The Prodigy's Demonstration

The computer carried that unmistakable new-product scent. Every fresh device had its own signature smell, and Yoo Jae-won had always loved the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠particular aroma that rose from newly opened electronics. It was already familiar to him thanks to the computer his mother had bought.

“Nice,” he murmured.

Even though he had lived an extra thirty years by turning back time, the real-world pressure still sent a faint ripple of tension through him. The familiar smell of new hardware quickly settled his nerves.

Shall we take a look?

The organizers had given the contestants twenty minutes of preparation time so they could shake off their nerves and check their machines, ensuring they entered the test in peak condition. The computer at station eight assigned to Yoo Jae-won was decent. It was neither better nor worse than his own machine at home.

The CPU was a 286 AT. It normally ran at 12 MHz, but pressing the turbo button bumped it up to 16 MHz. Unfortunately it had no hard drive, so everything had to run from floppy disks. The graphics card was only CGA—lower spec than his home unit—but still far better than monochrome. He booted the system, launched BASIC, and confirmed the version. Since it supported Korean DOS and Korean BASIC, the source code he had prepared would run without any issues.

The middle- and high-school students around him watched with open curiosity. It was strange to see a boy who looked like a little chestnut handling a computer so naturally when even they found it difficult. After a while their attention drifted away. They had their own machines to inspect if they wanted to perform well.

“Hoo…”

The man who let out a sigh deep enough to sink the ground was Department Head Kim Won-jung. He oversaw practical affairs for the Ministry of Communications’ Computer Supply Division and held the highest rank among the competition’s organizers. The papers in front of him contained the scoring sheets from the basic division that had just ended. The results were worse than last year.

There was a reason for it. The ministry focused solely on distributing computers and paid no attention to how schools actually taught students once the machines arrived. Very few teachers in the field were qualified to give proper instruction. The ministry knew about the problem but could not afford to worry about it. Simply supplying tens of thousands of computers every year created more than enough headaches.

Because the project involved real power and money, countless hands reached out for a piece of the pie. In reality, the division was being squeezed from multiple directions. On the other hand, there were also plenty of “gifts” that came with the requests from private school foundations eager to receive machines quickly, and the leftover benefits from selecting supply models. The business definitely turned a profit.

Still, even the ministry recognized that supplying computers to elementary, middle, and high schools was work that properly belonged to the Ministry of Education. Even after handing over the education sector, supplying computers to administrative agencies and local governments and installing dedicated administrative lines remained an enormous project. Giving the school portion to the education ministry would not drastically shrink the Communications Ministry’s overall scale.

Nevertheless, the official policy was to delay the handover as long as possible for the sake of departmental interests. That policy had become a fire under Department Head Kim Won-jung’s feet. Once the school division was transferred, his own position would disappear. The problem was that the children’s poor performance was likely to accelerate that timeline.

Of course, as a public servant he would not be fired, but he would certainly be reassigned to trivial duties. His performance evaluation would plummet, which would have an extremely negative effect on the one thing every official cared about most—promotion. Since he could not manipulate the results, Kim Won-jung could only sigh.

“Sir, look over there.”

The voice came from Section Chief Ahn Jae-man, who worked under him. The man who had been nervously watching his superior suddenly pointed toward the testing floor as if he had discovered something astonishing. His finger aimed at the center of the front row—station eight, Yoo Jae-won.

A crane among chickens.

At some point the competition hall had become the stage for exactly that scene. While the typing sounds from the surrounding middle- and high-school students produced a steady tap-tap-tap, Yoo Jae-won’s keyboard roared with a rapid clatter-clatter-clatter-clatter. He was hammering out source code across the monitor at incredible speed.

If this had been the basic division—where the key was simply entering sentences accurately and quickly—first place would have been his without question. But the test currently underway was not the basic division. The important thing was not merely fast typing but producing a program that actually worked.

“Hmm? What is this? Did the boy mistake the advanced division for the basic one?”

The advanced division required contestants to create distinctive results using languages such as COBOL, BASIC, or even C if they wished. What the organizers wanted to see was how fluently a contestant could handle a programming language and whether they could produce an original, fully functional program in a short time. That was the most important scoring criterion.

The sight must have been surprising to others as well, because several photographers from the press corps began snapping pictures. A small spark of hope appeared—if that young boy could actually show them something proper, it might salvage the disaster of the basic division.

Two hours felt relative. To the contestants it passed like a bullet. To the judges it was unbearably tedious.

Even after the alarm sounded, the clatter-clatter of keyboards continued from every direction. Only after the additional warning about disqualification did the noise cut off abruptly.

Yoo Jae-won had finished his work early and completed perfect debugging, so he was already prepared. “All right, let’s go take a look.”

Unlike other high-ranking officials, Kim Won-jung was not the type to stand on ceremony. If something piqued his curiosity, he had to confirm it immediately. Even though his curiosity had reached a boiling point, he had been forced to wait a full two hours.

By custom they would have started with contestant number one and proceeded in order—running each program, checking whether it functioned, and listening to the contestant’s explanation. Naturally, a perfectly working program earned high marks. Last year there had been more than ten cases in the advanced division where programs failed to run due to errors and scores were based solely on source code. With only slightly more than forty participants, that was a quarter of the entire group. The students’ level had been that dismal.

Because of this, expectations for the little kid at station eight were not high. Still, the fact that he had hammered away at the keyboard nonstop for nearly two hours made Kim Won-jung curious. He skipped the first contestant and headed straight for number eight.

When Kim Won-jung stood up, the other judges could not stay seated. They all rose and followed.

“I am Yoo Jae-won, fifth-grade class five at Deokjin Elementary School!”

The important-looking men stared down at him with sharp eyes, but Yoo Jae-won introduced himself crisply. Mentally, he was older than all the adults surrounding him like a folding screen. Moreover, he was completely confident in his work, so there was no reason to be nervous.

“Hmm. It’s quite surprising that an elementary student is participating in the advanced division.”

“Contestant Yoo Jae-won. You were typing without pause. Tell us what you were so busy creating.”

The judges encircling him reacted to the words “elementary student.” A young child entering a difficult test was certainly a positive element. But what mattered even more was substantial content.

Yoo Jae-won had prepared thoroughly.

“The program I prepared is a Typing Practice Program.”

Because it was common sense software used when learning computers in the early twenty-first century, the explanation flowed smoothly. Later, in the mid-2010s, it would receive renewed attention as a good program for children who had grown more familiar with smartphone keyboards than traditional ones.

“It starts with learning the placement of jamo for both the standard two-set and combination Korean layouts, then progresses through word practice, short sentences, and long sentences. I also added a game feature so users won’t lose interest.”

The judges’ mouths fell open at Yoo Jae-won’s fluid, water-like explanation. If they had been told to implement even one of the things he mentioned, they would have needed to sit in front of a computer all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠day. The very concept of a dedicated typing trainer was unfamiliar. Until now, the only way to grow accustomed to a keyboard had been to write documents repeatedly until the skill developed naturally.

The educational software bundled with school computers merely displayed a crude keyboard drawn with lines on the monitor and pointed out key positions. “This is the ‘A’ key, press it. If you press the wrong key, it makes a beep. When you get it right, it tells you to press ‘B.’” That was how students learned the QWERTY and two-set Korean layouts. There was no training for typing speed or accuracy.

In contrast, although Yoo Jae-won’s program looked somewhat crude, its completeness surpassed anything that currently existed.

“Then I will run it and demonstrate.”

Yoo Jae-won typed RUN and pressed Enter. The BASIC interpreter parsed the source code and launched the program. The screen went black, then the large title “Typing Practice Program” appeared. Soon the display changed to a menu.

Phonemes. Words. Short Sentences. Long Sentences. And Alien Invasion.

“Which section ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would you like me to demonstrate first?”

Moving the cursor with the arrow keys as he asked the question, Yoo Jae-won no longer looked like an elementary student at all. He was a computer expert, pure and simple.