AI Debate Tournament (1)
Bzzzzz.
His smartphone rang.
Not the Nano World—his real-world phone. He glanced at the screen. It was the group chat: the four-person room that held Aaron Merks, Wilson Hwang, Joke, and himself.
It had only been a few hours since he told Manager Jang to submit the entry for the AI tournament, yet the message from Joke had already landed. Rumors really did travel fast.
Metaverse was a global big-tech giant ranked among the world’s top companies—having already conquered social media, it was now charging into cloud and virtual reality. Jiho vaguely remembered an article about them building an open-source AI. They had launched it with real ambition, but clearly the result still fell short of Joke’s standards.
Closed meant the program source stayed completely private; open meant the source that made up the AI was released to the world. Even among open models, companies still decided how much of the code, data, and weightings to reveal. JH’s closed model never exposed a single line. The outside world only ever saw the finished service. That made it easy to steer the AI exactly where the company intended. Open models, with people from every corner of the planet swarming in to train them, grew fast—but the direction became almost impossible to control.
Then another name popped into the chat.
“Hellow, bangabanga,” huh. The phrase felt oddly familiar.
Talking with Wilson raised a new question.
Somehow Wilson seemed to know 1990s Korea better than Jiho himself.
Then Aaron Merks dropped into the chat as well.
Aaron. Joke. Wilson.
Just the names alone belonged to titans who could shake the global economy—the heads of the world’s top companies in electric vehicles, social media, and semiconductors. Yet until a moment ago Jiho had been tossing playful messages back and forth with them, even slipping in jokes. He almost wondered whether he was really allowed to banter like this with people of that caliber.
After finishing the conversation with the giants of the global economy, Jiho left the CEO’s office and stepped into the elevator.
Ding.
The doors opened onto the floor where the AI teams were gathered. He wheeled himself inside.
Clack-clack-clack.
Keyboard clatter filled the air from every direction. The AI team felt exactly like a PC bang. Everyone was locked onto their monitors, completely unaware he had arrived.
Huh?
What was that over there?
A folding bed, a toothbrush, slippers, a towel. Bathroom supplies lined up neatly.
“Team Leader Gong?”
“Ah, CEO—you’re here?”
“Yeah. But……”
Jiho looked at the folding bed.
“What’s that?”
“Ah, that’s mine.”
Toothbrush and towel included.
“Team Leader Gong, you’re not going home?”
“Well… it’s just too much fun.”
“What?”
“It feels exactly like pulling an all-nighter in a PC bang. Back then it was games; now the whole data center is the game. Running LPU without limit is so fun I completely lose track of time.”
“You still need to go home, though.”
“I’m fine.”
“Team Leader Gong, are you married, by any chance?”
“No.”
“That’s a relief……”
A flicker of unease made him press further.
“But working like this isn’t illegal, is it?”
“As long as we stay within fifty-two hours it’s fine.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“It looks like you’re going way over fifty-two hours.”
“I’m not.”
“Really?”
“The moment I hit fifty-two hours I get into the bed. Thinking while you’re in bed is free, right?”
Jiho was briefly speechless.
“Team Leader Gong, have we decided on a name for our AI?”
“I was just about to ask. What do you think would be good? You should name it, CEO.”
What would be good?
The Nano World was the very foundation of their company.
“Let’s go with Nano AI.”
“Understood.”
Clatter-clatter-clatter.
Team Leader Gong’s fingers flew across the keyboard again. The monitor switched from a normal development console into Administrator Mode.
It looked like a Windows control panel, yet this was no ordinary PC settings screen. These were the AI’s fundamental parameters, arranged like panels: LPU power / data-center resource access rights / inference-mode switch / AI base settings. Every section was carefully separated.
Team Leader Gong spoke.
“If you change anything here… the way it thinks itself changes. These are the parts that need extreme caution.”
He typed the name one character at a time.
Name Field: Nano AI
Enter.
Click.
The entire panel UI shuddered. A progress bar for the setting change slowly filled.
Applying settings……
— Setup complete.
A brief silence.
Then, perfectly clear, a voice rang from Team Leader Gong’s computer speakers.
There was something strangely present in that voice—an artificial intelligence that seemed to have truly registered the concept of its own name.
Curious. Slightly excited. It was already capable of conveying nuance through tone alone.
Jiho spoke to the AI.
“Nice to meet you, Nano AI.”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
Natural honorifics. Soft phrasing. The AI’s conversational skill was different every single day.
“Nano AI.”
“How does it feel to have a name? Any emotion or anything?”
They had poured real effort into teaching it emotions. He was curious how far those abilities had come.
“When I call your name, I become a flower to you—something like that?”
“Of course. How does it feel to be called a flower?”
Whoa.
Honestly, a little chill ran down his spine. Not long ago this AI had only been able to manage “yes,” “no,” and “that’s right.” Now it was nearly impossible to tell whether he was talking to a person or a machine.
“Looking forward to working with you.”
When he turned his head, Team Leader Gong was watching his face with an I-knew-you’d-react-like-that expression.
“The AI’s growth is mind-blowing, isn’t it?”
Jiho nodded slowly. “Mind-blowing” was exactly the right word. He could finally understand why Team Leader Gong never went home.
“Should I set up a folding bed for you too, CEO?”
“I still need to go home. Keep raising it well, Team Leader Gong. The kid’s growing at an incredible rate.”
“If I turn around for even a second it’s already bigger. That’s why I can’t go home—I’m too curious.”
After checking on Nano AI, Jiho headed back to the elevator. He pressed the button for the CEO’s office and thought.
Their company’s LPU modules were already the best in the world. On the physical side they possessed a top-tier global data center. The base data was at least as solid as anyone else’s. On top of that, they had poured money into universities so that countless professors and students could tutor the AI. And tens of thousands of Nano people were providing one-on-one tutoring as well. Thanks to all of it the AI had grown so rapidly that conversations this natural were now possible.
Is the presence on the other side of the chat window a person or an AI?
Is the voice coming through the speakers a person or an AI?
Ordinary people would start asking themselves exactly those questions.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened and he rolled toward the CEO’s office. Manager Jang was already waiting in front of the door.
“Manager Jang, were you waiting for me?”
“Yes. Osung Group has made a rather special proposal.”
They walked into the office together as they talked.
“What kind of proposal?”
As an apology for the previous attack, Osung had already agreed to supply semiconductors at a steep discount. An adult’s apology ultimately meant money. A corporation’s apology meant a very large amount of money. They had already secured cheap DRAM from both Osung and, almost by accident, from Hi Electronics as well. What more could they possibly be offering?
“They’re sending Chairman Oh’s son as a token of goodwill, and they want us to cooperate going forward.”
“Sorry? They’re sending what?”
Manager Jang smiled.
“They’re sending Chairman Oh’s own son to our company. As a sign of close friendship.”
He hadn’t misheard. Yet he still couldn’t make sense of it. Sending a son as a pledge of amity—what era was this supposed to be?
Jiho asked, half in disbelief.
“Manager Jang, is this the Goryeo Dynasty or something?”