Jung Min-hyuk didn't teach Seo-ah. He tested her.
Every Monday morning, Jung Min-hyuk left an assignment on Seo-ah's desk. One question written on a single sheet of memo paper. “Why is this company's stock price moving opposite to its earnings?” “Why did this fund manager change his position at this point?” “Which sector will see the biggest volatility next quarter in this market?”
Seo-ah submitted her answers by Friday. One sheet of A4 paper. Jung Min-hyuk read it and drew lines through it with a red pen. For the first three months, there wasn't a single page without red marks.
“The logic is weak.”
“Not enough data.”
“The conclusion comes too fast.”
Seo-ah nodded and wrote it again. She rewrote the same topic three times, four times. Jung Min-hyuk read each new version. The red lines began to decrease in the fourth month.
In the fifth month, Jung Min-hyuk returned her memo for the first time without a single red mark. Instead, he wrote one line in blue ink.
“Not bad.”
Seo-ah tucked the memo between the pages of her household ledger. She didn't know why she did it, either.
Jung Min-hyuk had rules.
He always ate lunch alone. He never went to company dinners. He didn't have personal conversations with his team members. Seo-ah was no exception. The meal he bought her at a Korean set-meal restaurant was the first and last. After that, Jung Min-hyuk never bought Seo-ah another meal, and Seo-ah didn't expect him to.
But Jung Min-hyuk gave Seo-ah one thing. An opportunity.
In her eighth month at the firm, a major client came to the securities firm. It was an IR meeting with a mid-sized manufacturer. Everyone on the Research Team was attending. Seo-ah naturally assumed she would be left out. She was support staff, after all.
Jung Min-hyuk said,
“Han Seo-ah, you come in too.”
The team members' eyes turned toward Seo-ah. She nodded and entered the conference room.
The meeting lasted two hours. The client's president explained his company's earnings, and the Research Team asked questions. Seo-ah sat in the corner and took notes. She didn't say a word.
After the meeting ended and the client left, Jung Min-hyuk asked,
“Han Seo-ah, what did you think?”
The team members looked at Seo-ah. A manager asking a high-school-graduate assistant for her opinion. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.
Seo-ah looked at her notes.
“He emphasized their export earnings for the second half of the year, but excluding the increase in raw-material prices, their actual margin must have shrunk. And he mentioned his plans for capital expenditures, but the timing overlaps with the peak of the industry cycle. If they invest now, the industry cycle could turn down by the time they recoup the investment.”
The conference room fell silent.
Jung Min-hyuk nodded. “Put that in the report.”
It was the day Seo-ah's name first appeared on a research report.
That evening, Seo-ah asked Jung Min-hyuk,
“Manager, why did you bring me into the meeting?”
Jung Min-hyuk was smoking. They were on the roof of the building. Seo-ah didn't smoke, but she knew Jung Min-hyuk was on the roof and had come up.
“Why?”
“I'm an assistant. I didn't have the right to be in the meeting.”
“I decide who has the right.”
Jung Min-hyuk exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“Han Seo-ah, when I look at people, I look for two things. One is brains. The other is guts.”
“Guts?”
“Courage. There are plenty of smart people. The Research Team is packed with kids who graduated from Seoul National University. But people with guts are rare. People who can speak their minds in a situation where they might be wrong.”
Seo-ah said nothing.
“What you said in the conference room today might have been wrong. But you said it. That's what matters.”
Jung Min-hyuk stubbed out his cigarette.
“Don't try to impress me. Impressing me means nothing. Impress the market. The market doesn't care about your school. The market only cares about results.”
Seo-ah remembered those words. The market only cares about results. Just like the numbers written in Seo-ah's household ledger. Numbers had no emotions. Numbers didn't lie.
Seo-ah lowered her head.
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me. Repay me with your skills.”
After that, Seo-ah changed.
She attended meetings. Her name appeared on reports. She voiced her opinions. Sometimes she was wrong. When she was wrong, Jung Min-hyuk's red lines came back. Seo-ah rewrote everything.
A year later, Seo-ah was no longer an assistant. She was a junior analyst on the Research Team. The first high-school graduate to reach the position. No one congratulated her. Seo-ah hadn't expected congratulations, either.
Seo-ah went home and opened her household ledger. Her salary had gone up. The numbers had changed. She increased the money she gave her grandmother. She raised her younger sibling's academy tuition. Seo-ah's daily living budget was still three thousand won.
She still had a long way to go. Seo-ah knew that. The small- and mid-cap securities firm in Euljiro was only the beginning. Where Seo-ah needed to go was Yeouido. The forty-third floor.
[Coaching Insight]
A benefactor isn't someone who saves you. A benefactor is someone who tests your potential.
Jung Min-hyuk wasn't kind to Seo-ah. He didn't buy her meals, comfort her, or praise her very often. Instead, he gave her an opportunity. Then he watched to see how Seo-ah would move when faced with it.
There's only one way for someone with nothing to win the heart of someone above them. Show results. Don't say you're grateful. Prove it.
Your benefactor may already be by your side. You just haven't passed the test yet.