After the conversation had mostly ended.
I took out a résumé and handed it to Henri Vuitton.
"Is this the designer who's supposed to bring in massive sales?"
"Yes."
Henri Vuitton examined the documents.
Luke Jacobs.
If Tom Hood had rebuilt Gucci, then.
Luke Jacobs was the one who made Louis Vuitton dominate the Asian market.
You know, that thing.
The monogram bag that was called the 'three-second bag' because you'd see one every three seconds on the street.
That was Luke Jacobs' creation.
"A graduate of Parsons School of Design, I see."
"That's correct."
"Tom Hood, who recently joined Gucci, is also from Parsons."
The Parsons duo who would lead the luxury industry for the next ten years.
That was why I sent Jo So-deok to the U.S.
"If you look below, you'll see that the bag's design and material selection are already finalized."
"All that's left is production?"
"In a month, the world will look different."
***
After Park Ji-hoon left.
Henri Vuitton remained lost in thought for a while.
'Make the shareholders money, and control of the company will follow naturally.'
He had hesitated to take on this obvious task.
Wasn't that, in itself, a disqualification as an executive?
Henri Vuitton let out a bitter smile.
"Chairman, should we contact Dion as planned?"
"Check this first."
In response to the director's question, Henri Vuitton handed over the résumé.
"Park Ji-hoon left this with me."
"Hah! A PVC bag? Using synthetic leather for a luxury brand—does that even make sense?"
"Are you against it, Director?"
"Of course. For the sake of brand value, this must never happen."
It wasn't just the director.
The entire executive team was loudly insisting that they had to protect their brand's luxurious image at all costs.
But only one person.
Only Park Ji-hoon was voicing the exact opposite opinion.
'Synthetic leather, huh.'
Wasn't this essentially a declaration to popularize luxury goods?
"Chairman, we are a luxury brand. Our pricing strategy must ensure that the general public can't easily access our products…"
If Park Ji-hoon had heard that, what would he have said?
He would've smirked and thrown out a single remark.
Something like—
—Didn't Louis Vuitton start out by making custom travel trunks for aristocrats?
In other words, since when did they become so high and mighty?
He had a point.
Selling to nobles didn't make you a noble yourself.
But what about the director's words?
Looking down on the masses while acting like an aristocrat himself.
'Sigh.'
Perhaps today's crisis for Louis Vuitton was caused by this very vanity.
Closing his eyes tightly against the wave of regret, Henri Vuitton spoke.
"Do as CEO Park Ji-hoon suggested."
"Pardon? C-Chairman…?"
"Bring in the person listed on that résumé immediately!"
At the chairman's stern order, the director quickly bowed his head.
***
Aboard Grosvenor's private jet.
"How was it?"
"The chairman seemed pretty decent."
In response to Tennessee's question, I replied with a smile.
I had two options.
Swallow up Louis Vuitton right away, even if it was risky.
Or, without spending a single penny, receive a considerable amount of shares.
I chose the latter.
'If I spend money here, it'll only give Harris more breathing room.'
There was no way I could let that happen.
For now, I'd maintain a good relationship with Louis Vuitton.
'We can discuss acquisition slowly.'
As I was sorting out my thoughts, Tennessee suddenly leaned in.
"So if the chairman agrees, you'll get shares without paying a dime?"
I nodded.
"That's possible?"
"The shareholders will want me to become part of Louis Vuitton."
"If, as you say, sales go through the roof, then yeah, it wouldn't be impossible."
That reaction lasted only briefly.
Tennessee shook his head.
"Business is ridiculously hard."
"What is?"
"You need precise calculations and nerves of steel. It requires way too many skills."
I smirked.
Well, I can do this because I already know the future.
I should at least wrap this up nicely, right?
"I've been learning since I was very young."
"From your grandfather?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, that reminds me—when are you going to let me use my wish?"
A meal date between Grandfather and Tennessee.
"Well… he's in Italy right now."
"At this rate, I might end up going to Korea instead."
"What?"
"Since the holidays are coming up, it'd be faster to visit him in person."
And then… taking Hyungang Motors on a tour… introducing this guy to the executives as the grandson's friend… Ah, no, that would be unacceptable!
"There… there'll be a chance."
I had to change the subject quickly.
"Anyway, that leaves just one thing."
"...?"
"The space you lent me. I just need to fill it up completely."
"Once that's done… the Harris flagship store will collapse?"
At Tennessee's question, I responded with a smile.
***
In the heart of London.
A Korean international student was living in a mansion in an affluent neighborhood.
The rent alone was about the same as a senior manager's salary at a large corporation.
The only reason a poor student could live here was simple.
Hyungang Cultural Foundation had been supporting them generously.
Yoo Seon-ho, a graduate of Seoul National University's Fine Arts program, had a special connection with Hyungang.
Park Ji-hoon had bought a ton of his drawings, which led to Park Yong-hak discovering his work.
As a result, when the Hyungang Cultural Foundation was established, Yoo Seon-ho was selected as its first sponsored artist.
This meant not only full coverage of accommodation and tuition but also a generous living stipend.
In every way possible, they spared no expense in supporting him.
By all logic, Yoo Seon-ho should have been enjoying a comfortable life as a student abroad.
And yet, strangely enough.
He looked exhausted.
The reason was clear.
He was using all the support he received from Hyungang for others.
Yoo Seon-ho was never an ordinary person.
In the 1980s, he had been ambitious enough to decide on studying abroad in the UK and had the drive to make it happen.
When he first arrived, he was filled with the conviction that he would dominate the global art scene.
And his results were impressive.
His paintings were several times better than those of the well-bred Oxford intellectuals.
But.
One visit to the Bristol Museum changed his life completely.
There, he met a child.
A child who had grown up in a shelter without parents, but had run away because he couldn't even fit in there.
His only outlet in life was painting murals under a bridge.
But he couldn't even afford spray paint, so all he could do was watch others create.
And yet, surprisingly.
The moment Yoo Seon-ho handed him a spray can—
"...!"
The boy created an entirely new world before his eyes.
At that moment, he knew.
There were talents that heaven specifically chose.
There were realms that could never be conquered through effort alone.
It was such an obvious truth.
No amount of effort could ever make someone catch up to Da Vinci.
Was this how Renaissance artists must have felt?
'Damn it.'
He had come all the way to study abroad.
And yet, here he was, despairing over an elementary school kid.
What a miserable, pathetic reality.
"What's your name?"
"I don't know."
"...."
"But I gave myself a name."
"What is it?"
"Jude."
"Jude?"
"Like in 'Hey Jude.'"
"You came up with that?"
The boy nodded.
"Why?"
"Because when I hear The Beatles' songs, I feel comforted, even if just for a moment."
Even his reason for choosing a name wasn't ordinary.
From that day on, they became friends.
Though to outsiders, it probably looked more like a guardian and a child.
After meeting Jude, Yoo Seon-ho gradually stepped away from his own art.
His own work took a backseat while he devoted himself to watching over Jude's drawings.
Was this his way of rebelling against a world that hadn't granted him talent?
Or maybe, deep down, he hoped that Jude himself would become his masterpiece.
"Why are you so late?"
"I was painting."
At Yoo Seon-ho's question, Jude shrugged.
"Where did you go?"
"A really rich neighborhood."
"You painted there?"
Nod, nod.
"I told you not to paint just anywhere…"
"It wasn't a house, just a commercial building. An abandoned one that's been empty for months."
"A place like that exists in a wealthy neighborhood?"
"Yeah, there was a whole street completely vacant."
"Even so… it's still private property…"
"They've got plenty of money, so what does it matter?"
"...?"
"If they're rich, erasing a painting is no big deal. They can just hire a few people to clean it up in no time."
Jude's words made Yoo Seon-ho frown.
"Do you even realize who's keeping you fed right now?"
"You are."
"And who's supporting me?"
"I don't know."
"The rich people you despise. You take their money without a second thought, and now you're badmouthing them?"
"It's only natural for the wealthy to help the poor."
"And you?"
"What about me?"
"Have you ever helped someone less fortunate than you?"
"I don't have anything to give…"
"And me?"
"...?"
"Do you think I do this because I have a lot?"
Most of the support money Yoo Seon-ho received was going toward sending Jude to school.
A prestigious private school, one of the top-ranked in the UK.
At this point, even Jude was at a loss for words.
"Your work and your life can't be separate. If you want to make a statement through your art, you have to live by it first…"
"Even if no one acknowledges it, even if no one appreciates it. You have to be honest with yourself. That's the only way to create real art."
He must have said it so often that Jude had memorized it.
"Alright, Brother. I won't do it again."
"Are you just saying that?"
"No, really. I'll do it properly."
Sigh.
"Still, I have something good to tell you."
"What is it?"
"I have a dream now!"
A dream?
Wasn't it obvious that he wanted to be an artist?
Yoo Seon-ho blinked in confusion.
"Not a job or anything like that."
"...?"
"I want to live like you. Someday, I want to make a lot of money…"
Wait, did he just realize something?
"No, like you said, I should start little by little from now. I want to support struggling artists, even in small ways."
"Why all of a sudden?"
"Because it looks cool."
Cool, my ass!
"To me, you're the coolest person in the world."
"...."
"And I want to be the coolest person to someone too."
Tsk.
"So… I'm going to copy your drawings exactly."
"What?"
"You always say that work and life shouldn't be separate, right? I want to be like you, so I'm going to paint just like you too."
"That's not the same thing!"
"How is it different?"
Wait a second.
Does that mean the mural he painted today…?
Jude nodded his head, as if to say it was obvious.
***
Oxford Street.
It was like the Cheongdam-dong of England.
Many brands wanted to set up shop there.
But the selection process was strict to maintain the street's concept.
Rather than a chaotic mix, I wanted it to reflect more of my taste.
'What's the point of thinking about it forever?'
It's always better to see it in person.
"Shouldn't there be a restaurant around here?"
"What would be good?"
"McDonald's?"
That guy.
Half joking, half serious.
Just as Tennessee and I stepped onto the street—
'Huh?'
They had kept this area vacant for a long time, saying they were going to construct a building…
But someone had painted a massive mural on the side of one of the empty buildings.
A young man holding a bouquet instead of a Molotov cocktail.
Wait.
'Banksy?'
No, to me, the name Yoo Seon-ho was more familiar than Banksy.
'No way.'
He was studying in the UK, so… it wasn't entirely impossible.
"...."
Honestly, I couldn't believe it.
Even if he had a rebellious streak, he was a Seoul National University fine arts graduate and a very rational person.
Even if this place was set to be redeveloped…
'Would Yoo Seon-ho really graffiti someone else's building?'
It didn't seem likely.
Then what was this?
Was there actually another Banksy aside from him?
"There are more of them."
"What?"
"The whole street is covered in graffiti."
I took a step back and slowly looked around.
Just as Tennessee said, every vacant storefront was covered in murals.
But.
'Hmm.'
Because they were all done in a similar style.
It looked like an elongated Oriental folding screen, giving the street an unexpectedly elegant feel.
"What do you think?"
"About what?"
"This street. Doesn't it feel like a gallery?"
At my words, Tennessee's eyebrows furrowed.
"You're not thinking of keeping this, are you?"
"Keeping it or not isn't the issue."
"...?"
"The paintings already have a life of their own."