The Rule Breaker's Fortune
Rule Breaker’s 44 billion won was an enormous sum, but the 4.9 billion won paid out in fees and penalties was also a fortune ordinary citizens could never hope to touch. “Besides, this isn’t the end of it. We’ll still have to pay income tax on top of everything.”
“Ah, you won’t need to pay income tax. I’m not going to treat this as income—I’m reinvesting the whole amount.”
Korea’s income tax system was meticulous. Annual income exceeding 88 million won was taxed at 28 percent. Salaried high earners with transparent finances couldn’t escape it, but a corporation was a different story.
“Reinvest?”
If the money wasn’t recognized as income and was instead rolled back into investments, the tax liability could be deferred.
“Exactly. I’m putting every last won into stocks, so we can sidestep the tax altogether.”
Miss Kim’s expression was priceless. Park Sang-kwon loved a good bet. Expecting him to keep his hands off the stock market would have been the strange thing. In truth, he was an enthusiastic investor—though his results were consistently disastrous. No one knew that better than Miss Kim.
“Sigh… what can a mere low-level employee without any shares possibly say?”
His investment failures were too numerous to count. Miss Kim’s exasperation was understandable. Still, that was as far as she could go. She held no stake in the rice bran oil factory, and her relationship with Park Sang-kwon was strictly professional.
“Come on, this time is different. Jae-won looked into it himself and gave it his approval.”
Even so, Park Sang-kwon offered an explanation he didn’t owe her—perhaps because he regarded Miss Kim as more than just the accounting manager. He even brought up Yoo Jae-won’s name.
“Really?”
Miss Kim’s face changed the moment she heard Yoo Jae-won’s name. His reputation and credibility were unmatched. She had also seen the bankbook showing 44 billion won with her own eyes. The depositor name—ID Investment—had been unmistakable.
“Then I want in as well!”
“Huh? Where would Miss Kim get that kind of money?”
“I’ve been saving for marriage! No decent partner has appeared yet, and if I keep hoarding it, it’ll just stay pocket change. Please let me join. Thanks to you, President, I might finally change my luck.”
“What if it fails?”
“If it fails, you’ll have to take responsibility, won’t you?”
“Miss Kim, don’t tell me you have feelings for me?”
“Eh! What on earth are you saying? I have eyes too, you know!”
“Fine! That glare is terrifying. But don’t worry—there’s absolutely no chance I’ll ever marry you.”
It was the kind of conversation no ordinary employer and employee would ever have. Yet after more than ten years of familiarity, they could speak this freely without awkwardness.
“Ah, and put out a notice to the staff. If anyone wants to invest alongside me, bring them in.”
Before meeting Yoo Jae-won, Park Sang-kwon would have kept the opportunity to himself. But he had learned that fortune grows when shared, so he was widening participation. He had no intention of forcing anyone, though—only those with genuine spare funds, like Miss Kim, would be accepted.
The unfortunate reality was that only Miss Kim responded among the rice bran oil factory employees. Few had extra money to begin with, and even among those who did, only she was willing to trust Park Sang-kwon with it.
At the same moment, Yoo Jae-won was also deep in company work. He was writing critical code for Android 1.0 when a note from Vincent Greenhill suddenly arrived. The message was abrupt—and shocking.
Investment in Next Inc has been canceled.
Yoo Jae-won had approved Steve Jobs’ investment request the moment it was confirmed. ID Investment’s analysis team had given the business plan a lukewarm score, but once Yoo Jae-won signed off, the deal had moved forward without friction. Now the investment that had been progressing smoothly was dead—completely withdrawn, not merely paused.
It appears to be nothing more than one of Steve Jobs’ whims. ID Investment has made no administrative or procedural errors. Next Inc simply sent a single official document withdrawing the request.
Yoo Jae-won couldn’t understand. When they had been notified of the ten-million-dollar investment, the other side had been ecstatic.
We’re still investigating the details, but President Remington, being on-site, is likely in the best position to assess the situation.
“Understood. Asking President Remington directly would be fastest.”
Unable to contain his curiosity, Yoo Jae-won immediately contacted President Remington and asked him to look into the sudden cancellation.
Yes! I’ll activate the information team right away.
President Remington’s confident reply was reassuring as always. But what could possibly be the reason? Even after ten minutes of thought, Yoo Jae-won couldn’t guess why Steve Jobs had changed his mind so abruptly.
Bad news. Today really is one of those days.
April 4th—just an ordinary Thursday before Arbor Day. Yet misfortune kept arriving in waves. This time it was President Hawkins of Electronic Arts.
“What happened?”
The Aegis Shield appears to have been broken. We’ve discovered an illegal copy of Doom and are in the process of recovering it.
The Aegis Shield was Yoo Jae-won’s copy-protection technology. Licensed to Electronic Arts and other major publishers, it had performed exceptionally well. Thanks to it, sales of blockbuster titles had reached new heights. Unlike the 1980s, when no game had ever sold a million copies in a year, the 1990s had already seen four such titles—two of them from ID Group.
Ding!
President Hawkins had photographed a pirated copy collected from the market, scanned it, and sent the image via ID Talk. The process was cumbersome, yet the fact that clear files could travel across the Pacific in real time was remarkable in itself.
“Hmm.”
It looked nothing like the crude counterfeits Yoo Jae-won had imagined. Unlike the cheap, hand-labeled diskettes sold at Yongsan Electronics Market, this version came in packaging identical to the genuine product, complete with color-printed labels on the diskettes. Though slightly inferior upon close inspection, it was convincing enough to fool anyone who didn’t know better.
They were selling it at the exact same price as the genuine article. The retailers who distributed it bought it believing it was authentic.
There were two common methods of piracy distribution. The first was openly illegal—paying to have copies made onto blank diskettes. The second targeted legitimate buyers: users purchased what they thought was the real product, only to discover later it was counterfeit. The first method sold at rock-bottom prices; the second sold at nearly full retail. Both were disastrous for software companies.
“Does the pirated version actually run?”
Unfortunately, yes.
President Hawkins had personally tested the pirated copy. A crude duplicate would have triggered a message demanding the genuine disk, but this version launched straight to the title screen without any such prompt. It appeared the counterfeiters had used equipment capable of reading and copying the entire magnetic state of the diskette.
The Aegis Shield’s core strength lay in placing a special authentication key in sectors DOS’s input/output system could not access. Ordinary copying couldn’t replicate it, and even cracked versions would fail at multiple verification points. But a device that duplicated the entire disk wholesale could copy those protected sectors as well.
“What about multiplayer?”
That doesn’t work. It disconnects with a warning that the same key is in use. As expected, multiplayer remains secure. Besides, Doom is designed around multiplayer far more than single-player.
Single-player missions lasted roughly eight hours of nonstop play. Multiplayer, however, allowed users to create rooms on the internet or intranet and play indefinitely. There were eight dedicated combat maps, plus user-created maps that let players adjust rules, weapon stats, and drop locations. Skilled designers were already producing maps more engaging than ID Software’s official ones.
Single-player was enjoyable, but multiplayer was where the real fun lay. Because an internet connection was required, the product registration key made it easy to detect and block pirated copies. Internet service providers even used flawless support for Doom’s multiplayer as a marketing point.
“Is there any plan to develop an upgraded Aegis Shield?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Between Android 1.0, ID Office 2.0, and overseeing ID Investment’s deals, Yoo Jae-won had no bandwidth left. Even two of him wouldn’t be enough.
“Piracy is an endless arms race between spear and shield. We’re always at a disadvantage. The most reliable safeguard remains multiplayer.”
Server authentication had nothing to do with the Aegis Shield. A single 16-character random key was all that mattered. Duplicate usage triggered immediate disconnection for both parties. Games sold through Nextcom’s ESD required an online connection from the very first launch; without a registered ID, password, and key on the server, play was impossible.
We’ll need to tighten genuine key management and strengthen anti-piracy distribution efforts to limit any sales impact. We’ll also place greater emphasis on the multiplayer features.
Yoo Jae-won viewed the appearance of Doom’s pirated copy as inevitable. President Hawkins, whose entire revenue depended on physical sales, clearly saw it as a battle that had to be fought to the bitter end. After offering a few words of encouragement, Yoo Jae-won ended the call.
“At least today’s luck isn’t entirely bad.”
If the day had ended on nothing but bad news, he would have carried the gloom into tomorrow. Fortunately, a positive development arrived in the afternoon.
A post on the Nextcom stock market board announced that Busan Brewery’s shares were surging. The message had been typed by hand, yet it resonated strongly with investors. Busan Brewery had been falling for over two weeks since the Nakdong River phenol incident, down roughly 60 percent from pre-accident levels. It seemed President Park Sang-kwon had chosen today to begin his operation.
When Yoo Jae-won called the brokerage directly, he learned the stock—previously down 5 percent—had abruptly reversed to a 7 percent gain. The sudden reversal absorbed all the accumulated sell orders, leaving traders in visible confusion.
Another call came through, this one from Choi Kang-wook in Seoul.
The 93 Daejeon Expo Organizing Committee has requested your attendance at the groundbreaking ceremony. The President will also be present, so they are awaiting a positive reply.
Choi Kang-wook believed attending would be beneficial, but Yoo Jae-won hesitated. The ruling party’s complete sweep in the March local elections had left him deeply uneasy. He had already decided to adjust his tax strategy going forward; sitting beside the President might carry more risk than reward. On reflection, the downsides seemed to outweigh any advantages.
“Do I need to answer right now? Ah—before that, when exactly is the ceremony?”
The ceremony is scheduled for April 18th. There’s still plenty of time.