Daejeon and the Game Console Offer
A few days later on Royal Road. Yoo Jae-won was leaving Deokjin-ri for the first time in a while to attend external appointments. The scale of his entourage was enormous, reflecting the stature of ID Group. Normally, only one car would have sufficed, with bodyguards riding alongside him. Today, however, Chief of Staff Choi Kang-wook accompanied him personally, additional attendants had been added, and a separate vehicle carried the bodyguards. Even so, that made only two cars in the official convoy. In reality, more than six vehicles trailed behind Yoo Jae-won.
“Anyone watching would think the chairman is the heir to Mirae Group,” Choi Kang-wook remarked, summarizing the situation in a single sentence. The people following closely behind were not ID Group employees but the presidents of Mirae Group’s subsidiaries: Mirae Construction, Mirae Motors, Mirae Electronics, and Mirae Heavy Industries. Every key affiliate president was trailing in Yoo Jae-won’s wake.
There was a reason for the inflated procession. Today’s schedule was a visit to Daejeon. The construction site for the 1993 World Expo, set to open that autumn, was located there. Excavation work had already been completed, and pavilions and exhibition halls were now rising rapidly. ID Technology’s own pavilion had finished its foundation work and was now erecting its main building. Named ID Technopialand, the structure was the largest among all corporate participants. The contractor, naturally, was Mirae Construction.
The first stop on Yoo Jae-won’s inspection tour was ID Technopialand. Although ID Group was not Mirae Construction’s largest client, the relationship between Yoo Jae-won and Mirae Group founder Jeon Myeong-heon had grown exceptionally close. No one could deny that Yoo Jae-won had played a decisive role in helping Jeon Myeong-heon’s new Tongil National Party create a sensation in the general election. It would have been stranger if the president of Mirae Construction had not accompanied him on a personal site visit.
Mirae Electronics’ situation was similar. Only a few hundred meters from the Expo grounds stood the second semiconductor plant of Mirae Electronics. Naturally, Yoo Jae-won could not visit Daejeon without inspecting that site as well. Since he was the second-largest shareholder of Mirae Electronics, the company president was even more nervous than his counterpart at Mirae Construction.
Mirae Motors and Mirae Heavy Industries had no direct reason to tag along, yet the president of Mirae Motors had come anyway, claiming he needed to explain the company’s own exhibition hall at the Expo. The president of Mirae Heavy Industries had manufactured an excuse to join from the Mokpo shipyard. All of them simply wanted to stay in Yoo Jae-won’s good graces. His presence carried that much weight.
“Let’s not say things that could cause trouble,” Yoo Jae-won said, waving a hand. He had no desire whatsoever to be dragged into any succession battle. “I believe you’re already quite entangled, sir,” Choi Kang-wook replied, pointing out the window. They were nearing the entrance to the Expo site, where a crowd of reporters had gathered.
“Ah, this is going to be annoying.” Yoo Jae-won sighed. He had no pleasant memories of dealing with Korean journalists. Still, if avoidance was impossible, the best approach was to enjoy it—or so someone had once said. The person who first uttered that advice had clearly never tried it themselves, Yoo Jae-won was certain. Controlling dozens of reporters was nearly impossible, especially when even a single event could be twisted into countless interpretations depending on each journalist’s angle. He was sure at least one reporter would write that the Mirae Group presidents were lining up behind him to curry favor.
“There’s no need to worry,” Choi Kang-wook said with a confident expression, as if he already had the situation well in hand. His explanation was simple. Numerous media outlets had been courting ID Group for some time. It had begun with newspapers that had tasted the sweetness of ID Group’s advertising budget and had since spread to nearly every publication. As someone who approved dozens of documents daily, Yoo Jae-won had to consult his Memory Palace to recall the details. In other words, nothing immediately came to mind.
When Yoo Jae-won still looked puzzled, Choi Kang-wook elaborated. “Didn’t you once instruct us to place twice the usual ID Group advertisements in any slot vacated by Ilseong?” Recognition finally dawned on Yoo Jae-won’s face. The practice had begun even before Kim & Jung Law Firm was established. It had not been a one-time measure but an ongoing policy. Roughly one hundred million dollars were allocated to marketing each quarter, with twenty to thirty million dollars earmarked for Korea. Once the advertising budget began to overflow, Choi Kang-wook had grown bolder—not merely filling gaps left by Ilseong, but actively displacing Ilseong to claim those slots.
“If you sit in your office for even a single day, you’ll understand just how thick-skinned reporters can be,” Choi Kang-wook continued. Requests poured in daily: employment favors, pleas for advertising space, requests for computer donations, and appeals for overseas travel support. “We’ve granted what we could,” he added. Despite his upright nature, Choi Kang-wook had approved every request that could be satisfied with money. The only firm refusals were employment solicitations and interview requests involving Yoo Jae-won himself. ID Group had rapidly become Korea’s most desirable workplace. Salaries were high, year-end bonuses generous, and total compensation rivaled what other conglomerates paid over two or three years. The strict rejection of hiring favors stemmed from Yoo Jae-won’s clear guideline: only merit mattered. Applicants faced problems similar to those posted online during ID Technology’s first recruitment drive. Failure meant rejection regardless of credentials. Interviews were likewise declined unless the questions promised genuine value—and Yoo Jae-won had rarely encountered high-quality questions from Korean journalists.
“Sending a single computer to a reporter’s home proves far more effective than a front-page advertisement worth tens of millions of won,” Choi Kang-wook observed. Yoo Jae-won nodded. He did not blame his chief of staff. Such practices had existed even in the twenty-first century. Repaying personal favors with favorable coverage had long been tradition.
“Moreover, your standing has changed dramatically compared to just a year ago,” Choi Kang-wook continued, listing Yoo Jae-won’s achievements: admission to Ivy League and top engineering schools, the successful launch of Android 1.0, the global success of New Egg, the influence over the judiciary symbolized by Kim & Jung Law Firm, active involvement in the comfort women issue, the presidential election campaign of the Tongil National Party, and finally the two-billion-dollar investment profit earned by exploiting Japan’s economic crisis. The praise was so lavish that even Yoo Jae-won felt his face grow warm. The last two items in particular explained why Mirae Group presidents and reporters had followed him all the way to Daejeon.
Jeon Myeong-heon’s Tongil National Party had secured enough seats to become the third-largest party in the National Assembly. Now addressed more naturally as “Assemblyman” than “Honorary Chairman,” Jeon Myeong-heon had, as promised, secured positions on the Legislation and Judiciary Committee and the Land, Infrastructure and Transport Committee. Immediately after the 14th National Assembly convened, the party introduced and passed legislation banning the use of convertible bonds and convertible bond-linked shares for tax-free inheritance, as well as a law establishing a large-scale inspection team to conduct precise safety diagnostics on aging buildings and heavily used public facilities nationwide. While the conservative ruling party had resisted the convertible bond restrictions, cooperation with the opposition had carried the bill through. The safety inspection measure had won broad support. The once-impotent Tongil National Party now wielded decisive casting-vote power. Everyone knew that while Jeon Myeong-heon had founded the party, it was Yoo Jae-won who had delivered its forty-four seats. It was also widely known that Yoo Jae-won had proposed the strengthened convertible bond regulations and the creation of the safety inspection team. Finally, the astronomical two billion dollars extracted from Japan had stunned the nation. The satisfaction of delivering a blow to an arrogant economic superpower that had long treated its neighbors with contempt only added to the triumph.
Yoo Jae-won had poured fuel on the fire by advancing the second-round liquidation date of ID Investment’s products by three months, beginning in early July. Because Japan had collapsed two months earlier than anticipated, the investment operation had concluded ahead of schedule. Although the sum was large enough that three months in a bank would have generated tens of billions of won in interest, the accounting workload made early liquidation the wiser choice. The ripple effect surpassed any previous venture Yoo Jae-won had undertaken in Korea. While the returns had not reached the eighty-eight-fold multiplier of the first round, that earlier opportunity had involved only a handful of participants. The second round had drawn several hundred billion won from Korean investors alone. Some had invested only a few million won; others had committed hundreds of millions or even billions. The frenzy had prompted media speculation about overheating and dire warnings that any failure would constitute the largest fraud in Korean history. Countless investors had sold stocks and broken fixed deposits to participate. Banks and brokerages had experienced near bank-run conditions as funds flowed out. Investors had waited anxiously; competitors had watched with bated breath. When the results were announced, success had come again—this time with returns exceeding 600 percent. After deducting operating fees and commissions, the net profit remained enormous. Those who had invested one hundred million won saw six hundred million won appear in their accounts. Naturally, both investors and the press were now fixated on when ID Investment would open its third round. Many declared they would sell not only their savings but even their homes to participate. At least half the reporters waiting outside were surely preparing to ask that very question. The other half would inquire about plans for managing the astronomical two billion dollars in cash.
His sweeping investment in Ilseong Group was already public knowledge. The entire conglomerate was in turmoil, and Chairman Choi Hyun-hee was devoting every waking hour to reinforcing and inspecting its circular shareholding structure. Yet circular shareholding was now subject to strict legal regulation, creating headaches for the group. The reason for banning circular shareholding was straightforward: corporate profits belonged to shareholders and should be distributed equally. Circular shareholding, however, benefited only a select few—namely the chaebol families—by using company surplus funds to repurchase treasury shares rather than paying dividends. This practice protected the management rights and interests of minority shareholders. Against this backdrop, Yoo Jae-won had deployed trillions of won to acquire Ilseong shares, attended board meetings through his substantial stake, and initiated accounting investigations that uncovered irregularities leading to charges of embezzlement and breach of fiduciary duty. The first target was the relatively small Jeil Fiber; Ilseong Construction and Ilseong Electronics awaited their turn. Rumors suggested serious unrest among executives at those affiliates, who knew better than anyone the extent of their own illegal activities. Previously shielded by Ilseong’s power, those unwritten rules were now collapsing under the weight of Yoo Jae-won’s vastly superior capital and influence.
Yoo Jae-won’s reach extended further. Other major chaebols such as Geumseong and Seongyeong were equally terrified. If the two billion dollars were redirected domestically, nothing prevented the same events from unfolding at their own groups. Choi Kang-wook’s voice remained cheerful as he described the chaebols’ movements; he had evidently clashed with them frequently during his tenure.
“Heh, you worry too much,” Yoo Jae-won said. Although two billion dollars was an enormous sum, it was not infinite. He had no intention of wasting such precious capital merely to intimidate chaebols. Comcast was waiting. The acquisition, led by Henry Samuel, was still proceeding quietly beneath the surface without official announcement. ID Group’s only publicly disclosed M&A target in Japan was Sanyo. Although Vincent Greenhill was overseeing additional deals in Japan, they were smaller in scale and attracted little attention. The Comcast deal dwarfed Sanyo. Negotiations for Sanyo hovered around one trillion won with a margin of plus or minus one hundred billion. Comcast’s opening price, by contrast, was 5.6 trillion won—five times larger. The company possessed cable networks across the United States and more than five million paying subscribers. It had long trailed Warner Cable as a perpetual second-place finisher, yet it offered precisely the nationwide footprint Yoo Jae-won and Henry Samuel required.
Progress had been smooth at first. Few would refuse seventy billion dollars in a single payment. However, some greedy major shareholders had pressured for a higher price, and the U.S. government had imposed a legal review. The legal issue was the real obstacle. It was not simply that ID Group was a Korean company acquiring a strategic industry. The concern was that a cable television operator providing information and communication services might violate existing law. If so, acquiring the cable network would permit only wired television services; internet services would be impossible. Alarmed, Yoo Jae-won had instructed his legal expert Allen to investigate further. If the issue proved insurmountable, the Comcast deal could collapse, which was why no public announcement had yet been made.
“Should we announce the Comcast acquisition early to reassure everyone?” Yoo Jae-won wondered. Going public and leveraging media pressure on the U.S. government might be preferable. Comcast had been notoriously stingy with new investment, particularly in field staff who dealt directly with customers. As a result, user complaints flooded Nextcom bulletin boards whenever the keyword “Comcast” was searched. If ID Group acquired the company and promised massive new investment and staffing, it would receive overwhelming public support.
“That would be wise,” Choi Kang-wook agreed, “but let’s wait until we receive the legal opinion first.” Though Yoo Jae-won was impatient, Choi Kang-wook’s advice was sound. He had not finished speaking. “Besides, the longer we wait, the more domestic chaebol chairmen will have to endure our presence.”
Indeed, the most nerve-wracking moment for a student awaiting corporal punishment was not the strike itself but the wait beforehand. If Choi Hyun-hee had overheard this exchange, he would have been horrified, but that was none of Yoo Jae-won’s concern.
“We’ve arrived.”
Absorbed in conversation, time had passed unnoticed. Choi Kang-wook straightened Yoo Jae-won’s hair and attire, then signaled the waiting bodyguards. As the car door opened and Yoo Jae-won stepped out, a barrage of camera shutters erupted. Flashes fired even in broad daylight. The scene resembled an enthusiastic fan club greeting Korea’s biggest superstar.
That day, Yoo Jae-won’s Daejeon schedule concluded successfully. The 1993 Daejeon World Expo construction site, rising from the open fields, pulsed with energy. Though still a construction zone, in just over a year it would host an event drawing millions—perhaps more than ten million—visitors. Even among the many pavilions, ID Technology’s exhibition hall stood out conspicuously. Twice the size of its competitors, it was impossible to miss upon entry. Yoo Jae-won vividly remembered from his previous life how crowded the 1993 Expo had become. He had visited himself on a school field trip and had never before seen so many people gathered in one place. Waiting thirty minutes or an hour to enter a small pavilion that took only three minutes to experience had been routine. Popular large-scale exhibits required waits exceeding two hours. Although he had spent eight hours on-site from nine in the morning until five in the afternoon, he had managed to see only two major pavilions. This time, he was determined to avoid that frustration. ID Technopialand was being designed to accommodate far more visitors simultaneously with a faster turnover rate. Construction costs had not ballooned accordingly, because the structure used H-beams and temporary panels rather than reinforced concrete. Knowing from his previous life that the Expo committee’s promise of ongoing maintenance would go unfulfilled, leaving the buildings as white elephants, Yoo Jae-won had opted for temporary construction without hesitation.
Mirae Electronics’ second semiconductor plant had also been an interesting visit. Given that Mirae Group was staking its future on the project, the level of care was extraordinary. Construction proceeded exactly according to plan and schedule, with not a single rebar diverted. If progress continued smoothly, trial production of memory semiconductors could begin by the end of the following year. However, Mirae Electronics’ current semiconductor design capability remained stuck at 8Mbit DRAM, limiting its prospects. Adding Yoo Jae-won’s future knowledge would create tremendous synergy.
Interestingly, while touring the second semiconductor plant, the person walking immediately beside Yoo Jae-won was neither Choi Kang-wook nor the president of Mirae Electronics, but the president of Mirae Heavy Industries. The most senior among the Mirae Group presidents had claimed the prime photo opportunity through sheer tenure. Several photographs were taken, and when they appeared prominently in the next day’s morning papers, his objective had been achieved.
After completing the schedule and returning to his home in Deokjin-ri, Yoo Jae-won received a phone call from across the Pacific. The message relayed by Remington was startlingly fresh.
“Pardon? A game console?”
It was an official proposal from Sony to jointly develop the next-generation game console.