The meeting pressed on. This was the only time we could truly focus on the project—there was no room for error.
Mistakes were not an option. That's precisely why we were all here.
The board of directors, people I knew personally, had climbed their way up from the bottom. Each one had their own rough edges, their own strong personalities, and clashes were inevitable. But when it came to the brand, they were united by one common goal: success.
We'd seen the fall of B's enterprise together, and we had each other's backs when it came time to rise again.
I scanned through the documents, absorbing every detail. Then, I turned my attention to each of them.
"Director Ju Ji-Hoon, make sure the deliveries are secure. Don't let anything slip past you," I instructed, locking eyes with him.
The Feet.Ju Ji-Hoon, the Director of Distributions. Once a courier in the underground world, known as The Moles, his team delivered the highest-priority people, the most dangerous weapons, and the rarest treasures—always with a perfect record. They operated in the shadows, with a vast network throughout Korea's underworld.
But when his world crumbled—betrayed by partners, by people he trusted the most—his empire collapsed.
By chance, I crossed paths with him, and I recruited him. Since then, he's become my most trusted ally. Thanks to his vigilance, not a single leak of our designs has ever reached our competitors.
"Yes, Designer B," Ju Ji-Hoon responded, his voice grave and focused.
"Director Min-young, ensures the quality undergoes thorough inspection. It must be our top priority," I instructed.
The Eyes- Min-Young. Nothing escaped her notice. As the quality inspection officer, she earned the nickname The Eye—and for good reason. People with deep pockets sought her expertise. Even now, major brands and high-profile clients were eager to work with her. She was a sought-after appraiser.
With a single glance, she could assess the quality of any product—whether it was bags, clothing, furniture, or produce. Her eyes never faltered. I still didn't understand why she chose to work with me, especially when others were willing to pay her ten times what she earned here.
"Understood, Designer B," she replied, her voice low as she whispered instructions to her assistants.
Min-young had climbed the ranks by building her own business from the ground up. Her team of inspectors, known as The Oculus, was regarded as the best in Korea. The name wasn't just a reference to her sharp gaze—it symbolized her network, her reach, and her ability to have eyes everywhere.
I moved on, my eyes landing on the next person.
"Director Ji-Won, keep our competitors on their toes in sales," I instructed.
A slow, confident smile spread across her lips, the kind that made people instinctively check their wallets. "No one can top us, Designer B."
The Mouth - Ji-Won wasn't just a salesperson—she was a force of nature. If persuasion was an art, she had painted masterpieces in every deal she ever closed. Give her an audience, and she could sell water to a drowning man, sand to the desert, or overpriced handbags to a room full of minimalists.
Her team, The Brokers, were just as cunning. They weren't your average salespeople—they were dealmakers, smooth talkers, and psychological strategists. They could sense hesitation from a mile away and turn a maybe into a yes before the buyer even realized it. They studied their targets, anticipated their objections before they were spoken, and always had a counteroffer locked and loaded.
I still remember the first time we met. I walked into one of her pop-up shops, just out of curiosity. Ten minutes later, I walked out with my hands full and my bank account lighter—and I knew she had hustled me.
I let it happen.
Not because I didn't see through her tactics, but because I wanted to see how far she'd push it. In the end, I didn't just walk away with overpriced goods—I walked away with my future Head of Sales.
Now, thanks to her, my brand wasn't just competing in the market—it was dominating it.
She tilted her head, amused, as if already planning her next move.
I smirked.
"Let's see what they try next."
Ji-Won's grin widened. "Oh, they won't know what hit them."
And just like that, the game was on.
I turned to Ahn Hyo-Seop, who sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed, watching the conversation unfold like he already knew how it would end.
"Director Ahn Hyo-Seop?" I asked.
He smirked, the kind of smirk that meant he had everything under control. "Everything is proceeding as planned, Designer B. We're expecting several big deals in the coming months."
That was expected. But with Hyo-Seop, marketing weren't just about branding—they were about control.
The Hands - Ahn Hyo-Seop. His team, The Merchants, weren't just marketers; they were negotiators, dealmakers, and power players. If there was a narrative to be shaped, a perception to be shifted, or an industry move to be anticipated, they were already ahead of it. They didn't just sell the brand, they molded reality to benefit it.
Before joining me, Hyo-Seop had spent years in high-stakes corporate warfare. He brokered deals in backrooms, controlled media cycles, and played the kind of psychological chess that made competitors look like amateurs. With a well-placed article or a perfectly timed PR stunt, he could make or break a company overnight.
And now? That power was mine to wield.
He leaned forward slightly, confidence radiating from him. "You just tell me what you want the world to believe, Designer B," he said smoothly. "I'll make sure they do."
Together?
They were a storm.
Ji-Won could sell a dream, and Hyo-Seop could turn it into reality before anyone had the chance to wake up.
It was a lethal combination.
One that had crushed competitors, dismantled rivals, and left entire brands scrambling to keep up.
I leaned back in my chair, watching as Ji-Won and Hyo-Seop exchanged knowing looks.
"Director Min-Hyun, what's the update on research and development?" I asked.
"Designer B, we're expanding the brand's capabilities. I'm working closely with Director Ji-Won and Director Hyo-Seop to strategize our next steps in the market," Min-Hyun reported, his tone calm yet filled with quiet determination.
The Mind. Min-Hyun wasn't just a brilliant strategist—he was the driving force behind our expansion beyond fashion. Thanks to him, we weren't just dominating the clothing industry; we were making waves in skincare and cosmetics, too.
His team, The Tinkerers, was a small but formidable group of researchers, analysts, and product developers—each one a specialist in their field. They weren't just innovators; they were visionaries, constantly working on ways to push the brand further, to anticipate market trends before they even existed.
I first met Min-Hyun back in my Seoul University days. I was studying Korean while juggling part-time jobs, barely making ends meet. He, on the other hand, was a genius trapped by circumstance. He had the intellect, the talent, the drive—but not the resources.
So, I paid his tuition. It wasn't a grand, selfless act. It just made sense. I had a scholarship and a small allowance, enough to get by. If I could help someone like him reach his full potential, why wouldn't I?
After he graduated, I offered him a job. He told me he'd work for free. I refused. His skills were far too valuable for that. Exploitation wasn't my style.
Now, here he was—leading a team that shaped the future of our brand.
I leaned forward. "Min-Hyun, tell The Thinkers to start working on contingency plans. If the market shifts, I want us ahead of it."
He nodded, already ten steps ahead. "Understood."
I moved on, my eyes landing on the next person.
"Song-Kang, keep gathering information on the Cha Group."
"Yes, Noona B," he said jokingly.
The room went silent. Everyone stared at him.
I just laughed it off.
The Ears. Song-Kang was the youngest to rise to the rank of director, but his age meant nothing—his skills spoke for themselves. Once a notorious hacker and information specialist, there wasn't a database, server, or locked file he couldn't crack. If there was a whisper of competition stirring, he'd hear it before it even became a rumor.
His team, The Echoes, was infamous in Korea's underground intelligence networks. They didn't just collect information—they made sure it resonated in all the right places. With them, secrets weren't just discovered; they were leveraged. The name suited them—what they heard never truly disappeared.
I first met Song-Kang online. We clicked instantly. Played together every day, talked about everything and nothing, until one day, we decided to meet in person.
And that's when I realized—this guy I'd been teaming up with, trash-talking opponents with, strategizing with—was still in high school.
I almost felt scammed.
But the moment I saw his skills in action, I knew he wasn't just some kid behind a screen. He was dangerous in the best way possible.
Somewhere along the way, he became like a little brother to me. He even introduced me to his family—the same family that took me in when I first moved to Korea, making sure I never felt alone.
The only downside? His crippling addiction to gacha games. But hey, nobody's perfect.
Song-Kang grinned, already tapping away on his phone, probably hacking into something he wasn't supposed to. "Don't worry, Noona. If they breathe too loud, I'll know."
I smirked. "That's what I like to hear."
And with that, I moved on.
"The Cha Group?" Lee Soo-Hyuk's voice cut through the room, sharp and questioning.
Everyone's eyes immediately shifted to him.
Silence.
Then—
A soft, mocking chuckle.
"Director Lee? Hah…"
Min-Young leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, the corner of her lips curling in a smirk. Her laugh was quiet, but it carried weight—mocking, edged with something sharper than sarcasm.
Her sharp eyes locked onto him like a predator spotting weakness.
"Here we go again."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement—one laced with familiarity, like this wasn't the first time Lee Soo-Hyuk had said something to rub people the wrong way.
Ji-Won, ever the opportunist, leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand as if watching a performance unfold. "Oh?" she mused, her tone as smooth as silk but just as dangerous. A sly grin tugged at her lips. "You have something to say, Soo-Hyuk? Don't hold back."
The invitation was laced with challenges.
Across the table, Hyo-Seop scoffed—a short, unimpressed sound. He flicked his pen between his fingers, tapping it against the table once, twice. A lazy movement, but the disdain was clear.
"Tch… Of course, he does."
The words were barely above a murmur, but they carried.
Min-Hyun sighed, shaking his head. His voice was quieter, resigned. "Heh, here he goes again," he muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
It was the way he said it—tired, like he'd seen this play out before. Like he already knew exactly how this conversation was going to spiral.
And just like that, the mood shifted.
The once-casual air of the meeting thickened, the weight of unspoken tensions pressing down on the room.
Ju Ji-Hoon's voice sliced through it like a blade.
"Shut your mouth."
Cold. Firm. A command, not a request.
The room stilled.
Ji-Hoon didn't raise his voice—he didn't have to. The quiet, restrained fury in his tone was enough. His stare alone could cut through steel, and he had it trained directly on Soo-Hyuk.
Song-Kang, the youngest, frowned. He hesitated before leaning toward me, his voice barely above a breath.
"What's up with him, Noona?"
His confusion was genuine, but there was wariness there too. He might be the youngest, but he wasn't stupid—he could feel the shift just as much as the rest of us.
It was subtle, but the air had changed.
This wasn't just a difference in opinion.
This wasn't just about the Cha Group.
This was something older. Deeper.
Personal grudges, buried resentments, unspoken conflicts—they bled into the conversation, lurking just beneath the surface.
I could already see it. The battle lines formed.
This wasn't going to be a discussion.
It was going to be a fight.
Not with fists, not with shouts—something colder, sharper. A war of words, of principles, of ideology.
And it was only just beginning.
-End-