Pan-Gyo’s Power Player Confronts Unyielding Stance
Evan has returned to Pan-Gyo, met this time by an aide in the lobby. The aide, a team leader, was visibly nervous, his English hesitant. Evan, capable of Korean, offered a polite, albeit awkward, smile.
The meeting was scheduled for the office of Shin Jae-hyuk, Chairman of Taesan Tower’s 42nd floor. The aide led Evan through a surprisingly spartan office. There was no opulent decor, only a treadmill against one wall, its dashboard still bearing the faint scent of sweat. A single laptop sat on a large wooden desk; no other stationery or accessories were present.
An Unexpectedly Firm Handshake
“Welcome, Team Leader Evan,” Shin Jae-hyuk said, rising from his desk. He extended a hand for a handshake. The grip was firm, almost jarringly so, conveying a sense of unspoken tension rather than a simple greeting. It felt more like a subtle power struggle.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Evan replied.
“Please, have a seat,” Shin Jae-hyuk directed, gesturing towards a sofa rather than the desk. This seemed like a deliberate attempt to lower the formality of the encounter. Evan sat, taking another look around the room. The view of Pan-Gyo from the window was striking, yet the atmosphere within the office felt distinctly different from other floors.
“Would you care for some water?” Shin Jae-hyuk offered.
“No, thank you,” Evan responded.
Shin Jae-hyuk took a sip of sparkling water before setting the glass down.
Navigating the Nuances of the Korean Market
“I’ve been briefed by Manager Choi Sung-jin and have reviewed the proposal,” Shin Jae-hyuk stated.
“Thank you,” Evan acknowledged.
“To be frank, I acknowledge Duel’s technological prowess. Sariel is indeed the premier AI defense system available,” Shin Jae-hyuk admitted. Evan detected a subtle shift, a hint of concession. He internally analyzed the chairman’s statement, his mind racing to decipher the underlying strategy. The points Shin Jae-hyuk raised were familiar, almost rehearsed, from files previously provided by Jordan. However, discerning whether these were genuine sentiments or a calculated performance for the Blue House remained impossible.
Shin Jae-hyuk leaned forward, as if concerned about being overheard.
“However, the South Korean market doesn’t operate on technology alone. Public sentiment is crucial. Keywords like ‘national defense’ and ‘domestic production’ hold significant weight,” he continued.
“I understand,” Evan replied.
“You understand?” Shin Jae-hyuk’s tone implied skepticism, placing the unspoken weight of conditions above the formal exchange. Beneath the formal dialogue, the underlying business strategy of a major conglomerate seemed to be emerging. Evan began to question his own humanity and the extent to which he could compromise.
The Leak and the Unseen Network
“Then why was information regarding the Sentinel industry leaked to Lee Jin-hyuk?” Evan inquired.
Evan’s composure wavered slightly. “I never directly stated that,” he responded.
“Of course not, not in that manner,” Shin Jae-hyuk conceded.
“Team Leader Evan, Pan-Gyo is a small place. Especially the Bangsan district. I can see who you text after your meetings, who they, in turn, contact. Everything is visible to me,” Shin Jae-hyuk declared. Evan realized his carefully orchestrated leaks were not as subtle as he believed. Shin Jae-hyuk wasn’t merely speaking; he was asserting his comprehensive oversight. The implication was clear: every call and text originating from Pan-Gyo found its way to his desk. It was a dark, pervasive surveillance.
“The attempt to influence me with leaked information was acceptable. It was even effective,” Evan stated, his voice steady.
Shin Jae-hyuk abruptly produced his smartphone, displaying its screen.
[Follow-up Report] Taesan Defense Partners with U.S. Sentinel
“Do you recognize this?” Shin Jae-hyuk asked.
“…I just saw it,” Evan admitted, a flicker of surprise betraying his attempt to maintain a neutral expression. However, his reaction was evident to the seasoned chairman.
“Sentinel discloses its source code. We can directly modify it. While their technological prowess may not match Duel’s, we hold the control,” Shin Jae-hyuk explained. He then placed his smartphone down, angling it so the headline remained in Evan’s line of sight.
“Therefore, I must ask: what can Duel offer us?”
A Standoff Over Data Control
Evan’s mind raced, piecing together potential responses that repeatedly fragmented. The difficulty wasn’t Shin Jae-hyuk’s presence, but a growing sense of unease and uncertainty about how to counter. A novel anxiety gripped him.
“Current production licenses,” Evan managed to say.
“Is that all?” Shin Jae-hyuk pressed.
“Technology transfer. Taesan will directly manufacture the hardware. Taesan will also develop the operating interface,” Evan elaborated.
“And the AI engine?”
“Duel’s headquarters will provide it.”
Shin Jae-hyuk tilted his head.
“Then, ultimately, Duel holds the core technology.”
“That is correct.”
“And that is the problem.”
Shin Jae-hyuk picked up his glass of sparkling water, then set it down again, seemingly without intention to drink.
“Team Leader Evan, I am not a technologist. But I understand this much: the core of an AI system is not its algorithm, but its data. Whoever possesses the training data holds the true control,” he stated. It was at this moment that Evan realized this meeting would not end in a simple, polite conclusion. “If data is transferred to Duel’s servers, it means our military’s operational intelligence will go to the United States. Will the Ministry of National Defense accept that?”
“Security protocols can resolve this,” Evan countered.
“Technologically, yes. Politically, it is impossible.”
Evan looked at Shin Jae-hyuk, who, despite claiming a lack of technical knowledge, accurately grasped the situation. Had someone explained to him that the arrows on page 12 of the proposal were all aimed at Virginia?
“Frankly, I want to work with Duel. I know they are far superior to Sentinel. However, the people I need to convince understand nothing of technology; they only see the surface,” Shin Jae-hyuk admitted, his gaze returning to Evan. “Can Duel guarantee data sovereignty?”
Evan’s thumb pressed against the fabric of his trousers.
The headquarters will never concede. Data is everything. But to refuse here would mean the end of everything.
“…An audit is necessary,” Evan finally said.
A muscle twitched in Shin Jae-hyuk’s left temple.
“An audit?”
“The issue of data sovereignty must be discussed with headquarters. It is not something I can decide alone.”
“So, the answer is ‘no’.”
“That is not what I mean.”
“But it is not ‘yes’ either.”
Shin Jae-hyuk abruptly stood up. Evan, caught off guard, also rose.
“Chairman, this is not a simple business contract.”
Shin Jae-hyuk turned to face Evan. His response after calculating Evan’s statement fell short of his expectations. The next agenda item was already pulling him away.
“Seriousness and indecisiveness are different,” he stated, walking towards his desk and speaking with his back to Evan. This was Shin Jae-hyuk’s turn to show his hand. The game was similar to Evan’s leak of information. What mattered more than whether the deception was real or bluff was the reaction on the other person’s face.
“Sentinel has already made a concrete offer. Source code disclosure, technology transfer, reasonable royalties. If Duel cannot present better terms…” Shin Jae-hyuk paused, looking back at Evan as if to deliver a final blow. “…then I have no reason to choose you.”
Evan’s lips parted and closed, no words emerging.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Shin Jae-hyuk opened his laptop.
“Since it seems you have nothing more to say, let us conclude the meeting here. There will be no next time,” he declared.
“…Wait a moment.”
“Manager Choi Sung-jin will escort you out.”
Evan bowed his head and left the office. Just before the door closed, something caught his eye: on a side table next to Shin Jae-hyuk’s desk lay the cover of a Taesan Defense Sentinel project internal report. A single phrase was printed in red ink:
[Technical Verification: Incomplete]
The door shut before Evan could read further.
A Solitary Walk and a Troubling Revelation
Outside, night had fallen. The evening commute had begun, with people streaming out of the building. Evan took out his smartphone. He needed to report to Jordan. The cursor blinked in the message field, his thoughts unformed. Evan put his phone back in his pocket.
He walked along the streets of Pan-Gyo. The air was crisp against his face. The nighttime scenery of Pan-Gyo unfolded before him, clean and orderly. He continued walking, only realizing he had been walking aimlessly when a hotel came into view.
Opening the door to his hotel room, Evan refrained from turning on the lights. The musty smell of the carpet and the recirculated air filled the room. It was the familiar scent of a three-star business hotel. He sat on the bed and took out his CIB badge from his pocket. He couldn’t recall when he had packed it. In the darkness, his fingers traced the outline of the badge.
Evan placed the badge on the table and opened his laptop. At the top of his inbox, a new email awaited.
From: Jeff Ballinger
CC: Legal Team; Finance Team; Global Strategy Team; Government Affairs Team
Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE:RE [Urgent] Draft Revision Needed
Regarding the Taesan negotiations, we are receiving a continuous stream of news articles with inconsistent messaging. We are receiving calls from both the Ministry of National Defense and the Ministry of Security. Sariel exports require government approval, and all media coverage must be coordinated with headquarters prior to publication. K-Sariel localization, license exports – these are all critical issues that remain unaligned. Legal and Government Affairs teams, please engage immediately.
The subject line alone made Evan’s chest tighten. Each layered “RE:” felt like an arrow aimed directly at him.
Scrolling down, he discovered four more unread emails.
The negotiations with Shin Jae-hyuk had been chaotic, and the pressure from headquarters was equally overwhelming. Every time Evan attempted a maneuver, another task for headquarters to handle emerged. Evan closed his laptop with a sigh.
Evan recalled Shin Jae-hyuk’s final words.
“Seriousness and indecisiveness are different.”
It was true. Today, Evan had been indecisive, not serious. He had failed to provide any answer because no perfect answer existed. Yet, the image of the red lettering on the Sentinel report, seen just before leaving the office, flashed in his mind. Shin Jae-hyuk had used Sentinel as a negotiating card, but that card, Evan realized, had not yet been stamped with a number.
Evan took out his smartphone and sent a message to Jordan.
Evan: Are you available for a call?
A reply came instantly.
Jordan: I’ll call in 10 minutes.
Evan stood by the window, waiting. The CIB badge on the table gleamed faintly in the light of Pan-Gyo.
Ten minutes later, the phone rang.
“Jordan.”
“How did it go?”
Evan paused, then spoke.
“The situation is not favorable.”
He took a shallow breath.
“However, Sentinel’s technical verification is still incomplete.”
