Yoojin walked ahead, following Director Joo Myung-gon, while behind her came Lin—known by the nickname, Jjimse.
The fabric warehouse was located near the factory entrance, past the cutting room and the trims storage. Yoojin looked around each section with keen interest.
In the production process, materials arrived first, went through inbound inspection, and were stored in the warehouse. From there, they moved to the cutting room, were cut into garment pieces, and finally delivered to the production line. Yoojin was now tracing that process in reverse.
Inside the main production hall, female workers outnumbered male workers, but once they left the sewing lines, women became rare. Most of the remaining tasks required physical strength, so women were usually limited to management or assistant roles.
The male workers openly stared at Yoojin with unfiltered interest. Some stopped what they were doing, their gazes following her until she disappeared from sight.
Pretending not to notice, Yoojin quickened her pace, closely following Director Joo.
In the materials warehouse, male workers were organizing supplies unloaded before the rain. Since the squall was still ongoing, four containers that had not yet been unloaded were parked outside the factory grounds.
Director Joo, dissatisfied with how the materials were being carried, shouted sharply.
"Hey! Not like that! Nhieu, nhieu! Take more at once! Don't you know 'Masters of Living'?"
The Vietnamese workers passing by smiled broadly at his outburst and replied cheerfully,
"Yes, Mr. Joo. Masters of Living."
For a moment, Yoojin wondered if she had misheard. She hurried to catch up with Director Joo.
"Director, do the workers know 'Masters of Living'?"
Director Joo narrowed his eyes irritably.
"I showed them the videos during training. Fast but precise. Honestly, no one works as well as Koreans. Still, Vietnamese workers are very accurate with their hands."
The factory was nothing like what Yoojin had imagined.
In textbooks and lectures, they talked about automation, efficiency, zero-defect systems, and management innovation. But here, everything was done by hand.
Was it because this was garment manufacturing?
The apparel industry was part of secondary industry. Agriculture, which relied directly on nature, was primary industry; manufacturing that processed raw materials was secondary.
After the third industrial revolution, Korea's garment industry moved to neighboring countries with cheaper labor. And Yoojin now stood right in the middle of that secondary industry.
The fabric warehouse was enormous—almost as large as the Samho Apparel headquarters itself.
If the third factory was this big, how massive must factories one and two be?
Yoojin recalled how long it had taken to drive around the grounds earlier. She was certain they were no smaller than this one.
Factory 3's warehouse was filled with heavy-duty metal shelves stacked three levels high, strong enough to hold massive fabric rolls.
"Here. Hai khong tam khong. It's near the entrance since it's going into production soon."
"Yes…"
Neatly stacked fabric rolls sat on the shelves near the entrance. Nearby, five inspection machines held the problematic Taitex striped fleece fabric.
"It's not just hung crooked," Director Joo said.
Under the red fluorescent lights, the stripes clearly warped—some slanting right, others bending in the middle or lifting on the left. The defects varied widely.
Seeing it in person was even more overwhelming. Yoojin bit down on her lower lip.
"I checked twenty rolls. Only about five were okay. That's an unacceptable defect rate, isn't it?"
Seventy-five percent defective. Yoojin squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.
A neatly dressed man in his thirties approached Director Joo and handed him a circular fabric swatch, reporting quickly in Vietnamese.
After listening, Director Joo turned to Yoojin.
"What's the weight on this?"
"Two hundred grams."
Two hundred grams per square meter. Heavy for fleece.
"But when we tested it, one was 185 and another was 213."
The acceptable tolerance of five percent meant a range of 190 to 210. This far exceeded it.
A clear defect.
"What I'm saying is, something went wrong in finishing. The dyeing and printing were fine, but the brushing and post-processing threw it off. Look here is the defective report."
As looking the bundle of document sent by material team, Yoojin's heart tightened.
But Director Joo, with over thirty years of factory experience, spoke as if it were nothing.
"When the supplier comes tomorrow, show them everything. This fabric needs to be reproduced. Inform sales that garment production will be delayed."
"Yes, Director."
Guilt flooded Yoojin's face. Director Joo's eyebrow twitched—not because he wanted to blame her.
"Sales pushed the price down and demanded impossible lead times. The buyer too. The supplier probably subcontracted it cheaply and delivered trash."
He waved it off and gestured for Yoojin to follow him deeper into the warehouse.
At the far end, dusty fabric rolls were stacked high.
"Do you know what these are?"
"No?"
"Mispurchased fabric. This is what a real production accident looks like. Compared to this, your issue is nothing."
Entire shelves were filled with misordered fabric—mostly black shades that couldn't even be re-dyed.
Yoojin felt a chill down her spine, remembering her own past ordering mistake.
"They came all this way by ship. Fabric costs, shipping costs… We're keeping them safe, at least."
Director Joo forced a smile, and Yoojin could feel the weariness behind it.
Rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, and the scorching sun returned.
Director Joo usually ate lunch with Korean staff at factories one and two, but since Yoojin was visiting, they picked up pho nearby and ate together.
The broth was rich, the noodles soft—deeply satisfying.
After lunch, they drank Vietnamese condensed milk coffee and resumed work.
At the desk beside Director Joo, Yoojin drafted and shared a report stating that the defects were more serious than expected and required full reprocessing.
She also began helping with factory operations at Director Joo's request.
"Just say these two words: 'duoc' and 'khong duoc.'"
"What do they mean?"
"Okay. Not okay."
Yoojin tilted her head.
"Director, can't we just say 'okay'?"
"Factory workers might not understand."
It didn't quite make sense, but Director Joo seemed amused—perhaps still entertained by calling Lin as 'Jjimse.'
Feeling sympathy for the fact that he had been working alone overseas for so long, Yoojin decided to support him closely until the end of her trip.
"Yes. Duoc, khong duoc. Right?"
"You've really got a knack for languages. I'll make you production manager of Factory Three."
"Director, no. I haven't even been here a month."
Once he went out to the line, workers began bringing embroidery samples, prints, semi-finished and finished goods to Yoojin for approval.
She felt bad saying "khong duoc," but surprisingly, the workers seemed relieved, thanking her with "cam on" before walking away.
As she worked on her laptop, an international call came in.
It was Seohee, her intern cohort and friend.
"Seohee?"
- Yoojin! Are you in Vietnam?
"Yes, I am."
- They really sent an intern on a business trip?
"So I am here in Vietnam. Dongha is helping too."
- Dongha went with you?
"Oh—no, I meant he's handling the work back home."
- I see. Any chance you can film some business trip footage?
"Sis, the factory's too busy, and there are security issues."
- Fair enough. Then you'll still make it to the Friday workshop, right?
"Yes. It ends Wednesday."
- You have to come. I worked really hard on it.
"Yes."
After hanging up, Yoojin felt an odd chill.
She looked up to see all the female office staff standing by the windows, staring at the production line with anxious expressions.
Then she understood why.
The sewing machines had stopped. The loud hum and the Vietnamese music that usually played like a work song were gone.
Director Joo stood at the front of the line, speaking seriously with the plant manager and line leaders.
Lin—no, Jjimse—approached.
"Yoojin, it's strike."
"A strike?"
Looking at the three hundred workers sitting silently at their machines, Yoojin clenched her lips tight.