Desert Storm
"Desert Storm—what? Iraq, you say? That's one of the most pro-American countries in the Middle East, isn't it? We can control the situation there without any trouble."
From 1980 until August 1988, the Iran-Iraq War had raged on, ending just before Yoo Jae-won's regression. The conflict began when Iraq invaded Iran, and the United States had backed Iraq throughout. Even Britain, France, Saudi Arabia, other Islamic nations, and the Soviet Union had supported Iraq. This was the result of Iran's post-revolution fundamentalist regime adopting an anti-American, anti-Soviet stance that isolated itself. In particular, the hostage crisis at the U.S. embassy in Tehran had driven American hostility toward Iran to its peak.
Only a few years had passed since the Iran-Iraq War ended, so most Americans still viewed Iraq as a reliably pro-Western nation. President Hussein's fiery rhetoric was nothing new; the world already knew him as a volatile man.
"Why do you ask? Are you interested in the Middle Eastern markets? Would you like me to look into the regional situation?"
Of course he was curious. He had already poured thirty million dollars into the oil futures market, with another seventy million on the way. As a regressor who knew the future, Yoo Jae-won understood the coming flow of events. Yet after his return, he had set so many changes in motion that the timeline he remembered was drifting further from reality. The news library stored in his Memory Palace was increasingly out of sync with the present. A small ripple he had created could easily grow into a storm that altered the situation in the Middle East. If war failed to break out—or broke out later—his hundred million dollars would vanish into thin air. That possibility gnawed at him.
"Ah, I was just watching the news and got curious, that's all."
Remington knew about the founding of ID Investment, but he had no idea how the firm actually invested. Telling him now would only cause unnecessary worry, so Yoo Jae-won decided to keep the concern to himself.
"The best cure for pointless thoughts is exercise."
Yoo Jae-won shut down his computer and moved to the room beside his study. There, in addition to a treadmill, stood a full set of free weights: a bench press, deadlift bar, and squat rack, all protected by thick rubber mats to muffle sound. His routine was simple—warm up with bodyweight exercises, run on the treadmill, then cycle through the three core lifts. Thanks to professional coaching he had received in the past, his form remained solid even without a trainer. Even with moderate weights, the effort left him breathing hard. After an hour of sweating, the nagging anxiety finally cleared from his mind.
The final week of April arrived. On Nextcom's international news bulletin board, articles about Microsoft began flooding in. Unlike the dramatic trial of the previous year, the ongoing appeal was proceeding quietly. As a result, the media rarely mentioned Microsoft's affairs—until today.
The reason was a landmark press release issued by ID Technology the previous day. It announced that Android Alpha's share of the IBM-compatible PC operating system market had surpassed the symbolic forty-percent threshold. Forty out of every hundred machines might not sound overwhelming, but only months earlier Microsoft had been the undisputed king with a ninety-percent monopoly. In that short span, Android Alpha had grown at a terrifying pace, exploiting Microsoft's weaknesses with its graphical interface and enhanced game support.
That did not mean the remaining sixty percent belonged to Microsoft. Gary Kildall's DR-DOS and other DOS-compatible systems—against which Bill Gates had once hurled his famous rebuke—had captured more than fifteen percent through aggressive low-price tactics. Microsoft's own share had now fallen to the low forties, nearly identical to Android Alpha's.
The collapse stemmed partly from Android Alpha's fierce offensive, but Microsoft's own self-inflicted wounds played an equally large role. The extended memory management system hastily added to MS-DOS 4.0 to counter ID Office suffered from abysmal compatibility and stability. Countless users experienced programs freezing mid-task or sudden reboots while gaming. Microsoft released patches, yet the problems persisted. After firing capable programmers like James Augustine and suffering a crushing defeat in court against ID Technology, the company's organizational discipline had fractured.
The final blow came from a computer virus. In Korea it was called the Jerusalem virus; in America, the Friday the 13th virus. It activated on any Friday the thirteenth, irreversibly deleting DOS system files and every EXE or COM executable on the machine. This April, the thirteenth fell on a Friday.
America's growing population of PC communication and internet users—thanks in large part to Yoo Jae-won's influence—allowed the Jerusalem virus to spread far faster than before. Yet public awareness of computer security remained low, and antivirus software was still unfamiliar. On the thirteenth, countless users who powered on their machines discovered they were dead. System files had vanished; nothing worked. Even restoring files from a boot diskette produced only temporary relief—the virus quickly reactivated and destroyed everything again.
The tragedy was compounded by the fact that the Jerusalem virus thrived best on MS-DOS, the dominant system when the virus was created. Machines running Android Alpha remained unaffected; the operating system's lower compatibility and built-in system-file protection rendered the virus inert.
Korea, still home to many older XT-class PCs, also suffered heavy damage. Some schools found every computer in their labs rendered useless the moment they were switched on. The one silver lining was that a vaccine had already been developed—not by a computer expert, but by a medical student named Kim Cheol-su. The program was called V6.
Even Yoo Jae-won, who knew computers well, first thought of a six-cylinder engine when he heard the name. Yet the title carried meaning: the vaccine could reliably cure six major viruses rampant in 1990—the Jerusalem, Brain, DIR, LBC, Honey, and Michelangelo viruses. V6 spread rapidly through Nextcom and academies, preventing the virus from inflicting even greater damage in Korea. Many users downloaded it preemptively. From the thirteenth onward, it remained the most popular file in Nextcom's archive and showed no sign of falling.
The media naturally focused on the medical student who had created V6. After interviewing him, they ran a headline that made Yoo Jae-won burst out laughing.
A second Yoo Jae-won? A young genius? Kim Cheol-su, the developer of V6, was twenty-eight—twice Yoo Jae-won's age. Hardly young by any standard. Yet the public accepted the headline without question. Even Kim Cheol-su himself seemed pleased with the title. In his interview he expressed his ambition to develop an Android Alpha-compatible vaccine and uphold the pride of the domestically dominant operating system.
Since the article mentioned Yoo Jae-won, he could not remain silent. Moreover, strengthening the Android ecosystem with a good security program would directly benefit the company. He sent Kim Cheol-su an email expressing his anticipation for a strong vaccine and offering his support.
Regardless, Microsoft's already sinking empire suffered an even steeper fall after the Friday the 13th Jerusalem virus outbreak. The more Microsoft declined, the higher Android Alpha soared. Major computer manufacturers began adopting Android Alpha as their default operating system. Though priced at only ten dollars per copy, the sheer volume of sales generated enormous revenue—by the end of April it had already surpassed ID Office's sales income. Despite heavy spending on Nextcom, the acquisition of Dacom shares, and new hiring, the company's cash reserves had grown larger than before.
Time flew. The gentle spring breeze that had thawed the frozen ground only months earlier had turned into a scorching summer wind by late June. As Yoo Jae-won had predicted, ID Technology's accounts overflowed with dollars—from steady sales of Wolfenstein, ID Office's surprising rebound, Android Alpha's surging popularity, and other revenue streams. Though the company spent heavily on operations, income outpaced expenses, steadily building reserves. Rumors even circulated among banks that if they ran short of dollars, they should simply visit ID Technology.
"We could probably send another thirty million dollars, don't you think?"
The second tranche of oil futures investment earmarked for ID Investment had been seventy million dollars. Combined with the initial thirty million, the original plan called for a total of one hundred million dollars in the futures market. That sum was already enormous, yet Yoo Jae-won now felt he had additional capacity. He wanted to send another thirty million, bringing the total investment to one hundred and thirty million dollars.
"Absolutely not."
Choi Kang-wook, Chief of Staff, put the brakes on the idea. As the undisputed second-in-command, Choi Kang-wook oversaw not only ID Technology but also ID Investment on Yoo Jae-won's direct orders. Unlike Remington, he was fully aware of the plan to invest one hundred million dollars in oil futures.
"One hundred million is acceptable—that was the plan since last year. But I must oppose sending any additional funds. You already control ID Technology, ID Investment, ID Software, and Nextcom. Four companies in total. Given their scale and influence, declaring an ID Group would not be an exaggeration. Yet if you continue managing them in the old, ad-hoc manner, the organization cannot grow. You said you wanted to build a system-driven company. If you yourself fail to follow that system, what good is it?"
Choi Kang-wook's expression was unyielding. His words were also entirely correct. Earning money mattered, but so did building and maintaining a stable organization. Yoo Jae-won wanted the ID Group he was pouring his life into to continue thriving even after he was gone—and, if possible, to become a positive force that improved the world. To achieve that, he had to heed Choi Kang-wook's advice.
"Fine, I understand. We'll stick with the original seventy million dollars."
"Thank you for accepting my opinion."
"No need to thank me. If I ever lose sight of things again, feel free to give me this kind of straight talk whenever necessary."
"Of course. That is my job."
With that, the transfer was executed immediately. Accumulating seventy million dollars had taken considerable time, but sending it required only moments. In the 1980s it would have been difficult, but now ID Investment held an investment bank license; once properly reported, large overseas transfers posed no problem.
Once the transfer cleared, Yoo Jae-won switched his ID Talk contact to investment manager Vincent Greenhill and issued his orders.
"Close all put options and call sales. Take the settled funds plus the newly transferred seventy million and buy futures and call options across the board."
It was a reckless command—to commit a hundred million dollars to a single, unhedged position. Yet the man giving the order felt not the slightest worry about failure. All that remained was to hold until oil prices pierced the sky.