The Information Super-Highway
The Information Super-Highway. “Let us imagine a world where every household has a computer connected to a high-speed data network. What happens when a bank’s computer system joins this network? People could transfer money, pay taxes, and settle electricity or water bills from the comfort of their homes without ever visiting a bank branch. Transactions between individuals would flourish as well, wouldn’t they?”
The convenience of internet banking needs no further explanation. As banking technology advances and merges with mobile platforms, the era of fintech will dawn. “We could also link it to securities firms’ systems. Then individuals with spare funds could invest in stocks from home. Companies would find it far easier to raise capital, while individuals could grow their wealth through stock investments.”
“Wouldn’t that mean banks and brokerages go bankrupt since no one would visit their branches?”
“Not at all. Many tasks still require branch offices. Instead, they would compete to maintain the network and develop unique services to attract more customers. That would naturally create jobs and increase corporate revenue. Enhanced competitiveness would allow them to grow not only domestically but also on the global stage.”
While the internet might reduce some jobs, it would spawn several times more new industries, ultimately increasing employment. The real job killer would come much later with the Fourth Industrial Revolution. On top of that, the arrival of cheap, general-purpose worker robots would plunge everything into chaos.
“We could offer video-on-demand services and music streaming as well. In particular, if we created courses tailored to different subjects and levels through video-on-demand, it would greatly benefit parents and exam students. KBS 3TV broadcasts can only be watched once at a fixed time, and the content is too generalized to meet every student’s individual learning needs.”
Countless paid services could be delivered through the high-speed network. Yoo Jae-won mentioned only a fraction of them, yet that was enough to leave everyone in the room with their mouths agape.
“Listening to you, young man, makes the future that once seemed shrouded in fog appear crystal clear. Have you shared this vision with anyone else?”
“No, sir. I kept it to myself until I presented it to you today, Mr. President.”
President Roh’s expression grew even more pleased.
“Could you compile this vision into a detailed report and send it to me? The New Year’s address has already been delivered, but I would like to include these ideas in the upcoming State of the Nation address to the National Assembly.”
The State of the Nation address? Yoo Jae-won hesitated briefly. This was too precious a topic of the century to be used merely for the President’s political showboating.
“Understood. I will organize it properly and send it to you.”
The hesitation did not last long. Hoarding it would only turn it into waste. Though the actual budget execution would likely be minimal, having the President—the pinnacle of power—publicly articulate a vision for the data network would accelerate the digital revolution. The higher the purity of that revolution, the greater the direct benefits to ID Technology. It was not entirely a bad thing.
Still, being saddled with an unplanned research project was annoying. The timing was also awkward. An address to the National Assembly “in the near future”? When he had checked the January 1990 timeline inside his Memory Palace that morning, no such address existed. Instead, a massive political event loomed that would plunge the entire nation into chaos: the merger of the three parties.
The Democratic Justice Party, the Reunification Democratic Party, and the New Democratic Republican Party would unite under a single banner to form the Democratic Liberal Party—the largest political realignment in Korean history. It would transform the opposition-controlled National Assembly created by the people into a ruling-party majority through backroom deals. Naturally, Yoo Jae-won viewed the event negatively. Once the three-party merger occurred, the National Assembly would cease functioning properly, making a State of the Nation address impossible. Yet the fact that President Roh was already speaking of it suggested the address would happen soon—perhaps not this month or next, but in the near future.
Yoo Jae-won concluded his second meeting at Cheong Wa Dae without incident. Once again, no one had tried to extort him. As he drove away from the Blue House, a faint sense of disappointment stirred. He had waited, hoping the conversation might touch on his nationality issues or Soviet and Chinese intelligence agents, but not a single word had been said. Still, this level of handicap fell within his expected range, so he did not dwell on it.
“Your next appointment is with Organizing Committee Chairman Oh Myung.”
“Understood. Let’s head there right away.”
Having enjoyed a hearty lunch at the Blue House, Yoo Jae-won moved briskly to his next schedule, as busy as any celebrity with a packed calendar. Chairman Oh Myung had left the cabinet the previous year, yet as head of the Expo organizing committee he enjoyed the President’s full support. Thanks to that backing, the committee’s offices in Yeouido were spacious and impressive.
During the drive, Yoo Jae-won organized his thoughts on the Expo. Chairman Oh Myung was likely already feeling the difficulty of securing the bid—an uphill battle both inside and outside the government. If one measured the challenge, it was comparable to winning the 1988 Olympics. The government planned to host the event in 1991, but the opposition naturally opposed allocating a large budget for a massive Expo, and even voices within the ruling party had begun to object. After the three-party merger the ruling party would grow stronger and the opposition’s voice would weaken, yet the negative sentiment would persist. At least with the President’s support, the committee could operate smoothly. Recently, the opposition had shifted from outright rejection to a conditional demand: obtain official recognition from the Bureau of International Expositions.
Of course, this was no favor. They had simply assigned an impossible mission. The BIE had already declared a moratorium on recognizing any new Expos until 1999. Funding for an Expo did not come solely from the host nation; participating countries also had to invest in building their own pavilions. As Expos grew larger and more extravagant, the costs became enormous, yet the promotional returns rarely matched the expenditure. The BIE’s largest contributor had always been the United States, whose economy was now sliding from the golden 1980s into a harsh winter that would last until the IT boom of the mid-1990s. With spending curtailed, America was deeply reluctant to support another grand international fair.
“Young man, do you have any good ideas?”
Oh Myung, whom he had just met, looked exactly as Yoo Jae-won had expected—haggard and visibly worn from stress. Several new wrinkles lined his face compared to the previous summer. He, like everyone else who had competed for the position, had believed the Expo bid would be straightforward with the government’s full backing. Reality had proven far harsher. Opposition came not only from the opposition party but also from within the ruling party, and only after the President intervened did the compromise of obtaining BIE recognition emerge. Yet when Oh Myung actually spoke with the BIE chair nation and key members, he discovered they had no intention of granting recognition before 1999. Despair had engulfed him.
As a technocrat who had risen to Minister of Communications, he had been promoted to Expo chairman with ambitions of advancing further—to the National Assembly or even the premiership—once the bid succeeded. Now everything seemed on the verge of collapse.
“Of course there is a way,” Yoo Jae-won replied.
Oh Myung was a reliable ally. The better Oh Myung performed, the higher the quality of support Yoo Jae-won would receive. The solution itself was not particularly novel. In the original timeline, Chairman Oh Myung had secured BIE recognition through his own efforts. Yoo Jae-won was simply offering the method a little earlier.
“The key is the budget. Previous Expos have been so expensive that BIE members grew wary. We must emphasize that we can host an Expo on a low budget.”
“A low budget? But this is meant to showcase our status as an advanced nation. Can we really hold a shabby event?”
Chairman Oh Myung was still speaking from a position of relative comfort. The “low-budget” keyword had only surfaced later, under far greater pressure.
“It’s just a manner of speaking. After winning the bid, we can offer major corporations appropriate incentives and request their cooperation in building pavilions. That way we reduce direct government expenditure while maintaining scale.”
“Ah, I see.”
Yoo Jae-won spoke of squeezing money from corporations without hesitation, even though he himself ran a company. Yet even the technocrat Oh Myung nodded, accepting that corporations should naturally cooperate for a national event of this magnitude.
“Have you selected the venue yet?”
Oh Myung shook his head. The compromise had only recently been reached, and little progress had been made because of National Assembly opposition. Still, he believed venue selection would not be difficult. Seoul’s overcrowding had to be avoided, so a provincial city was necessary—and provincial cities were desperate to host any large national event.
In fact, the selection process had not even begun, yet he was already inundated with lobbying requests.
“Then I recommend Daejeon.”
“Daejeon?”
“Yes. The air force base there recently relocated, leaving behind a long runway. If we use that site to argue that we can save on costs, the response should be favorable. However, aiming for 1991 is too soon. Targeting 1992 or 1993 would be wiser.”
“1992 might be possible, but 1993 feels excessive.”
What Oh Myung meant was President Roh Tae-woo’s term. The purpose of hosting the Expo was to create a presidential achievement, and pushing it to 1993 would place it after his retirement—something the President would not welcome. Yet for various practical reasons, the actual event would inevitably be scheduled for the autumn of 1993. If the date slipped, the chairman would be summoned repeatedly for scoldings, but there was no alternative.
“Thank you for the advice. I feel terrible for burdening you when you’re so busy. I will definitely use your suggestions on my next trip abroad.”
From Oh Myung’s perspective, delaying until 1993 was unrealistic. Yet the methods Yoo Jae-won had outlined felt genuinely effective.
“Hehe, it will definitely work out. Once the Expo is secured, I’ll build the largest booth—no, pavilion—in ID Technology’s history and participate. Just make sure you reserve the best spot for me!”
“Of course.”
Having secured both advice and tangible benefits, Yoo Jae-won ended his meeting with Chairman Oh Myung. Once again, leaving the committee office did not mean heading home.
“Next is Chairman Choi of the Ilsung Group.”
Yoo Jae-won’s popularity was such that three appointments in a single day had become routine. His car glided northward along the road leading toward Seongbuk-dong.
“Hmm, wait a moment.”
Staring blankly out the window, Yoo Jae-won suddenly felt a whim. It stemmed from memories of his previous life, which had been eerily similar to the present. In that life, he had also rushed off whenever the Ilsung chairman summoned him. If it had been Chairman Jeon Myung-heon, their relationship would have been more than merely businesslike, but the Ilsung chairman was different. Moreover, Ilsung had been deeply involved in the events that led to his death in his previous life. This second life, begun at great cost after paying a heavy price, felt wrong if he simply followed the inertia of the past.
“Turn the car around. Let’s go to Sambo instead.”
The one in need now was not him, but Ilsung. If he played hard to get, they would surely react. Visiting nearby Sambo Computer would be far more productive and far more comfortable for his heart.
Yoo Jae-won’s Grandeur executed a smooth U-turn and accelerated without the slightest hesitation.