The Physiognomist's Gambit
The day after their encounter with the Esquires, Yoo Jae-won and his party traveled to Leningrad. The city, named after Vladimir Lenin, the founding father of the Soviet Union, was losing its luster as the USSR itself unraveled. It was almost certain that beginning next year, it would revert to its original name, St. Petersburg. Though located at a lower latitude than Vladivostok in the Far East, its humid continental climate kept July averages at a mild 18.8 degrees Celsius and February averages at a frigid -5.8 degrees. Rich in history, the city offered countless sights worth seeing—especially to Yoo Jae-won, who had lived in Korea and found its exotic character endlessly fascinating.
Yet sightseeing was never part of today's schedule. Leningrad's economy was even worse than Moscow's, and its security situation was unstable. Moreover, East Asians remained an unfamiliar sight. A young man like Yoo Jae-won traveling with Americans was particularly striking. Any attempt to tour the city would likely turn him into the attraction instead. Until the Soviet Union fully became Russia and the locals grew accustomed to foreign visitors, tourism would remain difficult.
They passed through the streets of Leningrad and arrived at Leningrad State University.
"They say you are welcome," the interpreter Mikhail translated, though Yoo Jae-won could already understand the greeting. Russian phrases were beginning to stick in his ear, and he felt he could manage simple replies. A crowd had gathered in front of the main building, applauding enthusiastically. They had even prepared flower necklaces made from fresh blooms—rare in winter—and draped them around his neck with great ceremony. The orchestrated nature of the welcome was obvious; without prior instructions, such uniform smiles and traditional Russian attire would never have appeared. A large banner hung over the central entrance of the main building: "Welcome, ID Group" written in both Russian Cyrillic and Korean.
At the front stood the rector of Leningrad State University. Beside him was today's key figure—Vladimir Putin, present to assist the rector.
"Thank you for your hospitality," Yoo Jae-won said, bowing slightly to the rector. The gesture seemed unfamiliar; the rector awkwardly returned the bow.
Russia had once provided free healthcare, education, and all social welfare. After the Soviet collapse, however, everything became uncertain. Funds that should have arrived simply stopped coming. With budgets slashed, nothing functioned properly. The aging university buildings, research equipment, and student lab facilities had all gone without upgrades for some time. Now, a foreigner had arrived promising scholarships and donations—not from some unknown company, but from the globally renowned ID Group, with its young owner personally visiting. Expectations soared.
After shaking hands with the rector, Yoo Jae-won extended his hand to Putin.
"And who might this be?"
"Ah! This is my secretary, Putin."
The rector gave Putin a meaningful glance. The still-dazed man straightened immediately.
"It is an honor to welcome you to Leningrad State University. I am Vladimir Putin, secretary to Rector Boris."
A single look had produced such polished courtesy. Position truly shaped the man. The Putin standing before him would, from the late twentieth century onward, wield immense influence over Russia as a powerful prime minister, then rise to the presidency in the twenty-first. Alternating between president and prime minister, he would rule like a modern tsar, purging rivals through every means available and maintaining iron control until his death—a charismatic, iron-fisted dictator. Yet the man before him now seemed drained of all vitality. Image and reality were completely mismatched. Given his current circumstances, however, it was only natural.
Putin had left the KGB after sensing the winds of change during German reunification, but his future remained uncertain. His only position was that of a university rector's secretary, earning just enough to support his family. If the rector changed, the job would end, and he had no idea what he would do next. The more he thought about the future, the darker it looked—so it was only natural that none of his natural tyrannical temperament showed.
Everything would change, however, when Leningrad became St. Petersburg again and new mayoral elections were held. Putin would throw his full support behind his former professor and political ally Anatoly Sobchak, help him win the mayoral race, and earn the position of deputy mayor as a reward. From there, his political career would explode. By November 1991, Yoo Jae-won was visiting at the perfect moment.
"Ah, so you are the secretary."
Yoo Jae-won deliberately sounded surprised.
"Why do you ask?"
The question was phrased so naturally that it demanded an answer.
"I happen to be rather good at reading faces."
Mikhail, who had been translating, stumbled for a moment—he did not know how to render "physiognomy" in Russian. Yoo Jae-won had to explain it again: the practice of divining a person's future from the shape of their face, the look in their eyes, and their overall aura. If they had rehearsed, it would have flowed smoothly, but the point was to make it seem natural to everyone else. Neither Kevin Johnson nor Alan had been warned in advance. Fortunately, fortune-telling in various forms was familiar enough in the West, so they nodded in understanding.
"When I looked at Mr. Putin, I was surprised to see he is not meant to remain in his current position. Have you ever considered entering politics?"
"Is that so?"
The rector answered instead of Putin, who looked as though he had never considered the idea.
"The secret to my rapid success has always been my ability to read people. Personnel decisions are everything. Finding the right person for an important post is incredibly difficult, but once they are in place, the company runs itself without much intervention from me."
The priceless information from his previous life had been repackaged as physiognomy. On the surface it sounded like vague nonsense, but every word had been carefully crafted. Putin ranked among the top ten most important individuals Yoo Jae-won needed to cultivate. He had thought long and hard, even in his past life, about what to say when they finally met. Telling a complete stranger he would succeed and therefore deserved massive investment would never work. In the end, he had chosen the mysterious allure of physiognomy.
"Oh, so that was your secret," the rector said, eyes sparkling. Even Putin was listening intently now. Alan, Kevin Johnson, and Kim Dae-seok—none of whom had ever heard this story—leaned in as well. They all seemed to accept that the secret behind Yoo Jae-won's inexplicable success lay in reading faces. No one questioned whether the owner of a cutting-edge IT conglomerate should be saying such things. Most importantly, Putin himself showed keen interest. It was as if he had spotted a single ray of light in total darkness. A former KGB agent trained in controlling his expressions, his face remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed him.
"Ah, there are many people waiting for the ceremony, aren't there? We should move along."
Everyone looked curious, but Yoo Jae-won offered no further explanation. Putin's expression shifted slightly. He had wanted an answer about what he should do beyond being a rector's secretary, yet Yoo Jae-won had changed the subject. The curiosity was becoming unbearable.
"And Mr. Putin—if you are interested, could you spare some time after the ceremony? We could have tea and talk."
"Well, I…"
"Oh, you frustrating man! When opportunity knocks, you must seize it! This is my order—go see the chairman once the ceremony ends!"
The rector was even more enthusiastic than Putin himself. He was also extremely well-disposed toward both men; after all, Putin had studied international law at the university's law faculty, and the rector had been his professor back then. Their bond ran deep.
"Understood."
At Putin's reply, Yoo Jae-won finally breathed easier. The biggest hurdle had been cleared.
The scholarship presentation ceremony was held with great fanfare. Yoo Jae-won had pledged a full one million dollars to Leningrad State University, so anything less would have been unthinkable. Five hundred thousand dollars would be donated under the name of the ID High Tech Scholarship Fund, and another five hundred thousand in Yoo Jae-won's personal name directly to the university. The entire sum was transferred immediately to the university's account.
Even to Yoo Jae-won, one million dollars felt excessive. Choi Kang-wook, Remington, and the other executives had all said that one hundred thousand would already be extraordinary. They were right. If this had been purely for show, he would have given only that amount. But Putin was here. To leave a powerful impression on him, adding one extra zero had been effortless. He would gladly have added two. Putin's importance was beyond question.
Still, he suspected this might draw criticism later in America or Korea. It would not be a major problem. He planned to donate even larger sums to Stanford—his future alma mater—and to Korean universities. ID Group's primary sphere of activity was the United States, followed by Korea. Large-scale social contribution activities in those countries were essential. Such donations also brought tax benefits, so Yoo Jae-won intended to pursue them aggressively.
The rector and faculty could no longer maintain their composure; they were overjoyed. The support far exceeded their expectations and would sustain the university for a considerable time. They even offered Yoo Jae-won an honorary degree. He accepted without hesitation. In the future, the faction that would wield enormous influence in Russian politics and economics would be the Leningrad alumni. This was entirely because of Putin, who stood beside the rector, barely concealing his astonishment.
Once Putin seized hegemony in Russian politics, he would place his close associates in key positions, prioritizing school ties, regional connections, and blood relations. Leningrad would become an essential credential for Putin-era officials. Naturally, the city's finest university would be deeply intertwined with them. An honorary degree would only bring him closer to that circle. When all factors were considered, one million dollars was not excessive—it was a bargain.
After the ceremony, Yoo Jae-won and Putin met again in a reception room at Leningrad State University for the promised tea. The rector, who had arranged the private meeting, excused himself first. The ID Group executives also departed, leaving only interpreter Mikhail and executive secretary Kim Dae-seok to discuss future cooperation with the rector.
"The tea is excellent."
"I'm glad it suits your taste. It is called Anastasia, from Kusmi."
The name sounded like a woman's. Upon inquiry, he learned that Kusmi was the tea company and Anastasia was a brand named after a Russian princess. It was a black tea of exceptional flavor and aroma, worthy of such a distinguished name. Served Russian-style, the strong brew was diluted with hot water and sweetened with a generous spoonful of sugar. Putin added strawberry jam. Yoo Jae-won tried it as well—sweet yet slightly bitter, with a delicate strawberry fragrance. It was pleasant, though the combination of black tea and Putin felt strangely ominous, so he hesitated slightly. Fortunately, Putin seemed to assume he was simply waiting for the tea to cool.
The conversation soon turned to the main topic. Yoo Jae-won told Putin directly that he should enter politics.
"Politics?"
Putin's tone was far more engaged than during their first meeting. He still had questions, but he showed no outright rejection. He was currently only a secretary at a national university, yet he had once held a fairly high position in the KGB. His experiences in East Germany had already shifted his thinking toward politics. When Yoo Jae-won mentioned politics so confidently, Putin began to wonder if there truly was something to this physiognomy business.
Putin studied Yoo Jae-won again. Though he had left the KGB some time ago, his observational skills had not dulled. At first he had seen only a naive young man who did not understand the value of money. That assessment had completely changed. Donating a million dollars to a bottomless-pit university just to recruit a few talented individuals was astonishing enough. Applying completely illogical fortune-telling to the secret of his business success was intriguing. Most compelling of all was the fact that he himself was apparently someone Yoo Jae-won regarded favorably through this "physiognomy."
"Yes. Mr. Putin, you were born to be a politician."
Maintaining a dictatorship was far from easy, no matter how simple it appeared from the outside. Discontent existed everywhere, and any small opening would be exploited ruthlessly. Even trusted deputies and chiefs of staff turned on their leaders with alarming frequency. In that arena of constant power struggles, Putin had remained at the pinnacle until his death.
"Leningrad will be renamed St. Petersburg next year, won't it?"
This time it was Yoo Jae-won's question.
"Yes."
Putin's answer was very brief. The former Eastern Bloc countries that had left the Soviet Union were actively forming their own union. President Yeltsin was doing everything possible to preserve the Russian Federation even as the USSR collapsed. With the Soviet Union gone, the name Leningrad had lost all meaning. Voices demanding the restoration of the original name had grown loud, and the change was practically confirmed. Putin himself found St. Petersburg far more pleasing to the ear than the red-tinged Leningrad.
"And there will be mayoral elections."
"Ah. I understand, but it feels burdensome. I have no political experience whatsoever."
Once again, Putin did not outright deny the possibility of entering politics.
"Exactly. Running for mayor from the start would be too much. But what about deputy mayor? If you run as a running mate alongside someone suited to be mayor, you would gain experience and a stable position. Team Leader Mikhail here will also support you actively. And if any difficulties arise, please contact me."
As he spoke, Yoo Jae-won took a business card from his inner jacket pocket. The card itself featured an embossed geometric pattern as its background, with all text printed in deep silver—an understated display of luxury. The front was simple and clean: only three lines containing the company name "ID Group," the imposing title "President," and the name "Yoo Jae-won." On the back were two contact details: an email address and the international phone number for the Silicon Valley office.
Putin accepted the card and remained silent, his expression complex. Sensing the weight of the moment, Yoo Jae-won waited without speaking. Several tens of seconds passed.
"I have a question," Putin said, looking directly at him.
"Of course. Ask anything."
Yoo Jae-won's voice was bright. From experience, most people who asked questions at such a decisive moment ultimately made a positive decision.
"Is the only reason you are offering to support me truly because my physiognomy is favorable?"
As expected, physiognomy alone did not feel logically complete. Yet Yoo Jae-won could not tell the truth. Knowledge of the future was his greatest secret; even if he revealed it, Putin would never believe him.
"Yes. It brings me great joy to watch those I have chosen succeed. And the more such people there are, the more it benefits my own business, wouldn't you agree?"
Yoo Jae-won offered a reason Putin could accept within the framework of physiognomy. Putin's expression improved further. His doubts were not entirely dispelled—this was the occupational habit of a former KGB agent—but he returned to his usual impassive demeanor and carefully placed Yoo Jae-won's business card deep inside his wallet.
Yoo Jae-won wanted to shout in triumph, but he knew doing so would ruin everything. He cheered silently in his heart instead.
With the Russian schedule complete, Yoo Jae-won returned to Moscow. Together with Dr. Shailov and his colleagues—now part of ID High Tech—he boarded a flight to the United States. The results in Russia had exceeded expectations by 120 percent, and his steps felt light as feathers.