"If you desire a large estate or property…"
"Let's not talk about it."
After Faber's reply, Gilbert stayed silent for a moment.
"The only thing you can offer is money. But the problem is, I can earn that myself."
"...."
"How can we be partners when our roles overlap? Don't you agree?"
"Money is something that's better to have more of…"
"Is that the best answer you could come up with after all that thinking? Have you heard of the concept of lifestyle?"
"Pardon?"
"These days, there are even people who sell that. I happen to admire those forward-thinking individuals."
At this point, Faber was considering leaving.
But then, something changed in Gilbert's eyes.
Perhaps he thought he had nothing to lose if he left empty-handed.
With an all-or-nothing attitude, Gilbert opened his mouth as if to issue a warning.
"You'd better think carefully about this."
"...?"
"Because this means rejecting Chairwoman Leona's offer. If you truly believe you can operate in this industry even after opposing the Harris Group…"
"Now, you're resorting to threats."
"I'm merely stating the facts. Do you think Chairwoman Leona's influence stops at running a department store chain?"
Gilbert's intimidation continued.
"With just a single phone call, you won't be able to open a single store anywhere in London."
"Do as you please."
Gulp.
"Make a call, send a telegram, or release a pigeon. Do whatever you want."
"Do you really have to go against the Harris Group to feel satisfied?"
Why is he like this?
To someone whose life motto is resistance.
"If you have time, read our magazine sometime. It describes my personality exactly as it is."
With those final words, Faber stood up.
Was it because Gilbert's gaze seemed so forlorn?
The space left behind by Faber appeared unusually empty.
***
At the same time, in Florence.
The Gucci headquarters was as lavish as ever.
It was hard to believe they ever claimed to be struggling, with the reception room filled with the finest wines covering an entire wall.
"A restaurant, perhaps?"
Why would a fashion brand need so much wine to run its business?
It's obvious the CEO is indulging in luxury on the company's dime. Sure enough, the CEO appeared with a flushed face, as if he'd had a drink or two.
"Oh, I apologize for being late."
Next to him was a man who looked like the chief secretary. Likely, he was there to assist the CEO, who seemed to live steeped in alcohol.
"Alfredo Gucci. Head of this family."
"My name is Park Ji-hoon. It's an honor to meet you."
We sat across from each other, separated by an elegant antique table. The chief secretary and I exchanged a brief nod as a greeting.
"I heard you're interested in our license."
They say the company is staying afloat these days by selling trademark rights. It looked like Alfredo wanted to jump straight into discussing money, but my thoughts were different.
"It's not just a license we're after."
"It can be as complex as you want, as long as you pay accordingly," he chuckled as if he'd told some grand joke. The chief secretary next to him raised his lips in a polite smile, just as I spoke.
"What I want is to collaborate with your company."
"Collaboration?"
Perhaps it was a concept unfamiliar to him. Or maybe he was more focused on drinking than on his company's affairs. Alfredo glanced at the chief secretary, his expression saying, 'Is that even profitable?'
The chief secretary then asked me, "The fame of Queensman is well known to us, with constant attention from the British press. But…."
He might as well be saying, 'Even if people line up to buy them, don't you only sell about 200 pieces per item?'
My answer was simple.
"That's why we're also thinking of assessing our potential with this opportunity."
"…?"
"You would produce and sell the items we design."
Alfredo's face crumpled at my words. No matter how shaky the market might be, Gucci is still a luxury brand, after all. Selling trademark rights is one thing, but subcontracting for another brand? His pride couldn't allow it.
Smirk.
In situations like this, the best approach is to make an irresistible offer.
"Please produce 50,000 units per item. The quality should match that of your existing Gucci products."
"And if they don't sell? You're telling us to take on all that inventory risk?"
"That won't be necessary. I'll buy all the unsold stock."
"You… you'll buy it all?"
My words made Alfredo shift his attitude slightly, but skepticism quickly followed. He eyed me suspiciously as he spoke.
"I've heard you have plenty of money, with impressive achievements in the gaming industry."
"I won't deny it."
"Even so, if we produce 50,000 units per item and end up with excess stock… let's see."
Before he could finish, the secretary began calculating in his head. Apparently quick with numbers, he kindly converted it into the Korean won equivalent — naturally, an astronomical amount.
Alfredo looked back at me, as if asking if I could really handle it. Now, the ball was in my court.
"With that amount of money, maybe I should consider buying the whole company instead of just covering the inventory."
"What?"
Alfredo's eyes widened at my words.
"Our… company?"
"Just a joke, just a joke."
"Oh, wow. That's, um, quite the joke."
He could only manage an awkward laugh in response to the pointed humor.
***
Meanwhile, Leona Harris was receiving Gilbert's report.
Even before he finished speaking, her expression hardened.
"He refused outright?"
"I apologize, Chairwoman."
Leona turned her head, as if even scolding him was a waste of her breath.
What could she expect from someone who worked under her husband?
"So, you came back empty-handed, is that it?"
"I'm sorry."
Her gaze, sharp as a blade, seemed to press against his throat.
"I have, however, ensured he won't be able to open a single store in London…"
Was that still not enough?
Leona's eyes remained cold.
And rightly so.
"Did you manage that on your own?"
"…Pardon?"
"That was all done under my name, wasn't it!"
Her look seemed to say, 'What gives you the right to talk so smugly when you're nothing but a messenger?'
He could only bow his head, though rage simmered within him.
"M-my apologies, Chairwoman."
Without a word, Leona picked up the receiver.
"Have the head of the protocol team come in."
The message was clear: Gilbert was to leave immediately.
Once he stepped out of that room, his fate was all but certain.
With rumors spreading that he'd fallen from the Chairwoman's grace, he'd likely be sidelined, left with minor cases at best.
"Chairwoman, please, just give me a chance to redeem myself…"
"Save the second-chance speeches for a kindergarten chess tournament."
With that cutting reply, he had no choice but to force himself to take reluctant steps out of the room.
Shortly after Gilbert left, the head of the protocol team entered.
Having worked for the Chairwoman for years, he didn't need an explanation to understand the situation.
Sure enough, he immediately offered a solution.
"We can bring down Park Ji-hoon anytime. But timing is key if we want to heal the young master's wounds properly."
"Do you have a good idea?"
"I heard that he envied Tennesse Grosvenor for being Queensman's first guest. That's why I suggest…"
The protocol head's explanation continued for a while.
Leona seemed quite pleased with his idea.
"Proceed immediately."
She nodded quietly.
***
Tennessee was on his way home, having received a summons from his father.
It was an enormous estate.
Larger even than the dormitory complex combined.
His private quarters alone might rival an entire floor of the dormitory.
He had at least five staff members assigned to him.
He could go about his day without lifting a finger.
And yet…
"...."
His heart felt heavy as he headed home.
Crossing that massive threshold came with its own burdens.
The first of which was the erasure of "Tennessee" as an individual.
Within these fortress-like walls, he existed solely as a "Grosvenor."
The heir to a dukedom.
The second-in-command who would inherit tremendous power.
As a result, he constantly had to wear a mask.
He was expected to maintain a fierce expression at all times, as though he could withstand any storm without wavering.
How could the road home possibly bring him any joy?
Just as Tennessee let out a small sigh, he heard a familiar voice.
"What worries you so?"
Tennessee adjusted his expression before turning to his tutor.
The young noble without warmth or tears.
Recalling the role everyone expected him to play, he calmly turned his head.
"It's because I'm on my way to see the Duke. I was wondering if anything had happened within the family."
The tutor's face softened with a smile, seemingly satisfied with his answer.
"There is no cause for concern. As long as the Duke is at the helm, nothing could possibly go wrong."
"That's a relief, then."
As the two of them walked side by side inside, the tutor asked, "How is school life for you?"
"It's inevitably dull."
"Dull?"
"It's just full of childish games."
"Shall I request an early promotion for you?"
A question posed almost as a tease, but Tennessee gave the opposite answer to what he truly felt.
"If possible, I'd like to graduate as early as next year."
"After graduation, you'll start training as the successor immediately. Are you all right with that?"
"It's inevitable anyway. Better to start a day sooner than later."
"Oh my, it seems you've become an adult since entering school."
"...."
"With such excellent progress, there's no need for an early promotion. I'd imagine the Duke would be firmly against it."
Tennessee offered no response to the tutor's half-joking comment.
"Where is the Duke?"
"He's having a chat with the minister-designate."
Tennessee was about to ask if he should meet his father afterward, but the tutor spoke on, unprompted.
"It seems the Duke has been asked to support the appointment of the minister."
Perhaps a hint of the future awaiting Tennessee as well.
The tutor continued talking, but Tennessee just wanted to be alone.
Regardless, he had to keep nodding in agreement, hiding behind his expressionless mask.
Fortunately, his father's instructions were simple. The Harris family had sent an invitation, and he was to attend on behalf of their family.
Tennessee carefully opened the golden envelope his father handed him.
Their son, Carl Bernstein, had just launched a brand, and they felt it polite to send an invitation as a courtesy. They hoped that, with the noble insights of the Grosvenor family, their son might have the chance to learn and improve…
Tennessee closed the envelope.
In truth, he felt a hint of joy. It meant he could leave home immediately.
However, as he worked to keep his expression neutral, his father spoke.
"Not everyone in this world can be refined, can they?"
Tennessee cautiously lifted his head.
"Even if it's filled with vulgar tastes, go and return quietly."
His father's tone suggested he didn't even need to see it to know what kind of place the Harris family's young heir had created.
But as they had made the effort to invite him, it was only polite to pay some token attention to it.
No sooner had his father finished than Tennessee bowed deeply.
"I will follow your words."