now in their court.
They could dismiss me as an impractical idealist—or reconsider me as a craftsman with conviction.
Either way, I didn't care.
I had no intention of taking this project.
Beside me, Director Kim's face had gone pale—then bluish.
This was likely the first time he'd seen an employee confront corporate executives with such audacity.
#004
Tension filled the room.
The man who'd questioned me fell silent.
Then a middle-aged executive at the head—arms crossed, likely the project lead—finally spoke.
"You're Assistant Manager Park Cheolmin?"
"Yes, sir."
"I listened carefully. Very impressive. Quite bold for someone so young."
It sounded like praise—but it wasn't.
Staring sharply, he asked,
"So unless we accept these absurd costs, you're implying we're an unethical company that compromises on safety. Is that correct?"
The final gate.
One step back now, and everything would collapse.
I met his gaze without blinking.
"No. That's a misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding?"
"We're not forcing a choice. We're presenting our philosophy. Jeongin Structural Engineering is not a firm that sells its convictions for money."
I bowed politely.
"That concludes my proposal. Thank you for your time."
No further questions came.
I closed my laptop and pocketed the USB.
As I exited, countless eyes followed me—confusion, irritation, and a trace of intrigue mixed together.
Exactly as planned.
A perfect presentation.
And a perfect rejection.
Outside, Director Kim stood frozen, face drained of color.
He grabbed my arm with trembling hands.
"Y-you… what the hell did you just do?!"
He hissed, unable to raise his voice.
"Have you lost your mind? Do you know who those people are?! Are you trying to destroy the company?!"
I gently removed his hand.
Then—for the first time in eighteen years—I looked down at him with pity.
"Director."
"What?!"
"You live like this because you grovel before people like them."
"Y-you little—!"
He was too stunned to respond, mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
I walked past him and pressed the elevator button.
He shouted something behind me, but I ignored it.
He was no longer my boss.
Just a pitiful man clinging to a company doomed to fail.
The elevator doors closed, his twisted face disappearing.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror.
A young thirty-one-year-old face.
But eyes filled with the calm and confidence of someone who'd endured eighteen long years.
This is only the beginning.
I murmured softly.
My second life had just turned its first page.