The Olympic Prediction Program
Yoo Jae-won spoke plainly, giving concrete numbers. "Yes! According to my calculations, we'll win 12 gold medals. Around 10 silver or bronze medals, I think."
He didn't just say "about ten medals." He specified the exact breakdown by gold, silver, and bronze. But he wasn't finished.
"We'll take gold in archery, boxing, judo, table tennis, handball, and wrestling!"
He even named the specific events. Still, his parents simply nodded along. They never imagined their son could see the future or predict medal counts with perfect accuracy. To make them believe, he needed something more convincing than "even if he made soybean paste from red beans." Only then would they say "Our son's predictions are incredible" instead of "Our son is just lucky."
"This isn't a rough guess. It's an exact analysis from a computer program."
With that, Yoo Jae-won led his parents to the computer. It was already powered on, so launching the program took almost no time.
"A p-program?"
Yoo Jae-won's fingers danced across the keyboard with crisp, rhythmic clicks. He pressed Enter like sealing a period at the end of a sentence. The computer accepted the command with a loud whirring of the hard disk, then displayed large text on the screen.
88 Seoul Olympics Medalist Prediction Program
The title, displayed prominently in both Korean and English, looked convincingly professional to his parents. Even the Olympic rings symbol sat boldly beneath it.
When he pressed Enter again, the screen changed to show the names of various countries. Only the sports powerhouses that had ranked in the top ten at the Olympics appeared: the United States, France, and Italy, along with the Soviet Union, East Germany, and West Germany—nations that would vanish in the 21st century. There were also Hungary and Bulgaria, countries that would later decline in international sports. Of course, South Korea was included as well.
"W-what is this?"
"It's a prediction program I made!"
The screen filled with English text that Yoo Bong-man had seen earlier was the very interface where Yoo Jae-won had been inputting source code line by line. The language used was GW-BASIC. Among computer programming languages, it was relatively easy to learn, and its performance was more than sufficient for handling computers at the 1988 level. Of course, his programming skills had also been prepared before his regression. He had mastered not only simple BASIC but also C, which would soon become hugely popular, and even next-generation artificial intelligence programming languages that would lead the 21st century.
"Huh? You made this program, Jae-won?"
"Yes! Look here. My name is right there."
Yoo Jae-won pointed to the bottom of the screen.
Created by: Yoo Jae-won, Class 5, Grade 5, Deokjin Elementary School
A gasp escaped his parents' mouths. The name and personal details on the screen were unmistakably their son's. A smile formed on Yoo Jae-won's lips. From their reaction, he could tell they were already halfway convinced.
"Now watch. It's going to make the prediction."
The moment he pressed Enter, three numbers appeared beside each country's name and spun like a slot machine. Then the countries sorted in descending order by gold medals, from the Soviet Union down to Italy. South Korea sat in fourth place with 12 gold medals.
"Huh? Korea's fourth? Does that mean fourth overall?"
"Yes!"
When he moved the cursor to South Korea and pressed Enter, the events where gold medals would be won appeared. They were exactly the ones Yoo Jae-won had mentioned earlier: archery, boxing, wrestling, and so on.
If someone from the 2000s, when computers had become commonplace, saw this, they might have dismissed it. After all, even supercomputers struggled with accurate future predictions. But this was 1988. If such a plausible computer graphics screen produced accurate results, there was no reason not to believe the prediction program. At the same time, Yoo Jae-won's presence and influence would rise to another level.
Yoo Jae-won's aim hit the mark perfectly. Five days after the opening ceremony, in wrestling, Kim Young-nam secured South Korea's first gold medal by wrapping his arms around Soviet wrestler Turlikhanov's neck and throwing him. The next day, gold came in judo. Both were events Yoo Jae-won had predicted, and his parents' gazes toward him began to change. His father, Yoo Bong-man, asked which event would produce the next gold medal before heading to work, while his mother suddenly took a much greater interest in the Olympics. It was clearly because of Yoo Jae-won's predictions. Thanks to the Olympic boom, more households wanted to buy televisions, so she even went out to take orders on a Saturday. If the gold, silver, and bronze medal counts for South Korea matched exactly with zero errors once the Olympics ended, the anticipation was enormous.
The only worry was that his regression might have altered the flow of history, changing South Korea's medal counts from what they originally were. But that concern was minimal. The chance that the variables he created would affect the medal numbers was extremely slim. Since regressing, he had never left Naeo Village, and all he had done was send six tapes containing future hit songs to the singers. A butterfly's wingbeat might summon a storm, but what Yoo Jae-won had done didn't even reach the level of a butterfly's wingbeat.
"Well, just to be safe, I'll keep quiet until the Olympics are over."
Accurately predicting the medal counts with a computer was an extremely important task. If even a small variable caused changes, he could get tripped up before he even started doing big things. He had no intention of creating variables. Tap-tap-tap. Even so, Yoo Jae-won's fingers moved gracefully across the keyboard, producing crisp sounds. With each movement, more source code in the BASIC language was entered into the computer. He wasn't starting any major projects yet, but Yoo Jae-won wasn't the type to sit idle and wait either.
The program he was creating after the prediction program was a typing practice program. It would display a keyboard layout on the monitor and teach proper posture from the basics, allowing practice from home-row drills to word practice, short sentences, and long passages—all implemented in BASIC. He didn't deny that he had referenced the legendary typing program Hanme Typing Practice. Still, he couldn't surpass the original. To make it run on both AT 286 computers and XT 8086 computers, he had to forgo graphics entirely and build the screen using only text. Moreover, since the programming language was BASIC, the screen processing speed was slow even in text mode. Functionally, however, he had reproduced everything from the complete version of Hanme Typing Practice. He had even included the game-ified word practice mode called "Saving Venice."
In 1988, Korea's barren computer industry had no Korean typing practice programs. If the program Yoo Jae-won was making appeared now, it would deliver an enormous shock.
"Heh heh. Maybe they'll recognize me as a nationally certified computer genius?"
Yoo Jae-won was already drinking the kimchi soup before even opening the lid. Still, he was confident the program he was making would succeed. The only issue was distribution in an era without internet communication, but he already had a plan for that as well.
"Anyway, finishing the program comes first."
As long as the typing practice program came out properly, that would be enough. Just as Yoo Jae-won was gaining momentum and focusing once more on inputting source code—
Ring-ring, ring-ring.
The telephone in the master bedroom, treated like a sacred object alongside the computer, began to ring. The timing was sharp, as if someone had been waiting to interrupt. Yoo Jae-won typed the save command to preserve everything he had worked on so far. The moment he thought he needed to get up to answer the phone, his fingers moved on their own. It was a passive skill only possessed by those who had once lost an all-night report or project to an unexpected error.
"Hello? This is the Yoo Jae-won residence."
Yoo Jae-won answered before the third ring. A sharp intake of breath came through the receiver. After some brief rustling, the other party's voice followed.
"Hello? Is this Yoo Jae-won's house?"
"Yes! This is Yoo Jae-won. Who is this?"
Yoo Jae-won's voice lacked energy as he answered. It wasn't someone he knew. It wasn't one of the usual acquaintances who called the house, nor was it the voice of any of the singers he had sent the song tapes to.
"Ah, is this Mr. Yoo Jae-won? Your voice sounds much younger than I expected."
It was only natural that a twelve-year-old whose voice hadn't even started changing would sound young—what was so surprising about that? But the person on the other end didn't wait for Yoo Jae-won's reply. There was some hurried movement, as if the receiver had been handed to someone else.
"Hello? Mr. Yoo Jae-won?"
This time it was a woman. The moment he heard the voice, fireworks exploded in his mind and flower petals scattered. It was a voice so distinctive that once heard, it could never be forgotten. Even through the outdated copper-wire telephone of 1988 that didn't support HD voice, her voice overflowed with energy.
The owner of the voice was Lee Seong-hee. The recipient of the first tape containing "A Burst of Laughter."
"Singer Lee Seong-hee?"
"Yes! That's right! I called because of the tape you sent me. Do you have a moment?"
"Of course!"
Just from her voice, he could tell the proposal had been a success. And since it came from the singer he had most anticipated, he couldn't help but smile.
"We're not too late, are we?"
"It's fine."
"The envelope with the tape got mixed in with fan letters, so I only listened to it yesterday."
Yoo Jae-won had addressed the recipients to the singers' homes rather than their agencies. The same applied to the other five singers besides Lee Seong-hee. The reason was simple. In 1988, entertainment agencies couldn't be compared to 21st-century entertainment companies. They were incredibly small-scale, yet they had perfected the art of exploiting their artists. There was also a very high chance they were connected to organized crime. That was why Yoo Jae-won had sent the tapes directly to the singers' homes instead of going through their agencies. Not to their publicly known addresses, but to their actual residences known only to a few. Because they were singers, he believed they would recognize the quality even if it was just piano accompaniment with a child's voice, and Lee Seong-hee had responded.
The excitement ended there. He calmed his racing heart and filled his voice with composure. Money calculations had to be precise. Whether giving or receiving, there were no exceptions. He had suffered greatly in his previous life for failing at this. Not anymore.