Return of the Genius Photographer

Hanseong Group Building.

Towering over Janggyo-dong, Seoul, the colossal hexagonal structure was one of the tallest skyscrapers in Korea, standing at 60 stories.

Its grandeur wasn’t just in its height; the building’s elegant aesthetics attracted foreign embassies to rent space within its walls, a testament to its prestige. The entire edifice seemed to embody the very power and authority of Hanseong Group.

At the very top of this architectural marvel, a man stood in his office, gazing down at the world below with a detached expression.

The view of cars and people moving endlessly like ants was quite spectacular.

But the man quickly turned away, seemingly unimpressed.

It couldn’t be helped. He had seen it too many times to be impressed anymore.

This man was Han Gun-ho.

He was the very person who had propelled the conglomerate to its current status as one of the nation’s top companies.

A self-made man who had climbed his way to become Chairman of Hanseong Group

As his short break ended, Chairman Han Gun-ho returned to reviewing the stack of documents awaiting his approval.

His white hair and eyebrows hinted at his age, but his imposing build and intense charisma made one easily forget it.

Rumor had it that within the company, he was nicknamed “Baekho” (White Tiger), with a commanding presence so fierce it felt like standing before a tiger. This was precisely why he continued to actively manage the company, even after all these years.

Han Gun-ho reviewed the documents laid before him with intense focus. These papers contained forecasts and analyses crafted by numerous experts, outlining the future of the corporation.

Yet, in the end, it was always his decision that determined the company’s direction. As his hand signed off on key decisions, sums of money beyond most people’s imagination shifted at his whim.

For most, it would have been a terrifying responsibility, but Han Gun-ho’s face didn’t betray a single emotion.

Was there anything left in the world capable of making this man’s heart race?

After reaching the pinnacle of success, there was only one thing that still held his interest.

‘It should be coming soon.’

After scanning the important documents, Han Gun-ho checked the time. The sun streamed in through the windows, the clock showing 2 PM—it was time for the news he had been waiting for.

Knock knock—

“Chairman, may I come in?”

“Enter.”

Right on cue, his secretary’s voice echoed from outside. Han Gun-ho, expecting this, allowed the secretary in.

“Chairman, here is the final list of candidates for the exhibition, as you requested.”

The secretary, neatly dressed with slicked-back hair and thin-framed glasses, approached and placed a sealed envelope on the desk with care.

“Took long enough.”

“Yes, sir. This year saw far more applicants than last year.”

“Is that so? How many are participating this time?”

“Five candidates, sir.”

The envelope contained the names of the final candidates selected for the upcoming exhibition of new Korean photographers.

After initial screening by Hansung Cultural Foundation’s HR department, countless applicants were whittled down through multiple rounds of meetings with other departments.

How notable were these applicants?

Did their portfolios reflect the skill and potential expected of an emerging artist?

How complete and polished was their work?

The selected participants had passed through stringent criteria and evaluations by multiple experts.

Although there was no set number of photographers to be selected for the exhibition.

Most years saw no more than three chosen participants.

These five people who had made it through such rigorous screening.

Their selection meant they were truly the most promising talents identified by the foundation.

“More than I expected.”

“Yes, sir. I believe you’ll be satisfied.”

The secretary smiled confidently, as if he had handpicked the candidates himself. Han Gun-ho didn’t respond, but the secretary suspected that his employer was indeed looking forward to it.

This annual event, hosting exhibitions and auctions for emerging photographers, was purely a philanthropic endeavor by Hanseong Group, without any government support.

Such large-scale investments without any expectation of financial return were rare for any company, and it often sparked opposition within the firm. Yet, the event continued each year, solely because of Chairman Han Gun-ho’s will.

A charitable project where hundreds of millions of won simply disappeared.

How many would be surprised to learn this was all born from his personal hobby?

They say the rich spend hundreds of millions on their hobbies.

Though the he didn’t know where that saying came from, it certainly fit here.

This sponsorship initiative was, at its core, a reflection of the chairman’s fascination with photography.

Who else could host an exhibition for photographers, just to indulge a personal passion?

‘And if he likes a piece, he even buys it through auction…’

The secretary knew that Han Gun-ho had even set up a gallery within the company’s headquarters to display his favorite pieces. It was beyond comprehension, but the secretary had long since stopped trying to understand his boss’s whims.

Understanding the mind of a wealthy man was not something ordinary people could do. Perhaps it was simply a matter of perspective. But the secretary wasn’t here to ponder. His job was merely to serve his role as the chairman’s assistant, no matter how astonishing his employer’s hobbies might be.

“The first photographer you’ll be reviewing is Han Sang-hoon,” the secretary began, standing next to Chairman Han Gun-ho, who was flipping through the documents pulled from the envelope.

“Han Sang-hoon is an alumnus of the French National School of Fine Arts. He made his debut a year ago after winning the New Photographer Award in France during his graduation year.”

As the secretary spoke, Han Gun-ho slowly turned the pages with the same serious expression he had when reviewing the approval documents earlier. His intense focus suggested he was paying close attention.

“In Korea, he gained recognition by winning the gold prize at the Seoul Photography Competition.”

“And his other work?”

“Although he hasn’t built an extensive portfolio yet, he has the most awards among the participants.”

“Typical elite track.”

“Yes, and his father is the renowned photography critic Han In-guk, which seems to have had some influence.”

“The portfolio isn’t bad. Who’s next?”

After a brief assessment, Han Gun-ho continued to flip through the files, now more focused on the photographs than the biographies, leaving the secretary to provide commentary.

“The next candidate is Lee Myung-seop,” the secretary continued. “He started his career by winning the Korean Air Travel Photography Contest and is now a staff photographer for travel magazines.”

“So, all his photos are of travel destinations?”

“Yes, sir. He’s older, but his experience makes him a promising talent.”

Chairman Han Gun-ho didn’t look away from the photos, carefully studying them, while the secretary observed his boss’s reactions.

“The next photographer is Cho Kyung-wook.”

They say a brilliant businessman can discern the value of anything they look at.

What thoughts ran through the mind of the man who had brought Hanseong Group into the ranks of Korea’s top companies as he examined these photographs?

“Cho Kyung-wook worked as a newspaper journalist and is known for his documentary photography.”

“Nothing extraordinary.”

The secretary couldn’t fully understand Han Gun-ho’s exact thoughts, but it was clear that the chairman’s interest was waning. The more photos he saw, the more his sharp and discerning gaze seemed to dull with disappointment.

“And the photos you’re looking at now are from Son Chan-goo, a commercial photographer active in fashion magazines. His work is quite trendy, and he’s been receiving a lot of attention for it.”

“Hmm…”

After reviewing the portfolio, Han Gun-ho closed the file without hesitation and offered a calm evaluation. “A lot of people, but it seems weaker than last year.”

His passion for photography made his judgment all the more critical. Last year, the standout piece had sold for 200 million won at auction, and in comparison, these works didn’t seem to measure up.

Each selected photographer had an impressive resume, coming from diverse backgrounds and showcasing significant talent. Yet something about it left him unsatisfied. It wasn’t that the quality was poor, but it felt lacking compared to his expectations.

Perhaps the repetition of this charity event over the years had dulled the excitement for him. Han Gun-ho briefly wondered if that was the case, his expression bored and indifferent.

While there had been occasions where his initial impressions were overturned during the actual exhibition, it seemed his hopes were already dwindling.

But then, his secretary interrupted his thoughts.

“Chairman, there’s still one more candidate.”

The secretary, wearing a small smile, pointed politely to another envelope resting on the desk.

“Ah, right, you mentioned there were five.”

“Yes, sir. Since there were more candidates this year, we prepared the documents in two separate envelopes.”

The envelope, which had been tucked beneath the one Han Gun-ho had just reviewed, was noticeably thick, much like the previous one.

Something felt strange. There were five candidates in total, and he had already reviewed four. Yet, the envelope was as bulky as the one containing the other four.

‘Could it be…?’

As soon as he looked at the thick envelope, his intuition signaled something unusual. Whatever was inside this file, it was not ordinary.

A strong sense of curiosity welled up within him. The anticipation that had begun to fade reignited, pushing him to open the envelope immediately.

“This is the photographer we expect the most from in this exhibition,” the secretary said as Han Gun-ho pulled out the contents.

“Th-this is…”

And for the first time, the chairman voiced his admiration.

****

The first thing that surprised him was the sheer volume of accomplishments listed in the application.

It was easy to see why the secretary had set this one aside—it was an overwhelming amount of information for a single new photographer.

As he continued flipping through the pages, the next revelation came from the photographs themselves.

“The photographer you’re viewing now is Nam Woojin.”

Flip—

“Nam Woojin is the youngest ever recipient of the grand prize in the Seoul Photography Competition, marking the start of his career…”

Flip—

“He also participated in the exhibition of Jung Woong, a photographer you might recognize…”

Flip—

“And since then, he has remained highly active, consistently…”

The secretary continued giving information about Nam Woojin, just as he had for the other candidates. But this time, his words didn’t seem to reach Han Gun-ho.

Or perhaps more accurately, they weren’t registering.

Flip—

The only sound that occasionally broke the silence was the faint rustle of papers as he turned the pages. Fully immersed, Han Gun-ho was no longer listening to anything around him. His attention was solely on the photos and portfolio related to Woojin’s career.

His once dim and deep eyes regained their shine.

Flip—

He continued to quietly scrutinize the photographs for a long time, swallowing slightly as he took them in.

Flip—

Having organized numerous exhibitions and reviewed countless photographers and their work, Han Gun-ho had developed an acute instinct. And the moment he laid eyes on Woojin’s work, he felt it.

This exhibition was going to be unlike any other before it.

“Nam Woojin…”

After a day spent reviewing documents with a stern expression, he finally allowed himself a small smile.

“This one shows promise.”