The sun dipped lower over the Pacific, casting a golden hue across the Santa Monica Pier.
Despite the hot wind still sweeping across California's coastline—an odd warmth for fall—Jihoon and Brian stood shoulder to shoulder, unmoved by the heat.
Their jackets hung loose, their expressions serious. A strange mix of tension and possibility hung between them, like the lingering scent of sea salt in the air.
They faced the horizon silently for a while, the rhythmic sound of waves below adding a soundtrack to their unspoken thoughts.
Then Brian finally broke the stillness. "So... what exactly can you offer me?"
His tone wasn't confrontational. Just curious. Cautious. Like someone who had been burned before and learned to keep his fingers close to his chest.
Jihoon shrugged, completely unbothered. "Now? Nothing," he said with a casual honesty that made Brian blink.
There was a pause. A longer one this time.
Brian turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "And you think that's supposed to convince me? To form an alliance with someone who admits he's got nothing to bring to the table?"
Jihoon didn't flinch. He kept his gaze fixed on the distant shoreline, as if watching something only he could see.
Then, calmly, he spoke again.
"Hyung, what do you think about the communication and entertainment industry?"
Brian blinked—this time not out of surprise, but out of sheer disbelief.
Not because Jihoon had just casually called him hyung on their very first meeting, as if they were long-lost brothers.
Not even because of the audacity it took to do so.
No.
What shook Brian more was what Jihoon had just said.
That question—that one casual sentence—hit like a direct blow to something he'd kept tightly under wraps.
He hadn't told anyone. Not friends. Not family. Not even the investors who still occasionally checked in with him from his old Seoul circle.
His plan had stayed buried in his notes, in hushed meetings, and behind burner email accounts: a next-generation communication platform—an ecosystem that blended media, messaging, and entertainment in one seamless experience.
But here was Jihoon, casually tossing that exact thread into the conversation like it was common knowledge.
Brian felt a chill run down his spine, despite the lingering warmth in the air. He suddenly wondered:
Had he been followed? Watched?
If Jihoon—a young chaebol runaway who wasn't even based in LA—could sniff out what he was planning, then who else might already be circling his idea like vultures?
It wasn't paranoia. It was just how the game worked.
Though ironically, what Brian feared wasn't even close to the truth.
The real source of Jihoon's information came not from any investigator, leak, or hacker—but from something far stranger.
His past life.
But Jihoon wasn't about to explain that. He had no intention of playing the samaritan.
But to Brian, in the tech industry, especially in the world of platform wars, ideas were like rocket fuel.
And the moment a whisper got out—just a whisper—it would ignite a storm of venture capitalists, corporate giants, and money-hungry hedge funds.
They'd flood the space with funding, patent-walls, and takeovers, suffocating his project before it even had a chance to see daylight.
Brian turned to look at Jihoon, studying him more carefully this time.
This kid wasn't here to pitch a deck.
He was here to signal something else—something subtle. Maybe even a warning. Or an invitation.
Still, Brian wasn't someone who got easily rattled.
He had grown up clawing his way through a system designed to crush anyone who wasn't part of the top one percent.
He knew how to keep his thoughts locked behind a poker face.
So, without missing a beat, he played it cool. He gave a lazy shrug and replied casually, his tone light:
"What do you mean?" he said.
"How are those two industries supposed to help your alliance with me?"
He played dumb, but Jihoon could see through it.
And deep down, Brian already knew what was coming.
He just didn't know how Jihoon knew.
Jihoon exhaled slowly, eyes still fixed on the horizon. Then he spoke, calm but firm.
"Well... let's start with the core of every revolution."
"Humanity has gone through a few major shifts—first the social revolution, then the industrial one. And now, we're standing at the edge of the information revolution."
He turned slightly, enough to glance at Brian.
"We're in a moment of change. A real one. The kind where, if you're standing in the right place—at the right time—the wind will carry you to a whole new height. Doesn't matter how many roadblocks the one percent in Korea throw at you. When the revolution hits, no one can stop it."
"That," Jihoon added, his voice quieter but sharper, "is our escape route. And it's also my bargaining chip."
Brian didn't respond right away.
He wasn't easily shocked, but right now he was reeling.
Jihoon looked like a college kid—maybe fresh out of undergrad—someone who shouldn't be anywhere near this kind of insight.
But the way he spoke, the clarity of it, the certainty… it wasn't theory. It was experience.
Brian had sensed that change too. The shift in how people talked, connected, consumed content, built influence.
He'd felt the wind starting to turn, but he hadn't yet seen the whole picture.
But Jihoon had.
That's what shook him.
Either this kid was a genius—or he was completely insane.
But one thing was clear now.
Jihoon wasn't bluffing.
And he wasn't here to play small.
Before Brian could fully process it, Jihoon kept speaking, his tone calm but charged with conviction.
"We're standing right at the edge of it," Jihoon said. "The winds of change are already blowing—and right at the center of that storm are two industries: entertainment and communication."
He glanced at Brian, a small knowing smile playing on his lips.
"And that's what you and I both understand. That's our domain. With the right timing, and the right partnership, we can ride this wave—and reshape everything."
Jihoon wasn't exaggerating.
In this new information age, where smartphones and semiconductors made up the core of the technological revolution, the next frontier wasn't in the hardware—it was in what people did with it.
Apps. Games. Content. Connection.
That was the second tier of the revolution—the one that truly touched people's lives.
And that was where Jihoon had been planting his flag.
Behind the scenes, his JH Group was already preparing: planning a food delivery platform, backing development of online games like PUBG and League of Legends, investing in tools and entertainment built to thrive on mobile ecosystems.
He wasn't chasing trends—he was building infrastructure for the future.
This wasn't just talk.
This was Jihoon's ticket into the revolution.
And if Brian agreed to his plan, it would solidify the foundation they needed in this stage of the information revolution. Together, they could build a fully integrated system—one where their strengths complemented each other, forming a complete and self-sustaining ecosystem.
With that momentum, Jihoon began to outline his vision—how JH Group and Brian's soon-to-launch platform, Kakao, could collaborate.
The goal was clear: to stand united against the tightening grip of the chaebols.
It made sense. As the old saying goes, "It's better to make friends than enemies."
So Jihoon laid out his ideas in more detail, and to his quiet satisfaction, Brian was starting to lean in, intrigued by the potential of this unlikely alliance.
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu and Daoistadj for bestowing the power stone!]