"Shall we begin?"
Mr. Nam stared at him for a beat, trying to read if this was some kind of joke. "You're serious? What could we possibly have to talk about that requires you here?"
Jae-Hyun set his cup down neatly. "Business."
That single word landed sharper than expected.
Jae-Hyun's eyes wandered briefly across the room. "You renovated."
Mr. Oh straightened unconsciously. "Ah—yes, Jae-Hyun-ssi. My wife's idea. She said the old shelves made the study feel cramped, so we redid the walls too."
"Mm. Good choice," Jae-Hyun said.
That one casual "ssi" was enough to make Mr. Nam's mind stutter. Ssi? He looked between them. "Wait, what—? Mr. Oh, why are you—"
Jae-Hyun set his cup down gently. "Business first, questions later."
Mr. Nam stared, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. "You've got to be kidding me. What business?"
He turned to Mr. Oh, "what's this about? Your student's writing a school essay on investments?"
Mr. Oh smiled faintly but said nothing.
"It's about a new venture," Jae-Hyun said, tone level. "A fund I'm establishing. EquinoxFunds. I want you to lead it."
The older man froze mid-sip, then slowly lowered his cup. "You… want me to work for you?"
"Yes."
Mr. Nam stared. Then laughed — once, softly. "Kid, do you even know what you're asking? I've been in finance for fifteen years. I'm the one people come to for advice, not—"
"Which is exactly why I'm here," Jae-Hyun cut in. "I don't need advice. I need competence."
The tone wasn't disrespectful — but it carried authority that didn't match his age.
Mr. Oh cleared his throat gently. "It's true. Jae-Hyun plans to establish a fund management company, and—"
"And you're helping him?" Mr. Nam cut in.
Mr. Oh smiled faintly. "Helping him? No, Mr. Nam. I work for him."
That shut the room down for a full second.
Mr. Nam's jaw dropped slightly. "You… work for him?"
Mr. Oh smiled, a mix of pride and respect. "He's the founder of NovaSec."
Mr. Nam frowned. "NovaSec? The cybersecurity company that's all over the news lately?"
"Two months old," Jae-Hyun said, "and already partnered with three mid-tier corporations and a Seoul-based logistics firm. I manage its operations through Mr. Oh."
"You manage?"
"I own it."
That made Mr. Nam pause. "You mean to tell me—"
"Yes," Jae-Hyun said. "NovaSec's me. Every line of code, every negotiation. Mr. Oh runs the administrative side."
Mr. Nam turned back to his friend, half-laughing. "You can't be serious. You're telling me this kid's your boss?"
Mr. Oh nodded once. "I answer to him."
The disbelief on Mr. Nam's face was almost comical. "And you're fine with that?"
"Fine with it?" Mr. Oh's smile deepened. "Let's just say, I've never worked with anyone who delivers results like he does. NovaSec's value has tripled since launch, and half of that came from strategies he designed in a week."
Mr. Nam looked back at Jae-Hyun, half amused, half suspicious. "You're a student. You should be worrying about exams, not portfolios."
Jae-Hyun leaned back slightly, unbothered. "I don't waste time on things that don't scale."
That line caught Mr. Nam off guard — not arrogance, just conviction.
Mr. Oh interjected gently, "You remember how you always said some people are born with the rhythm for markets? He's one of them. You should see the way he breaks down data sets — I've never seen speed like it."
Mr. Nam exhaled sharply through his nose. "You're really pitching me, huh?"
"Not pitching," Jae-Hyun said. "I'm offering."
Finally, Mr. Nam exhaled a small laugh, half-incredulous. "Unbelievable. You're still in high school."
"And already managing assets larger than some mid-level funds," Jae-Hyun replied, unbothered. "Which brings us to Equinox."
Mr. Nam folded his arms. "You're really serious about this?"
"I don't waste time on things I'm not serious about."
Mr. Nam tilted his head slightly. "And what exactly would I be managing?"
"My personal assets, at first," Jae-Hyun said. "Private operations. Eventually, Equinox will open to public investors — but before that, I want to see how you handle the system I've designed."
Mr. Nam frowned. "System?"
"Predictive trading algorithms. NovaSec's infrastructure already supports them. You'll have complete access."
The older man leaned back again, eyes narrowing. "You talk like you're running a Fortune 500, not a startup."
"Vision doesn't scale with age," Jae-Hyun said. "Competence does."
That silenced him for a beat.
Finally, Mr. Nam smirked faintly. "You're bold. Very bold. But I don't switch employers because a high-schooler tells me to."
"I'm not asking you to," Jae-Hyun said simply. "I'm giving you a test."
Mr. Nam raised an eyebrow. "…A test?"
"One of my private portfolios — a mid-risk asset batch. You'll manage it exclusively for a month. No restrictions, full control. If the returns outperform your current firm's benchmark, you'll quit Daesung and join Equinox as CEO."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then you walk away with a performance fee," Jae-Hyun said. "No contracts, no obligations."
Mr. Nam was quiet for a while.
"That's… quite the offer," he said slowly. "And what makes you think I'd risk my name on something you've just drawn up?"
Jae-Hyun's gaze met his — steady, calm, too composed. "Because I know you've been capped at Daesung. Three years, same position, same ceiling. You want to climb higher, but you can't — not without betting on something new. I'm that bet."
After a long pause, Mr. Nam let out a quiet chuckle. "You've done your homework."
"I don't make offers blind," Jae-Hyun said.
Mr. Oh stepped in softly, voice low but persuasive. "Tae-Gyun, think about it. You've said it yourself — Daesung's stagnant. They don't reward initiative anymore. You're stuck waiting for retirements to open a seat. But with Jae-Hyun…" He smiled a little. "He builds ladders where there are none."
Mr. Nam gave him a look. "And you're saying that because—"
"Because I've seen it. NovaSec shouldn't be where it is, not in two months. But it is."
Mr. Nam chuckled dryly. "You two are quite the duo."
Mr. Oh gave a faint smile. "And you've always told me, 'a good investor never runs from a challenge.' Well, here it is."
Mr. Nam chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slowly. "You two really rehearsed this, didn't you?"
"Not really," Jae-Hyun said.
Mr. Nam leaned back, arms crossed. "A month, huh?"
"One month," Jae-Hyun confirmed. "The results will speak for themselves."
"…Alright," Mr. Nam said finally, slow and deliberate. "I'll take your test. But if it goes south, you'll never hear from me again."
"That's fair."
Mr. Nam looked at him, a reluctant grin pulling at the edge of his lips. "You're something else, kid."
"Jae-Hyun," he corrected mildly.
"Right," Mr. Nam said. "Jae-Hyun."
Jae-Hyun stood, picking up his backpack. "I'll have Mr. Oh send you the files tonight. Let's see if you're worth building with."
He gave a short, respectful nod, then turned toward the door.
His hand was already on the handle when he paused.
"By the way, Mr. Nam," he said, eyes steady. "About Tae-Ho."
Mr. Nam looked up. "Tae-Ho?"
Jae-Hyun spoke with that same calm steadiness — quiet, but cutting through the air like glass. "You should let him join whichever club he wants to. You only live once, and Tae-Ho—he's got a spark. Don't cage it trying to shape him into what you think he should be."
The words weren't sharp, but they carried weight. They sounded less like advice and more like an inevitability.
Mr. Nam blinked, his composure flickering. "You think so?"
"I know so," Jae-Hyun replied simply.
For a moment, the older man just stared, searching for a retort that didn't come. Then he nodded slowly, a reluctant breath leaving his chest. "…You might be right. Maybe I have been too hard on him."
Jae-Hyun's expression didn't change, but something in his tone lightened. "Then let him breathe a little. The world's heavy enough as it is."
Mr. Nam gave a short, thoughtful nod. "I'll remember that."
Jae-Hyun nodded, and with that, he left — calm, unhurried — leaving the faint sound of his footsteps behind.
Mr. Nam stared at the door for a long time. "That kid… he's dangerous."
Mr. Oh smiled faintly. "In the best way possible."
- - -
The Nam family dinner table was lively that night — the kind of easy warmth that only comes after a long week. The clink of chopsticks against bowls, soft laughter, the faint sizzle from the hot pot in the center — everything about it felt comfortably ordinary.
Mr. Nam sat at the head of the table, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up. Across from him, Mrs. Nam poured more broth into the pot, while the two boys sat side by side — Tae-Ho, and his elder brother Nam Tae-Jun.
Tae-Jun was halfway through a story about one of his professors. "So then, Professor Lee says, 'If you can't explain it, you don't understand it,' right? But then he spends twenty minutes explaining why he can't explain his own theory."
Mrs. Nam laughed. "And what did you say?"
"I told him I finally understood what he meant." Tae-Jun said proudly, grinning.
Mr. Nam chuckled — a low, genuine sound that filled the room. "You're lucky he didn't fail you for that."
"I think he liked my confidence," Tae-Jun said with a wink, earning an eye-roll from his mother.
Amid all the laughter, Tae-Ho stayed quiet, stirring his rice without really eating it. His expression was calm, but his mind was somewhere else.
His father's voice broke through his thoughts. "You've been quiet tonight, Tae-Ho. Something on your mind?"
Startled, Tae-Ho looked up quickly. "Oh — no, nothing. Just tired."
Mr. Nam tilted his head slightly. "Mm. Your school has started club activities, right? Have you decided what you want to join?"
Tae-Jun leaned in with a teasing grin. "Let me guess — gaming club?"
"Hyung," Tae-Ho muttered.
Mrs. Nam chuckled. "Don't tease your brother."
Tae-Ho hesitated, then said what he thought his father wanted to hear. "I was thinking the Stock Trading Simulation Club."
Mr. Nam paused mid-bite, then set his chopsticks down slowly. "Oh?" His tone was calm — too calm. "That's a respectable choice."
Tae-Ho nodded, trying to read his father's expression. "Yeah. I thought… it would be useful. Practical."
Silence.
Then Mr. Nam asked, almost casually, "Is that really what you want to do?"
The words landed like a small tremor — soft, but enough to shake the air around the table.
Tae-Ho blinked. "…Huh?"
Mr. Nam's gaze was steady, his tone still even. "I asked if that's what you want to do. Not what you think I'd like to hear."
Even Mrs. Nam looked up at that, surprised. Tae-Jun leaned back in his chair, curious.
"I—" Tae-Ho started, then stopped. His throat felt tight for some reason. "I mean… it's a good club. It looks good on applications and—"
"That's not what I asked," his father interrupted gently. "I asked what you want."
For a moment, the only sound was the faint bubbling of the hot pot.
Tae-Ho finally looked up, uncertain. "You mean… you won't be upset if I join something else?"
Mr. Nam smiled faintly, the lines around his eyes softening. "Not if it's something you actually care about. You only get to be young once, Tae-Ho. You should spend it doing something that makes you come alive — not something that just looks good on paper."
There was a pause — disbelief flickering across Tae-Ho's face before hope slowly replaced it. "Really?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Even if it's… photography club?"
Tae-Jun nearly choked on his drink. "Photography? Since when?"
"Since always," Tae-Ho muttered, embarrassed. "I just… didn't think it mattered."
Mr. Nam leaned back, smiling. "Then join photography club."
Tae-Ho froze, eyes widening slightly. "Wait. Really?"
"Yes," his father said firmly, a quiet conviction in his tone. "If that's what you enjoy, then do it. Don't worry about me — just make sure you give it your best."
Mrs. Nam smiled softly. "That sounds wonderful. You've always had an eye for details, Tae-Ho. Remember that picture you took at the park last summer?"
Tae-Jun laughed. "The one where Mom blinked, Dad sneezed, and I looked amazing?"
"You looked ridiculous," Mrs. Nam said, swatting his arm playfully.
The table erupted in laughter again — loud, bright, easy. Even Tae-Ho laughed, this time without holding back.
But beneath the laughter, a quiet warmth lingered between father and son, an understanding that hadn't been there before.
For the first time in a long while, Tae-Ho's heart felt light.
He glanced at his father across the table, who caught his gaze and nodded once — just a small gesture, but it said everything.
And for the rest of dinner, the house felt brighter, the laughter easier, the world just a little less heavy.
Ssi (usually pronounced "shi") — a Korean honorific used to show polite respect toward someone you're familiar with but not close to. It's often attached to a person's first name and conveys courteous acknowledgment without implying intimacy. In Jae-Hyun's case, it reflects professional respect despite his younger age and higher status.