The Bulldozer's Campaign
Yoo Jae-won rattled off everything he could do on the campaign trail, from delivering keynote speeches and filming television commercials to hitting the road for rallies whenever his schedule allowed. Offering this level of support was something only true political allies who had thrown in together could provide. Once a label stuck in politics, it tended to linger. Pouring this much effort into a campaign only to watch it collapse would drag even the supporter down with it—that was simply how the game worked.
“Really? You’d do all that?” Jeon Myeong-heon asked, disbelief plain in his voice. The fresh shock he felt was far greater than he had expected.
Of course, Jeon Myeong-heon had held some expectations when he called Yoo Jae-won. The young man thought differently from most people; surely he would have some alternative in mind regarding Jeon’s decision to enter politics. Above all, this was the same boy who had given an eerily accurate forecast of the Gulf War, so Jeon had also wanted to hear his thoughts on the upcoming general election. Yet not only was Yoo Jae-won enthusiastically endorsing his political run—he was volunteering to join the campaign himself. Jeon Myeong-heon could not have been more grateful.
Yoo Jae-won’s presence still carried enormous weight in Korea. A handful of trashy newspapers had recently run articles trying to diminish his achievements, and some people had been swayed, creating minor confusion. But ID Investment’s returns continued to climb steadily, and those who had canceled their subscriptions after reading the articles had simply forfeited massive future profits. If anything, the indirect disclosure of ID Investment’s performance had only fueled public interest. Meanwhile, the countless investment banks that had sprung up in imitation after the Investment Bank Act was passed were posting dismal results. Many were losing principal once fees were deducted. The contrast could not have been starker. Thanks to it, Yoo Jae-won’s name was once again rising in Korea. With someone of his stature backing his campaign, Jeon Myeong-heon felt a surge of confidence that he would not suffer the crushing defeat his aides feared.
“Of course. When have I ever said something I didn’t mean?”
Yoo Jae-won’s decision to throw his full support behind Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon was not born of mere friendship. Jeon Myeong-heon was a bulldozer of a man—once he made up his mind, he charged straight through to the end. His signature line, “Have you even tried, kid?” perfectly captured that personality: a rebuke against those who predicted failure without attempting anything, paired with relentless forward momentum. The election battlefield was no different. Jeon Myeong-heon had founded the Tongil National Party barely a hundred days before the general election and still secured over thirty seats—enough to form a negotiating bloc and wield real influence in the National Assembly. Flush with that early success, he had immediately set his sights on the presidency. But the very momentum that had carried him through the general election became poison. Objective data showed he had no realistic chance, yet he trusted the surprise performance of the general election and ran to the finish line. The result was a crushing defeat. Fearing that the new president would dismantle the Mirae Group, he had been forced to announce his retirement from politics in haste. Without its center of gravity and funding source, the Tongil National Party splintered, leaving its lawmakers to fend for themselves.
This was the precise point where Yoo Jae-won’s calculations had identified the greatest opportunity. If he could simply rein in Jeon Myeong-heon’s headlong charge, he could extract enormous profit from the presidential race. The best way to control a runaway locomotive like Jeon Myeong-heon was to participate actively in the campaign itself.
“I’ll even draw up a full election strategy for you. All you have to do is run toward the goal, Grandfather. Ah—would you have time around the end of January? I’ll come brief you in person.”
That was why Yoo Jae-won had no intention of merely helping with the campaign. He planned to craft a tailored election strategy that would maximize both his own influence and Jeon’s public standing. Under normal circumstances, with a fully formed campaign organization already in place, such an offer would have been impossible. But right now even Jeon Myeong-heon’s inner circle was united in opposition, leaving plenty of room for Yoo Jae-won to step in.
“Thank you. I can always make time for you.”
Jeon Myeong-heon’s delighted voice came clearly through the receiver. Aside from his own blood relatives, Yoo Jae-won was the only person offering this level of support. And because Yoo Jae-won’s stature was on an entirely different plane from ordinary people, his backing felt as reassuring as the support of a million-man army.
“No, you must be busy with company matters. I have a business trip to the United States coming up—I can stop by San Francisco as well.”
True to his restless nature, Jeon Myeong-heon chose to fly over rather than wait. He claimed it was simply convenient to combine the visit with his existing schedule, but the difference between him and other chaebol chairmen who rarely left their offices was obvious.
“You don’t have to go out of your way.”
“Nonsense! I’m coming!”
It had been a polite formality, but Jeon Myeong-heon rejected it outright. Waiting for Yoo Jae-won to return to Korea would take weeks; if Jeon moved, they could meet in a matter of days. Of course, a phone call would be faster still, but both men knew the risk of wiretapping, so neither mentioned it.
“Understood. Please contact me when you arrive in San Francisco. I recently purchased a house—I’ll host you there.”
The “recently purchased house” was the mansion he had bought as a wedding gift for President Remington. The contract was signed, the balance paid, and the interior completely renovated; canceling was no longer an option. Yoo Jae-won had originally considered giving it to his parents, but they had no desire to live in the United States. In the end, he decided to use it as a small private villa for ID Group—available for his parents when they visited, otherwise serving as a guesthouse for important company guests or as a reward for outstanding employees. He had also transferred the title from his personal name to ID Group; keeping it under an individual’s name would only generate unnecessary taxes, whereas corporate ownership allowed it to be treated as a business expense. Since Yoo Jae-won already held all of ID Group’s shares except for the three weeks he had gifted to the teachers at Deokjin Elementary School, it was effectively his anyway.
“Ah, that house on the hill? Got it. I’ll see you then.”
“Yes. I’ll see you then.”
Yoo Jae-won ended the call politely. After speaking with Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon, no other calls came through. Yet he did not return to his computer. There was too much to think about.
The conversation with the chairman had been satisfying. By actively intervening, he could help create a large bloc of National Assembly members friendly to ID Group—something that would prove invaluable for future maneuvers and allow far more delicate control. Of course, it was not without risks. He had no idea how President Roh would react. Since the president was nearing the end of his term and focused on securing his post-presidency life, Yoo Jae-won judged he would not manage political affairs too meticulously. President Roh’s top priority was ensuring the second mobile telecommunications license went smoothly to his in-law’s company, Sunkyung. A close second was protecting the wealth he had quietly accumulated during his time in office.
“Let’s see what’s really happening.”
Yoo Jae-won sat down at his computer, accessed the Korean site of Nextcom, and went straight to his most frequently used news page. A dramatically improved layout greeted him. Previously, the news page had been a chaotic jumble of article numbers and titles with no categorization. Now it resembled a twenty-first-century portal: sections were clearly divided, the most important stories were displayed with large headlines, and key excerpts appeared beneath them.
Posting news was still done manually, but each article was now tagged with indicators of importance and attributes. The server’s program then automatically arranged them—a semi-automated system. Thanks to it, Yoo Jae-won could simply change the date on the news page and instantly grasp the detailed political situation in Korea.
As he had expected, a powerful faction was forming within the ruling Democratic Liberal Party around Chairman Kim Young-sam. Since Kim Young-sam was the most likely candidate for the next presidency, it was only natural that an organization would coalesce around him.
“Then the person most wary of Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon’s new party isn’t President Roh—it’s Chairman Kim Young-sam. And that’s exactly how it played out.”
After reviewing the newspaper articles, Yoo Jae-won decided not to factor President Roh into his election strategy at all. Instead, he focused on analyzing Chairman Kim Young-sam’s likely reactions and future moves, working hard to devise a plan that would help Jeon Myeong-heon.
“Heh. Bowing your head from the start is what amateurs do.”
Chairman Kim Young-sam was undoubtedly underestimating Jeon Myeong-heon. It had only been a few years since a single word from the president could decide a company’s life or death. Even now, the situation was not much different. The sight of a businessman—someone politicians normally fed off—trying to enter politics must have seemed laughable. But if the Tongil National Party achieved a massive victory in the March general election, the story would change. After that, he could observe the reactions of both Kim Young-sam and Kim Dae-jung before moving toward the presidential race.
There was only one thing to be careful about: he must not follow the exact same route as in his previous life.
“I’ll discuss the details when Chairman Jeon arrives. For now, I need to review the 1992 plan again.”
1992 was going to be an extremely busy year. The master plan would begin operating in earnest, firmly imprinting both Yoo Jae-won’s and ID Group’s presence on the world. And now the variables of Korea’s general and presidential elections had been added to the mix. Because of this, the master plan itself needed to incorporate these variables and generate new routes. Yoo Jae-won’s mind grew complicated. There were simply too many factors to consider.
The biggest political event was, of course, the presidential election—not only in Korea but also in the United States, where incumbent George Bush would clash with the rapidly rising Bill Clinton. Yoo Jae-won had intended to establish a connection with Clinton as well, but Al Gore’s visit the previous year made that far easier. The next major event was the LA riots. The incident that erupted in Los Angeles at the end of April would cause enormous damage to Korean-American communities. With the current variables in play, the scale might differ somewhat, but in his previous life it had resulted in one death and forty-six injuries. Thanks to the tight-knit Korean-American community, the loss of life had been relatively small compared to the scale of the unrest, but property damage had been devastating. A total of 1,669 Korean-owned stores had been looted or burned, resulting in roughly three hundred million dollars in losses.
Yoo Jae-won had no intention of intervening in the LA riots beforehand. Nor did he plan to simply watch from the sidelines as if it were someone else’s fire. He intended to support post-riot recovery efforts under the ID Group name to help the Korean-American community rebuild. The necessary funds would come from Japan’s ongoing contributions, so there was no burden. Moreover, since Los Angeles boasted the largest Korean-American community in the United States, their support would become a significant asset to him in the future.
A technological big bang was also approaching in the computer field. The 3D environment Yoo Jae-won had led the development of was nearly complete. Glide X2, which would be revealed through the second patch of Android 1.0 in March, included a 3D library, and video cards with hardware support for Glide X2 would launch alongside it. Game companies had already received the developer versions and were working hard on new titles. Doom 2, the sequel to the globally successful Doom, would also enter development. With 3D acceleration cards, even 486 computers would run games featuring massive polygon counts and high-resolution textures smoothly. The paradigm of gaming was about to shift.
“On a personal note, there’s also university admission.”
The American academic year began in the fall, so it was not an immediate concern. Still, with so many major events lined up, it was better to prepare early. Yoo Jae-won’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he organized his thoughts into documents and saved them. Fragmented ideas in his head became concrete once written down, then refined further. These texts would serve as the foundation for far more detailed plans. When he finished, he named the file simply “1992” and saved it, remembering to apply the highest-level encryption.
The next day, Yoo Jae-won concluded a brief morning executive meeting via ID Talk. Holding executive meetings through chat might have been unimaginable at other companies, but ID Group had made important decisions over the internet since its earliest days. Even after becoming a large corporation, that corporate culture remained intact, so original ID members found nothing strange about it. However, outsiders like Kevin Johnson still found this style of online discussion extremely unfamiliar. At Microsoft, meetings with distant executives were conducted over secure phone lines in soundproofed conference rooms. He wasn’t sure which method was superior, but he could certainly feel how convenient ID Talk was. That impression only grew stronger during his subsequent one-on-one chat with Yoo Jae-won.
When Kevin Johnson indicated he had something to report privately, Yoo Jae-won opened a separate chat window. While the main group chat was still in full swing, a new encrypted window appeared. Even if an outsider intercepted the packets, the content would remain unreadable.
“What’s going on?”
Yoo Jae-won’s question was filled with curiosity. Kevin Johnson, who headed the Android division, had until now only carried out Yoo Jae-won’s instructions diligently; he had rarely offered his own opinions first.
—Yes, Mr. Chairman. I apologize for the inconvenience. I’ve come up with a good idea regarding internet web services and wanted to present it.
A few minutes after Kevin Johnson began his explanation, Yoo Jae-won slapped his knee.
“Wow! That’s an excellent idea.”
Kevin Johnson’s proposal concerned both the internet web service program and the Android operating system. Originally, Yoo Jae-won had planned to bundle the internet web service with Android 1.0, but capacity and usage considerations had led him to release it as a paid package instead. Kevin Johnson argued that doing so would not generate significant revenue. While user demand remained limited, the copy-protection measures had already been cracked, so actual income would be minimal. He even attached an ID Spreadsheet file containing his analysis.
—I propose releasing an Enterprise edition of Android 1.0 that includes the internet web service as a standard feature.
Kevin Johnson’s alternative was the Enterprise version of the Android operating system—the corporate edition. Supporting multi-core processors, large memory capacities, and a new file system would naturally require kernel patches. Bundling the internet web service as a standard feature would make it the perfect product to market as an enterprise operating system. To prevent fragmentation, the kernel functions had to remain identical across versions. Therefore, next-generation features such as multi-core and large-memory support would also be included in the March patch. The only difference would be in the number of supported instances, making it easy to distinguish between personal and corporate editions.
Even at a glance, Yoo Jae-won could see that this approach would generate far more revenue than releasing the internet web service as a separate package. The personal version of Android could continue using the adware model or the ten-dollar price point, while the Enterprise edition could start at one hundred twenty dollars per copy. Adding an optional warranty service that dispatched top engineers to resolve issues during operation would make the package truly complete.
“I like it. Let’s make it happen.”
The features scheduled for the next patch, including the internet web service, were already half-finished. Combining them would instantly create the Enterprise edition; simply removing the internet web service would leave the personal version.
—Huk, you’re deciding right away?
“Of course. What else is there to think about? A completed idea must be executed immediately.”
Large corporations often failed to defeat smaller venture companies because their complex decision-making structures caused them to miss urgent opportunities or blindly execute flawed orders simply because they came from above. Yoo Jae-won had created the slim decision-making structure through ID Talk precisely to reduce such inefficiencies. If an idea was good, it was executed at once. Thus, the release of the Android Enterprise edition was confirmed that very day.
The following days remained just as busy. Then, on the second weekend of January, the distinguished guests he had been expecting arrived at his new house—Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon of the Mirae Group. He was not alone. Whenever Yoo Jae-won traveled, four attendants automatically accompanied him: a chauffeur, two bodyguards, and his executive secretary, Kim Dae-seok. It was only natural that the chairman of Mirae Group, one of Korea’s top two chaebols, would travel with a large entourage on an extended business trip. This time, however, the composition of the entourage was markedly different from usual.
Besides Jeon Myeong-heon’s regular secretarial staff, the group included key lieutenants such as Kim Ik-chi, president of Mirae Securities; Choi Jae-soo, head of the Mirae Restructuring Division; and Kim Yoon-gu, president of Mirae Construction. There was even a politician widely expected to join Jeon Myeong-heon’s new party. It was a lineup that clearly demonstrated the high expectations Jeon Myeong-heon placed on Yoo Jae-won.