The Return of the Ruined Chaebol's Third-Generation Heir - Chapter 106

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Regression of a Fallen Chaebol Heir — Chapter 106
The next day, when Oh Jin-su looked up at the knock, Lim Do-hyeon entered with a Document Folder and closed the door.
“All done?”
“Yes, the TF Structure Document is complete.”
At Lim Do-hyeon’s words, Oh Jin-su rose from his chair and moved to the table in the center of the room.
“Sit.”
Lim Do-hyeon sat down and handed over the folder. As Oh Jin-su began reading, the explanation followed.
“The TF appears to operate on two main structural axes.”
“So the Operations Division, Sales Division, and Finance Team manage the data, and Planning Team 1 consolidates it.”
“Yes, and the other axis is the workflow where our team handles Scenario Design.”
Oh Jin-su nodded. To shorten the timeline, they were writing scenarios simultaneously and inserting data afterward.
“That’s sensible. How many people?”
“Three from Operations Division, three from Sales Division, three from Finance Team. I’ve already arranged the personnel assignments.”
He nodded and turned the page.
“Divided into four-week units. Week one for Data Consolidation, week two for concurrent scenario work, week three for completion, week four for the final report.”
Oh Jin-su reviewed the timeline. Breaking a month into four neat chunks—it was clean.
If things proceeded as planned, the report could be submitted within the deadline set by the group.
“The next page has the Work Division Manual. Without a manual, the TF won’t run properly. Given our time constraints, we’ll make it something that must be followed absolutely.”
Oh Jin-su’s hand stopped as he read through the document.
It wasn’t a simple flowchart. The timing of data arrival by department, the standardization process for benchmarks, the timing for the scenario team’s entry—all were connected in a single flow.
If Operations Division data arrived late, there were two alternative branches.
Methods for standardizing when hub aggregation standards differed, predictions of where data consolidation delays might occur and solutions to resolve them—all were spelled out.
Even a method for running scenarios with missing data was documented.
“This…”
Oh Jin-su narrowed his brow.
This wasn’t the approach of someone designing a workflow for the first time.
It was like viewing a work process diagram from a consulting firm that specialized in this sort of thing.
Oh Jin-su lifted his eyes from the document and looked at Lim Do-hyeon.
“You drew this up?”
“The workflow and timeline were written by Kang Seon-woo.”
At Lim Do-hyeon’s words, Oh Jin-su’s gaze returned to the document.
“Kang Seon-woo…”
Every time that name was spoken in this room, its weight shifted.
At first it had been burdensome, then surprising.
Now…
Oh Jin-su stopped his gesture and examined the document again.
Had Seon-woo’s report been submitted back then, the TF would have launched two weeks faster, and they’d already be diagnosing the company’s problems.
“Actually, the initial draft of the report I gave you was drawn up by Kang Seon-woo. I did nothing.”
“So what you’re saying is… Kang Seon-woo did all of this?”
It was hard to believe. He already knew the man was talented, but this was too much…
“He already grasped during the field internship that data standards differed by hub.”
This was the first time Lim Do-hyeon had ever evaluated someone this way. The Lim Do-hyeon he knew was someone who assessed everything with cold precision.
“It’s difficult to regard him as a mere new hire. I find it hard to believe myself, but his capabilities are sufficient.”
Oh Jin-su knew that too. Every time this name came up in this room, the stories he heard weren’t of an entry-level employee.
Oh Jin-su set down the document.
“How are you positioning Kang Seon-woo’s role within the TF?”
“Officially, he’s an employee of Planning Team 2. Supporting Scenario Design.”
“Supporting?”
Lim Do-hyeon nodded.
“I set the scenario framework, and Kang Seon-woo fills in the data. To outsiders, it looks like the team leader is guiding and the employee is following.”
Lim Do-hyeon was protecting Kang Seon-woo. If word got out that the chairman’s son had essentially designed the TF, it would become politically complicated.
Whether by those using him or those wary of him.
“All right. I’ll leave that judgment to you.”
Oh Jin-su pulled out a pen and signed the approval line.
“I’ll report this as-is to the CEO, discuss the personnel matter with the Operations Division Director, so you proceed assuming this will happen as planned and prepare for the first meeting.”
“Understood.”
Just as Lim Do-hyeon gathered the documents and stood.
“Kang Seon-woo.”
Oh Jin-su’s voice came through.
“This time, let’s put it to proper use.”
At those words, Lim Do-hyeon bowed in answer and left the office.
Oh Jin-su watched his departing figure, then washed his hands and rose from his chair, grabbing his jacket and heading for the CEO’s office.

* * *
“We’re working together starting today. The objective is simple.”
Four days later, in the Small Conference Room.
Lim Do-hyeon, standing at the front, looked over everyone in attendance.
Over fifteen people from Operations Division, Sales Division, Finance Team, and Planning Department sat watching him.
Their expressions were uniformly grim, particularly those from Operations Division.
The TF’s name—Seonjin Logistics Normalization—meant you’re doing things wrong.
He’d anticipated this. This wall had to be broken first.
“The documents in front of you are the Work Division Manual. The CEO has approved it, so there’s no one in this team who can disregard it.”
Lim Do-hyeon spoke firmly, then stepped before the Whiteboard, picking up a marker.
“We’re going to organize Seonjin Logistics’ current state with precise data, draft two scenarios—investment and sale—and present them to the chairman. The deadline is one month.”
He continued with the timeline and job assignments as he drew.
“Planning Team 1 consolidates departmental data, and our Planning Team 2 designs the scenario framework. Without data, there’s no scenario, so week one is practically the most critical.”
Up to this point, things were fine.
“We’ll align data consolidation standards first. Operations Division, could you walk us through the current hub data situation?”
Someone from Operations Division spoke up.
“Each hub uses a different aggregation method. Gunpo counts by incoming boxes, Daegu counts by outgoing transactions, and the sub-terminals differ again. To standardize, we’d have to send templates to each hub and consolidate them, which can’t be done in a week.”
“If the standards don’t match, we can’t plug numbers into the scenarios. At minimum, logistics volume and cost structure need unified benchmarks.”
“You’re saying that because you haven’t seen the field conditions.”
The Operations Division person’s voice rose at Lim Do-hyeon’s words.
“We have fourteen different hubs and sub-terminals, each with a different environment. Sending one template down from headquarters doesn’t solve it.”
The air grew tense. The Operations Division person’s face clearly read, “What does headquarters know?”, while the people from Sales Division and Finance Team beside Lim Do-hyeon had expressions suggesting this wasn’t their concern.
The meeting drifted like that, going in circles.
“Sigh…”
Lim Do-hyeon exhaled heavily, shifting his gaze.
Kang Seon-woo sat at the far end, silent but his expression suggesting he had something to say.
He knew this wasn’t the position from which to speak, but on a chance, he decided to let him.
“Kang Seon-woo.”
“Yes?”
“If you have something to say, you can speak.”
All eyes in the room suddenly turned to Seon-woo.
Everyone here knew who Seon-woo was.
Giving the chairman’s son a voice could be seen as favoritism, but for now, such concerns were beside the point.
“Based on Gunpo Hub, the daily average incoming boxes number 102,000. However, there’s significant day-of-week variance—Mondays are around 120,000, Wednesdays drop to about 80,000. Daegu, as you said, records by outgoing transactions, and there’s external data on that.”
The Operations Division person’s expression shifted—not stiffness, but surprise.
“…How did you know that?”
“I contacted a facility manager I met during the field internship and compiled data daily for three weeks.”
As a brief silence fell, Seon-woo continued.
“Unifying standards would place heavy burden on the field. Instead, we can take the standards each hub currently uses and just create a Conversion Table. We insert conversion coefficients between incoming boxes and outgoing transactions.”
The Operations Division person paused to think, then nodded.
“Then there’s no additional work the field has to do?”
“No. You can just submit with the existing format as-is.”
What came from the chairman’s son’s mouth wasn’t men sitting at desks barking orders for data without understanding field realities.
What the TF most needed was someone who could translate field language into headquarters language.
“This is the first time someone from headquarters has spoken about field concerns.”
When the Operations Division person said this, Seon-woo, as if it were nothing special, simply dipped his head slightly.
From that point, the atmosphere began to shift.
Who would create the Conversion Table, how to schedule hub data submissions.
Practical discussion unfolded naturally, and Lim Do-hyeon organized it, assigning next steps to each person.
“All right then, let’s conclude today’s meeting here and receive the first batch of data at our meeting next week.”
The meeting ended and people filed out. Seon-woo gathered his documents and stood, but Lim Do-hyeon called him back.
“Kang Seon-woo, hold on a moment.”
Once everyone had left and only the two remained in the conference room, Lim Do-hyeon spoke.
“Think you could draft a scenario?”
Seon-woo’s expression changed—as if he’d been waiting, his face showed eagerness.
“I can.”
“Which scenario would you like to try? No need for depth. A rough draft is fine.”
Seon-woo, needing no deliberation, replied.
“I’ll try an investment scenario.”
“Good. Go ahead and draft it.”
“Thank you, Team Lead.”
As Seon-woo bowed and left, alone in the Small Conference Room, Lim Do-hyeon replayed what had just occurred.

* * *
“It’s been a while since I’ve written a proper scenario.”
That night, even after leaving work, I was still working. I’d considered leaving late enough to skip it, but I felt the need to organize the ideas continuing to surface in my mind.
“It’s strange—I used to hate doing this, but since it’s something I can do well, my hands are itching to get at it.”
Scenario design was my specialty. I’d been doing this for fifteen years in my past life.
Every time attacks came for Management Rights, I drafted defensive scenarios.
When Kang Jin-ho accumulated equity, when external Activist Funds entered, when cold winds blew through the Board of Directors. Predicting the enemy’s moves, crafting countermeasures, imagining the worst case.
Fifteen years of muscle memory lived in my fingertips.
“Let’s start with structure.”
I began filling blank pages one by one.
“First, the broad framework.”
First: establish a hub in the Chungcheong region. We needed a stronghold to counter Seyang’s Chungcheong hub.
Second: upgrade automated sorting equipment. The facility deterioration I’d seen in the field was severe. Extra manpower, sorting delays—all stemmed from here.
Third: expand direct e-commerce contracts. Social commerce was growing. If we didn’t secure market share now, Seyang would push us out on price.
Fourth: improve delivery driver conditions. Lower attrition means maintained quality. Quality was the only shield in price competition.
“Next, I need to add numbers. The top brass always asks, ‘How much will this cost?'”
I added detailed figures for each project—timelines for investment recovery, revenue trends.
My fingers didn’t slow on the keyboard. With the structure in mind, it was just a matter of transferring it.
“Let me draft this much and call it done.”
I finished a rough draft, stretched, and checked the time.
“Wait, it’s already two in the morning?”
Lost in concentration, I hadn’t noticed the hours slipping by. What I’d dashed off as a quick draft had somehow consumed four hours.
“Let me do one final check and then sleep.”
As I read through, I realized the entire scenario was about countering Seyang.
Because Seyang does this, so do we.
So we don’t fall behind Seyang.
Before Seyang takes it.
In the end, all of it was investment to avoid being stripped bare.
“Is this the answer?”
I lifted my hands from the keyboard and stared at the screen. It was undeniably a good scenario. Rational, numbers watertight, logically sound to anyone.
But this was who I’d been in my past life.
“….”
For fifteen years, that’s exactly what I’d done. Attacks came, I defended. Things were taken, I reclaimed them. I was hunted, I fled.
I thought if I just defended, I could win.
“And what was the result?”
The image surfaced—board members turning their backs in the shareholders’ meeting hall. I had to leave the company I’d protected. Fifteen years of unbroken defense collapsed in one final moment.
‘I thought defending alone would let me win. But that was wrong. I should have gone for their throats.’
That thought from my past life rang painfully clear.
This scenario was identical. Because Seyang is climbing, we’ll catch up. But catching up is defense.
Defense is a losing strategy.
“A clean scenario the bosses would absolutely love isn’t the answer.”
If I submit this, Mother will approve. Because it’s rational.
“The board won’t object either.”
But rational defense for fifteen years ended in having everything stripped away.
I stared at the laptop screen.
It shouldn’t be investment to counter Seyang, but investment Seyang can’t match.
It shouldn’t be defense but offense.
“Let me rewrite it.”
I sent the file I’d just written cleanly to the trash and opened a new document.
Tonight was going to be very long.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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