The next morning.
After finishing my workout, I headed to the lecture hall with my roommate, Peter, as usual. Walking side by side down the long hallway, I asked, "About the bulletin board. Can we create multiple ones?"
"It's not hard. Once the basic frame is set up, adding new boards is a piece of cake." He grinned.
"But why?"
"Well, people have different tastes, so I thought it'd be good to set up various boards by topic."
"Don't we need to gather people first? Only then would it make sense to add more boards."
"The members will gather quickly."
"Why are you so confident?"
Well, because I had already seen the future.
I opened the lecture hall door instead of answering. It was noisy inside. Despite class being about to start, everyone was busy chatting instead of getting ready. Hmm. It's not exactly fair for me to judge, considering I was using my permission slips to go out and work on business plans.
Since it was a theater-style lecture hall, there were no assigned seats, so I looked for two seats together and sat down. Surrounded by classmates, the area was incredibly noisy.
"So, how much did you make?"
"Make? I lost half of it."
"But you got a tip, didn't you?"
"A tip's only as good as the source; turns out it was unreliable."
Even though I didn't want to listen, the conversations reached me anyway. Most were stories of failed stock investments. But there was one person whose voice rang out proudly.
"Me? I doubled my money."
Was it Julian Burnett? The guy who wore a green suit and strutted around on orientation day? What was it again? He bragged about being the second son of the Standard Bank president, prying into others' family backgrounds.
"How did you double it?"
"Where did you invest?"
"Can you share some tips…?"
One by one, people started gathering around Julian. Yes, yes, go over there. Maybe then it'll be less noisy here.
"What's the big deal about doubling your money? If I had more time, I could've tripled it."
"Really?"
"What did you do?"
The more attention he got, the more excited Julian seemed, raising his voice even more.
"Why do you think? It's because I hold onto top-notch information."
"We heard a lot of info too, though."
"Not all information is equal, you know?"
"Oh yeah?"
"The finance sector filters out all the rumors, picking only sources with confirmed credibility. And even that isn't enough, so we put together a verification team."
He went on bragging for a while, but rather than sharing any tips, he just kept boasting. You'd think people would lose interest and leave, but no. Some of them lingered, hoping he might drop a nugget of useful information.
I was just about to stop paying attention when I heard him say, "But wasn't there supposed to be another investment genius around here?"
His tone was unmistakably mocking.
"People were talking about someone raking in money from art deals, but it's been oddly quiet lately, hasn't it?"
Maybe wanting to get on Julian's good side, one of his cronies chimed in, "Yeah, American universities love that kind of stuff."
"American universities?"
"Uh-huh. The U.S. loves a good story, so these days it's not just about grades; they like that kind of 'experience' on your resume."
"Oh, is that so?"
"Apparently."
I'd lived through 35 years in a past life, so arguing with kids barely in their first year of high school felt beneath me. So, I could let it slide a couple of times—though, admittedly, my tolerance varied with my mood. Fortunately for them, they were lucky today; our homeroom teacher came in five minutes early.
"Must be an economics class," I thought, which probably explained why everyone was chattering about their profits and losses.
But then I wondered, "Where's Olivia?"
I glanced around, but there was no sign of her. Hmm. The girl slumped over her desk, clearly sleep-deprived, was someone else entirely.
Crouched down, sneaking a snack from a drawer—another student up to the same antics. It was clear that Olivia wouldn't be among the group passing around a comic book right before class…
"Wait a second."
Did they say comic book?
These aristocratic school students usually wouldn't even touch men's magazines, thinking them beneath them. And yet, here they were, ignoring all their pride to eagerly pass around a comic. Looking at the cover…
"'Dragon Ball,' huh?"
These kids, who pride themselves on being a cut above everyone else, never paid any attention to subcultures like comics. And yet, they couldn't resist 'Dragon Ball.'
Smirking, I kept pondering while the assistants finished setting up the Bloomberg terminals. Then, the homeroom teacher turned on the microphone and spoke.
"Continuing from last time, today we'll also discuss investment topics."
He had barely started his introduction when Julian was already fidgeting with excitement. His expression screamed that he couldn't wait to boast about his earnings from the past week. Though he didn't raise his hand, he was practically radiating eagerness.
The teacher seemed unable to ignore it any longer.
"Julian, do you have something to say?"
"I was just curious, that's all."
"Go ahead."
"Last class, we shared our investment choices and received feedback, right?"
"Yes, and?"
"I'm curious about everyone's results… how did it turn out for them?"
"So, you want to know your classmates' profits?"
"Yes. Seeing others' portfolios can also be educational. And if anyone's interested, I'm more than happy to share my results…"
"That won't be necessary for now."
"Pardon?"
"It's only been a week. Just because an investment went up doesn't mean it will keep going up; it might plummet as well."
"But what about cases where profits were already made by selling? There's no chance of it rising or falling anymore, right?"
"That's only half right."
"…?"
"You'll probably reinvest those profits elsewhere, right? Then, you're caught in the same cycle again. Prices may rise, or they may fall."
"…."
"So, there's no need to get overly excited over a short-term profit. What matters is the number in your account at the end of the term. Got it?"
Just then.
Scribble, scribble.
Peter, seated next to me, jotted down a phrase on a piece of paper.
Scribble, scribble.
I quickly wrote a reply beneath it.
<…?>
Investing with the same amount of capital, anyone would be curious about how much others were making. And so, the new board was born—the Investment Verification Board!
<10 minutes, tops.>
Just as our written conversation wrapped up, I couldn't help but wonder. Class had started, so why hadn't Olivia shown up yet? And more puzzling, why didn't this class ever call attendance?
'Guess I'll be skipping economics for a while…'
I reached a quiet conclusion.
***
Meanwhile…
Olivia was on a call with Ralph Warren.
(Aren't you supposed to be in class?)
"There's something important I need to take care of."
(What's more important for a student than class?)
"Have you ever seen me pay close attention in class?"
(Have you already given up on Oxford?)
"I never aimed for it in the first place."
She heard a chuckle from Ralph on the other end of the line.
(How's that romance with your friend going?)
"Romance? Please! Real pros know that workplace romances are a no-go!"
(Workplace romance?)
"We're going into business together."
(Business partners often end up cohabitating…)
"Dad! Can't you keep some thoughts to yourself?"
Ralph burst into laughter.
(So, what's this favor you want to ask your dad?)
"I want to make clothes."
(Clothes?)
Ralph's voice changed instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch the moment he heard the word "clothes." It was the tone he used when he met people for business. This made Olivia a little nervous.
"I'm thinking of trying my hand at design, but I'm a bit unsure."
(Why the sudden interest in design?)
"I'm currently working on creating a concept store."
(…?)
"And in the process, I happened to come across a classic bike. I don't want it to go to waste, so I thought about finding clothes that match it, but nothing really caught my eye."
(So you want to design something yourself?)
"Yes."
(And the concept?)
"Tough menswear."
A moment later, she heard the click of a lighter over the phone, likely followed by a deep drag on a cigarette.
"Maybe because I'm new to this, but it's surprisingly tricky."
(Menswear is simple. The more you emphasize masculinity, the simpler it becomes. That's why it's challenging.)
"No room for a designer's flair?"
(Exactly.)
Warren always stressed that understanding menswear meant understanding military uniforms.
(I've never seen anything as beautiful as the shearling-lined jackets worn by bomber pilots. But those jackets weren't made to be stylish.)
She agreed. The shearling added around the neck to block the cold winds—clothing made for function, yet more elegant than any other jacket.
Maybe it was the hint her father had just given her.
"Read the need, then add the style…" she murmured to herself, lost in thought.
***
Perhaps it was because he'd received a rare call from his daughter, but Ralph Warren's expression looked noticeably pleased after the conversation.
"Making menswear?"
That was a good sign. The brand "Ralph Warren" was ultimately centered around men's fashion. To work together in the same company, an understanding of menswear was essential. He had been pondering how to encourage her interest.
"Talking about going to university, now saying she wants to design…"
'Lately, she'd been saying all the right things. Ha-ha-ha.'
Maybe it was thanks to her good friend.
"Yes, sending her to that prestigious school was worth every bit of effort."
Warren, in high spirits, began flipping through his file folders.
"I can't always be available to take her calls."
But there was no way he was going to neglect his daughter now that she'd finally found her focus!
"Let's see… There should be someone here who could serve as a mentor for Olivia."
He sorted through a few promising project proposals from his files.
"Hmm. This one was a bit too bold. That one, while more reserved, seemed uninteresting."
Then his eyes suddenly stopped.
"Yes, this one."
Sophisticated, with a refined touch. Just as he'd emphasized to Olivia, you could see the thought put into every detail, even down to a single button!
Warren quickly scanned the background.
"Originally came to L.A. to pursue acting, but after setbacks, started on a designer's path…"
Not the typical model student type, which was perfect. Having tasted some of life's hardships, he'd likely have things in common with Olivia.
Warren picked up the phone with urgency.
"There's someone who joined this year…"
He glanced at the name in the top right corner.
"A fellow named Tom Brown. Could you ask him to stop by for a moment?"