The Return of the Ruined Chaebol's Third-Generation Heir - Chapter 42

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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’s Third Generation — Chapter 42
Osaka, Japan. Shinei Chemical Headquarters CEO Office.
“Shinwha Welltech has flatly rejected our proposal for exclusive technical rights.”
At the report from the Head of Overseas Business, Nakamura Kenji, the president of Shinei Chemical, removed his glasses and set them down before asking back.
“Anything else?”
“Nothing. They didn’t even entertain price negotiations. Their attitude was simply that they weren’t interested.”
Nakamura twisted his lips in amusement. There was no sign of dismay in his expression—rather, his face held the ease of someone who had heard the answer he’d been waiting for.
“Everything’s unfolding as expected.”
“Yes. From the initial recruitment offer to Park Jin-hyuk all the way through to this rejection of technical acquisition—it seems clear that whoever acquired Shinwha Welltech is not simply seeking short-term profit realization.”
Shinei had long been keeping a close watch on Shinwha Welltech. They coveted the technology, but were content to wait for the company to collapse under financial strain so they could scoop it up at a bargain price.
Yet in that critical moment, an unidentified family office appeared and snatched Shinwha Welltech away.
“I’m inclined to agree. If they were a private equity fund chasing quick gains, they would’ve jumped at our offer—or at least come to the negotiation table trying to drive up the price.”
“Exactly. Six million dollars would’ve been a profitable deal for them too.”
“That’s why we tested them this time. To see what kind of people the real owners are.”
Nakamura leaned back against his chair.
The counterparty was no pushover. They understood the true value of the technology and prioritized future worth over immediate cash.
“What should we do?”
“What else? We proceed with the original plan. Send them another formal proposal.”
Nakamura’s eyes gleamed.
“Tell them that Shinei wishes to establish a Joint Venture Company in Korea with Shinwha Welltech.”
“A Joint Venture Company, sir?”
“That’s right. Since acquisition is off the table, and we now know they’re not backing some simple flip investment, we go back to the original plan.”
In truth, what Shinei truly coveted was not merely the single technology featured in Park Jin-hyuk’s paper.
Certainly, that technology was attractive—it could dramatically reduce process costs. But the picture Nakamura was drawing was far larger.
His gaze was fixed not on Japan, but on Korea across the Korea Strait.
“Korea’s semiconductor and display markets are rising at a frightening pace. In a few years, they might even surpass us in Japan.”
The department head opposite made a skeptical expression.
“Sir, even so, there’s still a technology gap. The notion that Korea would overtake Japan is…”
“You’re too complacent. Look at the speed at which Taesan Electronics and Hansung Semiconductor are climbing. They’re investing in facilities like madmen.”
Nakamura regarded his subordinate quietly as he spoke.
“Our Shinei’s technical capability is on par with the majors. Yet the industry still treats us as a hidden powerhouse at best. We’re permanently relegated to mid-tier status simply because we’re small.”
“……”
“In Japan, the majors have the market locked down tight. To take a slice of the pie, we need a new battlefield. And that’s Korea.”
The Korean market remained unclaimed territory. Most Korean enterprises were importing products from major foreign companies like Stella or Dow. Shinei needed a bridgehead through which to establish stable footing in that market, and Shinwha Welltech seemed like the perfect partner for the role.
“Start with the Joint Venture proposal. The rationale is sound. When you tell them to combine our capital, their technology, and our sales network within Korea, it’ll be hard for them to refuse.”
“Yes, understood. I’ll prepare immediately.”
“The rest comes after. First, we have to step into the ring before we can fight, don’t we?”
Nakamura nodded with a smile.

* * *
Late October 2004.
Kim Seok-jun’s House Study.
“So you’re making money in stocks lately, are you?”
At Kim Seok-jun’s question, I set down my cup and smiled.
“Yes, the stocks of companies I’ve invested in recently have been rising quite sharply.”
“Director Jung mentioned the company name was……”
“Ujin Pharmatech.”
“Right, they’ve been buzzing lately with stem cells, haven’t they?”
At this time, all of Korea had fallen into the enormous gravity well of stem cells.
Though it would later be exposed as an elaborate national fraud, the entire country was currently swept up in fervent enthusiasm for this magic phrase, unburdened by market logic.
As if it were some holy grail that could erase all human suffering.
“In your assessment, do you think it could cure all diseases? It seems to be remarkable technology.”
“I don’t think so, actually.”
At my firm answer, Kim Seok-jun’s eyes widened.
“You don’t? Yet you invested money in it?”
“Though I concluded the technology itself lacks real substance, I believed people’s psychology would drive the stock price up—and so I invested.”
Kim Seok-jun wore a slightly disappointed expression.
And no wonder—the media had been constantly trumpeting the rosy future and immortality that stem cells would bring.
“Stem cells create new cells, but not all diseases arise from cellular problems, do they?”
“……”
“No one calls a revolutionary scalpel a cure-all, even if one is developed for surgery. Stem cells are ultimately just a tool.”
“Yet the country is in an uproar right now.”
“Yes, not just our country but the global scientific community sees this as a breakthrough in treating intractable diseases. And if this technology originates from our nation? It’s a perfectly hot topic.”
Moreover, Korea had long been treated as a backwater in basic science.
The arrival of one hero’s narrative here created a false mythology that fused national pride and political prestige in one stroke, washing away years of inferiority complex in an instant.
“The Ujin Pharmatech I invested in was just a contract manufacturer of electrical components a year ago.”
“What?”
“Of course, it’s now a legitimate pharmaceutical company with a proper sign. They took a shell company that was trading at 300 won per share a year ago, had a new biotech venture acquire it, and conducted a Reverse Listing.”
Reverse Listing.
A technique—almost an exploit—through which an unlisted company circumvents complex regulatory scrutiny and enters the securities market by acquiring and merging with a listed company.
Ujin Pharmatech was a textbook example.
“This sort of thing will only increase. Stem cells will burn hot as a theme for just that long.”
“I see what you mean. You’re saying you’ll exit before the bubble bursts.”
Kim Seok-jun wore a rueful expression for a moment, then seemed to gather his thoughts and looked at me to speak.
“So, setting that aside—didn’t you say today we’d discuss Shinwha Welltech?”
I nodded and explained what had transpired over the past weekend at Shinwha Welltech regarding Shinei Chemical’s proposal.
Kim Seok-jun listened to my account in silence.
“Isn’t it a decent proposal to reject? We acquired it for under 5 billion, and this exceeds that.”
“The numbers alone might represent an excellent exit opportunity, but I sense something else at play here.”
“Something else?”
I nodded and continued.
“Normally, transactions for core source technologies command a minimum of ten million dollars. Yet Shinei, as if they knew our acquisition price, offered exactly six million—just enough to cover our principal.”
Kim Seok-jun leaned forward.
“And they initially proposed recruitment, then suddenly switched to buying the technology when that was rejected—that itself is suspicious.”
“Well, of course, it makes sense that they’d pivot after recruitment failed…”
“No, it’s the smoothness of it all. Each step feels pre-prepared, like following a script.”
That was the crux of my unease.
Negotiations are inherently unpredictable.
When an initial offer is rejected, one normally panics, hastily raises the bid, or shows emotional reaction. That’s normal.
This instinct came from my past life, after weathering countless Mergers and Acquisitions.
But Shinei proceeded like a machine following a manual, each step precise.
“If their sole objective were the technology, it wouldn’t unfold this mechanically, step by step. This sort of flow emerges only when it’s part of a longer strategy.”
“How do you know that?”
Kim Seok-jun looked astonished.
“Your point is right. Normally, when real intentions are rejected, emotions surface—someone raises the offer impulsively, feelings get mixed in. But the way you describe it, it’s as if they’re following some pre-determined roadmap.”
Kim Seok-jun struck his knee.
“It’s hard for someone to grasp this even after decades in management, yet you speak as if you’ve spent a lifetime in business.”
“I’ve learned these things from books.”
“Can you really learn that from reading? It’s a talent you’re born with.”
I felt a bit embarrassed and lowered my head slightly before continuing.
“As I was saying, I suspect there’s a next phase to their plan as well. So I wanted to draw it out and test my theory.”
“You rejected them, and now you think the next plan will emerge? If you’ve thought that far, you must have an inkling of what comes next?”
I answered with confidence.
“Yes, I suspect their true aim might be direct entry into the Korean market.”
“Entry into Korea?”
“Shinei is treated as technically equal to the majors within Japan, but in terms of sales and supply chains, they remain perpetually mid-tier.”
From my research upon learning Shinei’s name, the primary supplier tier for Japanese semiconductor and display manufacturers was already saturated.
The majors controlled that tier, so Shinei was always relegated to secondary status.
“……”
“To break through that ceiling, they need new markets. And that would be our country.”
“You said they work in semiconductor and display chemicals, right?”
“Yes. And with Hansung Semiconductor, Taesan Electronics, and Gumsung Display rising so aggressively recently…”
In a decade, their technology would reach world-class levels.
They’re looking ahead to Korea’s explosive growth and trying to seize that market in advance.
“But direct entry into Korea faces numerous barriers—regulations, for one.”
“Right. Even Korean companies struggle with environmental regulations and factory approval in the chemicals sector. Foreign companies? A Japanese company especially? It won’t be easy. There’s anti-Japanese sentiment to contend with too.”
“But there’s one card that solves all of that at once. A Joint Venture Company.”
At my words, Kim Seok-jun’s eyes brightened.
“A Joint Venture…”
“The reason they keep making these stepwise proposals to us is that they’re testing whether we’re a suitable partner for their long-term strategy—it feels like a probing phase.”
“Hearing you lay it out, it fits perfectly. It’s strange. I don’t usually flip-flop, but every point you raise seems like dead center.”
“You’re too kind.”
“But I’ll give you one hint in return. I have a duty to advise as well.”
“I’m listening.”
As I lowered my head, Kim Seok-jun spoke.
“If—just if—their next proposal is an even higher price rather than a Joint Venture, then they really do need the technology. Money is simpler; they’d just crush the deal that way.”
“I understand what you mean. I’ll keep it in mind. My thinking could be wrong, after all.”
At my response, Kim Seok-jun smiled with satisfaction.
“So if we wait, they’ll contact us eventually, is that it?”
“That’s right.”
“Good. Let’s see if things unfold as you predicted.”
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
As I began to rise, Kim Seok-jun raised a hand to stop me.
“Won’t you stay for dinner?”
“I need to… study. The College Entrance Examination is next month.”
“My goodness! When I’m talking with you, I forget your actual station.”
Kim Seok-jun laughed heartily and slapped his knee.
“How are your exam preparations coming along?”
“Well, I expect to score as I’ve anticipated.”
“Good. Once you’re admitted to Korea University, I’ll give you my gift.”
“May I look forward to it?”
“Hahaha, this kid. You’re finally speaking your age. Yes, you can.”
After exchanging farewells with Kim Seok-jun, I stepped outside.
The moment I climbed into the black sedan waiting at the curb, Jung Tae-sung turned from the driver’s seat to look back at me.
“Representative, Shinwha Welltech just called.”
“Shinwha Welltech?”
Less than four days had passed since our meeting last weekend. What had happened in the meantime?
Could it be…?
“Was it a contact from Shinei?”
“Yes, sir.”
They’d sent their next proposal the moment we delivered our rejection? The counterparty was certainly impatient. Or rather, thorough in their preparation.
Actually, meticulous.
“What’s the content?”
“They’re proposing that Shinwha Welltech and Shinei establish a Joint Venture Company in Korea to jointly develop technology and manufacture products.”
Just as I’d predicted. This proposal would be closest to Shinei’s true intentions.
“Tell them to delay their response.”
“Pardon?”
“After the College Entrance Examination, I’ll receive them personally.”
“Understood, sir.”
Jung Tae-sung replied thus and started the car.
I gazed out the window. Autumn was fading away.
‘The more urgent they are, the more time works for us. Shall I make them sweat a little longer? The impatient one always slips first.’
A smile crept onto my lips without my realizing it.

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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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