Park Minho brushed off Yoon Woo-bin's flattery with a slight shake of his head, his expression calm but resolute. "Mr. Yoon, you're too kind. I'm working on a speech draft, so let's cut to the chase—what's Gao Sheng's purpose here?"
Yoon's smile widened, undeterred by Minho's directness. "A young hero, decisive and sharp. No wonder you pulled Hansung Technology from the brink of collapse to new heights."
He paused, leaning forward slightly, his tone shifting to business. "Our research at Gaosheng Investment shows Hansung's explosive growth. But your new factory's scale-up has left you with a funding gap—hundreds of millions of won. We're here to offer support, to help Hansung soar."
Minho nodded, unsurprised. Gao Sheng's visit was no charity; they sniffed profit. Hansung's 180,000 monthly phone sales, aiming for 1 million, and its summit buzz—amplified by MaumNet's walnut-smashing lore—had drawn their gaze. They wanted a stake, an angel investment to lock in future billions at today's low valuation.
"I'm grateful for Gao Sheng's confidence," Minho said, bowing slightly, his voice steady. "But Hansung has no plans to take on new shareholders at this time."
The rejection was polite but firm. Hansung's cash crunch was real—9 billion won for equipment, 2 billion for factory construction and upgrades, totaling an 11-billion-won shortfall. At 4,000 won profit per Labor Edition 2 phone, Minho needed to sell 2.75 million units to cover it. Worse, the contract demanded payment within six weeks of factory completion. Failure meant the equipment supplier dismantling the production line, leaving an empty shell and Minho's reputation in tatters as a reckless dreamer.
But Minho wasn't desperate. Commercial loans—magic that let him "spend tomorrow's money today"—were his lifeline. With loans secured, Hansung could build its 12-million-unit-a-year factory without selling equity. Why let Gao Sheng snatch a slice of a company poised for mutant-like growth? Every percentage point ceded now would haunt him as Hansung's valuation soared.
Gao Sheng's "help" wasn't aid—it was a bid to own Minho's future. Their track record, glimpsed via the *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System*, showed firms bled dry, founders sidelined. Even their perks—market access, global networks—weren't worth the leash. Minho preferred slow, steady control over Gao Sheng's gilded cage.
Yoon's eyes flickered, his smile turning cryptic. "Mr. Park, you might not be seeing the full picture."
"Enlighten me," Minho said, leaning back, curious but wary.
Yoon's voice lowered, a hint of menace beneath his polish. "Our intel says every major phone maker—KyungTech, Amoi, TLC, even Saehan—are racing to launch their own ultra-low-cost phones for rural workers."
Minho's brow furrowed, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He hadn't expected the giants to move so fast. But after a moment's thought, it clicked. Hansung's Labor Edition 2, priced at 29,900 won, had cracked open a new market—rural laborers, farmers, migrants. Its durability, signal strength, and week-long battery life, paired with a price half the industry's norm, made it a runaway hit. Minho's 180,000 monthly sales proved the demand.
On paper, low-end phones seemed unexciting. At 2,000 to 4,000 won profit per unit, versus 20,000-30,000 won for mid-tier phones, the margins looked slim. Why bother when one mid-range sale equaled ten low-end ones? But Yoon's intel revealed the giants' calculus. Low-end didn't mean low-profit—not at scale.
Minho's mind raced, piecing it together. A 7% gross margin on a 29,900-won phone yielded 2,000 won for small players like Hansung. But giants like Saehan, with massive orders, could haggle down component costs—screens, chips, batteries. Their scale and semi-automated lines slashed production overheads. For them, margins could hit 20%, or 6,000-7,000 won per phone. In capitalist terms, as Minho recalled from a theory glimpsed in his system, 20% profit made markets "active." Giants weren't just chasing trends—they were salivating.
Saehan's Xu Hua, Minho's summit nemesis, was no fool. His low-cost model, teased in Yoon's warning, aimed to flood the market, crushing Hansung's niche. KyungTech, Amoi, TLC—they'd follow, leveraging their scale to undercut Minho's 29,900-won price or match its durability. Hansung's first-mover edge was thinning fast.
Yoon watched Minho's silence, his smile sharpening. "The giants are coming, Mr. Park. Hansung's a spark, but without fuel—our fuel—you'll be smothered. We can give you the capital to scale faster, secure suppliers, even push into chips. Your summit talk was bold, but dreams need money."
Minho's jaw tightened. Yoon wasn't wrong—the giants' entry changed the game. Saehan's resources dwarfed Hansung's; Xu Hua's summit attacks were a prelude to a market war. But Gao Sheng's offer was a trap. Their "fuel" came with shackles—equity grabs, board control, strategic strings. Minho's system gave Hansung an edge: unmatched phone designs, scalable tech. Loans, not investors, would keep him free.
"Thanks for the heads-up," Minho said, his voice cool. "But Hansung's path is set. We'll scale our way, compete our way. The giants don't scare us."
Yoon's smile faltered, a flicker of irritation breaking through. "Bold words. But Saehan's not your only threat. The market's brutal, and Gao Sheng's offer won't stay open forever. Think carefully, Mr. Park."
Minho stood, signaling the end. "I will. Thanks for stopping by."
Yoon rose, his polish intact but strained. "We'll be watching Hansung closely. Good luck tomorrow." He left, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Minho shut the door, heart pounding. Gao Sheng's visit wasn't just a pitch—it was a warning shot. Yoon's intel about Saehan and the giants confirmed Minho's fears: Hansung's low-end niche was now a battlefield. Xu Hua's summit hostility made sense—he saw Hansung as a threat worth crushing. Gao Sheng's offer, timed to exploit Minho's funding gap, was predatory, banking on his desperation.
But Minho wasn't desperate. His factory, loan-funded, would hit 12 million units a year. The *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System* ensured Hansung's phones—durable, cheap, tailored—stayed ahead. MaumNet's buzz, with tales of walnut-smashing toughness, was free marketing. Hansung's 180,000 monthly sales, climbing fast, gave him leverage.
Tomorrow's speech session loomed larger now. Ni Kwang-soo's nod was Minho's lifeline to a slot, but Xu Hua's elite allies could still block him. A killer speech—unveiling Industry 4.0, tying Hansung to Korea's chip-driven future—could make Hansung untouchable, dwarfing Saehan's moves. The giants' low-end push was a threat, but Minho saw opportunity. If Hansung scaled faster, locked in rural loyalty, it could hold the niche against Saehan's flood.
Minho returned to his draft, pen flying. Yoon's visit, Xu Hua's war, the giants' shadow—they were obstacles, but Minho knew the detour. His speech would shock the summit, win the nation, and keep Gao Sheng at bay. Hansung's rise was his to forge, and Korea would see it.
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(end of this chapter)