Under normal circumstances, a small-time boss like Park Minho would be welcomed at the Hilton with open arms, flattered and fussed over. But during the Busan Industry Summit, with industry titans flooding the city, the hotel was playing hardball. They needed to reserve rooms for the big shots to avoid ruffling feathers, so they weren't letting just anyone check in.
Staying at the Hilton now required "qualifications"—a hard metric of your company's clout and status. With limited premium rooms, they were saved for the elite. Even if the hotel was half-empty, those suites were earmarked for industry giants and their entourages, whether they'd booked yet or not. Minho, a nobody in their eyes, could've offered triple the rate, and they wouldn't have budged.
Hansung Technology's modest size and lack of fame made Minho a target for their disdain. He was being looked down on, plain and simple.
The commotion with Secretary Chen Ho drew eyes, and a polished man—likely the lobby manager—approached with a practiced smile. "I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience. As a gesture, how about we offer you a standard room?"
"Let's go, Chen Ho," Minho said, his face tight with restrained anger.
Arguing was pointless—it'd only deepen the humiliation. A true leader didn't waste breath on petty slights. He proved his worth with actions, not words. Minho would let his success do the talking.
As he and Chen Ho exited the hotel, a distinguished middle-aged man stepped out of a sleek car, glancing curiously at Minho's retreating figure. The lobby manager, spotting the new arrival, hurried over and bowed deeply. "Welcome back to the Hilton, Mr. Kim."
This was Mr. Kim, the head of Samsung Electronics—a titan of an enterprise so inescapable it was said only taxes, death, and Samsung were certainties in Korea.
"What was that about? I heard a commotion," Mr. Kim asked, his eyes still on Minho and Chen Ho as they approached an unremarkable Mercedes-Benz.
"Just a small-time boss from some company called Hansung Technology, trying to book a luxury suite," the manager replied dismissively. "We only have so many suites, and they're reserved for esteemed guests, so…"
He trailed off, but Mr. Kim and those nearby got the picture. Minho wasn't worth their time.
"Hansung Technology?" Mr. Kim mused. "Heard they're making waves in Gyeonggi Province."
He was clued into the mobile industry and knew of Minho's rural market splash. But the lobby manager scoffed. "Never heard of them. Just some minor player."
Clearly, he saw Minho as beneath notice. His earlier offer of a standard room wasn't out of respect—it was damage control, meant to hush Minho and Chen Ho before they disturbed the "real" VIPs. A scene could tarnish the Hilton's pristine reputation.
"Let's head up," Mr. Kim said to his team, striding into the hotel.
He knew of Hansung's exploits, but Minho was still a small fry. Not someone worth engaging, let alone sitting down with. The class divide was stark. Real life wasn't a novel where underdogs caught the eye of giants and earned their respect. The world ran on a chain of contempt, and Minho was too low on it to warrant Mr. Kim's attention—or a luxury suite.
The incident didn't go unnoticed. Other CEOs and execs milling around caught wind, and whispers about Minho and Hansung Technology spread through elite circles. Not flattering ones. To them, Minho was a punchline—a small-timer who dared think he belonged at the Hilton.
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The next day, the Busan Industry Summit kicked off with a grand opening ceremony. The massive indoor venue was packed, a sea of suits and anticipation. Official attendees had assigned seats, sparing them from standing for hours. But the seating chart was a ruthless hierarchy, a map of status in the business world.
Front rows were reserved for industry titans and foreign delegates—CEOs of global giants like Samsung, LG, and Motorola, or reps from Japan, China, and the U.S. The second and third rows held leaders of other prominent firms, followed by heads of well-known national companies. Further back sat CEOs and reps of smaller firms, their status diminishing with each row.
Then there were the outliers: secretaries, staff, and minor bosses without invitations, forced to stand in the wings, waiting for the event to wrap. Minho, thanks to his invitation, had a seat—but it was way in the back, far from the cameras' gaze. Not even a fleeting shot of him would make the news.
The seating was no accident. It was a precise reflection of corporate pecking order. Minho's distant chair screamed Hansung's lowly place in the business world.
But Minho wasn't discouraged. "No matter what, I'll achieve my goal here," he murmured, eyes blazing with defiance. "I'll make Hansung Technology a household name across Korea and pave the way for our phones to conquer the national market."
He was here to turn heads, not bow to the chain of contempt. The Hilton's snub, the back-row seat—they were fuel. Hansung was selling 180,000 phones a month, with 90,000 moved in weeks. His factory was scaling to hit 1 million monthly, backed by the *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System*'s unmatched quality. Competitors like Saehan were scrambling, but Minho had the edge.
The summit was his stage. He'd show Korea's giants—and the world—that Hansung wasn't a footnote. It was a force, and he was just getting started.
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(end of this chapter)