To be honest, I'm working under a contract with a very big and famous individual. He liked it when I did things my own way. Maybe he liked my style—the way I document my process, the way I constantly wrestle with the line between good and evil. Breaking down over ten years of faith and living with a new set of values wasn’t easy. Likewise, breaking free from the confines of conventional frameworks to live as an entrepreneur who takes on everything was only possible thanks to brutal training. On top of that, I was running around trying to find the strongest among the evil—not for money, but just because I wanted to see his face. In today’s world, I probably came off as a rare kind of lunatic.
Following the promise I made with him, I’ve done a lot of outrageous things. There were many failures I couldn’t talk about publicly, and many attempts that fizzled out. But that rich man never expected results from me. He only ever looked at the process. From beginning to end, all he cared about was the process. Even if the outcome was good, if it happened due to luck, that didn’t impress him. On the other hand, if the result was bad but the process was solid and the approach was admirable, then it just meant I was unlucky—not that I lacked skill. He was someone who saw only the process.
In fact, I hardly ever communicate with him. Even when we do talk, it’s maybe once a month. Sometimes we meet, other times we just exchange a short message.
He told me to do as I please. Isn’t that wild? Someone actually telling you to do whatever you want. But for me, that felt surprisingly familiar. I grew up in an environment where I was essentially neglected. My parents left me alone for various reasons, and because of that, I wandered a lot and spent much of my time lonely. No one ever told me how to live—not even as a child. The only exception was my 9th grade homeroom teacher, who insisted I attend an academic high school. Aside from that, no one ever dictated my path.
Whenever I do talk to this person, I don’t expect much from him. After all, he probably already knows what I’m up to through my occasional posts or videos. And honestly, he’s far more skilled at what I’m doing than I am. Sometimes, he makes these seemingly absurd promises. At first, I’d laugh and say, “Ah, thank you,” thinking he was joking. But then, he’d unexpectedly deliver on those promises like gifts. It’s funny because our relationship has no real guarantees.
Even though I’ve changed directions countless times and had to start over from scratch many times, I’ve never been truly discouraged. Maybe it’s because I never had anything so successful that it would’ve hurt to lose. Or maybe it's because every time I started over, I felt my foundational skills had improved. Sure, phrases like “start from the beginning” feel like interval training—they’re physically and emotionally exhausting. But oddly enough, even after all those failures and all those useless repositories full of abandoned code, I don’t feel discouraged anymore. Because I know that just one success will turn all that pain into meaningful process—into training for that final win.
That’s why even when I talk with him, I don’t care whether he keeps his promises or not. I just pour all my time into the work I want to do. When I wake up in the morning, designs and features I saw in my dreams keep circling my head. I spend 5 to 10 hours a day thinking “how can I make this work?” so really, there’s little difference between dream and reality. Back then, I was anxious. I thought speed was everything. But now I know better. It’s not just about speed. Yes, momentum matters—but what’s more important is building something solid, something deliberate. Because now, I feel I’m getting closer to the final version—not just another draft.
Over the past few days, I’ve had to think hard about the foundation of my service—the design, the target users, the features. Especially about what to keep and what to discard. Creating something new means turning a vague vision in your head into something clear and concrete. And even after you do that, translating that vision into something users can feel and understand—that’s the next challenge. You have to decide what to keep, what to throw away, and pull that blurry imagination out of your brain, soaking it completely in vivid color. It’s tiring, but it can’t be helped. This is the road I chose, and I’m genuinely happy about that choice.
That said, the ultra-wealthy guy sometimes pops up and says random things just for fun. And I, too, don’t bother with the usual talk during our conversations. I’ve already made my intentions clear: First, that I will guarantee freedom of expression. Second, that I will build a business model enabling direct trade between third-world countries and developed nations to redistribute wealth. I haven’t decided on the third thing yet, but for now, #1 is the most urgent problem I’m working on.
Come to think of it, maybe I have nothing to fear. That’s how the world works—who’s backing you? If your older brother is the toughest guy in the neighborhood, you’ve got nothing to worry about. And sometimes, you climb on the shoulders of someone greater than yourself. Looking sharp is also a skill. Maybe I was born with a massive stroke of luck. I’m not really afraid of anyone. After all, I’ve got serious backing.