Park Minho felt the weight of Yoon Woo-bin's words settle like a stone in his chest. A 20% profit margin on low-cost phones for rural workers wasn't just viable—it was a gold rush. Giants like Saehan, KyungTech, Amoi, and TLC were mobilizing, their R&D teams racing to mimic Hansung's Labor Edition 2. Minho's 29,900-won phone, with its walnut-smashing durability and viral buzz on MaumNet, had cracked open a lucrative niche. Now, the sharks were circling.
Yoon, sensing Minho's pause, pressed his case with earnest intensity. "Mr. Park, I strongly urge you to accept Gao Sheng's investment. With our capital, you could acquire established factories, ramp up production, and flood the national market with Labor Edition 2 before the giants crush you. Seize the first-mover advantage while it's yours."
Minho's jaw tightened. Yoon wasn't lying—Hansung faced a tsunami. A single rival copying his low-end model was manageable, but all major players? Saehan alone, led by summit foe Xu Hua, could leverage its scale to undercut Hansung's price or match its toughness. KyungTech's supply chains, Amoi's brand, TLC's reach—they'd swarm the rural market Minho had pioneered. Hansung's 180,000 monthly sales, scaling to 1 million, were impressive but fragile against chaebol might.
Yet, Yoon's optimism about Hansung intrigued Minho. Gao Sheng's research wasn't casual; they'd scouted Hansung's Gyeonggi operations, studied Minho's summit performance, and pegged him as a wildcard. Yoon saw Minho as a potential titan, a bigger threat to Saehan than even TLC, the second-ranked phone maker. That flattered Minho, but it also sharpened his wariness. Gao Sheng didn't bet on sentiment—they wanted Hansung's future profits, cheap.
"Thank you for the intel and Gao Sheng's faith in us," Minho said, bowing slightly, his voice steady. "But Hansung has no plans to take on shareholders at this time."
Yoon's face stayed neutral, but a flicker of calculation passed through his eyes. "A pity," he said, his tone flat. Inside, he sneered. *This kid thinks he's untouchable, but he's clueless about the world's weight.* Yoon's mind churned with plans to humble Minho, to make him beg for Gao Sheng's cash.
Handing Minho a business card, Yoon smiled thinly. "If you reconsider, Mr. Park, call me. I'd be thrilled to help Hansung grow." His warmth was a mask. Like a viper, Yoon hid his intent—to wound Minho's company, drive it to desperation, then swoop in for a bargain stake. His "ultimate goal" wasn't partnership; it was control. Minho's rejection had marked him as prey.
Minho took the card, nodding politely. "Thank you." He closed the door with a firm *click*, shaking his head. Rejecting Gao Sheng, the "vampire" shadowing global markets, was a gamble. Their reach was vast, their wrath subtle but vicious. In Korea, they couldn't crush him outright—this was a nation that prized its sovereignty, its people's will. But they could fund his rivals, pumping cash into Saehan or TLC, turning Hansung's market fight into a bloodbath.
Minho wasn't naive. Gao Sheng's retaliation would likely be financial, not personal. They were profit-driven, not vindictive; they wouldn't burn billions just to spite him. If Hansung grew fast enough—scaling to 12 million units a year, locking in rural loyalty with the *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System*'s peerless designs—Gao Sheng's meddling wouldn't matter. Speed was Minho's shield.
He returned to his speech draft, the summit's final session looming. Ni Kwang-soo's support gave him a shot at a slot, but Xu Hua's elite allies and now Gao Sheng's shadow added stakes. A killer speech—unveiling Industry 4.0, tying Hansung to Korea's tech destiny—could make him untouchable, dwarfing Saehan's market moves and Gao Sheng's schemes.
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**Noon, May 25, 2004**
The summit's third day wrapped its morning discussions, and the jury panel—industry titans and academics—gathered for lunch. As they awaited their meal, chatter filled the room, ranging from tech trends to summit gossip. Suddenly, the table fell silent. Ni Kwang-soo, the revered Hanbit Academy academician, stood, his presence commanding respect.
"Colleagues," Ni began, his voice measured, "today's sessions are done. This afternoon's speech session is our finale, where CEOs share their visions. I propose we invite Park Minho of Hansung Technology to speak."
Murmurs stirred. Academician Choi, a rocket design expert and Ni's ally, nodded. "Minho's sharp. His triple play and producer-to-powerhouse pitches were bold. Sure, they're tough to execute—years off, maybe—but his thinking's fresh. He's a promising young man."
A third juror, an older man with a stern, bureaucratic air, shook his head. "The speech session's the summit's crown jewel, drawing every major outlet in Korea. Every word, every slip, will be broadcast nationwide. If Minho—a reckless kid—says something rash, we'll all pay the price. He's too young, too untested. He shouldn't speak."
The table tensed. The man's objection, cloaked in concern, reeked of gatekeeping. Calling Minho "reckless" and implying he'd babble like a toddler was absurd—Minho's summit answers were surgical, outshining many tycoons. Was this Xu Hua's influence, or Gao Sheng's? Minho's rejection of Yoon's offer might've rippled to elite ears, painting him as a troublemaker.
Ni's eyes narrowed, but he stayed calm. "Minho's youth is his strength, not a flaw. His ideas—chips, automation—align with Korea's future. Excluding him for age is shortsighted. The speech session's for visionaries, not just safe bets."
Choi nodded. "He's earned a chance. His chip speech alone sparked national debate. Let him prove himself."
The stern juror scoffed. "Debate's fine, but the stage is for leaders, not upstarts. He runs a Gyeonggi minnow—300,000 units sold, barely a blip. What if he pushes Industry 4.0 and it flops? We'll look foolish endorsing him."
Another juror, a neutral voice, spoke up. "Ni's right—youth isn't a disqualifier. But we need balance. Minho's ideas are bold, but unproven. If we give him a slot, we limit others. Who do we cut? Saehan's Xu Hua? TLC's boss? They've got scale, track records."
The debate heated, splitting the panel. Ni and Choi championed Minho's potential, citing his summit impact and MaumNet's buzz. The opposition, led by the stern juror, leaned on hierarchy—Minho's small stature, his "risky" ideas. Unspoken was the pressure from elites like Xu Hua, wary of Hansung's rise, or even Gao Sheng, whose tentacles might've nudged this resistance.
Minho, unaware, finalized his speech draft in his hotel room. Industry 4.0—smart factories, chip-driven ecosystems—was his ace, a vision to dazzle Korea and cement Hansung's name. Ni's advocacy was his lifeline, but the jury's divide showed the odds. Xu Hua's market war, Gao Sheng's shadow, the giants' low-end push—they were closing in. Yet, Minho saw the detour. If he spoke, he'd shock the summit, win the nation, and outrun them all. Hansung's future burned bright, and he'd fight for it.
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(end of this chapter)