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CH69 | DI
🕑 Added 2025-03-31 02:21:49 +0000 UTC
“What? Epicura?”
Hearing the news about the new staffing, a look of bewilderment flashed across Dobby’s face.
Dobby furrowed his brows in confusion and stared at me.
“Why there, of all places?”
“It’s a decent company, isn’t it?”
“But it’s not exactly the kind of place worth using your pick on…”
Dobby’s voice was full of doubt.
And understandably so—my pick could secure me a position anywhere.
Dobby had been lobbying me for some time to try for ‘Anfl.’
He’d passionately argued his case, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
Yeah, just like now.
“Think about my suggestion one more time! It’s a golden opportunity for you too, you know? This is a chance to create an achievement you can cherish forever!”
What Dobby desperately wanted was clear.
A deal toy engraved with the Anfl logo.
At investment banks like Goldman, they created trophy-like mementos to commemorate successful deals, called deal toys.
Dobby wanted an Anfl trophy.
That way, he could brag about fleeting connections by saying, “So, I met the Anfl CFO…”
And if anyone doubted him, he could always present the deal toy as proof.
But my mind was already made up.
“I’ve already decided.”
When I made it clear I had no intention of changing my decision, Dobby’s shoulders slumped.
He started muttering petulantly, looking at the ground.
“Still, Epicura’s a bit…”
“Why? It’s ranked 324th on the Fortune list.”
“No, it’s just…”
Dobby hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“The image is a bit… old-fashioned, isn’t it?”
But at that moment, something felt off.
For someone like me, from the future, Epicura was indeed an outdated company, but I wondered if it had already been considered that way in 2014.
‘Was it already on the decline by then?’
Epicura was a company operating a restaurant chain.
It had risen to prominence in the 1990s, the heyday of family restaurant chains, but in recent years, it had been struggling.
Epicura’s downfall wasn’t due to incompetent management.
It was simply because dining trends had shifted.
As customers’ tastes changed, the popularity of large franchises waned.
Younger consumers preferred unique, small shops or specialty stores.
In such an environment, it was only natural for franchise operators to falter.
Well, that’s what made it famous.
When a once-mighty beast stumbles, the hyenas gather.
And if the fight gets intense, spectators are sure to flock as well.
“Stop talking and update the materials. The staffing meeting’s in three hours.”
“Oh, uh… sure…”
Dobby nodded reluctantly, though his lips were still pouting.
‘You’ll thank me later.’
I was a little curious about the expression he’d have in a few months.
Epicura was about to become the hottest topic of the year.
‘What will the deal toy look like?’
I imagined it might take the form of a paper bag stuffed with long baguettes.
After all, that was the essence of this incident.
The very reason this case shook the entire United States.
It was, quite simply, because of bread.
Typically, corporate news is only covered by business-specific channels.
And those who care about such news are limited to the audience of business news.
But Epicura was an exception.
Soon, every media outlet in America would be scrambling to report on this incident.
Under the bizarre title, “The Bread War.”
There was a good reason for such a title.
The company’s shareholders and management had gone to war—over bread.
Here’s how it all started.
Epicura, a restaurant management company, announced one day the sale of its flagship brand, Harbor Lobster.
Shareholders were reluctant to understand.
Though the brand had underperformed in recent years, it was still one with national recognition.
It was far too valuable an asset to sell off hastily.
However, the management dismissed the shareholders’ objections and pushed forward with the sale.
What’s more, they sold it for a bargain price.
The deal was so poorly executed that it landed a spot in the “Top 10 Worst Deals of the Year.”
Selling off their flagship brand like that…
It was incomprehensible.
Especially with shareholders vehemently opposing the move.
It was rare for a management team to blatantly disregard its shareholders this way.
One analyst even likened it to “flipping the middle finger to shareholders.”
While it drew some attention as an unusual case…
It wasn’t yet a national sensation.
Things took a dramatic turn shortly afterward when one enraged shareholder stepped forward.
That shareholder was a hedge fund called Shark Capital.
Known for its aggressive tactics and nicknamed “Great White Shark,” the hedge fund released a public report.
“Saving Toscana Garden”
Toscana Garden was another flagship brand operated by Epicura.
In the report, Shark Capital dissected the brand’s issues one by one, criticizing the management’s incompetence.
However…
The issues highlighted in the report were excessively… detailed.
Toscana Garden doesn’t add salt when boiling pasta, likely to extend the lifespan of the pots.
-Not a single dish on the menu looks like its photo.
-Vegetarian lasagna isn’t vegetarian. Why put chicken garnish on top?
The nitpicks were so trivial they’d make even the most critical in-laws gasp.
And the report spanned a whopping 300 pages.
This was the spark.
The report gained massive recognition overnight.
Late-night talk shows and comedy programs eagerly reported on it.
Typically, talk shows don’t discuss hedge fund reports, but this case was an exception.
Wall Street telling a restaurant owner, “Add more salt to your pasta” was too amusing to ignore.
“From now on, call us the Pot Museum. Here, you can see the oldest pots in the world.”
“Food? Occasionally, we might serve something edible, but we can’t waste effort on that. Pots are more important than customers.”
Numerous satirical comedy programs exaggerated and mocked the situation with witty humor.
And viewers who watched these programs became curious and sought out the full report.
Normally, hedge fund reports don’t get thoroughly read.
Even related stock investors skim them at best.
But this time was different.
With such entertaining packaging, how could they resist reading?
Countless viewers dove into the report, shared the funniest excerpts with friends, and laughed together.
Most people enjoyed the report purely for its humor.
Wall Street’s ridiculously nitpicky complaints were a source of great amusement.
However, there were those who didn’t find the report funny at all.
That group was none other than Toscana Garden’s regular customers.
The report contained their trigger point.
Unlimited bread is wasteful.
The hedge fund dared to attack unlimited bread.
Unlimited complimentary bread was Toscana Garden’s signature offering.
The moment guests were seated, they were served a paper bag stuffed with bread, so plentiful the bag nearly burst.
But Shark Capital demanded the bread service be discontinued.
Since customers never ate all the bread, more than half was wasted.
“If we limit bread to one per person and provide extra only upon request, we could save $5 million annually.”
The hedge fund’s logic was sound.
Unlimited bread was undoubtedly wasteful.
Anyone with a brain could infer that cutting free bread would save money.
But humans are not always rational beings.
It was like telling a Korean food stall to stop providing ladles and paper cups with broth unless specifically requested.
Enraged regulars flooded Shark Capital with angry emails.
“Who are you to take away our unlimited bread?”
“These jerks have crossed the line.”
The angry emails weren’t just in the hundreds—they numbered in the tens of thousands.
It was nothing short of an email onslaught, deserving of the term “email terror.”
In response, Epicura’s management released a statement.
“The unlimited bread service will continue.”
They firmly sided with their customers.
They declared, “We will not bow to the pressure of hedge funds and will protect the bread no matter what.”
Thus, the hedge fund demanding the immediate removal of unlimited bread and Epicura vowing to defend it faced off in a fierce confrontation.
This conflict became widely known as the Wall Street version of “The Bread War,” gaining immense public attention.
Of course, the truth was a bit more complex.
Did they really fight over bread?
This was a battle over control of the company.
Epicura had many small shareholders, and Shark Capital sought to oust the management.
Meanwhile, the management was desperately trying to hold onto their positions.
In short, both sides were waging an intense public relations war for their own goals.
But what was the outcome of this war?
Astonishingly, the hedge fund emerged as the clear victor.
Not only was the CEO replaced, but all 12 board members were ousted as well.
Shark Capital even installed their own people, completely taking over the board.
It was a shocking result.
Typically, even after decapitating the king, a few cabinet members are spared, but they wiped out everyone in the palace.
What’s more surprising is that Shark Capital wasn’t even the majority shareholder.
Their stake was a mere 10%.
With just a 10% stake, they orchestrated the takeover of a Fortune 500 company.
This monumental event was etched into history and solidified Shark Capital’s reputation.
But wait a second.
What if I jumped into this war?
Not just joined it—but defeated Shark Capital?
Let’s remember: what I need right now is renown.
This is a case the entire nation is watching.
People don’t usually care about boring corporate news, but this is the equivalent of fighting to save soup ladles and paper cups at a Korean street food stall.
It’s a relatable, everyday issue.
Because of this, many people kept following the story, and for a while, memes related to the incident flooded social media.
If I win here, I’ll become the hero who defended “the bread beloved by the masses.”
The story has immense buzz, and my role is irresistibly compelling.
“And the opponent isn’t bad either.”
My adversary in this war would be Shark Capital, one of the top-tier hedge funds.
In the investment world, Shark Capital is considered first-tier, right below legends like Soros and Buffett.
But what if a first-year analyst from Goldman defeats them in a head-to-head battle?
What would happen then?
I would rise as the genius rookie who triumphed over Wall Street’s elite fund.
And this would happen in front of the entire United States.
What if that genius rookie is a young Asian man in his twenties?
An Asian youth making a remarkable impact in a national spectacle.
Imagine Raymond whispering to the board that this young man has always admired their members.
Would the Theranos board still look at me with unease then?
