There are two kinds of entrepreneurs: the hungry predator and the well-fed predator.

 

The story begins with Tamás. It all started when he entered a national public procurement tender. Highway-side technology, traffic monitoring, metrological compliance. The kind of paper-heavy business where most entrepreneurs walk in the way one enters a library: carefully, quietly, hoping nobody tells them off. But Tamás is not like that. He is hungry.

 

A hungry entrepreneur doesn’t just read the words. He lives between the lines. He looks for the logic behind a misplaced comma, the reality behind a typo. Not because he is smarter, but because he cannot afford not to notice everything. One technical requirement caught his eye. The contracting authority referred to an institution that, in that form, could not legally exist. He didn’t need a doctorate to see it — though he happened to have one. What he needed was routine. And the instinct only hungry predators have.

 

Another entrepreneur would have laughed: “These guys can’t even write.”
A well-fed predator would have shrugged: “We’ll submit it and see what happens.”

 

The hungry predator doesn’t shrug. He stops. He checks. He pieces the picture together. And he realizes: if the requirement is impossible, the tender is challengeable. If it can be challenged, the deadline can be extended. If it can be extended, the field becomes level. That is a strategic advantage — but not for the well-fed.

 

Tamás wrote the letter. Not aggressively. But clearly:
The designated authority does not exist in this form, therefore the required document cannot be submitted. I request clarification of the requirement and an extension of the submission deadline.

 

That’s it. No more. Enough. That is the hungry predator.

 

The other side of the story belongs to the well-fed predator. He built his wealth from real estate. For years he was the best in the market at buying distressed portfolios from banks, stripping out the valuable properties, removing the residents, and selling at a strong margin. The old saying fit him perfectly: “Don’t ask where the first million came from.” Time passed. Today he moves in elegant circles. Today he condemns every entrepreneurial shortcut born of necessity. Today he is the embodiment of honor.

 

Accountants, lawyers, brokers, agents all seek his favor. They bring him information, tips, deals. And he started to believe the world had smoothed out beneath him. That he no longer had to pay attention — because others did it for him. He managed everything online from ski resorts and exotic destinations. “This is the real world,” he thought.

 

His business was still the same: real estate, distressed debt, liquidations. Lawyers eagerly brought cases because everyone wanted him to invest — their commission depended on it. Everyone around him was an outsider now. Not like before.

 

In the old days, the rules were clear. Deals were coordinated upfront.
This portfolio is yours, my friend.
Next month one comes out that’s mine.
Don’t interfere.
Of course, my friend.

 

There were no cross-moves. But he had long since fallen out of that circle. He didn’t know the new players. He didn’t watch the balance of power. His people were mediocre nobodies, simple deal-fetchers with no understanding of deeper dynamics. And yet the machine still ran. Out of routine. Out of habit.

 

Then the inevitable happened. They pushed him onto a target far bigger than anything he could handle. He wasn’t alert. He didn’t coordinate. He had no idea the deal was already reserved for someone else. A team was waiting for him — modern men, strong men, the new rulers of that market. From then on, everything became hell. Security firms protect him now, he lost the purchase price, paid damages, and watched his wealth carved down. They knew everything about him — his wealth, his methods, his entire past.

 

His clueless people could only shrug: We had no idea. Nothing happened except this: a soft, well-fed predator encountered hungry predators. And the law is mercilessly clear:

 

If you are full, rest. Step aside. Let others take the field. Don’t burden the system. Enjoy your life.

 

This is what people say who never had to run for their lives. And the hungry predators believe it too — especially them. Because one thing never changes:

 

The field always belongs to the hungry.