AGIWPUC Chapter 55

Chapter 55: If It’s Too Easy It’s No Fun 

 

As the main part of Demo Day began, I focused intently on the presentations from representatives. 

After all, no one could predict when or where the golden light might appear.  

The pitches flowed like rosy blueprints, suggesting that any moment could lead to the birth of a unicorn company.

“Hello everyone, we’re ‘TheCoo,’ a platform dedicated to supporting individual creators…”

It seemed like a business born from the increasing influence of diverse personal broadcasts.  

“Ugh… That’s going to be a disaster.”  

As soon as I saw the ominous black aura surrounding the pitch, I decisively turned my attention away. 

Even if such issues didn’t pose immediate threats, they would inevitably lead to problems down the line.

“Nice to meet you. We’re the creators of ‘Trademark Ttuk-Tak’, a service…”  

The service was designed to help older business owners struggling with the complexities of trademark registration. 

It offered a simple and affordable way to register trademarks online.  

They presented data showing how much demand there was for their service, but to me, it didn’t leave a strong impression.  

There were other startups with seemingly promising ideas, but none of them emanated the golden light I was searching for.  

‘Of course, it wouldn’t be so easy.’ 

I thought to myself.  

No one understood better than me how unforgiving the world could be. 

Still, I couldn’t deny I had hoped, even just a little, that some hidden gem would emerge from the graduates of such a rigorous accelerator program.  

The disappointment was inevitable.  

And then, the final presenter took the stage—a man with a somewhat clumsy appearance.  

“He looks like a total bookworm.”

Doesn’t every classroom have at least one bespectacled student everyone calls a bookworm?  

The man who stepped up to the podium had the typical image of someone who not only sat in the front row but also excelled academically.  

I had harbored a faint hope, but it was quickly dashed. 

There wasn’t a trace of light surrounding him.  

“Well, a total miss.”  

Still, I wasn’t too disappointed. 

At least I had learned more about startups and investment today.  

Lately, I’d been entertaining the thought that maybe the golden light wasn’t the only answer in life. 

That line of thinking led me to a bit of self-reflection: was I relying too heavily on this mysterious ability?  

There was no guarantee how long this mysterious ability would last or when it might vanish altogether. 

It reaffirmed my resolve to focus on developing my personal skills, regardless of any external abilities.  

Humility was crucial, and one must always prepare for the worst, no matter how unlikely it seemed.  

The man at the podium grabbed the microphone and began his presentation.  

His nervousness was evident; one of his legs was trembling uncontrollably. 

From the looks of it, he wasn’t even aware of it.  

“I’m Song Si-ho, CEO of Studio SH, the creator of the game ‘Hunting Pig’.”  

The presentation was off to a bad start. 

People who had initially been attentive were now getting distracted.  

Matthew, seated next to me, leaned over and whispered silently. 

“If they start with company addresses, histories, or organizational charts, just tune it out immediately…”  

“Our company is based in Gasan Digital Complex. We started with three developers and are now in our second year of business…”  

“Especially if they mention winning some competition or award. That stuff is completely useless…”  

“Our team won the gold medal at an ‘online game competition’…”  

Great. 

Just great.

That guy. 

It’s like he’s deliberately doing everything he’s not supposed to.

At this point, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to suspect that the accelerator had completely abandoned him.

The presentation was abysmal, and the game itself? 

Even worse.

“What kind of game is that…”

I wasn’t exactly a gaming enthusiast, but even to my untrained eyes, this game was… well, bad. No, it was really bad.

Hunting Pig.

A video introducing the game played on the massive screen. 

It was shot in the style of a YouTube game creator’s content, but it was painfully obvious the ‘creator’ was an employee.

The awkwardness was palpable—absolutely glaring.

The game itself was even more ridiculous. 

It featured a heroic cat hunter on a mission to hunt down monstrous pigs.

At first, you hunted plump, pink pigs that looked like they came straight from a pig farm.

But as the difficulty increased, wild boars and even mammoth-sized mutant pigs appeared.

When the video ended, an uncomfortable silence filled the hall.

It was the kind of silence that stemmed from collective confusion—no one knew how to react.

How do I know? 

Because that’s exactly how I felt.

“This is how Hunting Pig offers a universal gaming experience, accessible to players of all ages.” 

Song Si-ho said, his cheerful smile unwavering as he enthusiastically explained his game.

“The cat hero who hunts pigs can be customized to suit each player’s preferences, and you can equip it with better weapons as you progress!”

The only person smiling in the room was Song Si-ho himself.

“Well… at least the cat is kind of cute.”

The villainous pig characters were sloppily—and grotesquely—designed, while the heroic cat character had been crafted with meticulous care.

It was blatant favoritism.

But unfortunately, that was where the charm ended.

What could anyone possibly do with a game like that?

Compared to the earlier startups offering trademark registration services and legal consulting platforms, this was utterly juvenile.

“That one… is going to be a tough sell.” 

I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief.

As my lips feel dry, I instinctively reached into my pocket to grab my lip balm.

“Where did I put that lip balm?”

It was maddening how I always forgot where I stashed it every single time I bought a new one.

I patted down the pockets of my suit jacket and pants.

And then—

“What the—”

I froze in place, blurting out a single word of astonishment.

“Is something wrong, Dylan-ssi?”

“The golden… lip balm…”

“Pardon?”

“No, no, it’s nothing. Sorry, forget I said anything.”

Matthew gave me a puzzled look but soon turned his attention back to the front.

What the heck is going on?

I couldn’t make sense of it.

Why on earth was golden light suddenly radiating from Song Si-ho?

From my past experiences, I knew this phenomenon only occurred under one specific condition: when certain criteria or circumstances were met.

Frantically, I began scanning the room.

What variable could have interfered with this situation?

But—

“What the… nothing’s changed.”

No one had entered the room. 

The business item hadn’t suddenly shifted either.

The sheer confusion left me feeling dizzy, caught in a chaotic swirl of thoughts.

“Thank you. That concludes our presentation.”

Polite applause followed Song Si-ho’s closing remarks.

Clap, clap, clap, clap.

I watched as he bowed and descended from the podium, my gaze trailing him with a mix of emotions.

Logenia Café, Dongdaemun Design Plaza.

After wrapping up the B-CAMP Demo Day, Matthew and I headed to a nearby café.

“What did you think of the Demo Day, Dylan-ssi?”

“Oh, uh… Yes! It was an enlightening experience.”

Lost in thought, I was startled by his question and replied hastily.

I wasn’t yet accustomed to being called ‘Dylan’.

“The level of the startups was higher than I expected. Some of them are already generating revenue. They seemed to have clear visions and a firm grasp of their unique selling points.”

Of course, that weird game was an exception.

Other than the cute cat character and the grotesque pig villains, there wasn’t much to be impressed by.

But then why did that guy suddenly emit a golden light? Ugh. This is so frustrating.

The golden light seemed less and less like a straightforward answer lately.

It felt like it was tossing vague clues and saying to me.

‘The rest is up to you to figure out.’

Fine. If it were too easy, it wouldn’t be fun. Right?

I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of determination bubbling up within me.

I would uncover the secret behind the golden light radiating from Song Si-ho, no matter what.

“This batch is particularly impressive. The representatives have exceptional careers. Investors will flock to them, no doubt. We need to act quickly too.”

“Which team left the strongest impression on you, Matthew-nim?”

“For me, it was ‘Trademark Ttuk-Tak’ and ‘Tire Doctor.’”

That was expected. 

Even to me, those two stood out the most.

‘Trademark Ttuk-Tak’ had already launched its service and achieved significant results. 

As for the B2B tire wholesale platform ‘Tire Doctor,’ its representative boasted over 20 years of experience at Korea Tire, which was nothing short of extraordinary.

Given his background, he had confidently pointed out the inefficiencies in the tire distribution market and proposed a bold vision to bridge the gap between brand distributors and retailers, effectively solving the supply chain issues.

“What about you, Dylan-ssi? Which company caught your eye?”

I froze.

What should I say?

If I mentioned Hunting Pig, I had a gut feeling that my carefully cultivated image would crumble instantly.

Now was the time for a strategic retreat.

“They all seem promising…”

“Hahaha, of course they do at first glance. But as a venture capitalist, you must scrutinize everything with a skeptical eye. What you see is rarely the whole story—especially in this field.”

Matthew’s voice trailed off as if there was a story he wasn’t telling.

“What’s next for us?”

“We’ll identify the startups worth reaching out to from each team. Then we’ll arrange IR meetings. If we’re impressed during the IR, we’ll compile the data and convene an internal investment committee. At that point, it’ll be up to us to convince the other members why Buksan Ventures should invest in that company.”

“How are investment decisions made? Is it done through majority votes?”

“Sharp question. Most venture capital firms adhere to a unanimity rule. This means that if even one person voices dissent, the investment won’t proceed. It’s a way to manage risk, given how high-stakes these investments are.”

That made sense.

Venture investing was akin to betting on the infinitesimal odds of a camel passing through the eye of a needle.

“But our Buksan Ventures has a slightly unconventional approach.”

“Unconventional?”

I tilted my head at Matthew’s words.

“Even with dissenting votes, an investment can still proceed. Our CEO, James-nim, introduced what we call the ‘3-2-1 point system.’”

I silently watched him, realizing it wasn’t something I could grasp at once.

“Three points mean ‘we absolutely must invest in this.’ Two points indicate agreement but without direct advocacy. One point means ‘this is a no-go,’ and zero points… Well, that means ‘over my dead body.’ The combined score from the three senior investment officers and the CEO must exceed ten points for an investment to proceed.”

It seemed like a more flexible system compared to the unanimity rule.

“Are there any exceptions?”

“Hmm, exceptions? They’re exceedingly rare, but if it’s a joint investment, the combined risks can be mitigated, allowing the threshold to drop to nine points. Though, that’s never happened before.”

Matthew continued explaining various details about Buksan Ventures’ investment decision system.

“In any case, that’s the basic framework. Starting next week, we’ll have a packed schedule with meetings. It’s going to be busy.”

“Understood. I’ll make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“Well then, let’s call it a day. Have a great weekend, and I’ll see you next week.”

“You too, Matthew-nim. Thank you for your hard work.”

We stood, exchanged farewells, and left the café.

The next day.

I found myself alone at the Pangyo Game Center, where Studio SH was based.

Sacrificing my precious weekend for this.

 

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