The next day.
Lukash headed to downtown London early in the morning.
With the money given to him by the director, he bought the most expensive Leica camera. Honestly, he felt a bit dazed as he unboxed it and read through the manual. This was the same brand of camera beloved by the legendary photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson. And here he was, holding the top model—it was only natural that he felt a bit odd.
"Ha."
It felt like he had already achieved a dream. Lukash was an introverted type.
An interview? He honestly wasn't confident about that. Yet, as he gazed at the Leica logo, he couldn't help but feel a surge of pride.
Why wouldn't he?
"At least my equipment is on par with a pro's." Lukash experimented, adjusting the focus and clicking the shutter around him.
By the time he had used up an entire roll of film, he noticed a well-dressed man coming his way.
Perfect timing!
Lukash was about to strike up a conversation when—
"Whoa, why's he so fast?"
He almost let the man rush right past him.
"Excuse me!" Lukash practically threw himself forward to stop him.
"Uh, sorry, but could I take a photo of you?"
"And why a photo?"
A piercing gaze. His expression hinted that a wrong answer might earn him a punch.
"It's… it's just that your outfit looks amazing."
"…?"
"It's not a replica, right? It looks like an actual military uniform."
At the mention of the uniform, the man's expression softened visibly. His guarded eyes melted into a warm, friendly look.
"This is a field jacket worn by British soldiers during World War I."
"A World War I piece?"
He nodded.
"Isn't it heavy?"
"It is. It's military gear, after all."
"There are probably plenty of replicas that are easier to wear. Any reason for choosing the real thing?"
Instead of answering, the man responded with a question.
"Why buy a reproduction when you have the original?"
"Well, you're right. There's no comparison to the real thing."
Indeed, the man wore not only the field jacket but also a military shirt beneath it, which he explained was from the 1960s British army.
"I'd love to use it in an article. Could I take a shot of you? Something like, 'Military wear can be fashion too,' or something along those lines…"
Before he could finish, the man immediately struck a pose—not a model's stance but rather a soldier's, straightening his uniform as if for an inspection.
He nodded, signaling he was ready.
Click.
"I'll take one more."
Click. Click.
"I'd also love to include an interview. May I ask your name?"
"Jack 'Tiger' Grylls."
"Fiery name you got there," Lukash said, pulling out a small model fee from his pocket.
"Use that to buy yourself a military uniform."
"Sorry?"
"If you're going for it, might as well get a real one, not a reproduction."
Leaving those words behind, Jack walked away coolly.
***
Maybe it was because I'd been out and about all day yesterday, I ended up sleeping in for the first time in ages. Thanks to that, I was leisurely brewing coffee when—
Ring!
Who would be calling so early?
(Director, I've arrived!)
Well, no one else would call at this hour except Joo Soo-deok.
"Thanks for the hard work."
(Hard work? First class was as comfortable as home…)
"But I'm sorry to say this, Professor."
(Sorry? What do you mean?)
Just as I finished a brief explanation—
(Goodness, I'm the one who should be sorry. I could've just confirmed with Lukash instead of bringing him all the way to the UK…)
After going so far as to bring Lukash to England, thinking he was the one, how could he even ask?
"It would've been nice to know before you left, Professor."
(Ah, don't worry about it. I can use this chance to thank Ralph Warren and catch up on some overdue work.)
"Actually, since we're on the subject…"
Maybe he sensed a pile of tasks coming his way because I heard a nervous breath on the other end.
Smirk.
"Don't worry. This is right up your alley, Professor."
(My area of expertise?)
"Do you happen to know anyone at Parsons School of Design?"
(Of course. And even if I didn't, I could easily make connections by the end of today.)
His usual bold answer suggested he was feeling more relaxed.
"I've heard that a lot of promising talents come out of Parsons."
(Ah, yes. Parsons has a tight grip on New York's fashion scene.)
"So, I was wondering if you could make a list of promising talents who graduated within the last five years."
I had a few names in mind already, but you never know—like Lukash, I might discover someone unexpected in the process.
Maybe he understood my intentions.
(Preparing for the next step after the concept store, I see.)
"Precisely."
(Understood. I'll cast a fine-meshed net and see what I catch.)
Joo Soo-deok responded confidently. For someone with his skills, this task might as well be a vacation.
(I'll send good news your way soon.)
And with that, the call ended. Though we were preparing for the next phase beyond the concept store, as Soo-deok had said—
"For now, establishing a solid first step takes priority."
I sat at my desk. We'd need a men's magazine for publicity. From my research at the library, if it's too provocative, this crowd won't even look at it.
"The privileged kids sure are picky."
It would need a touch of nobility, at least in appearance.
Alright, let's do this.
I began writing an art column right from where I sat. Then I added reviews on classic records and reflections on British literature. Maybe it was because I hadn't picked up a pen in a while, but something felt missing, like I wasn't ready to stop just yet. Why not write about my favorite things, too? Games, cars, coffee, exercise—you name it. As long as I keep the tone refined, the subject hardly matters, right?
Thanks to that, I didn't leave my desk for quite some time.
That night, after a full day of writing, I headed to the hotel lobby just in time for my meeting with James Faber.
'So this is the founder of Ultimate.'
At first glance, he seemed unremarkable in appearance. But his sharp, intense eyes shone with a fierce light. Unlike Lukash, Faber was the socially awkward type.
"This isn't all a scam, is it?"
That was his opening line.
"If it's not a scam, then what makes you so sure to give me that much money?"
Oddly enough, I didn't find his attitude off-putting. Anyone in his position would be curious about that first and foremost. Rather than beating around the bush, he was straightforward about his concerns. People like this might seem prickly at first, but they tend to be straightforward and clean-cut.
"Thank you for coming all this way," I said, nodding slightly before placing a shopping bag on the table.
"…?"
He gave me a puzzled look.
"These are sneakers crafted by John Green. He sent them as a sample."
"I thought he only made bespoke shoes."
His eyes narrowed, though he seemed convinced. After all, he'd never seen sneakers with such overwhelming quality before.
"This is definitely John Green's work, right?"
"…"
"But there's an issue."
Though it's just a sample and has room for improvement, the design is still quite rough, even considering that.
"It seems like it's their first time making sneakers, but they wouldn't be ready for release like this."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Why do you think?"
He looked at me, clearly unsure of my intentions. My answer was simple.
"I thought you might want to try your hand at it."
"At what?"
"The design. John Green's sneaker design."
Just moments ago, Faber was questioning if this was all a scam. But at that moment—
"…!"
His eyes widened with shock. His inner turmoil was visible on his face.
"I heard you design everything wearable. Are shoes an exception?"
Perhaps because he was a proud type, his eyes sharpened immediately after I prodded him a bit.
"There's a condition."
"Go ahead."
"I must have my signature logo on every piece I create."
I knew. Of course, I knew.
"If that's not allowed, I won't make anything."
"Can I take a look at this logo?"
Faber took a small notebook from his pocket. Using a marker, he sketched out his signature and framed it with a small circle.
The result?
White lettering on a red background—the very logo I'd dreamed of seeing on Ultimate products.
"So you want to put this on John Green's sneakers?"
Faber shook his head.
"It's not that I want to; it's that I must."
Technically, it's the same thing, though.
You could call it an artist's stubbornness. Others might not understand, but I get the mind of an artist better than anyone! That's why I gave a knowing smile in response.
"Let's go."
"…?"
"Since we've reached a conclusion, let's go give some feedback."
I sat down with John Green's CEO, while across from us, my lead designer (of sorts), James Faber, and John Green's master shoemaker were locked in a heated debate.
"The silhouette looks off. This isn't a derby shoe; it's a sneaker."
"Do you even know what you're talking about when it comes to shoes?"
Faber lifted his foot, showing off his shoe.
"I'm wearing them now, aren't I?"
"Sure, you know how to wear them, but not how to make them. That's why you're spouting nonsense."
The shoemaker curled his lips as he continued.
"There's a world of difference between sneakers, which have soles glued on, and Goodyear welt shoes, where each stitch anchors the sole with thread."
"Who's picking on the production method?"
"I'm telling you, your design ideas impact the production method!"
This scene reminded me of the kind of meetings we had at Hyungang Motors. The designer focuses on crafting an attractive appearance, but the engineer in charge of performance cares more about aerodynamics than aesthetics. So naturally, designers and engineers end up clashing.
The debate between Faber and the shoemaker reached its peak over whether or not to add the logo.
"Add a logo to the leather? Ha! Do you even know how that ruins the feel?"
"It's leather, so it'll age nicely."
"Nice choice of words! Balancing for aging alone is challenging enough!"
If this continued, they'd only get frustrated, and there'd never be an agreement. This is where a leader's role becomes crucial—to step in and clear the path forward.
I looked over at John Green's CEO.
"You've heard enough?"
"More than enough to make my ears ring."
"It seems all that's left is for us to make a decision."
"I've already compromised once."
"…"
"It's time for your side to compromise now."
At his words, the shoemaker flashed a triumphant smile.