The Busan Industry Summit's auditorium crackled with tension as Yang Joon-ho's outburst echoed, his finger jabbing at Park Minho on the stage. "A high school dropout!" Yang sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "What qualifies you to lecture us on the Fourth Industrial Revolution? You're wasting the time of every boss here and millions watching on TV. Step down—for everyone's sake!"
Yang's face burned with righteous fury, but his eyes betrayed jealousy. Minho's rise—from a Gyeonggi nobody to a summit star—gnawed at him. Handing Minho the mic on day one had been his mistake, launching Hansung's boss into the spotlight. Now, Minho stood before Korea's elite, TV cameras beaming his face nationwide, while Yang seethed in the shadows. Black or red, fame was fame, and Yang craved it—even if it meant this desperate stunt.
Minho met Yang's glare with a pitying glance, his *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System* keeping him steady. "Mr. Yang, I'm baffled. How did someone with your… intellect build a company worth billions? Was it all connections?" His tone was calm, cutting deeper for it.
Laughter rippled through the crowd, bosses stifling grins, TV viewers chuckling. Yang's face reddened, his attack backfiring. He'd hoped to shame Minho, but the kid's cool retort made him look petty.
"You!" Yang sputtered. "This isn't about me! You're a dropout—no college, no credentials. You dare talk industrial revolutions? I'm calling you out for the fraud you are!"
The jury panel bristled. Ni Kwang-soo and Academician Choi, rocket design luminary, exchanged frowns. Yang's timing—disrupting Minho's Industry 4.0 speech—was infuriating. They'd been riveted, eager for Minho's vision, only for this tantrum to derail it.
Choi grabbed the mic, his voice sharp. "Mr. Yang, respect the stage. Minho's speaking. Your interruption is out of line."
Ni piled on, his tone biting. "Exactly. Some people lack basic decorum, picking fights at the worst moments. Not afraid of looking foolish, are they?"
Yang's face cycled from red to pale. Two Hanbit Academy academicians—national treasures—were mocking him on live TV. He hadn't expected this. The jury's clout was immense, but Yang, fueled by envy, doubled down. "I'm protecting everyone's interests! This dropout's unfit for this stage, spouting nonsense about revolutions. He needs a degree first!"
The crowd gasped. Yang's pivot to Minho's education was a low blow, calculated to discredit. In Korea, credentials mattered—a high school dropout preaching tech sounded absurd to many. Whispers spread; TV viewers' expectations dipped. Was Minho a fraud after all?
Before Minho could respond, Choi's voice boomed, laced with anger. "His qualifications aren't your call—they're ours."
Yang smirked, sensing an opening. "Oh? So it's the jury's bias? You let him on stage because of your status, not his merit. This reeks of favoritism! I'll expose this shady deal!"
The room froze. Yang's accusation—calling out academicians for corruption—was reckless. Attacking ordinary suits was one thing, but Ni and Choi? They were Hanbit Academy giants, symbols of Korea's scientific pride. The crowd's mood shifted; anger replaced amusement. Technical directors, industry backbones in the audience, glared at Yang. How dare he insult national treasures?
Ni stood, his voice thunderous. "Yes, we're Hanbit Academy academicians. And yes, we back Minho—not because of favoritism, but because his knowledge and vision surpass your comprehension."
Choi joined in, his tone fierce. "Minho's a dropout, sure. But his ideas—triple play, chips, Industry 4.0—are sharper than most graduates'. His logic's tight, his patriotism burns. We endorsed him because his insights matter, not his diploma. That's why he's up there, and you're not. Clear enough?"
The auditorium erupted in murmurs, then applause. Yang shrank back, his bravado crumbling. The academicians' defense wasn't just a rebuke—it was a coronation. Minho, a 19-year-old dropout, had the backing of Korea's top minds. Cameras zoomed in, capturing his calm stance, the crowd's awe, the jury's resolve. MaumNet would explode tonight with this moment.
Minho, heart pounding, seized the pause. "Thank you, Academicians Ni and Choi. Let's return to Industry 4.0." His voice was steady, reclaiming the stage. "It's not a theory—it's Korea's future. Smart factories, AI, IoT, all chip-driven. It's machines that learn, supply chains that think, production that adapts. Hansung's Labor Edition 2—built for rural Korea, tough as nails—is our first step. Chips are next, for Industry 4.0, for Korea."
The crowd leaned in, Yang forgotten. Ni nodded, eyes gleaming; Choi scribbled furiously. Xu Hua, Saehan's boss, clenched his fists—Minho's vision dwarfed his low-cost phone ploy. Big Kim of AliKor clapped, impressed. The technical directors, initially jealous, now stared with a mix of envy and respect. *This* was a man's stage—facing down a rival, backed by titans, speaking to millions.
Minho pressed on. "Korea's giants—Saehan, TLC—are copying our low-end phones. Let them. The real race is chips, the heart of Industry 4.0. Hansung's scaling to 12 million units, investing in R&D. We're not chasing the West—we're detouring to the peak."
Applause roared, louder than before. TV viewers, glued to screens, felt pride swell. A dropout, backed by academicians, was rewriting Korea's tech story. Yang slumped, his "black fame" a flop. Xu Hua's scowl deepened; Gao Sheng's Yoon, watching remotely, cursed—Minho's speech was a fortress, shielding Hansung from their schemes.
Minho closed strong. "Industry 4.0 is Korea's destiny—smart, self-reliant, chip-driven. Hansung's building that future. Join us."
The room stood, clapping wildly. Ni and Choi led the ovation, their faith vindicated. Media flashed, capturing a 19-year-old legend. MaumNet would burn with posts: *Genius dropout! Hansung's king!* Hansung's 180,000 monthly sales, its walnut-smashing phone, its 12-million-unit factory—they were no longer Gyeonggi's secret. Minho had made them Korea's hope.
Offstage, Minho exhaled, the *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System* humming in his mind. Yang's attack, Xu Hua's war, Gao Sheng's shadow—they'd tried to bury him. But Ni's trust, Choi's fire, the crowd's roar—they'd lifted him. The mobile market war loomed, with Saehan and giants circling. Yet Minho saw the path. Hansung wasn't just a company—it was a movement, and Korea was his stage.
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(end of this chapter)