I Became the Youngest Daughter of a Chaebol Family-Chapter 8: An Era of Change (1)

No matter how grand my plan was... in the end, it was a plan that needed time to reveal its value.

I busied myself setting traps and waited leisurely for time to pass.

And so, time flowed since Yoo Jin-cheol’s death... and I turned eight years old.

January 3, 1985. The third day of the new year.

“Phew...”

Wearing mittens, I slowly walked across a snow-covered field. On the streets of Sinchon, Christmas tree decorations hadn’t yet been taken down, and the lingering atmosphere of the New Year was still heavy in the air.

I’d grown a little taller over the past year, but my cheeks were still soft, and the bright smiling mask plastered over my cute yet gloomy face had become more natural.

I’d grown more articulate, and bluffing with a straight face came easier. My brain worked much better now, and as a bonus, I’d absorbed a bunch of miscellaneous knowledge I hadn’t known in my previous life.

“Oh, hello there, sir. Long time no see.”

Wearing that mask to its fullest, I bowed politely to the man in front of me.

“Yes. Happy New Year. You’ve grown another year older, haven’t you.”

Kim Hae-ik, Chief Secretary for Economic Affairs, said that with an expression that looked oddly amused.

“Hehe. I’m eight years old now. I’ll be going to elementary school in March, right? It’s so weird.”

That part was true. The thought of going to elementary school again felt strange. I didn’t like it, but more than that, it just felt surreal.

It’s not like school life would be hard for a chaebol’s daughter anyway.

“It’s nice seeing you like this again. Don’t stay buried in grown-ups’ business all the time—go outside, make some friends. It’s not good for a child’s emotional development.”

“Uugh, I hear that all the time, so please not from you too, sir. It hurts my heart. You know, right? I’m too smart to make friends. Is that why we’re in Sinchon today?”

I shrugged playfully.

The Sinchon street, with Yonsei University’s Baekyang-ro visible in the distance, was packed with college students celebrating the end of the semester.

“...That’s not the only reason. I did want to show you the university, but... never mind. Let’s just walk for now.”

Tap tap tap.

The steps of a middle-aged man were slow but steady. The scurrying steps of a small child were fast but short. I waved at the falling snowflakes in the air and opened my mouth.

“So 1984 is already last year, huh. Fortunately, the world is still livable.”

I remembered Baek Nam-jun's Good Morning Mr. Orwell being broadcast live. It was pretty cool, honestly.

—Thud.

“Whoa!”

Maybe he tripped on a rock—Kim Hae-ik stumbled, suddenly losing his balance. I quickly reached out to support him and asked,

“Are you okay?”

He leaned in close and whispered into my ear.

“An ANSP agent is tailing us. Be careful what you say.”

“...!”

I sucked in a silent breath.

The Agency for National Security Planning—what would later become the National Intelligence Service—had wielded nearly unlimited power under the dictatorship. They’d even arrested and tortured members of the National Assembly.

Why they had someone tailing him... no, it was obvious. There’s no way they’d leave a high-ranking official unmonitored.

We just hadn’t noticed until now because our previous conversations had always happened at Grandpa’s house.

‘I should stop with the 1984 jokes.’

George Orwell was a famously known communist. And 1984 was a novel critical of dictatorship.

To confirm my suspicion, I casually spoke to him again, acting as if I hadn’t heard anything at all.

“You should be more careful, seriously. You don’t exercise these days, huh? You’ve really lost your edge. Are you sure it’s not time to retire?”

=Are you starting to lose political clout?

“Haha. I just tripped a little, that’s all. My joints are getting a bit stiff these days, but I’m not quite that bad yet.”

=I’m fine. This kind of surveillance is standard under a dictatorship.

Hmm. So I guess he’s okay.

Avoiding any politically sensitive topics, I cautiously selected a different subject.

“How’s work been lately? Year-end must be rough.”

“It’s the same as always. Worrying about inflation, trying to figure out which industries to foster... the usual headaches.”

“If you ask me, semiconductors are the future. Sure, we’ll need the heavy industry sector to bridge the gap, but I think cultivating advanced tech industries should be the top priority.”

“Are you asking me for money right now?”

I smiled sweetly and nodded.

“Yes.”

“Ahem, I don’t accept personal favors.”

He wasn’t saying that because someone was watching. He was simply the type of person who wouldn’t take bribes even if no one was looking.

“Aww, too bad. But you know I’m right, right?”

Kim Hae-ik gave a reluctant nod.

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

“That’s true. Who would’ve thought Daehwa Electronics would do so well. How many people did they burn through to get there?”

In the original timeline, he’d died before Daehwa Electronics succeeded in developing the 64K DRAM. Naturally, his view of the semiconductor industry had shifted dramatically.

“Hehe. That’s a secret. But I think they’ll manage to develop the 1M chip sometime next year.”

“...Didn’t they just develop the 256K two months ago?”

Chief Secretary Kim Hae-ik looked at me with a new kind of amazement in his eyes.

“Mm~ probably around mid-next year? That sounds about right. I’ve invested a lot of my own money too. I even participated in the research a little bit.”

I remembered the shocked expressions on the faces of the researchers, looking at me with doubt in their eyes, like, What’s a kid doing here? It was electrifying.

This is the real joy of playing the child prodigy. Originally, Daehwa Electronics wouldn’t be on equal footing with the global leaders until they developed the 16M DRAM, but I planned to push that timeline forward.

—Click.

As we walked slowly, we stepped inside a building to escape the cold wind—and the agent’s line of sight. After a brief exchange of looks, I spoke first.

“Did something happen?”

Kim Hae-ik’s eyes darkened for a moment.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

***

“I’ve been put in charge of dismantling insolvent companies lately... and I think this one’s going to be big.”

Hearing that, something rose to the surface of my memory.

The Dongguk Group dismantlement incident. A major conglomerate, currently ranked 8th in the business world, and representing the Busan–Ulsan–Gyeongnam region, was broken up.

“Is it Dongguk Group?”

“Ha. That’s right. I guess there’s no point being surprised anymore, but your insight really is incredible.”

“Well, thanks to that, Grandpa’s been doting on me even more lately. He praised me again last time for guessing right about the 256K DRAM development.”

I already knew about their stingy donation to the Saemaul Movement fund, thanks to Grandpa, so I had solid reasoning. Still, the idea that a conglomerate could be dismantled just for falling out of the President’s favor was something no ordinary person would think.

But I wasn’t an ordinary person—I had already finished image-crafting myself as a genius.

“Seriously... While it’s true the country’s conglomerates are pretty hollow inside, this is just...”

“It’s transparent, right?”

“...Exactly.”

The implication being: isn’t it a bit much to dismantle a corporation just because it didn’t listen to the President?

“Well... there is a justification. Chairman Kang has been expanding recklessly lately. In this country, chaebols expanding through endless debt has always been the norm. But since he kept screwing up his businesses one after another... once they dig into it, they’ll definitely find illegal activities and some cooked books. Just look at the debt ratio—it’s 900%. That is extreme.”

The problem is... that was actually the average for the 1980s. Strictly speaking, it was twice the average debt ratio, but shockingly, even that wasn’t considered a bizarre number at the time.

Anyone looking would naturally think there was personal vendetta involved.

“Chairman Kang really ended up in a pitiful state. What a way to go out in his twilight years. A chaebol chairman reduced to begging for scraps.”

“Mm? Ah, it won’t be that bad. He still has his name, after all. Can’t go too hard on a chaebol chairman. Once he bows his head at the right moment, they’ll cut him up a bit and let it end with about half the affiliates stripped. He won’t have the power he used to, but that can’t be helped.”

“...?”

What?

The flow was already different from the original history. Originally, Dongguk Group’s Chairman Kang lost even his house and ended up mooching off friends and relatives until the regime collapsed.

Later, he filed a constitutional suit trying to reclaim his company, but by the time the Asian Financial Crisis hit, the company was already dead—and he died quietly without getting anything back.

‘Butterfly effect.’

The reason Chairman Kang fell out of President Jeon Doo-gwang’s favor was his tiny donation to the Saemaul Movement, but the real fatal blow was donating a small amount to the Ilhae Foundation—and doing it by promissory note.

A promissory note is what the powerful give the powerless, so of course he’d be pissed. Even if there were circumstances, the President personally ordered the donation drive, and Kang basically spat in his face.

But in this altered timeline, the Aung San Mausoleum bombing never occurred—meaning the Ilhae Foundation, which was originally created in the name of supporting the bereaved, never came to exist.

Which means Chairman Kang never had the chance to offend the regime by under-donating to Ilhae. And since high-ranking officials didn’t die, they could offer relatively reasonable advice to the President.

Plus, there were still about two months until the 2.12 general election, so Jeon Doo-gwang wasn’t feeling desperate yet. DJ’s return to Korea just before the election wasn’t yet known, so he’d be relaxed.

That’s why, compared to the original history, this response was far more moderate.

‘Interesting.’

Looks like I’ve already twisted a strand of history.

And that feeling...

It was electrifying. I could get addicted to this.

“The Foreign Minister told me something. That it’s more effective to let them live and make them bow than to completely dismantle them—it’s better for keeping the chaebols in line.”

“Of course. Grandpa’s going to suffer a bit over the donation drive now too, huh? Or maybe not? If we just look at it from a business perspective, it might be beneficial... Daehwa will be handling the acquisition of the affiliates, right?”

“...That’s a secret.”

He said it was a secret, but it was basically a confirmation.

“Nice. Hehe. Mm, well, I just need to make sure the initiative doesn’t go to Uncle... so I’ll have to talk directly with Grandpa. Hmm, but I don’t know yet which parts will get cut off, so I’ll have to test the waters. Ugh, what a mess. Total mess.”

I shook my head casually like it was a light conversation, chattering away.

“Wasn’t as big of a deal as I expected. Mmhmm. ...Then why the long face?”

“Haha. Yeah, that’s manageable. At least for you. But... I’m a bit worried about the general election. The times are starting to change.”

Only then did I understand what was behind his expression.

...The dismantling of Dongguk Group was politically motivated—Jeon Doo-gwang’s move to secure political funds for the election.

Politics and economy are inseparable. For Kim Hae-ik, Chief Secretary for Economic Affairs, it wasn’t just about taking apart a conglomerate—he had to think about the political context behind it.

The fact that the President had to personally dismantle a chaebol just to get political funds for the election meant, in other words, that his ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) political influence was fading to the point that he had no choice but to take such desperate measures.

Well... the June Democracy Movement was in 1987. With his sharp political instincts, Kim Hae-ik could probably already sense that tide coming. The two Kims—DJ and YS—still held enormous political influence, even during the dictatorship.

“Well, there’s still plenty of time, isn’t there? At least two years, right?”

“...For an old man like me, two years is short.”

“For me, it’s a quarter of my life. And honestly, I’ve got more urgent things to focus on right now, so I’ve been giving politics less attention.”

I shrugged. Sure, the end of the military regime would be a massive event, but something even more important was about to happen—on the global scale.

“Oh? And what would that be?”

Chief Secretary Kim Hae-ik looked at me with curious eyes. Every time I brought up something like this, it ended up blowing wide open, so of course he was looking forward to it.

“The dollar. Don’t you think it’s too high these days?”

The Plaza Accord, which would devalue the dollar by sharply adjusting the yen-to-dollar rate from 250 yen to 150 yen, was coming in September of this year.

Low interest. Low oil prices. Low dollar.

The age of the “Three Lows”—the biggest economic boom since Dangun—was on its way.