After 2 hours had passed, he finished his "draft".
[Practical Grind Reward]
[JavaScript Mastery, EXP (200/2500), LVL 2] +300
[C++ Mastery, EXP (200/500), LVL 1] +300
[Photoshop Mastery, EXP (210/1000), LVL 0] +0
…
[Level Up!]
[Reward: C++ Mastery (LVL 2)]
[RANK: Journeyman]
[CREDENTIAL UNLOCKED: SW Expert Accreditation (C++ Developer - Advanced)]
[ISSUING BODY: Korea Software Industry Association (KOSSA)]
Dong-seung dismissed the pop-up. The KOSSA credential was useful for impressing HR drones and corporate suits who reverse-engineered code instead of writing their own. But he was a one-man army. Still, the time had come. He needed to do the right thing and register his LLC.
First, a name. Using his full name was out of the question—he needed to build a brand, not a vanity plate. There was a reason "Microsoft" wasn't "Gates & Allen." Some might say a single-founder company naming itself after a syllable of his name implied something small-time.
Dong Seung LLC? Oh, hell naw.
His fingers tapped the desk. Pragma? Too pretentious. What about just... Seung? Simple. Clean. It sounded like a TEMU variant of Samsung, but hey, there was nothing wrong with that. He could register the trademarks and use them as his storefront. Technically, it held only a fragment of his identity, making it sound strong and self-contained. And anyone who met him would, of course, immediately connect the dots. It was a perfect, subtle power move.
Now for the other part: the purpose of the enterprise. Basically, what are you doing? He knew from his studies that he could specify multiple purposes and add more later. He started with the obvious: software development, IT consulting.
But then he had another great idea—a side business in moving and transporting goods. A moving company. You call a professional, they show up, haul your stuff, and drive it to a new location. Easy money, albeit physically demanding. He could easily hire the maximum of four people. Why four? Because a firm registered to a residential address is limited to five people total, including himself.
The logic was buried in a mountain of regulations, but it made a brutal kind of sense. People wanted peace, after all. Who would want to live in an apartment building if the unit next door was a bustling office for thirty workers? What about fire safety? A commercial building had stricter codes for a reason. Allowing a massive operation in a residential zone would render the city architect's planning utterly meaningless. His apartment wasn't zoned for an army; it was zoned for a fire team. And for now, a fire team was all he needed.
The long-term solution was simple: eventually move to a proper office zoned for commerce. But that would cost infinitely more than just letting his roommate pay the rent. Besides, his team could just work remotely. The problem was efficiently deferred.
The first step was a notary—a certified boomer with a fancy seal who would look over his Articles of Incorporation and officially confirm, "Yup, this exists."
He found one in a drab public building, a man who smelled of old paper and indifference. The process took seven minutes. The fee was 50,000 won. Cheap. Almost satisfying.
Then came the painful part. The expert. The Beommusa.
This wasn't a notary; this was a legal surgeon. His job was to preemptively find the cancer in your documents before the district court judges could and to navigate the labyrinthine registration process on your behalf. The price of failure—rejected applications, wasted months, re-filing fees—made his cost a necessary evil.
The quote made Dong-seung's eye twitch: 1,500,000 won.
It was a number that vaporized six copies of EASYMONEY before a single customer had clicked 'buy'. HYUNG's analysis was instantaneous and merciless: "The probability of founder error is unacceptably high. The opportunity cost of your time debugging legal code outweighs the financial expense. This is a non-optional infrastructure investment."
He transferred the funds. The Beommusa, a man who wore his success in the form of a sleek Lexus sedan, processed the payment with a bland smile.
"The court will take about a week," the man said, already turning away. "Then you will visit the National Tax Service and your local district tax office. Do not forget. You must register for your Business Registration Number, your Corporate Tax ID, and your VAT registration."
BRRRR
[Shinhan Bank: Your Balance is 260,175,027 ₩]
RING—RING
The trill of his phone cut through the ambient hum of his apartment.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Dong-seung, It's Mr. Leon Kepler. We've heard you need to repair damage to your car. Please come to the Star Motors complex in Gangnam. They are expecting you."
So the AMEX concierge finally called. His Genesis was totaled, a lost cause; his Mansory still needed repair, which was the next necessary step.
"Seo-yeon, I'm going to get the Mercedes fixed!" he yelled.
After a short drive, they arrived at the imposing Star Motors complex. It was a temple to automotive excess, a modern structure with a vast, flat roof. The entire facade was a curtain of huge, curved windows, showcasing the gleaming machinery within, and a massive, illuminated Mercedes sign crowned the top. The parking lot was a showroom in itself, filled not with common cars, but with a sea of BMWs, Audis, and even a few stately Bentleys.
After a brief, polite exchange with a sharply dressed manager, they guided his Mansory directly into the pristine, brightly lit workshop. The moment the hood was lifted, a hush fell over the group of mechanics, followed by a chorus of low whistles that quickly died into pure, unadulterated confusion.
The engine bay was not the expected V12 symphony of a typical Maybach S680. Instead, nestled within a transverse setup was a heavily modified BMW B57 inline-6, surrounded by a labyrinth of custom piping, an air compressor, and a gleaming reservoir tank.
One of the younger mechanics was the first to break the silence, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "A BMW engine? In a Maybach? A transverse BMW engine? That's... that's not possible. This is an S-Class platform."
The lead mechanic, a grizzled man with grease under his fingernails and a lifetime of experience in his eyes, leaned in closer. "It's not just the engine. Look at the routing. The entire front subframe must be custom. The wiring alone is a nightmare." He turned to Dong-seung, his expression one of professional incredulity. "Sir, forgive me, but what exactly are we looking at? This is the most radical engine swap I have ever seen."
Dong-seung gave a slight, almost apologetic smile. "It started as an S680, but Mansory basically rebuilt it from the ground up. And now it's an EV with a diesel engine as a range extender."
A wave of understanding, followed by even deeper reverence, passed over the mechanics' faces. The lead mechanic let out a long, low whistle.
"An electric Maybach... with a BMW diesel generator," he summarized, the concept finally clicking into place. "So the B57 isn't driving the wheels at all? It's just a turbine spinning a generator."
"Exactly," Dong-seung confirmed.
The lead mechanic shook his head in admiration, a slow grin spreading across his face. "That is utterly brilliant. And completely insane. The sound damping you'd need to keep that clatter out of the cabin... The integration with the battery management system..." He turned to his team, who were already pulling out their phones. "Alright, everyone, photos of everything! The engine mounts, the high-voltage cable routing, and the entire ECU setup. You will never see this again."
They immediately began documenting the unique piece of automotive art, their initial confusion now transformed into the fervent excitement of engineers witnessing something that truly broke the mold.
The dealership's head manager, having seen the value parked in his bay, personally escorted Dong-seung to their premium rental fleet. Rows of impressive vehicles glistened under the showroom lights. But one car stood out, its presence both aggressive and elegant: a sleek, Nardo Grey BMW M8 Gran Coupé Competition.
His reasoning was simple. It looked more viable than the other cars. He needed something with four doors for practicality, but after experiencing the Mansory's power, a standard sedan felt underwhelming. The M8 was a compromise—a "family-friendly" shape wrapped around a heart of pure performance. He wasn't trying to be invisible; he was trying to find a tool that fit his new life, one that could carry a passenger or two while still delivering the thrill his newfound status demanded. The fact that it was a screaming grey missile was, in his focused mind, a secondary characteristic.
"An interesting choice, sir," the manager noted, following Dong-seung's gaze. "A bit of a rare bird now. You know, production of the standard M8 Coupé actually ended early this year, and it will be completely gone after the 2025 model year. They've already stopped making the general 8-series line. For now, though, they're still producing the M8 Cabrio, and this," he said, patting the Gran Coupé's roof. "A bit of a dying breed."
Dong-seung ran a hand along the car's sharp shoulder line. A dying breed. There was a certain appeal in that. He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the BMW. "Let's take this one."
The paperwork was a swift and curiously straightforward affair. Within minutes, the keys were in his hand, and the low-slung Gran Coupé was his. He slid into the driver's seat and immediately guided the car out onto the Seoul streets.
He pressed the throttle and immediately felt the rear tires subtly lose their grip. Even though it was an AWD-powered car, the engine was clearly potent enough to overwhelm the sophisticated drivetrain.
The suspension was also a bit stiff, even in its softest Comfort setting. But of course, his expectations were wrong—this was, after all, fundamentally a luxury race car. That was the essence of the Competition package: more power, sharper responses, a machine honed by BMW's M division with a track-focused edge.
After arriving at a local gas station, he parked near the pump. Almost instantly, he noticed the stares from other patrons. A few even discreetly raised their phones to take pictures.
Shit, he thought, a wave of discomfort washing over him. This isn't what I expected. He had wanted to be stealthy, to move through the city without a spotlight. He had no desire to be known as just another spoiled chaebol heir, or worse—some rich dude in a flashy car, instantly judged as a dick. The Nardo grey beast was anything but invisible.
After arriving home, he was greeted by Seo-yeon, who leaned against the doorway with a curious smile.
"So? What now?"
Dong-seung shrugged, tossing the keys onto a side table. "Well, we now have a new car. It's a BMW, it has four doors, and a surprisingly spacious trunk."
Suddenly, her hand darted out, grabbing his. She pulled him firmly toward the living room and guided him onto the plush couch.
She said with a playful smirk, "Come. Tell me. What am I to you? I'm not going to judge you."
Hmh. The question was confusing. She was a roommate, certainly. But also something more? A confidante? Something more than a good friend?
"You're a very good friend," he replied after a long, considering pause.
"More than Min-jun?" she pressed, referring to his closest male friend.
"Yes," he replied with a soft, genuine smile.
The answer, while sweet, left her subtly bummed out. After he had cared for her so tenderly when she was sick, she had hoped for a clearer sign, a step toward dating. But she checked herself, realizing she was probably moving too fast. He's already living with you. Give him time to realize his own feelings, she reasoned.
Not ready to give up entirely, she probed from a different angle. "So, Dong-seung, what did you think of Ji-ah? The one we met at the restaurant?"
"I think she was very attractive," he admitted plainly, "but nothing more than that. I don't want to date her."
She didn't want to probe any further. His explanation, while not the romantic declaration she craved, was sufficient for now. He wasn't looking at other women. Still, a faint frustration lingered at his denseness. The scenario wasn't unfolding as she had envisioned, but it wasn't a lost cause.
Shifting gears, she let her body slump sideways, laying her head comfortably in his lap. She looked up at him. "So, tell me? Can you stroke my hair?"
Dong-seung's face was clearly stumped for a moment, his expression a mixture of surprise and calculation. But after a brief internal debate, he conceded, his hand gently moving to stroke her hair.
"Hehe," she giggled, a sound of quiet, victorious satisfaction, and closed her eyes.