After the Executives' Meeting
When I returned to the Vice Chairman's office after the board meeting, the Head of Strategic Planning came to see me, his face full of emotion.
"Your closing remarks are still echoing in my head. I will always remember that to become a butterfly, a true transformation is necessary—just like shedding the old skin."
"I'm glad you agree with me. In fact, what I said at the executive meeting was practically a declaration of war. For Taewoo Group to survive, it must undergo a complete transformation— from its structure to its business divisions."
"I once read a report from the Economic Research Institute. It stated that for South Korea to progress as a developed country, its service industry must evolve and grow."
That was something everyone knew.
In developing nations, profits can be made in manufacturing thanks to cheap labor.
But as a country grows, labor costs inevitably rise. To survive, shifting into the service sector becomes essential.
"Taewoo Group entered the service industry earlier than most other conglomerates. Particularly in the IT sector, we're arguably ahead of even global companies. Still, we can't entrust Taewoo's future to IT alone, can we?"
"You're absolutely right. Taewoo IT is growing rapidly, but the day might come when expansion is no longer possible."
It wouldn't be wrong to say that Taewoo Group had already secured dominance in IT services.
Not only did it hold substantial shares in global tech giants like Google, Amazon, and Facebook, but Taewoo IT was also consistently launching innovative IT services of its own.
Honestly, it would have been enough to be satisfied with that.
The profits from the equity stakes and IT services already far surpassed anything from the past.
However, to become the world's top conglomerate, expanding beyond IT and into other service sectors was essential.
"I believe the best service sectors for Taewoo Group to enter are finance, culture, and education. What's your take on that, Director?"
"In finance, Taewoo Securities has already launched a variety of services. Expanding further wouldn't be a bad idea at all. But I'm not quite sure I understand how you plan to approach the culture and education sectors."
After all, what company would ignore the finance sector?
That's why the Director responded positively to expanding financial services—but hesitated when it came to culture and education.
"To grow our cultural ventures, we'll need to restructure the group. We'll merge Taewoo Cinema with our music streaming service to create a new entertainment subsidiary. The goal is to transform into a content powerhouse specializing in music, films, and dramas."
"Do you believe the Korean Wave will continue to surge? I recall a report from the Ministry of Culture and Tourism that forecasted strong annual growth for content-based businesses."
The Korean Wave.
Before my regression, the letter "K" was affixed to everything in media.
K-dramas, K-pop, K-films, and so on.
It was an era where simply adding a "K" to something earned it recognition as cultural content. I planned to bring that era forward—and amplify it.
"We'll invest in film and drama production through Taewoo Cinema, paying production staff over five times more than what they're currently earning."
"Increasing investment to secure strong content is a given, but film and drama are like lottery tickets. A project everyone thought would succeed might flop, and something that looked doomed could become a major hit."
"If we can recruit top-tier directors, writers, and actors, we significantly improve our odds. From now on, organize all the movie and drama scripts submitted to Taewoo Cinema and bring them to me. I'll make the final selection myself."
A lottery is risky because you don't know the winning numbers.
But if you already know the winning numbers, buying a ticket guarantees a win.
And I did know. I knew which directors and which projects would succeed. That's why I was confident I could quickly propel Taewoo Group's cultural business to major success.
It wasn't that I hadn't thought of this before.
But at the time, it was too early, and I was focused on other ventures, so I had shelved the idea temporarily.
Now, the timing and preparations were finally right to enter the cultural business in earnest.
"Taewoo Cinema receives over 20,000 submissions every year. It's impossible for you to go through all of them."
"I'll review them when I can. Just start by organizing the titles, and the names of the directors and writers. Bring me that list."
"Understood. Then I'll begin with the merger between Taewoo Cinema and our music platform."
"Also, prepare to recruit a significant number of professionals. Especially writers and producers —put out offers for them."
"Even producers? Wouldn't such a massive expansion at once be hard for the industry to accept?"
"If the industry can't keep up, we'll bring in support from other sectors. Don't worry—just move forward."
People used to think of movies as something you watched in theaters, and dramas or variety shows as things you watched on TV.
But with the rise of OTT platforms, people could now watch films, dramas, and variety shows all through streaming services.
It could even become a bigger market than traditional channels.
OTT allowed for simultaneous releases worldwide.
And the most important part?
I was the largest shareholder of the world's top OTT platform.
Unlike other industries already dominated by multiple stakeholders, the OTT sector was one where I could act as the central figure. That meant I could move things forward according to my own preferences.
Taewoo Entertainment was born in just one month.
By acquiring Taewoo Cinema, a major music streaming platform, and three cable TV channels, it instantly established itself as a massive entertainment company from the outset.
The problem was its revenue structure—it was essentially an empty shell.
While the theater and music platform brought in a decent amount of revenue, the rest of the departments hadn't even finalized their organizational structures.
That meant I had to focus even more on building a solid workforce.
Not only did we need to recruit talent, but we also had to foster it. I reviewed thousands of profiles each day.
"Director, how is the recruitment of filmmakers and writers going?"
"We're actively reaching out, but there's some reluctance about working under the Taewoo Entertainment banner. Writers are at least somewhat open to the idea, but directors are proving to be much more difficult."
"I expected as much. In that case, let's shift our focus to investing in and producing promising projects. Especially this director's work—we absolutely must handle the investment and production ourselves."
I handed the planning director a profile sheet.
At the top, the name [Bong Ho-jun] was written in bold.
He was a director destined to sweep through countless film festivals.
Not only would he attract tens of millions of viewers, but he would also spark a Korean Wave in the global film industry.
"Actually, we did receive an investment proposal for his film. But the concept is quite bizarre, and it requires a lot of CGI, which means the production budget will exceed 10 billion won at the very least."
"Whether it's 10 billion or 20 billion won doesn't matter. No—set up a meeting with Director Bong Ho-jun immediately. I need to meet him in person."
"I'll try to schedule it as soon as possible."
An entertainment company needs a flagship title.
And if it were a Bong Ho-jun film, it wouldn't just serve as a flagship—it could elevate the company's image by several levels overnight.
"I've arranged a meeting for tonight. I'll make a reservation at the traditional Korean restaurant you frequent."
Fortunately, I was able to meet Director Bong Ho-jun that very evening.
I arrived at the restaurant 30 minutes ahead of the appointed time.
But to my surprise, Director Bong was already there, sitting quietly with his signature bear-like physique.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm Kim Min-jae from Taewoo Group."
"It's truly an honor to meet you in person. I've only seen you on TV or in magazines. If you don't mind me saying, you really look like someone who could be a movie star yourself."
An unexpected compliment.
A remark like that likely meant he was having difficulty securing investment.
Which would explain the unfamiliar attempt at flattery.
"Let's start with dinner, shall we? This place is a hidden gem. I'll treat you to their best dishes."
"I'm not sure I deserve such hospitality, but I can't let good food go to waste—so I'll eat with gratitude!"
Director Bong ate heartily, savoring every bite.
He was already a well-known filmmaker, but in my previous life, he had been hailed worldwide by the film industry.
Maybe that's why even his smallest gestures seemed endearing to me.
"Now that dinner's nearly over, how about we have a drink and get to the main discussion?"
"Thanks to you, I've had a truly delightful meal after a long time. And by main discussion, I assume you mean the investment?"
"That's right. Taewoo Entertainment will fully fund your next project."
"You mean Taewoo Entertainment alone will handle the investment? The production budget for my next film exceeds 10 billion won."
A production cost of over 10 billion won.
In this era, films with a production budget of 10 billion won were rare.
But just a few years from now, films with 20 or 30 billion won budgets would start pouring out.
And to be honest, even now, that amount felt rather modest.
In Hollywood, it wasn't uncommon to see films made with budgets in the hundreds of billions.
Compared to those, a mere 10% was practically nothing.
Of course, part of why it felt so cheap was because I already knew Director Bong Ho-jun's next film would be a success.
"You're not limited to 10 billion—use 20 billion won if needed. We'll contract with the top CGI production company in the U.S. Don't worry about actor fees either—cast whoever you want. And if you need any equipment, Taewoo Group will provide it, no matter the cost."
"…Are you serious? I've spoken to many investors before, but every one of them balked at the size of the budget."
"Don't worry about the production cost, Director. Just focus on creating the film you want."
"Thank you. Whew… I feel like a huge weight has been lifted."
Director Bong clenched his fist in excitement.
That's when I laid out one condition.
"But I do have one request. Going forward, I'd like Taewoo Entertainment to exclusively fund and produce all your films and dramas."
"…All of them? What exactly do you mean by that?"
"I mean exactly what I said. We'll be the exclusive investor and producer for every project you wish to create from now on."
"You mean every project, not just one or two? I appreciate the trust, but… I don't think such a contract has ever been done in this industry."
Who in their right mind would sign such a contract?
No sane company would agree to fund a director's future projects without knowing what they would be or how much they would cost.
But I knew exactly what kinds of films Director Bong would go on to make.
That's what made this deal possible.
"Taewoo Group is committed to advancing Korea's cultural industry. For outstanding directors like yourself, we're prepared to offer near-unlimited investment. So why don't we join forces and take over the global stage together?"
"It's… an incredibly generous offer, but since the future is uncertain, I'd prefer to sign for just the next project and the one after that for now."
"In that case, let's do this—after signing for the next two projects, Taewoo Entertainment will be given the right of first refusal on all subsequent works."
"In that case, I accept. Really, thank you so much for this incredible opportunity."
I extended my hand to Director Bong.
He gripped it firmly, full of gratitude.
His hand, surprisingly sweaty for someone of his build, was warm and sincere—and I returned the gesture with equal strength.