Back in his pristine, high-rise office, Min-Joon was agitated, but not by the usual stressors of a multi-billion-dollar portfolio. He was agitated by the unfamiliarity of his own emotion. His hands, usually immaculate, carried the faint, lingering scent of old silk and copper dust, and his mind was still replaying the simple, earnest gratitude in Ji-A's eyes—a gratitude he hadn't earned with a transaction, but with sweat.
He called Hae-Rin into his office. She arrived instantly, her presence a calming, yet challenging, anchor in the stark modernity of the room.
"The woman—Ji-A," Min-Joon began, pacing restlessly. He pulled up a hastily generated financial report on his massive screen. "She is undeniably dedicated, skilled, and possesses a rare passion for preservation. But she is facing imminent closure because of a critical funding gap. She needs 500 million won to clear the facility debt and secure the next historical commission. It's a solvable problem."
Hae-Rin nodded, her expression gentle and knowing. "A manageable obstacle, Chairman. For you, it is pocket change."
"Manageable, yes," Min-Joon agreed, his fingers flying across the keyboard, pulling up the K.M. Holdings corporate donation protocol—a machine designed for philanthropy, devoid of emotion. "I will arrange a substantial, anonymous donation. A non-repayable grant, channeled through a shell foundation. It solves her financial problem entirely, immediately, and cleanly. She can focus on her craft."
He looked up at Hae-Rin, expecting approval for his decisive action.
"And what does that solve for you, Chairman?" Hae-Rin asked, her voice quiet, forcing him to stop pacing.
Min-Joon frowned, annoyed by the psychological deflection. "It solves the problem. It removes the stress of her potential failure from the equation. It is a logical, swift, and highly efficient solution. What else is there to solve?"
"You believe that your true destiny can be achieved by simply delegating a cheque?" Hae-Rin countered, walking closer to his desk, her soft warmth challenging his analytical resolve. "Chairman Kim, you have spent your life buying solutions and buying distance. But Pyar is not a solution that can be purchased. Ji-A is fighting to keep her passion alive. That struggle—that sincerity—is the core of the thread you seek."
"I disagree," Min-Joon shot back, the old arrogance surging, stiffening his posture. "I am trying to help her! Providing capital is the most efficient use of my resources to ensure her success!"
"Efficiency is not always Pyar," Hae-Rin stated firmly, meeting his gaze. "If you simply erase her problem with a charitable check, you erase the struggle that defines her sincerity. You treat her dedication as a charity case, not a partnership opportunity. You put yourself back on the pedestal, looking down. Is that how you wish to begin a relationship built on equality?"
Min-Joon ran a hand over his freshly-shaved jaw, his expression darkening with frustrated thought. "So I'm penalized for being capable? If I can fix the issue in five minutes, why should I drag it out?"
"Because the five minutes of thought is easy for you. But the five weeks of shared effort is what matters. Your true partner will not accept charity. She will accept shared risk and shared reward. You must find a way to help her that demands effort from both sides. A challenge that tests your commitment, not merely your bank account."
"A conditional loan, then?" Min-Joon suggested, reaching for his tablet. "A loan structured with punitive interest if milestones are missed? That demands effort and accountability."
Hae-Rin shook her head gently. "That still places you as the detached creditor. Your power must be leveraged as a shield, not a weapon. You must make yourself vulnerable too. You must put something on the line that is more valuable than money to you."
Min-Joon rubbed his temples. The simplicity of her logic, though maddeningly inefficient by his standards, was compelling. He realized that a simple donation or a harsh loan would be a transactional act, distancing him from the very heart he was supposed to be seeking.
"A challenge," Min-Joon mused, leaning back in his chair, his eyes scanning the city skyline outside. "How do I leverage my resources to help her without simply giving her the money, and without making myself a detached bank?"
"She needs the funds to secure the next major commission—the restoration of the Royal Garment Collection," Hae-Rin explained. "The commission requires a substantial insurance bond, typically 500 million won, which she cannot afford. That bond is her biggest hurdle. If she secures it, the commission revenue solves her debt."
"A performance bond," Min-Joon muttered, his mind instantly shifting into deal-making mode. "A guarantee of completion, insured against risk."
"Precisely," Hae-Rin confirmed. "You will underwrite the bond personally, guaranteeing the 500 million won should she fail. But you will do so only on the condition that she meets strict, non-financial goals: flawless quality assurance of the restoration work, absolute timeliness, and proof of successful public engagement through education programs. Your risk is monetary and reputational. Her risk is her entire professional future."
"A conditional, performance-based investment," Min-Joon realized, sitting up straight. The idea sparked true intellectual interest. "A high-risk venture capital approach, demanding accountability and measurable, qualitative results. I am essentially staking my reputation on her competence."
"A mutual contract of trust," Hae-Rin corrected, smiling now. "You risk your name and your financial guarantee, and she risks her dedication and her skill. It is a bond built on shared effort and mutual respect, not pity. It forces you to actively invest in her success, not just pay for her survival."
Min-Joon reached for the internal phone. His eyes, usually cold, held a flicker of genuine excitement. "Secretary Kang, find the founder of the Jae-Hyun Institute, Ji-A. Arrange an immediate meeting. I want to offer a high-risk venture partnership, personally underwritten. Prepare the documents to guarantee a 500 million won performance bond for the Royal Garment Collection commission. We begin the contract negotiations immediately."
He hung up and looked at Hae-Rin. "This is less efficient, but I admit… it's far more engaging. I have never staked my name on an artist before."
"And that is why it is the correct path, Chairman," Hae-Rin replied, her voice filled with quiet triumph.
As Min-Joon began dictating the complex, binding terms—terms that treated Ji-A as a serious, high-potential partner, not a supplicant—Hae-Rin watched with approval. He was learning. He was still strategic, but his strategy was now aimed at building mutual value, not acquiring control. He was taking the first, difficult steps towards his true destiny. The thread of Min-Joon's life was finally aligning with the beautiful thread of Ji-A's sincere heart.