May 7, 2025
New York
"Please let it be more than a thousand."
Ji-pyeong set his coffee down and slid his thumb in between his teeth as he stared at the laptop. It was a little past six in the morning on his fortieth birthday. He had awakened in a state of nervous anticipation. The tiny gray circle at the center of the screen might as well be whirring away inside of his stomach.
Five hundred?
His teeth sank into the flesh of his thumb as he bargained his expectations down.
Five hundred would be a good start. Even three hundred on the first day. Totally respectable.
The application for the first Project Atlas batch went live yesterday. The mayor of New York City had cut the ribbon at the opening of the Hunter's Point campus. Local food trucks and craft beer and wine tents plied the guests with refreshments. Champagne towers and waiters bearing silver trays had no place across the river. It had been Mi-rae's idea inspired by her days in braids wandering market stalls — a savvy outreach to a neighborhood skeptical of the words "venture" and "capital" strung together. A food truck was a start up in its most elemental form— a nimble dream on wheels chasing success on any street.
The colorful line of metaphors had turned the ribbon cutting ceremony into a carnival of taste and smell. It filled Ji-pyeong with warmth to remember that yellow truck beside a different river with colorful striped umbrellas. That was where he had found Grandmother once again. He felt her presence with every impatient shout from inside a truck about an order taking too long; in every bright smile offering a taste of something delicious: in each bite pulled into his mouth with his hands from a paper plate.
It was a great launch.
The Hunter's Point campus had exceeded its managing director's expectations. And by anyone else's standards, that meant Project Atlas was a marvel. It was inspiring but warm; gleaming in modernity but nestled along the river as if it had organically risen up from its waters. Amy Baxter's synergy of open community areas and imaginative office space had created the perfect laboratory. Glass drew in the river, the Manhattan skyline, and sunshine. The analysts were giddy with excitement as they picked their offices by lottery last week. The neighborhood was now eager for the steady stream of new customers at the long abandoned riverfront.
Ji-pyeong had already catapulted Atlas's returns into the top five percent of American venture capital funds from his keyboard. Media and VIP guests had attended in droves — as curious as ever about the venture capitalist and corporate attorney who fell in love while revealing Erskin Dusk's treachery to the world. But none of that necessarily would equate to actual applicants for the batch program: would nascent companies be willing to come to Queens and place their dreams into his hands? And that was where Ji-pyeong's passion lied. He wanted to search for the pearls in the mud. Scrape the grime off. Hone the rough edges. And reveal their true value to the world.
The endlessly revolving circle on the screen finally stopped.
Ji-pyeong folded his hands and stared intensely, boring a hole into the screen with his eyes. The data fields rapidly populated. His eyes trailed down until they reached the bottom.
Ji-pyeong blinked so hard that purple splotches appeared before his eyes.
5,447?
His hand flew to his mouth with a small gasp. Then he shook his head in disbelief.
That can't be right.
The application period would be open for six weeks. Ji-pyeong narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, incredulous.
