"It's your turn to make a concession."
He was right.
John Green, who had only ever crafted bespoke shoes, had decided to venture into ready-made shoes, even sneakers. It was a significant compromise, all for the sake of future generations.
And I truly appreciated it.
'But here we have James Faber, one of the giants among giants.'
So, what could I do?
I had to push once more. Bracing myself, I carefully spoke up.
"I know it's my turn to yield. But before that, there's something I really need to say."
I brought up an example of a British car company. You know the one.
The car infamous for its numerous breakdowns.
An SUV that costs nearly two hundred million won yet has so many defects it's constantly in and out of service centers.
Naturally, the company should have gone under by now, yet their cars sell remarkably well.
The reason is simple.
Because they're beautiful!
Annoyingly so, their designs are exceptional.
So here's the question.
How can this company consistently produce such stylish cars?
"The answer is obvious."
"…?"
"It's because, from the design phase, there are no restrictions."
If they cut this corner, the fuel efficiency would increase.
If they adjusted that part, the engineers would complain.
Ordinarily, industrial designers would factor in these elements.
But this company confidently says,
'Don't worry about the engineers; just make it look incredible.'
With the full support of the CEO, the designers unleash their creativity, delivering results that make customers willing to overlook the frequent repairs and open their wallets.
"So, are you suggesting we take a supportive role like the engineers?"
I wasn't demanding one-sided sacrifice, only hoping they wouldn't overlook this successful model.
Above all,
"Just as a film is the director's art, in fashion, there's no doubt that the designer is the protagonist."
As I finished, I handed over the draft design Faber had created.
The die was cast.
Would they give designers full authority, like that British company?
And did this draft warrant that level of trust?
"The decision is yours, sir."
***
"W-What made you agree to this?"
The craftsman's voice was laced with dissatisfaction. The boss was uncomfortable as well, but he spoke with a measured tone.
"It's about that young fellow we saw earlier."
"…?"
"They say he was admitted to the Royal Academy on the Queen's recommendation."
"The Queen?"
The craftsman's eyes went wide, and the boss continued.
"I spoke with Sir Lewis, and it turns out he's truly exceptional."
"Well, sure… Anyone who can negotiate directly with you is bound to be a cut above his peers…"
His voice trailed off, astonished that even the Queen and Sir Lewis acknowledged him.
"So now it makes three of us."
"…!"
"The approval for the sneakers barely got through. And now, just days later, he's back, asking to put his logo on them."
Brazen? Shameless?
The audacity was surprising enough, but then he presented a sketch that left them speechless.
"Where did he find such a designer, really?"
"…"
"He's got a knack for drawing people in."
"With a background like his, maybe he's just using money to get what he wants?"
The boss shook his head.
"Do you honestly think he lured that designer with money?"
"Then with what…?"
"Didn't you feel it after dealing with him? If he were swayed by money, there'd be no reason to go this far. A few bills would've settled it."
James Faber, was it? The one with the wild, unrefined nature, like an untamed stallion.
To control someone like him, it takes genuine skill, not money.
That must be why Park Ji-hoon brought Faber along.
"So, are you saying he stormed into John Green to bend the staff to his will?"
"Yes. And he walked out calmly after securing my approval."
"Th-Then shouldn't you be angry right now?"
"What exactly would I be angry about?"
"Well…"
"For bringing such an extraordinary design? For pushing us to make such unique shoes? Should I be mad about that?"
The boss's eyes held a glimmer of excitement—a glimpse of his expectations for the future.
"It seems you've made up your mind."
"Please ensure everything proceeds smoothly."
At the boss's words, the craftsman gave a reluctant nod and quietly left the room.
At the same time.
The owner's family occasionally visited Harris Department Store. They always came just before closing, so whenever they did, the staff would automatically end up working overtime. Today was one of those days.
Upon hearing that Carl Bernstein, the founder's grandson, had arrived, the executive director was on high alert.
And for good reason.
'He never came with a clear head.'
It was only on nights when he was seething with anger, unable to hold it in, that he showed up at the department store. Naturally, he would find fault with everything and shower the employees with all kinds of insults, using them as emotional punching bags.
Yet, it was hard for the employees to raise an issue.
Perhaps mindful of any possible recordings, Carl always used refined language. His tone was as mild as could be, but he had an exceptionally skillful way of getting under people's skin.
It felt like a many-legged bug crawling from your belly button, across your chest, and finally reaching your ear.
But that was just a feeling.
In the end, if asked what actual harm he had caused, there was little to say.
Regardless, with Carl Bernstein's arrival, all the employees were on edge.
And yet, surprisingly, Carl walked in with a smile. He even bowed his head in greeting, which was unheard of from someone who considered even the executives as mere "paid slaves."
"Sir, it's an honor to greet you…"
"Executive Director Richard."
"…!"
Since when did he care to know a "slave's" name?
"Why are you so surprised?"
"Oh, well…"
"You work hard for our company, so naturally, I should remember your name."
"…Thank you."
"How are things going these days?"
"We're recording the highest sales figures at the flagship store."
"Hmm."
In that moment, the executive director felt a pang of regret.
He wondered if Carl would seize on his words to twist them into some unreasonable complaint. But the response was completely unexpected.
"It's all thanks to the hard work of our employees."
"…"
"Shall we take a walk?"
"Pardon?"
"It's been a while since I visited, so I should at least have a look around."
"Yes, I'll guide you right away…"
"No need for a guide. Just keep me company."
For some reason, Carl talked a lot about himself. He expressed little interest in taking over the family business; after all, inheriting his parents' achievements wasn't the same as building something himself. That was the gist of his musings. The executive director wondered what he was leading up to with this long preamble, and he walked alongside Carl, looking tense.
"So, here's the thing."
"…?"
"Forget the department store. I want to create a brand under my own name."
"A brand…?"
"Yes, a luxury brand that'll be placed right here in the high-end section."
Carl pointed to a particular store.
"That spot would be perfect."
"Excuse me?"
"Clear out that store, and my brand can go there."
The location Carl pointed to was likely the one with the lowest sales in the luxury section. Even so, it was a space beyond the reach of a new brand. But what could he do? He had no choice but to play along.
"Of course. If you create a brand, we'd certainly make space for it."
"Is that a promise?"
"Certainly."
"Then, clear it out now."
"Pardon?"
"The renewal season is in three months, right? When the time comes, let them know that their low sales disqualify them from renewing."
"But… even if the CEO's brand goes in, it's not as if it will be ready right away…"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"You're still a student, so…"
"Do I need to do the designing myself? Let the artists handle the sketches."
"Even so, there's… a principle to follow."
"What principle?"
"To be placed in the luxury section, a brand needs outstanding sales performance from the previous year. If it doesn't meet our standards…"
"We'll meet them."
"Pardon?"
"Sales. As long as someone buys, it counts as sales, doesn't it?"
In other words, he was implying that a subsidiary could step in and boost the sales.
No wonder he looked so cheerful.
He never thought he'd see a family member suggesting embezzlement.
"But, even if your brand makes it in, if products don't sell, eventually…"
"Worrying about the strangest things."
"…?"
"Give some money to a few celebrities and have them carry our products around. If we can get paparazzi shots of them on secret dates, the promotional effect would be incredible."
He must have noticed his struggle to keep a neutral expression.
"Why do you look like some kind of ethics teacher?"
"Well, it's just…"
"Let's not play coy. Let's be honest here. Isn't that what celebrities are for? Am I wrong?"
'What was with him today? Had he been reading the autobiography of a self-made entrepreneur?'
Why was he suddenly so set on creating his own brand when, in time, he'd inherit the entire department store anyway?
'But what could I do?'
The executive director could only bow his head, murmuring that he'd try his best.
***
It was almost 10 p.m. when I finally returned to the dorm. I could have just stayed home and gone to school the next day, but I had come to the dorm to catch up with Peter.
"What… why did you bring all this? Munch munch. You could've just come empty-handed… munch munch."
It was food packed from the hotel. I had worried it might go cold, but that seemed unfounded as Peter devoured it without hesitation.
After finishing several plates in quick succession, Peter commented, "I swear, I already had dinner. But somehow, this just goes down easy."
"Were you bored?"
"Bored? I was busy setting up the bulletin board."
"And?"
"It's done."
After wiping his hands with a wet wipe, he headed over to his computer.
"It's on the internal network, so you can access it from school."
Oh, not bad.
"It's nothing special—just a bare-bones page where you can post."
That's all that's needed.
"But, honestly, I only made it because you asked. Who's actually going to use it? I mean, we can see each other in class, and everyone's on the same floor, so what's the point?"
"Things might change if it's anonymous."
"Hmm? Anonymous?"
Peter's eyes blinked like a computer cursor.