Only I, Yoo Ha-yeon, can save South Korea from its current state of despair.
‘A little embarrassing to say out loud, but it’s true.’
Naturally, the reason is... I’m the one who plunged it into despair in the first place.
People who manufacture poison tend to prepare the antidote, too. It was hard, but after ten years of effort, I pulled it off.
Well done, Yoo Ha-yeon.
Of course, I won’t get cocky. I’ll grit my teeth and do absolutely everything I can.
“...Miss, if I recall correctly, didn’t you once say that Korea still had potential? That if it were truly a doomed country, people wouldn’t have tried so hard to push it in that direction. I think that’s what you said.”
“Good memory. Yeah, it’ll crawl back up on its own, even if I weren’t around. It’d take longer, but it would get there eventually.”
But right now, Koreans don’t know that.
So... if I take charge of the post-IMF recovery, I’ll get all the credit. That’s how the people at the top work—they take responsibility for problems that aren’t theirs, and in return, they take the rewards too.
“Terrifying. Truly terrifying. It’s like we’re seeing the end of democracy. I’m afraid we’ll wake up one day and find ourselves in the Republic of Yoo Ha-yeon.”
“Well... democracy was never that universal to begin with, right? Just look at Thailand. They’ve still got a constitutional monarchy, and because their kings used to govern well, the royal family’s authority is massive. I’m only hoping for a level slightly below that.”
“Mm-hm, so our young miss wants to be a living god.... If we end up in a country where even foreigners get jailed for insulting Yoo Ha-yeon, I’m going to start thinking of that place a little north of here.”
“...”
I briefly imagined my face plastered over one of those northern propaganda posters and realized... it wasn’t that far-fetched.
Which made it even more unsettling.
“...Ji-yeon, come on, you’re not losing anything from this. Don’t worry too much. And hey, we’re on vacation, remember? We still need to go back and visit the Berlin Wall we smashed last time, and stop by the Eiffel Tower too.”
“Pfft, you brought up work first. If you really meant that, you shouldn’t have opened the newspaper.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Of course it is. Anyway, once this Europe trip is over, you’re heading straight back to Korea, right?”
“Yeah. I was thinking of swinging by Japan for sushi, but I’ll save that for another time.”
I nodded, recalling what still needed to be done in Europe.
Technically, this trip had been part business too. But there wasn’t much left to do in Japan yet. The important things—like the acquisition of Yamaiichi Securities—were being handled by Ha Joo-seong or Ji-yeon’s dad. I didn’t really need to show up personally.
Korea, on the other hand, had a long list of things only I could do.
[Special Feature on Yoo Ha-yeon... A Look into Her Elementary School Years]
[Head of Daehwa Group’s Semiconductor Research Lab emphasizes, “Miss Yoo Ha-yeon used to frequent the lab as a child,” highlighting her genius...]
[“Korea’s Da Vinci” Yoo Ha-yeon Expected to Return in June!]
Even in Europe, I’d kept up with Korean newspapers. As I skimmed through the headlines, I shook my head.
I did like attention, but this was starting to get ridiculous.
***
June 15th, 1997.
Returning from Europe, I was greeted by a massive welcoming crowd.
“We’re from Daehwa Group! May we ask a question? What are your thoughts on the current nationwide popularity you’re enjoying?! There’s growing concern that the ‘Yoo Ha-yeon Syndrome’ is becoming overheated!”
“This is Han Seo-in from Dongseo Ilbo! There are claims from Daehwa Group’s internal labs that you showed extraordinary genius as a child—specifically at the semiconductor lab. But others say your genius is exaggerated due to the lab trying to please Daehwa—what do you say to that—”
“Excuse us, coming through! Please conduct interviews at the designated venue!”
My bodyguards pushed through the throng of reporters, forming a wall.
I frowned slightly at the pack of journalists swarming like they were ready to devour me, and beside me, Seo Ji-yeon shot them a look sharp enough to kill.
“Get out, Yoo Ha-yeon, puppet of the chaebols! Down with corruption!!!”
–Thwack!
“Hey! Drag that commie bastard out of here!”
“S-Sorry! We’ll take care of this!”
When someone hurled an egg at me, it was actually kind of funny how the same journalists who had been swarming like wild dogs suddenly backed off in horror and handled the situation themselves.
Well, none of these media outlets or news agencies are free of Daehwa Group’s funding anyway.
I praised the bodyguard who’d taken the egg for me and turned my head. I recognized a familiar label on one reporter’s voice recorder.
“This is reporter Lee Seong-yeon from Sangam Ilbo! May I ask a quick question?”
“Ah, go ahead.”
Right. Sangam Ilbo is practically a direct affiliate of Daehwa Group.
As I smiled gently, I felt the mixed stares of envy and resignation hitting me from all sides.
If they’re that bitter, maybe they should try marrying into our family... or maybe not.
Still, those earlier reporters were way too rude.
“They say you made a fortune working for a hedge fund on Wall Street. Is it alright to ask how much you made and what you plan to do with that money?”
I gave him a bright smile and answered.
“Great question. Hmm. Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to make official comments that could lead to portfolio disclosures, per my hedge fund agreement. Some media outlets are quoting outlandish figures, but... I can say I earned enough to even surprise my grandfather.”
“...!”
For reference, Korean media outlets were estimating my net worth at somewhere between 3 and 5 billion dollars. The financial press even speculated it might be over 20 billion.
They’d probably just taken Collins’ official report about “Director Yoo Ha-yeon’s 20 billion dollar earnings” and ran with it.... The methods had changed, but the outcome was more or less accurate.
Still, the journalists gathered here didn’t seem to believe the tabloids about Yoo Ha-yeon’s fortune. Probably because they knew how much bullshit they themselves printed.
Makes sense—Chairman Yoo Seong-pil’s wealth is estimated at around 4 to 6 billion dollars.
These frogs in the well keep croaking about how unrealistic everything is while covering their ears and eyes.
“Anyway, since you’re a Sangam Ilbo reporter, you probably already know everything.... But you still don’t look convinced? What’s wrong, is it hard to believe a young girl like me has that much money?”
“N-No! Not at all!”
“Mm-hmm, I hope not. A journalist can’t afford to have such a narrow perspective, after all... And what was your second question again? What I plan to do with the money? I haven’t really decided yet.”
Leaning in slightly, I whispered playfully.
“As you know, I have quite a bit of money. Honestly, I worry more about whether there’s anywhere worthy of receiving it. From the looks of recent articles, it feels like people expect me to single-handedly save Korea’s economy or something.
...Isn’t that right, Reporter Lee Seong-yeon? You’ve only been at Sangam Ilbo for three years. I saw how hard you were digging into my elementary school days. I was honestly a bit embarrassed.”
“Ah! M-Miss! I—I’ve committed an unforgivable sin—”
I noticed the envious stares around me shift into ones of sympathy and curiosity. I let ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) out a quiet laugh and patted his shoulder.
“I’m not going to kill you, relax. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m the right person to be in charge of economic development... but our people are having a hard time right now. I can spin up a few factories. Let’s say, around a billion dollars of investment?”
With a bright smile, I turned and walked toward the person who’d been restrained earlier.
“M-Miss, it’s dangerous!”
“No, it’s fine. I trust our security.”
Since I’d come straight from a trip, I wasn’t in formalwear but in a breezy summer dress. High heels, a low-cut neckline, bare shoulders and collarbone—it was quite revealing.
Even with cold sweat pouring down, I found it amusing—and satisfying—how some eyes kept drifting toward my chest. I was in a good mood, despite the crowd.
Look at that guy over there, glaring at me like he wants to kill me. And yet when I lean forward, his eyes naturally follow my cleavage.
Mmh. I guess my claustrophobia has improved quite a bit. That’s good.
“So? Why’d you throw the egg?”
I looked at the scruffy young man with innocent, unblinking eyes.
“...”
“Come on, say something. I mean, I have a pretty good guess. You graduated from Hanyang Institute of Technology, joined a construction firm, right? Class of ‘89. Hmm... I forget the exact name, but your last name’s Jung, right? Jung Sang-guk, or something like that.”
“W-What... How do you—?!”
Finally, the shock hit his face.
“That earlier comment of yours? Kind of rubbed me the wrong way. ‘Puppet,’ really? Do I look like I’ve got someone pulling my strings? Are you afraid of some petty landlord ruling over a fragment of a corner of East Asia?”
Looking around and seeing how the atmosphere had frozen stiff, I chuckled in delight. Even the bodyguards were stunned—definitely something to scold them for later.
“Um, excuse me... May I ask how you knew all that about him just now?”
A reporter from Dongseo Ilbo, finally recovering some journalistic instinct, thrust a mic toward me.
“Hm? Oh, it’s one of the ways I made money. Simple. I memorized the names of everyone who got into any remotely prestigious university. Every single Korean. I live in the U.S. now, so I’m a bit rusty, but I can still do this much.”
“That... what are you even—”
“Why are you all looking at me like that? I keep up with the news, and I’m well-versed in the press. Wanna test me? Reporter Han Seo-in from Dongseo Ilbo—two years in the company, major in Korean Literature at Korea University, class of ‘91, right? And the Daehwa Group reporter over there, your name is...?”
“...Kim Cheol-sang.”
“Oh my, that name has a few duplicates. But if it’s Daehwa Group, your academic background must be top-tier. Let’s say Seoul National, maybe? There’s one in the class of ‘87 and another at Yonsei, class of ‘88... You’re the Seoul National one, right?”
“...Yes.”
In the frozen silence, I muttered lightly.
“See, this is why I always said we need to revise our personal information protection laws. People in this country are just too careless about security.”
For some reason, no one asked me again how I made my money.
A bit of a shame, really.