POV: Lee Jae‑woon
The floor‑to‑ceiling windows of Lee Jae‑woon's corner office looked out over the Han River, where dawn's pale light danced on rippling water. The boardroom across the hall was already humming with early arrivals—directors clutching tablets, assistants balancing portfolios of printed reports, security officers scanning credentials at the door. But here, in his sanctuary, everything was ordered: the polished obsidian desk, the single bonsai tree precisely trimmed, the rows of leather‑bound ledgers that chronicled LJW Group's century of triumph.
He stood behind his desk, black‑tipped fingers brushing over a slim leather portfolio. Inside lay two items: the gala program from last night, and the transcript of Ha‑young's presentation—converted to text by his executive assistant. He had seen her briefly backstage, her chest rising and falling with excitement, Yoo‑ra beaming beside her. But tonight belonged to him; he had delivered the keynote, revealing the ambitious new educational grants he would channel through the LJW Foundation. The standing ovation he had received was predictable. Her applause—genuine and unexpected—was not.
He ran a thumb across the gala program, pausing at the page featuring Ha‑young's smiling portrait. "Kang Ha‑young, MiraWell." He arched a brow. A marketing manager from a mid‑tier food company, now appended to his own foundation's banner. In that moment onstage, she had embodied grace under pressure—her voice steady, her words infused with personal resonance.
He closed the portfolio with a soft snap. Emotions were a liability. Yet he could not dismiss that sense of… intrigue. He poured himself a cup of black coffee—no sugar, no cream—and inhaled its bitter aroma. Tactical assessment: she was resourceful, quick on her feet. Last week's boardroom pitch had impressed him; last night's gala speech had surprised him. A pattern was emerging that warranted further investigation.
His assistant, Park Eun‑sook, tapped at the door and entered, carrying a tablet. Her discreet efficiency suited her role as his chief advisor. "Good morning, Chairman Lee. The board is assembled and awaiting your merger proposal overview."
He nodded, setting the coffee aside. "Thank you, Eun‑sook. Please inform Ms. Kang that we'll begin promptly at nine."
Eun‑sook inclined her head. "Understood."
As she left, he surveyed the room once more. This partnership with MiraWell had the potential to expand LJW Foods' wholesale reach into the burgeoning "fusion snack" market—a realm he had previously written off as trivial. But Ha‑young's pilot data and persuasive storytelling had shifted his calculus. In business, as in life, first impressions could be deceiving.
LJW Group Headquarters, Boardroom
The boardroom was a cathedral of glass and steel: a long table of polished onyx seats twenty, backed by screens streaming global financial tickers. The directors settled into their chairs as Ha‑young entered, trailing her own aura of composed determination. Her burgundy gown, tailored to professional modesty, contrasted sharply with the masculine austerity around her.
Jae‑woon stood at the head of the table, expression unreadable. Director Shin, CFO Seo Phillip, and a half‑dozen senior executives—each was a piece on the corporate chessboard. Sunlight glinted off their pens and paperweights, setting the mood to cutthroat.
"Good morning," Jae‑woon said, voice steady. "Let's begin."
Ha‑young opened her laptop at the far end of the table, plugging in the HDMI cable. A chime sounded, and the first slide appeared on the two large displays: the same "Fusion Flavors" deck she had defended in the MiraWell conference room. She had fine‑tuned it overnight—updated figures, sharper infographics, a revised rollout schedule.
She took a breath and launched into her introduction. "Thank you for this opportunity. I'm Kang Ha‑young, and MiraWell proposes the following three‑phase merger strategy…"
As she spoke, Jae‑woon studied her profile—how her dark hair caught the light, the graceful tilt of her chin, the precision with which she navigated complex data. He recognized a competence that mirrored his own: meticulous preparation, persuasive delivery, and a knack for anticipating objections. Yet, where he was clinical, she was soulful.
When she advanced to the financial projections, projecting revenue curves into 2027, he leaned forward. "Your growth assumption—50% year‑over‑year—seems optimistic. What contingencies have you built in if pilot markets plateau?"
Ha‑young tilted her gaze toward him, unwavering. "We've modeled a conservative case at 30% growth, accounting for supply‑chain delays and regulatory approvals. Even under that scenario, the net present value exceeds our investment threshold by 12%."
Director Shin exchanged a glance with Phillip. Eun‑sook scribbled notes. The room held its breath.
Jae‑woon inclined his head once. "Noted. But these are best‑case supply‑chain forecasts. MiraWell operates regionally; LJW Foods spans continents. Have you considered exchange‑rate volatility, tariff fluctuations, and international shipping bottlenecks in your costing model?"
She nodded, transition to the next slide seamless. "Yes. We've hedged currency exposure through forward contracts and allocated a 5% buffer for logistical variances. Our partner negotiations include clauses for force majeure in the event of maritime disruptions."
He raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. And your marketing campaign—Slide 14—appears to rely heavily on digital influencers. Their compliance rates can be unpredictable. What's your fallback if key influencers deliver sub‑par engagement?"
Ha‑young's fingers tapped the clicker, pausing for dramatic effect. "We maintain relationships with over forty micro‑influencers across Asia. If primary engagement dips below benchmarks, we reallocate budget to secondary markets—India, Australia, Southeast Asia—where our sentiment analysis shows higher receptivity."
He exhaled slowly. She had anticipated every objection he could muster. For a moment, he felt the thrill of a worthy opponent.
"Very well," he said, voice neutral. "And organizationally—post‑merger—how do you propose aligning our corporate cultures? LJW Group is structured top‑down; MiraWell values grassroots creativity."
She met his gaze evenly. "I recommend a two‑tier management council—senior leads from both organizations—supplemented by rotating creative workshops for mid‑level staff. This hybrid structure fosters innovation while maintaining executive oversight."
A murmur rippled around the table. It was a good plan. Too good, perhaps.
Phillip cleared his throat. "Chairman, Ms. Kang's approach seems comprehensive. But as the potential majority stakeholder, we require final approval from the board of directors."
Jae‑woon's lips curved into the faintest smile—an expression few ever saw. "Indeed. Board, you have the materials. I propose we proceed to a vote."
He scanned the faces before him. Each nodded, pens hovering over signature pages.
Then, at the far corner, Ha‑young raised her hand. The directors paused.
"Yes, Ms. Kang?"
Her voice was calm but carried weight. "Chairman Lee, if I may—there is one more consideration. We've visualized the rollout in five major metropolitan areas, but the data shows rural markets—Southeast Anatolia, inland Philippines—could yield twice the impact per capita relative to investment. If we seed pilot community kitchens in those regions, the social return on investment will enhance our joint foundation's brand equity globally."
Jae‑woon's eyes narrowed, not in irritation, but in impressed intrigue. Most presenters would not presume to address him at the vote stage. Most presenters would balk under his glare.
He inclined his head. "An intriguing point. Board, please consider this amendment before finalizing."
As the amendments were drafted and signatories prepared to sign, Ha‑young exhaled, meeting his eyes briefly. There was no flirtation in that glance—only mutual recognition of strategic acumen.
The votes were cast. The merger plan passed unanimously.
The room exhaled. Directors began to pack away documents; laptops snapped shut. Ha‑young rose to leave, collecting her bag.
Jae‑woon paused. "Ms. Kang, a word?"
She turned at his desk, where he stood, manner formal yet not unkind.
"You handled yourself well," he said quietly. "Few newcomers can navigate my inquiries with such poise."
Her cheeks warmed, though she kept her expression neutral. "Thank you, Chairman Lee."
He picked up a slim file from his desk drawer—her résumé, her performance review, a dossier his private secretary had compiled after the gala. He laid it on the desk between them. "I'd like you to consult exclusively for LJW Group on this project, in addition to your role at MiraWell. Are you amenable?"
Her breath caught. Past junior colleagues had leaped at such offers—luxury cars, corner offices, none of it lasting. She studied the file cover, her name embossed in the header. "I… I'd be honored," she said, recovering swiftly. "But I'll need MiraWell's approval."
He inclined his head. "Of course. I'll handle the paperwork." He extended his hand. "Welcome aboard."
She stood, hand poised, then hesitated—her eyes flicking to his. "Thank you, sir."
They shook hands. His grip was firm, his gaze direct. As she turned to leave, he added, "I expect your full brief on the rural initiative by noon tomorrow."
"I'll have it on your desk," she promised.
She departed. The door closed with a soft click.
Jae‑woon's Office, Moments Later
Alone again, Jae‑woon closed his eyes and leaned back against the leather seat. The rhythmic tapping of his pen on the portfolio signaled contemplation. He replayed the morning's events: every pointed question she had answered, the moments she had anticipated his challenges, the way her eyes had sparked when discussing social impact.
He poured the remainder of his coffee into a glass tumbler, added ice, and sipped. Cold clarity. Emotion was a luxury he couldn't afford—yet he felt a curious pull. She was more than a brilliant presenter; she was an alchemist who turned data into narrative, statistics into stories. She wielded warmth as effectively as he commanded austerity.
He opened the file before him—her résumé. Education at Yonsei, top of her class; five years climbing the marketing ladder; decorated with merit awards. A prodigy of perseverance. He closed the dossier and stood, walking to the window. Below, the city churned—taxis honking, pedestrians hurrying, neon signs flickering already against the waking sky.
He tapped his cufflink, a habit when deep in thought. Tomorrow, she would deliver the expanded rural pilot proposal. And he would listen—closely. If her vision held, this merger could redefine the LJW brand as the first chaebol to embrace community‑centered growth, not just bottom‑line profit.
He turned away from the window, mind made up. There was work to be done—contracts to draw, initiatives to plan, teams to align. But somewhere in that ledger of obligations, he resolved to carve out space for… something new. A collaboration with Ha‑young would not merely be a corporate strategy. It might become the most consequential decision of his life.
He tapped the intercom. "Eun‑sook, schedule a private dinner tonight. Two guests."
"Understood, Chairman."
He allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile. The storm had only just begun.