The weight of history hung over Park Minho as he stood before the Busan Industry Summit, Ni Kwang-soo's question about Industry 4.0 still echoing. Ni, a tragic figure in Korea's tech saga, embodied the pain of unheeded visionaries. His early pleas for independent chip R&D, ignored by profit-driven elites, left Korea vulnerable when global powers later tightened the screws. A brilliant mind sidelined by short-sighted capital—Ni's story was a cautionary tale. Minho felt the sting of that missed chance, knowing his own push for chips and Industry 4.0 could face similar resistance.
Yet, Ni's curiosity offered a lifeline. Minho, however, played it coy, his voice steady but teasing. "Let's hold off on Industry 4.0 for now. If I'm granted a speech slot tomorrow afternoon, I'll dive into it—the fourth industrial revolution in full."
"Arrogant," Xu Hua, Saehan Mobile's president, spat from the front row. He surged to his feet, pointing at Minho with a sneer. "Tomorrow's speech session is the summit's crown jewel, soaked in media spotlight. It's a few hours long, with slots tighter than gold. You, the head of a tiny phone factory, think you're worthy? Hansung's total sales—barely 300,000 units, stuck in Gyeonggi Province! You've got no clout, no name, yet you dare demand a stage among titans? Threatening to dangle Industry 4.0 like bait? Shameless."
Laughter broke out, sharp and mocking. Minho's earlier applause for his chip speech faded as the room turned. Many had clapped for his ideas, but a speech slot? That was a bridge too far. Small and mid-tier bosses, peers in the back rows, bristled. Why should this kid leapfrog them? Their support soured into resentment, their claps now jeers. Minho's ambition clashed with their own, and Xu Hua's takedown fanned the flames.
Minho stood expressionless, absorbing the scorn. Ni Kwang-soo, undeterred by the uproar, spoke calmly from the judges' panel. "Whether you speak tomorrow requires discussion, but I, for one, welcome your voice onstage."
"Thank you, Elder Ni," Minho said, bowing slightly, his gratitude genuine. Ni's endorsement, though not a guarantee, nudged him closer to his goal—a speech to catapult Hansung Technology into national fame.
Xu Hua snorted, slumping back into his seat. "Just a clown," he muttered. Minho's relentless rise grated on him. A small summit was one thing, but if Minho's spotlight grew in the market, Saehan's dominance—its sales crown—could wobble. Hansung's 180,000 monthly phone sales, scaling toward 1 million, were no joke. Xu Hua's plan to crush Minho with Saehan's low-cost model felt less certain now.
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By that afternoon, the summit's morning drama had spread across Korea via news channels, igniting debates. Among the topics, "How to Transform from a Major Producer to a Production Powerhouse" gripped the public most. Koreans held a fierce pride in their nation's past as East Asia's hegemon, a "celestial kingdom" humbled by modern setbacks. Yet, they refused to bow to fate. With a self-reliant spirit, they saw today's struggles as fleeting, believing hard work would restore Korea's glory.
The producer-to-powerhouse debate tapped this dream, drawing heavy media coverage. Reporters zeroed in on it, reprinting front-row titans' speeches. But a dark horse stole the show: Park Minho, the young Hansung boss. His sharp distinction between major producer and powerhouse, plus his chip-focused vision, made waves.
On Korea's buzzing internet, the MaumNet forum—a hub for lively discourse—lit up. A thread titled "Who's This Park Minho?" exploded with chatter.
**OP - WarmSmile**: "Seriously, who is Park Minho? His breakdown of major producer vs. powerhouse was electric. He made it crystal clear what a true powerhouse is. His chip focus for the future? Spot-on. Most meaningful pitch of the summit."
**2nd Floor - FlowingYears_Youth**: "Replying to OP: Minho's the boss of Hansung's Labor Edition 2 phone. You might not know it—super popular in Gyeonggi's rural areas, but not sold elsewhere yet."
**3rd Floor - SilentRain**: "Just a small phone company boss? Thought he was some chaebol's kid. Never heard of Hansung."
**4th Floor - FlowingYears_Youth @SilentRain**: "Hansung's tiny, sure—market value's maybe 6 billion won, nowhere near TLC, KyungTech, Amoi, or Sony Ericsson. But get this: gossip says Minho took over in mid-April and designed *two* new phones from scratch in under a month. One's the Labor Edition 2, blowing up in Gyeonggi's countryside. That's genius-level speed. We'll hear his name again—he's a phone prodigy."
**5th Floor - SilentRain**: "Alright, I was cocky. Judging a guy running a 6-billion-won firm when my salary's under 300,000 won a month? Humbled."
**6th Floor - HungryGator**: "Shaking here. Forget 6 billion—I don't even have 2 million won saved."
**7th Floor - ColdWorld @HungryGator**: "Also shaking. Anyone with less than 50,000 won savings, let's drift off together."
The thread ballooned, netizens hooked on Minho's story. WarmSmile, the OP, dropped a bombshell question: "So, what's this Industry 4.0 he teased? Anyone got guesses?"
Replies flooded in. **TechBit**: "No clue, but he tied it to chips and automation. Maybe smart factories? Kid's got vision." **StarChaser**: "Sounds like sci-fi—machines running themselves? He's either nuts or ahead of us all." **IronForge**: "If Ni Kwang-soo's curious, it's big. Ni's a chip legend. Minho's not bluffing."
The forum buzz reflected Korea's mood—pride, curiosity, and a hunger for revival. Minho's youth and boldness sparked hope, but skepticism lingered. Was he a genius or a flash in the pan? His chip speech, rooted in Korea's painful tech history, resonated deeply, especially with Ni's nod. Yet, Xu Hua's public slapdown and the summit's elite gatekeeping fueled doubts.
Back at the summit, Minho sat quietly, ignoring the morning's jeers. His *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System* gave him an edge—Hansung's phones were unmatched, and his factory was gearing for 1 million units monthly. But the summit was his real stage. Ni's support and the online buzz were tailwinds, but Xu Hua's hostility loomed. Saehan's boss wasn't just sniping for sport—he feared Hansung's rise.
Minho's plan hadn't changed: shock the summit again, secure a speech slot, and make Hansung a household name. Industry 4.0 was his ace, but he'd hold it close, teasing just enough to keep the judges—especially Ni—hooked. The chip pitch had worked, tying Hansung to Korea's tech dreams. Another bold move could seal his spot.
Xu Hua, meanwhile, stewed. Minho's resilience—defying his and Motorola's Liang Ho's blocks—unnerved him. Saehan's low-cost phone was set to crush Hansung, but Minho's summit performance was shifting perceptions. If Hansung gained traction, Saehan's sales throne could slip. Xu Hua's next move would be ruthless.
Online, MaumNet's debate raged. **WarmSmile**: "Minho's chip talk hit hard. Korea's been burned on chips before—Wassenaar, failed projects. He's right: we can't rely on the West. Self-reliance or bust." **FlowingYears_Youth**: "And that Industry 4.0 tease? He's playing 4D chess, keeping it vague to stay in the spotlight. Smart."
Minho didn't see the posts, but their fervor mirrored his own. The summit's third day—and its speech session—neared. With Ni's backing, public buzz, and his system's power, Minho felt the momentum. Xu Hua's taunts, the crowd's jeers, the elite's gatekeeping—they were all obstacles, like the ones he'd described in his chip race metaphor. He'd find the detour, the smart path to the mountain. Hansung's rise was just beginning, and Korea was watching.
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(end of this chapter)