October 5, 2022. Yeouido. Daegwang Group HQ - The Executive Dining Hall (25th Floor).

  The room was a sanctuary of silence and silverware. Crystal goblets sparkled under soft lighting. Waiters in white gloves moved like ghosts, pouring vintage Bordeaux for the twelve Presidents who ran Daegwang's subsidiaries.

  These were the "Salaryman Emperors." Men in their late 50s who had survived decades of corporate warfare to reach this table. They were eating a lunch of Hanwoo beef and abalone porridge, discussing golf handicaps.

  The double doors swung open. Chairman Kang Min-jun walked in. He wasn't wearing a tie. He held a plastic tray from the staff cafeteria downstairs. On the tray was a bowl of spicy pork stew (Jeyuk-bokkeum) and kimchi. Cost: 5,500 KRW.

  The conversation died instantly. The Presidents froze, forks hovering halfway to their mouths.

  Min-jun pulled up a chair at the head of the table. He placed his plastic tray next to a bottle of Chateau Margaux.

  "Don't let me interrupt," Min-jun said, picking up his metal spoon. "Please, enjoy the abalone. I heard it's flown in fresh from Wando every morning."

  President Choi of Daegwang Insurance cleared his throat nervously. "Chairman. We... we didn't expect you. We would have ordered a setting for you."

  "I prefer this," Min-jun pointed to his stew. "It tastes like reality."

  He took a bite, chewed slowly, and then looked around the table. His eyes were cold, scanning the faces of men who collectively managed 50 Trillion Won in assets.

  "I reviewed the SG&A (Selling, General, and Administrative) expenses for the Group last night," Min-jun said casually. "Did you know we spend 12 Billion Won a year on 'Executive Welfare'? Golf memberships. Chauffeurs. This dining room."

  "It is standard industry practice, Chairman," the President of Daegwang Chemical defended. "To maintain dignity and network with clients..."

  "Dignity?" Min-jun scoffed. "Daegwang Chemical's operating margin dropped to 3% last quarter. You are burning cash, yet you eat like kings. Where is the dignity in inefficiency?"

  Min-jun put down his spoon. The clatter echoed in the silent room.

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  "As of today, this dining room is closed. It will be converted into a meeting space for the R&D team."

  "Chairman!" President Choi protested. "This is too radical. The executives will revolt. Morale will plummet."

  "If your morale depends on abalone, you are in the wrong company," Min-jun said. "Furthermore, I am cancelling all corporate golf memberships. If you want to play golf, pay for it with your salary. And the chauffeurs? Gone. Unless you are visiting a factory site, drive your own car."

  The Presidents exchanged horrified glances. This wasn't just cost-cutting; it was a dismantling of their caste.

  "One more thing," Min-jun signaled to the door.

  Park Dong-hoon, the CTO of Toss (and now Daegwang's Chief Digital Officer), walked in holding a tablet. He looked out of place in a hoodie, but his eyes were sharp.

  "Gentlemen," Min-jun gestured to Dong-hoon. "We are abolishing the 'Hanko' (Physical Stamp) approval system. Starting Monday, all approvals go through a digital dashboard on the internal blockchain. Every expense, every contract, every hiring decision will be logged, timestamped, and immutable."

  "Blockchain?" The President of Retail frowned. "Why?"

  "Because," Min-jun stood up, "I found out that Daegwang Retail has been paying rent to a warehouse owned by Jin Hyuk-jae's aunt for ten years. 20% above market rate. That ends now. The blockchain sees everything. If you try to tunnel money out of my company, the algorithm will flag it, and I will fire you before the transfer clears."

  Min-jun picked up his tray.

  "Enjoy your last free lunch, gentlemen. Tomorrow, I expect to see you in the cafeteria line. It’s good for you. You get to hear what your employees actually think of you."

  He walked out, leaving the Salaryman Emperors staring at their cooling beef, realizing the era of the "Imperial Executive" was dead.

  October 15, 2022. Hannam The Hill.

  Min-jun sat on his terrace, looking at the autumn leaves turning red. It was lonely at the top. He had purged the corruption, but he had also isolated himself. The executives feared him. The staff whispered about the "Young Tyrant."

  His phone rang. Jin Seo-yoon.

  "You're making enemies fast," she said. "President Choi submitted his resignation. He's moving to Samsung Life."

  "Let him go," Min-jun said. "He's a dinosaur. We need blood that understands data, not golf."

  "I agree. But Min-jun... you look tired. When was the last time you slept more than four hours?"

  "I can't sleep. The bond market is weird."

  "The bond market? Rates are rising, but it seems stable."

  "No. It's too quiet. The spread between Government Bonds and Corporate Bonds is widening too fast. Something is breaking under the surface."

  Min-jun stood up and paced the terrace. "The Governor of Gangwon Province... he's refusing to pay the debt for the Legoland theme park. 200 Billion Won."

  "It's a political stunt," Seo-yoon dismissed it. "The central government will step in. Korea doesn't default."

  "That's what they said in 1997. If a local government defaults on a guaranteed bond, trust evaporates. And trust is the only thing holding up the Project Financing (PF) market."

  Min-jun looked at the Han River. "Seo-yoon. Halt all new land acquisitions for Daegwang Construction. Hoard cash. Cancel the bridge loans for the Incheon project."

  "Cancel? We'll lose the deposit! That's 50 Billion Won!"

  "Better to lose 50 Billion than to be holding the bag when the liquidity dries up. Winter is coming, Seo-yoon. A credit winter."