Street 7

Pierce, who had settled at the bar, ordered without asking the instructor.

"Two glasses of Pappy Van Winkle."

"That, that's $210 a glass, sir."

"Then, make it a bottle."

"Sorry, what?"

"A bottle. Do I need to spell it out?"

"Oh, no. One bottle of Pappy Van Winkle coming right up."

Pierce glanced down at his wristwatch as if he was in a hurry. Meanwhile, the instructor, James, had to bite his lip. Ordering a whiskey worth several thousand dollars a bottle was something out of a movie.

'I need to keep my poker face…'

Pierce did it on purpose. He was using money to unsettle James' composure.

"Here it is. Would you like it on the rocks?"

Seeing Pierce's frown, the bartender quickly closed his mouth, poured the whiskey silently, and hurried away.

"So, do we have anyone decent?" Pierce got straight to the point, but James smiled and slowly lifted his glass of whiskey.

"What do I know? I'm just an instructor with only six weeks of training."

"But your eye is anything but ordinary."

Pierce glanced at his wristwatch again, but this was just a false signal. He could afford to enjoy the moment a bit longer.

"You're quite the oddball. You're the only MD asking me to evaluate recruits."

"My being an oddball is well-known, isn't it?"

"True. You're the legend of Wall Street, the Lich King."

The Lich King was Pierce's nickname, and there was a reason for it. Once Pierce had set his sights on a client, he never let go. Even when the client begged him to stop, cursed him as a madman, or threatened to cut ties, it was no use. Pierce would calmly take all the threats and insults with a smile and then shamelessly call again the next day with a solution. There were only two ways to escape Pierce: sign the contract or kill him. But Pierce was still alive, and that's why he was known as the Lich King.

'He's remarkable, no doubt.'

He delivered top-tier results despite being loathed by his clients. That meant he succeeded purely on skill. There were only a few MDs whose names were known outside of Goldman, and Pierce was one of them. Someone of his stature was spending time with a mere instructor like James.

"Why do you put so much effort into mere recruits?"

Instead of answering, Pierce placed his hand flat on the bar table. Something was underneath, but it was hard to see.

"Got some free time in October?"

"Well, no recruits around then."

"Lucky you. I'll be swamped with work."

As Pierce moved his hand, the object underneath was revealed — courtside tickets to a New York Knicks game.

"Didn't want to waste them, and I happened to be looking for a 'friend' who's free."

James took the tickets and swallowed his disappointment. There had been a warning hidden in Pierce's words: 'Keep playing hard to get, and you'll be dropped from my circle of friends.'

"What do you think of the Asian guy Liliana's looking at?"

James pointed to an Asian man, Ha Si-heon.

"Hmm, an Asian…"

Pierce's voice carried a hint of disappointment. Asians were often perceived as meticulous but lacking aggression.

"How's his mentality?"

"His mentality?"

"The last guy you recommended didn't even last three months before he ran away."

"His speed and accuracy are overwhelming. His mental strength…"

Ha Si-heon was not a student who stood out. All summer long, he had seemed unremarkable, but his performance today was still vividly etched in his mind. He was the only one who seemed completely relaxed among the tense recruits preparing for their final exam.

'No, that wasn't relaxation.'

He didn't even seem to care about the exam. His expression was so arrogant that he could even detect a hint of annoyance in his eyes. But it wasn't just for show. Ha Si-heon's hands moved with confidence, his speed was swift, and he made no mistakes.

'He was the same during the inspection.'

The instructor always asked for the formulas in each box to be revealed during the final inspection. Even if they didn't cheat, most recruits would still be nervous, but Ha Si-heon wasn't shaken at all. In fact, he was so composed that it seemed almost eerie.

"He doesn't seem like someone who would break easily."

"You can never be sure of that."

"Sorry?"

"At his age, has he ever really been broken?"

James wore an expression that seemed to ask, 'Why bother asking if you already know?' Just then, a recruit approached Ha Si-heon to introduce himself.

"Hey, Sergeant! Oh, I'm Doyle from the Natural Resources department!"

Pierce narrowed his eyes, observing the scene.

'Interesting.'

They weren't exchanging names and having a conversation. Instead, one side was speaking at length while Ha Si-heon was responding with short, curt answers. This meant that the recruits recognized Ha Si-heon, but Ha Si-heon didn't know who they were.

"Is he well-known?"

"No, not really. He mostly kept to himself."

"For someone like that…"

It was due to the conversation with Kent. The interaction had been stimulating enough at an otherwise dull reception that people had started to recognize Ha Si-heon and approached him. Pierce's curiosity was piqued by the scene.

At that moment, a group of young men in suits burst in.

"Man, I'm exhausted!"

"What are we doing here after work?!"

They were associates, the rank just above the recruits, attending the reception. Pierce placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and gestured to the bartender.

"The music is a bit loud here."

The bartender, who had been sluggish earlier, quickly pocketed the bill and disappeared. A moment later, the background music shifted to a softer tune.

Then, Pierce noticed Ha Si-heon approaching someone. There was an empty seat nearby.

Pierce raised his glass and gestured to James.

"Shall we move over?"

***

The associates at the reception each took up a sofa, lounging with their chins up and their bodies relaxed, like lords surveying their land. The lord of the healthcare division was Brent, just as Liliana had described. Moreover, he had been my direct superior for several months in my past life.

But there was a problem. His territory, that is, the space around him, was far too crowded.

"What's going on with the deal flow?"

"There have been a lot of IPOs lately. Do you think this trend will continue?"

"Isn't there a chance this is a bubble?"

'Everyone's after something.'

The healthcare division had been handling an unusually high volume of deals lately. High volume meant good performance, and good performance led to promotions. In other words, it was a popular division. Like me, there were others here trying to transfer, all competing to catch Brent's eye.

As a result, finding the right moment to speak was no easy task.

"This isn't a temporary bubble that will burst quickly. The structure of supply and demand here is fundamentally different. The desire to live longer isn't going anywhere, right? And just because treatments are expensive, are people going to stop seeking them?"

"Oh! That makes sense!"

"Since the nature of demand is different, the nature of competition is different too!"

As Brent proudly showed off his wisdom and insight, the recruits were busy reacting with enthusiasm.

And me?

I stayed silent without saying a word.

'There's no need to be a reaction bot.'

Even in a competitive environment, flattery requires distinction.

I crouched quietly, waiting for my chance.

"Tech only had its growth phase after the foundational technology, the internet, was established, right? It's the same here. Genetic mapping and genetic engineering have laid the foundation, and now it's taking off."

Now's the time.

"Did you handle the Agios IPO in June, too, senior?"

"What? How did you know that?"

How do you think? I looked it up.

During coffee time, I searched for every biotech IPO that Goldran successfully led this year. I was planning to throw out one name at a time to check, and I was lucky enough to hit the mark on the first try.

"Isn't that the deal that benefited the most from the genetic mapping you were just talking about? And considering the recent hype around CRISPR technology, it's a company with great growth potential. I can't believe you were behind it!"

Tailored flattery works best.

The more specific, the better, and it's ideal to highlight their actual achievements.

"How do you know all this?"

"I'm a med school graduate, so I've always been interested in this field."

"Oh, med school?"

Flattery from someone with expertise, like a med student, is better than flattery from a clueless lackey.

"What's your name again?"

"Sean."

"Right, Sean."

Success in making my name known.

But I can't stop here.

I glanced at the band on his wrist.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"Oh, this? I overdid it with my wrist."

Brent made a wide swing with his right hand—clearly a tennis forehand motion.

"Is there a tennis club near the office?"

"Oh, do you play tennis?"

"I used to. Haven't played in a few years since med school kept me so busy."

Tennis isn't a solo sport.

If I'm around, he can drag me out to play when he's free.

Now, a glimmer of greed was starting to appear in Brent's eyes.

"Sean, which department are you in?"

"Emerging Markets. Given the situation, I'm working flexibly for the time being."

"Then you could help with our department's work, right?"

"Call me anytime, and I'll be there!"

By now, the other recruits were eyeing me with suspicion.

They probably thought I was being chosen.

'How naive.'

Look at Brent's expression. He's drunk on power.

Power tastes best right before a decision is made.

If left unchecked, he'd savor that power by dragging things out.

'How long will this take? Three to four months?'

For someone with only ten years left to live, three to four months is a long time.

If I want Brent to take immediate action, I'll need to take a different route.

There's a path faster and more certain than flattery.

"Which departments did you rotate through during your internship?"

"Emerging Markets, Fixed Assets, and Infrastructure."

"Really? Why didn't you come to our department? I would've snatched you up immediately. That's too bad."

Brent's attention was entirely on me now.

All the questions were personal, so the spectators had no chance to join the conversation.

The flattery had only been groundwork for setting up this one-on-one situation.

Now the real game begins.

"Honestly, I'm confident I'd do well in the Healthcare department. I didn't go through med school for nothing. 80% of the companies I've kept an eye on have always made deals."

"Pfft, 80%? That's ridiculous."

Brent chuckled at my remark.

"Medical knowledge alone isn't enough. All that can be filtered with expertise is the product. What's more important than the product is the market flow, each industry's position, and the buyer's psychology."

He spoke in a lecturing tone, just as expected.

"Of course, you're right, senior. But the biotech industry is a bit unique, isn't it? There's heavy government regulation in this field."

"So?"

"As you said, the market flow and buyer psychology are important, but at the final stage, the FDA steps in. Since it's judged purely by medical criteria at that last hurdle, professional knowledge seems to play a bigger role here than in other fields."

My argument was simple: as a med student, I might be able to do a little better.

I kept my expression as sincere as possible and spoke politely, but the air around us had turned cold.

Overconfidence can make people uncomfortable.

"Still, knowledge can't beat experience. Even if you bring in a doctor, it's the same."

"Of course. I was merely suggesting that my background might provide a bit more help."

At some point, Brent's expression had become stiff.

My fellow recruits had question marks floating over their heads.

They were probably thinking: 

"So, you're saying you're better because you went to med school, huh?" 

"Where's your tact? You should be trying to impress him…"

No one had realized why I was doing this.

Well, that's understandable.

They don't yet understand human nature.

But I'll bet you this is the fastest and surest way to transfer departments.

When do people move the fastest, do you think?

When they're trying to help a promising junior?

Not a chance.

It's when they're punishing an arrogant fool.