Hong Ye-eun swirled her martini, staring at the proposal printed on cheap A4 paper. It sat on the marble table, starkly out of place next to her Bottega Veneta clutch.
"Mirue Partners," she read aloud. "Mirue? As in 'Dragon'?"
"A dragon that rises from the water," Min-jun explained, leaning back in the leather booth. "It fits the narrative."
"And the narrative is?"
"That two bright young students from Seoul National University—one the daughter of a media mogul, the other a 'self-made genius'—are answering the President's call to build the 'Creative Economy'."
Min-jun tapped the paper.
"The new administration has launched a 'Youth Startup Fund' matching program. For every 1 won we put in, the government puts in 1 won. It’s non-dilutive leverage. Free money, Ye-eun. They are practically begging us to take it."
Ye-eun looked up, her sharp eyes assessing him. "I know about the program. My father's newspaper runs editorials praising it every day. But why me? You have money now. You made a killing on the Duty-Free trade."
"I have money," Min-jun admitted. "But I don't have pedigree."
He gestured to his suit. It was a decent suit now, not a high school uniform, but it didn't scream 'Old Money'.
"If I walk into the Small and Medium Business Administration (SMBA) and ask for 5 billion won in matching funds, they will check my background. They will see a taxi driver's son living in Mapo. They will reject me."
Min-jun looked her in the eye.
"But if Hong Ye-eun walks in? The heiress of Hanseong Ilbo? They will roll out the red carpet. They will give you the money just to take a photo with you for the press release."
Ye-eun laughed softly. "So I'm the face. And you're the brain."
"You're the General Partner (GP). I'm the Managing Director. We split the carry (profit share) 50-50."
"And the capital contribution?"
"We need 1 billion won (approx. $900k) to start. I put in 500 million. You put in 500 million. The government matches us with 1 billion. We start with a 2 billion won war chest."
Ye-eun paused. 500 million was a lot, even for her. But she remembered the AhnLab trade. She remembered the Duty-Free trade. Min-jun had never been wrong.
"What are we buying with this 2 billion?"
"We aren't buying stocks," Min-jun said. "We are buying disruptors. Hermes Logistics is the first portfolio company. But there are others. FinTech. Bio. O2O (Online to Offline)."
He leaned in closer.
"The Chaebols—Daegwang, Samsung, Hyundai—are slow. They are aircraft carriers turning in a canal. We are going to fund the speedboats that torpedo them."
Ye-eun picked up her glass. She looked at the liquid, then at Min-jun. "You really hate them, don't you? The Chaebols."
"I hate inefficiency," Min-jun said, his voice devoid of emotion. "And they are very inefficient."
"Fine," Ye-eun clinked her glass against his water cup. "I'm in. But if we lose money, I'm firing you and telling everyone you were just my intern."
"Fair enough."
November 28, 2013. The Bitcoin Peak.
The partnership was signed. The paperwork for "Mirue Partners" was filed. Ye-eun had wired her 500 million won instantly. Min-jun had a problem.
His liquid cash was around 80 million won. His wealth was locked in H-Semicon (approx. 35 million) and Hermes (illiquid equity). To come up with 500 million won cash for the VC fund, he needed to liquidate the "Lottery Ticket."
He sat in his room in the Mapo apartment. The chart on his screen was vertical. Bitcoin Price: $1,100.
From $13 in January to $1,100 in November. It was the first true mania. The world was waking up. China was buying.
Min-jun’s 5,000 BTC were now worth $5.5 Million (approx. 5.8 Billion KRW). He was a multi-billionaire in Korean Won terms. But it was all on paper (or rather, on a USB drive).
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
"Time to harvest," Min-jun whispered.
He couldn't sell it all. If he dumped 5,000 BTC, he would crash the thin order books of 2013. Plus, the tax authorities would definitely notice a 6 billion won deposit from an offshore exchange. But he needed 500 million won for the fund. Plus some extra for "lifestyle upgrades" and taxes.
Sell 1,000 BTC, he decided. Keep 4,000.
He plugged in the USB drive. He transferred 1,000 BTC to Mt. Gox (which was still operational, though shaky).
SELL ORDER: 1,000 BTC @ $1,050. Executed. Proceeds: $1,050,000 USD.
Now, getting it to Korea. He used the "Kimchi Premium" arbitrage method before it even had a name. He routed the USD through a corporate account in Hong Kong (set up via a law firm Ye-eun recommended) and brought it back as "Foreign Direct Investment" into Umbra Investment.
It was clean. It was taxed. It was legitimate.
Net Proceeds in KRW: ~1.1 Billion KRW.
Min-jun stared at the bank balance of Umbra Investment. 1,180,000,000 KRW.
He transferred 500 million to the "Mirue Partners" capital account. He kept 600 million in Umbra as personal reserves.
He walked out to the living room. His father was watching TV on a new 50-inch screen Min-jun had bought. His mother was wearing a coat with a fur collar. They looked happy. Secure.
Min-jun felt a knot loosen in his chest. He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was thriving. The "Shadow Money" from the future had successfully been laundered into the "White Money" of 2013.
December 15, 2013. Yeouido. Small and Medium Business Administration (SMBA) Hall.
The flashbulbs popped.
Min-jun stood next to Hong Ye-eun. They held a giant ceremonial check. [Youth Startup Support Fund: 1 Billion KRW]
A government minister shook Ye-eun's hand, beaming. "It is inspiring to see the youth leading the Creative Economy! Miss Hong, your proposal for 'Mirue Partners' was exemplary."
Ye-eun smiled her media-trained smile. "Thank you, Minister. My partner, Mr. Kang, did the technical heavy lifting."
The Minister glanced at Min-jun. "Ah, yes. Good work, young man."
Min-jun bowed. "Thank you, sir."
He didn't mind being the sidekick. In the audience, he saw faces he recognized. VCs. Angels. And in the back row... Jin Hyuk-jae.
Hyuk-jae wasn't receiving an award. He was there representing Daegwang Ventures, looking bored and annoyed that he had to sit through a government ceremony. He locked eyes with Min-jun.
Hyuk-jae squinted. He leaned over to his assistant. "Who is that kid? The one next to the Hong girl?"
"Kang Min-jun, sir. SNU student. They say he's a math prodigy."
"Kang Min-jun..." Hyuk-jae tapped his chin. "The coin flipper."
Hyuk-jae smirked. "So, the beggar put on a suit. Interesting."
January 2014. Mirue Partners Office. Teheran-ro, Gangnam.
They rented a small, sleek office. Glass walls. Herman Miller chairs. It looked like a real VC firm.
"Okay," Ye-eun kicked off her heels and sat on the desk. "We have 2 billion won in the bank. We have the government license. What do we buy?"
Min-jun pulled up a presentation on the screen.
"We buy the death of the bank branch," Min-jun said.
On the screen was a logo that didn't exist yet for most people. Toss (Viva Republica). Founder: Lee Seung-gun.
"Who are they?" Ye-eun asked.
"Right now? A failed startup. Lee Seung-gun is a dentist turned entrepreneur. He failed eight times. He's currently working on a simple money transfer app."
Min-jun swiped the slide.
"In 2014, to send money in Korea, you need: An ActiveX plugin, a security card, an OTP token, and a Public Certificate. It takes 5 minutes and raises your blood pressure."
"Lee Seung-gun wants to make it take 10 seconds. 3 steps. No OTP."
"That's illegal," Ye-eun said immediately. "Financial regulations require the certificate."
"It's a grey area," Min-jun corrected. "He's going to use the CMS (Cash Management System) automated withdrawal method, usually used for utility bills, but hack it for P2P transfer."
"The regulators will kill him."
"They will try. But the President wants 'FinTech'. She wants deregulation. If we fund him now, when he's desperate and the banks are laughing at him... we get in on the ground floor of a Unicorn."
Min-jun looked at Ye-eun.
"Daegwang Group owns a securities firm and has a stake in a bank. If Toss succeeds, Daegwang's legacy finance business starts to crumble. We aren't just investing, Ye-eun. We are funding the meteor that kills the dinosaurs."
Ye-eun looked at the screen. She picked up the dossier. "A dentist hacking the banking system. You pick the weirdest horses, Min-jun."
"I pick the fast ones."
"Fine. Set up the meeting. How much?"
"500 Million Won. Seed Round. For 10% equity."
Min-jun smiled. In 2025, Toss would be valued at 10 Trillion Won. A 10% stake (even after dilution) would be worth hundreds of billions.
"And one more thing," Min-jun added. "We need to talk to Hermes."
"Your logistics company?"
"Our logistics company. Daegwang's 'DG Fast' is running out of cash. Their parent company is under investigation for the Duty-Free bribery scandal, so they cut the subsidy budget. The price war is ending."
"So Hermes won?"
"Hermes survived," Min-jun corrected. "Now, we conquer. I'm going to use 300 million from Mirue to fund a 'Driver Acquisition Bonus'. We steal their drivers back. We finish them."
Min-jun looked out the window at the Gangnam skyline. The sun was setting, painting the glass towers in gold and blood red.
The year 2014 was beginning. The year of the Sewol Ferry. The year of turmoil. But for Umbra... it was the year of the harvest.
[TRANSACTION LOG]
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Date: Nov 2013
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Asset: Bitcoin
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Action: SELL (Partial)
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Quantity: 1,000 BTC
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Price: $1,050
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Proceeds: ~$1.05 Million USD (~1.1 Billion KRW).
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Tax/Fees: Paid via Offshore Structure.
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Capital Injection: 500 Million KRW into Mirue Partners (LP Contribution).
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Personal Cash Reserve: ~600 Million KRW.
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Asset: Mirue Partners (Venture Fund)
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AUM: 2 Billion KRW (500M Min-jun + 500M Ye-eun + 1B Govt Match).
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Strategy: Aggressive Early Stage Tech.
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Target 1: Toss (Viva Republica).
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Target 2: Hermes Logistics (Follow-on).