What if we stopped thinking of spaces in terms of function, and started thinking of them in terms of relationships?

The 22nd floor of BIFC2 offers a rare opportunity to shift that perspective. On paper, it is a collection of 15 meeting rooms and a lounge. But in reality, it can become something far more meaningful—a platform where relationships are continuously formed, layered, and expanded.

The problem is not the lack of infrastructure. The rooms exist. The people exist. The industries are already present. What is missing is density—specifically, the density of connection.

Cities like Seoul thrive not merely because they have more resources, but because those resources constantly collide. People run into each other. Conversations repeat. Encounters accumulate. And over time, these repeated interactions transform into trust, collaboration, and eventually, opportunity.

Busan, by contrast, has all the ingredients but lacks the mechanism that brings them together.

This is where the 22nd floor becomes critical.

Each of the 15 meeting rooms should not be treated as a passive space waiting to be reserved, but as an active unit of connection—a living cell within a larger network. If each room hosts a recurring group, a consistent theme, or a specific community, then over time, these rooms begin to generate their own gravity.

A small four-person room might host a weekly founder circle. A mid-sized room could become home to a regular professional network. Larger rooms might open themselves to public talks, drawing in new participants who had never considered entering this ecosystem before.

And then there is the lounge.

The lounge is not an afterthought. It is the connective tissue. It is where structured interactions dissolve into unplanned conversations. Where a formal introduction becomes a casual follow-up. Where people linger, overlap, and encounter each other again.

This is where the real work happens.

Because relationships are rarely formed in scheduled meetings alone. They are built in the in-between moments before the session begins, after it ends, and in the unexpected overlaps in between.

If designed well, this entire floor can operate as a loop

People enter through open programs. They find their place in smaller groups. They build deeper connections in repeated settings. They encounter others in shared spaces. And then they return not because they have to, but because something meaningful is happening.

In that sense, the 22nd floor is not a facility. It is an engine.

Not a place where meetings are held, but a place where relationships are produced.

And if Busan is to become a city where flows gather not by adding more resources, but by connecting what already exists then spaces like this are not optional.

They are the starting point.