48: Chapter 48 Reorganization

The day Kim Dong-hyun took the initiative to contact Choi Jae-won, the first heavy rain of the summer fell on Seoul.

Choi Jae-won was drinking tea at his home in Hannam-dong when his phone rang.

An unsaved number popped up on the screen, but he recognized the sequence of digits—it was Kim Dong-hyun's private number, which he had hurriedly noted down at some board meeting long ago but had never dialed.

"Mr. Choi, let's meet." Kim Dong-hyun's voice was much lower than usual, as if his throat were being pressed by something.

Choi Jae-won put down his teacup and glanced at the gray sky outside the window. "Alright. Where?"

"The usual place. Gangnam, the private club at the Walkerhill Hotel. Tomorrow at three in the afternoon."

The rain hadn't stopped the next day, and Choi Jae-won arrived ten minutes early.

The club was hidden on the top floor of the hotel, and the elevator required a key card.

Kim Dong-hyun's secretary was waiting in the lobby on the first floor.

Seeing Choi Jae-won, he bowed deeply without a word and led him to the elevator.

The parlor wasn't large: a rosewood table, two chairs, and a landscape painting hanging on the wall with an unrecognizable signature.

Kim Dong-hyun was already sitting there with a pot of tea and two cups in front of him.

"Mr. Choi, please sit." Kim Dong-hyun stood up and bowed slightly.

This action wasn't easy for him; having been the chairman for over twenty years, he was used to others bowing to him.

Choi Jae-won sat down.

The tea was Pre-rain Longjing, very fragrant, but he didn't drink it.

"Chairman Kim, what brings you to me?"

Kim Dong-hyun was silent for a few seconds, then personally poured a cup of tea and pushed it in front of Choi Jae-won.

"Mr. Choi, you are now a major shareholder.

I want to know, what exactly is your plan for Jins Foods?

Are you going to break it up and sell it, or do you want to take over yourself?"

"If I had wanted to break it up, I wouldn't have waited until today." Choi Jae-won picked up the teacup, smelled it, and put it down again.

"Jins Foods still has its foundation, brand awareness, and distribution channels; it was just dragged down by the price war.

I didn't come to destroy this company."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Three things." Choi Jae-won held up three fingers.

"First, stop the price war, stop it immediately.

Second, redefine the strategy—cut what needs to be cut, keep what needs to be kept.

Third, replace personnel.

The management team is too old and can't keep up with the pace."

There was no expression on Kim Dong-hyun's face, but his hand gripping the teacup tightened.

"Replace personnel? Replace whom?"

"You remain as chairman, and you can oversee daily operations.

But major decisions must be made by the board of directors.

Additionally, I suggest hiring a professional CEO.

Zheng Junhe from Nongshim, the former vice president, will reach retirement age next year.

I want to invite him over."

The corners of Kim Dong-hyun's mouth twitched.

Zheng Junhe—he had met him a few times at industry conferences.

That man was impeccable in his speech and actions.

Having worked at Nongshim for over twenty years, managing production, marketing, and R&D, he was a true all-rounder.

Inviting such a person in meant that he, as chairman, would have to take a big step back.

"Chairman Kim," Choi Jae-won saw his hesitation, "you are sixty-two this year, right?

How many more years can you keep fighting?

Rather than waiting to be driven out by shareholders one day, it's better to gracefully cede some power now.

If the company survives, your shares will be valuable, and your retirement will be glorious."

Kim Dong-hyun picked up the teacup and drank it in one gulp.

The tea was hot, and he frowned slightly.

"What if I don't agree?"

"You currently hold thirty-two percent of the shares, and I have twenty-nine percent, a difference of three points.

Other members of the Kim family hold another eight percent.

If they side with me, you won't even be able to keep your position as chairman."

The conference room went quiet.

Kim Dong-hyun stared at the landscape painting on the wall for a long time.

It depicted Huangshan, with clouds churning and pine trees growing slanted from the edge of the cliff.

"Mr. Choi, you win." He finally said, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

"But there is one condition—the members of the Kim family cannot all be driven out.

At least keep two in management."

"Fine.

But who stays and who goes will depend on ability.

I cannot keep people who don't do the work."

Kim Dong-hyun nodded.

The reorganization plan caused quite a stir within Jins Foods.

The appointment of Zheng Junhe was announced first.

People at Nongshim heard about it and said, "Old Zheng went to Jins Foods? Isn't that jumping into a fire pit?"

Zheng Junhe himself didn't care.

He had already achieved all the honors he could at Nongshim.

In his last few years, he wanted a challenge.

Pulling a company that was about to fall apart back together was much more interesting than following the routine at Nongshim.

In his first week on the job, he went through all of Jins Foods's business lines.

Instant porridge, cut; frozen food, cut; low-end instant noodles, keep two items, cut the rest.

Jins Foods's R&D director—the newly appointed one, surnamed Park—took the report to Zheng Junhe and said, "President Zheng, if we cut so much, sales will drop."

Zheng Junhe didn't even lift his head: "The current sales are bought at the cost of losses.

Let them drop.

First, get the body healthy, then think about gaining weight."

Kim Dong-hyun sat in his office listening to these reports, saying nothing.

His nephew, Kim Seong-jun, who used to manage the frozen food business, ran to his office to complain after being laid off, saying, "Uncle, Zheng Junhe is cutting off our Kim family's roots."

Kim Dong-hyun looked at his nephew, remembering the expectations he had when he handed this business to him, and was silent for a long time.

He only said one sentence: "If you were capable, he wouldn't have been able to cut it."

According to the agreement, Choi Jae-won, together with several friendly investors, injected ten billion into Jins Foods.

The day the money arrived, the financial section chief of Jins Foods saw the balance in the system, his hands trembled, and he ran to Zheng Junhe's office and said, "President Zheng, we have money."

Zheng Junhe said, "It's not your money, it's borrowed, and it has to be paid back.

Spend it sparingly."

Jins Foods's stock price rose by fifteen percent after the restructuring announcement.

Some media commented, "Jins Foods has finally stopped the bleeding," while others said, "Old wine in a new bottle; Kim Dong-hyun is still in power, how much change can there really be?"

Zheng Junhe didn't read these reports.

He arrived at the company at six every morning and left at ten at night, having been through every factory, every production line, and every warehouse of Jins Foods.

Chairman Wang Shunyi had been paying close attention to these changes.

He saved every message Choi Jae-won sent and read them repeatedly.

He memorized every detail of the Jins Foods reorganization.

One night, Park Min-ji asked him why he was watching so closely when he wasn't a shareholder of Jins Foods.

He said, "Jins Foods is no longer a rival.

It's my prey."

In mid-July, Shunyi Foods launched a "Brand Upgrade Plan."

Chairman Wang Shunyi called Park Min-ji, Lee Chang-ho, and Zhang Junhao into his office, closed the door, and wrote a word on the whiteboard—"Premium."

"Our products have a reputation among young people, but our brand image isn't clear enough.

Consumers say we are 'cost-effective' and have 'unique flavors,' but that's not enough."

He tapped the whiteboard.

"I want to make them say 'Shunyi is the luxury goods of instant noodles.'"

Park Min-ji rolled her eyes.

"Luxury goods? A pack of instant noodles?"

"Yes.

Luxury goods." Chairman Wang Shunyi didn't smile.

"How much does an Hermès bag cost to make? How much does it sell for?

Consumers aren't buying leather; they are buying status.

We aren't selling noodles; we are selling an experience."

Lee Chang-ho sat on the side, not saying anything.

He had worked in R&D at Jins Foods for over a decade and had his own understanding of premium product lines.

"President, premium isn't something you just shout about.

Raw materials, craftsmanship, packaging, distribution—every link must match that price.

Truffle oil, Wagyu beef extract, abalone—if you put these real ingredients in, the cost will at least double."

"If the cost doubles, the price triples." Chairman Wang Shunyi wrote a number on the whiteboard.

"5,000."

The conference room went quiet.

The most expensive bagged noodles on the market were only a little over 3,000, and 5,000 per pack was enough to buy a lunch at a convenience store.

"Isn't that too expensive?" Zhang Junhao frowned.

"Expense isn't the problem.

Not being worth that price is the problem."

Chairman Wang Shunyi looked at Lee Chang-ho.

"Dr. Li, you do it.

Truffle cream mushroom noodles, Wagyu beef clear soup noodles, seafood delicacy noodles.

The ingredients must be real, the packaging must be premium, and the taste must make people say 'it's worth the money' after eating."

Lee Chang-ho was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

The R&D process went more smoothly than expected.

The difficulty with truffle cream mushroom noodles lay in replicating the truffle flavor—using real truffle oil was too expensive, and using flavoring made it seem cheap.

Lee Chang-ho tried seven formulas and finally decided to use Italian black truffle sauce, adding two grams per pack.

The cost increased by 300, but the taste was right.

The Wagyu beef clear soup noodles used Australian Wagyu beef extract—not the powdered seasoning, but real concentrated broth.

You could smell the meat aroma when you opened the seasoning packet.

The seafood delicacy noodles took the most effort.

Abalone, scallops, and shrimp—three types of seafood extracts were mixed in proportion, and it took a dozen versions to find the balance.

The packaging was done by Park Min-ji and her team.

A matte black outer box with gold-stamped fonts.

Inside, there were three packets—one of broth, one of seafood, and one of dehydrated vegetables.

The vegetables weren't just bits and pieces; they were whole shiitake mushrooms and whole seaweed strips that looked fresh after being soaked.

The day the product pricing was finalized, Zhang Junhao gasped.

4,500 for truffle noodles, 4,800 for seafood noodles, and 5,000 for Wagyu noodles.

This price had no rival in the Korean instant noodle market—not because there were no competitors, but because there were no similar products.

"It's too high," Zhang Junhao said.

"It's not," Park Min-ji said.

"People who buy this won't complain about the price.

Those who complain about the price aren't the target customers anyway."

Chairman Wang Shunyi didn't join the argument.

He picked up a sample of the Wagyu noodles, opened it, soaked it, and ate it.

The broth was rich, unlike instant noodles, and the texture of the noodles was tuned to the best.

After finishing, he put down the bowl and said, "Launch it."

The launch day was the first Friday of August.

The three new products were simultaneously stocked at GS25 and CU, with shelf placement on the top layer, separated by two rows from ordinary instant noodles.

On the first day, the best seller wasn't the cheapest seafood noodles, but the most expensive Wagyu noodles.

On social media, someone posted a picture with the caption, "5,000 won instant noodles, I tasted them for you."

Someone asked below, "Is it worth it?"

That person replied, "I drank all the soup, what do you think?"

A week later, the sales data came out.

A total of 20,000 packs of the three new products were sold.

This number was far from the fire chicken noodles, but Chairman Wang Shunyi wasn't in a hurry.

Premium products don't make money by volume; they make money by raising the brand tone.

Sure enough, the sales of ordinary fire chicken noodles rose by eight percent in the second week.

Consumer surveys showed that many people bought the ordinary products to try them after seeing the reviews of the premium series.

One morning in September, Chairman Wang Shunyi saw a push notification on his phone—a former Jins Foods employee claimed that Jins Foods had used inferior raw materials to reduce costs during the price war.

The exposé post was long and included photos of several procurement orders with supplier names and prices, which were thirty percent lower than normal procurement prices.

Chairman Wang Shunyi handed the phone to Zhang Junhao.

After reading it, Zhang Junhao's expression was very complicated.

"Is this true?"

"I don't know.

But it's enough if consumers believe it's true."

Sure enough, once the news broke, Jins Foods's stock price fell by eight percent that day.

There was an overwhelming wave of questioning on social media.

Some said, "No wonder the price war lasted so long; they were saving money on raw materials," and others said, "I will never buy Jins Foods products again."

Jins Foods issued a statement denying the allegations and saying they would sue the exposer, but after the statement was issued, the questioning grew louder—someone dug up Jins Foods's product inspection records from the past three months and found that two batches of products had microbial indicators close to the critical value; although they didn't exceed the limit, they were much worse than before.

Zheng Junhe slammed the table at the board meeting.

"How many times have I said that quality cannot be lowered!

Who agreed to lower the procurement standards during the price war?"

No one spoke.

Kim Dong-hyun sat at the head of the table, expressionless.

He knew that lowering the procurement standards was something he had tacitly approved.

At that time, cash flow was about to break, and suppliers were demanding price hikes, so he told the procurement department to find cheaper ones, as cheap as they could find.

Choi Jae-won didn't attend that board meeting.

He called Chairman Wang Shunyi and said only one sentence: "The Jins Foods brand might rot for a while."

Chairman Wang Shunyi held his phone, standing in front of the office window.

Outside was the gray sky of Seongdong-gu.

The courier downstairs was moving goods onto the truck, box by box, stacked very neatly.

He didn't gloat, but he couldn't say he felt sympathy either.

The business world is like this—every mistake you make will eventually come back to haunt you.

He put down his phone and opened the folder on his desk.

The first page read, "Second-half goal—enter the top 15 in market share."

He picked up a pen, drew a circle around the words "top 15," and wrote a line of small text next to it—"By the way, let's see what rank Jins Foods falls to."

After writing it, he felt it was a bit mean, but he didn't erase it.