The Five-Day Sensation
The news that Yoo Jae-won had perfectly proved the Poincaré conjecture lasted exactly five days. Even that was remarkable. With fresh stories flooding the world every single day, sustaining coverage on the same topic for five days was no small feat. The ripple effect had been substantial. Though the story had vanished from mainstream global headlines, it continued to stir excitement in Yoo Jae-won's immediate circle. The mathematics community’s reaction, in particular, defied imagination.
Starting with Dr. John Nash, renowned scholars from around the world began requesting meetings. Yoo Jae-won, who had once dreamed of rendezvous with bright-eyed college girls, now found himself endlessly entertaining elderly gentlemen whose sole passion was numbers. Every conversation revolved around mathematics. While they clearly found joy in manipulating figures, Jae-won felt only boredom. Still, he could hardly turn away visitors who had crossed oceans—some from the far side of America, others from beyond the Atlantic or Pacific.
In the end, Stanford University, which had once promised the campus life he craved, delivered nothing but a heavy sense of betrayal.
“Sigh. Who am I to be having meetings anyway?”
He had entered university three years ahead of schedule, and his decision to quit came just as swiftly. After all, any attempt at dating would only match him with women his senior. Moreover, his position as chairman of ID Group made ordinary social encounters impossible. He wanted to experience normal college life at least once before his presence completely overshadowed Stanford.
In his previous life, he had squandered middle and high school on building Infinity Dream, and by the time he reached university in his thirties, the chance had already passed. This time, the fast-track tests and ID Group’s demands had once again ruined any hope of ordinary dating. Yet all of it stemmed from his own choices, leaving him no one to complain to.
“Hmm. Maybe I should just build a chat site instead?”
Determined to live differently this time, Jae-won still wanted to try, even if the meetings proved awkward or fruitless. Since normal dating had become impossible, he decided on a small workaround: an anonymous chat site.
ID Talk required knowing each other’s IDs to open a chat window, so truly anonymous conversations were impossible. Though America had its share of eccentrics who randomly added IDs in hopes of striking up anonymous chats, it hardly seemed like proper behavior.
The moment he thought of a chat site, ideas began flowing freely.
“A tag system would work well.”
Creating anonymous chat rooms based on shared interests seemed promising—tags for region, hobby, gender, age, and so on. Users could set tags reflecting their status and interests, then enter waiting rooms populated by others with matching tags. Making the tags changeable at any time would allow users to hop between different chat rooms as desired, greatly expanding the site’s utility.
By the twenty-first century, chat culture would cool and devolve into shady dating sites, but for now, the respectful internet culture of the era should allow positive operation for several years.
“This could be fun.”
After founding NextCom and bringing in Henry Samuel as president, Jae-won had not launched any new web services. Even the innovative Henry Samuel had recently been preoccupied with acquiring Comcast for broadband internet, leaving NextCom’s existing services somewhat neglected. Only incremental improvements were underway; nothing new had been started.
That Jae-won had arrived at the idea of a tag-based chat site through such an unexpected detour was amusing in itself. Still, he could not begin immediately.
“Ah, the election is coming up soon, isn’t it?”
The calendar showed it was already October. The elections were fast approaching. America’s would be held in November, Korea’s in December. Campaigning in the U.S. was in full swing, while Korea had entered the thick of its presidential race. As the contest for the nation’s highest office, the commotion was unprecedented. Even Yoo Jae-won’s mathematical achievement had been swept away after five days because of election news. Neither country was an exception.
Naturally, the uproar in Korea far exceeded that in the more mature democracy of the United States. One only had to look at NextCom’s news pages to see it. The American pages were filled with campaign reports on Bush and Clinton. Policy battles reflecting each party’s ideology dominated the coverage. Bush emphasized his experience as the incumbent president along with conservative policies such as corporate tax cuts and deregulation, while also highlighting his victory in the Gulf War. Clinton, meanwhile, hammered away at the failure of economic policy. For Clinton, the economy alone was sufficient. Americans felt their livelihoods tightening; victory in a foreign war meant little when the astronomical war costs had ballooned the national debt and put the brakes on various economic support programs.
When Clinton began promoting IT initiatives, including the information superhighway project, public support shifted rapidly in his favor. Polls already showed him leading by more than ten percent, making Bush’s re-election prospects as slim as they had been in Jae-won’s previous life.
Korea’s situation, however, was far more complicated.
— President Roh to leave the Democratic Liberal Party!
— Major cabinet reshuffle expected!
Then as now, an unpopular president appeared to be an obstacle in elections. After meeting with President Roh, the leadership of the Democratic Liberal Party had drawn a line by having him voluntarily withdraw from the party. At the same time, they unleashed fierce criticism of the government from Chairman Kim Young-sam. From the news alone, it looked as though Kim Young-sam of the ruling party was acting as the opposition’s representative. It was a very traditional tactic, and Yoo Jae-won could only chuckle, though to ordinary Korean voters it would seem quite plausible.
The cabinet reshuffle followed the same pattern. President Roh had barely three months left in his term. Once a winner was declared, a transition committee would form and begin influencing the cabinet. Though the reshuffle held no real significance for governance, replacing every minister served to widen the distance from the Democratic Liberal Party. Flooding the news with such major stories also effectively erased the opposition’s presence from the headlines. As a result, Yoo Jae-won had to click the page-turn button twice just to find opposition news.
— Police and other security forces expected to remain neutral in the election.
The first article to appear concerned the neutrality of law enforcement.
“Chairman—no, Candidate Jeon is doing rather well.”
Surprisingly, the statement came not from Democratic Party candidate Kim Dae-jung but from Chairman Jeon Myeong-heon. In Korea, opposition news almost always began with remarks from the Democratic Party and Representative Kim Dae-jung. Of course, before the three-party merger, Representative Kim Young-sam’s comments had received equal coverage, but after joining the ruling party through the merger, the spotlight reserved for the opposition had fallen solely on Kim Dae-jung.
Then, starting in March of this year, Representative Jeon Myeong-heon had suddenly risen to prominence. Every time he opened his mouth, a major bombshell dropped, forcing the media to cover him. At first, his unrealistic promises made his presence seem weak. Ordinary citizens were not fools; they understood that Jeon Myeong-heon’s radical pledges—chaebol dissolution, half-price apartments—were attempts to mask his chaebol background, which was at odds with ordinary people. It had long been rumored that the Tongil National Party itself was merely a stepping stone for his presidential ambitions.
What changed for Representative Jeon Myeong-heon and the Tongil National Party was Yoo Jae-won’s declaration of support. The synergy between them had been extraordinary. Even the seasoned political operators in Yeouido could not calculate the explosive power it generated. The Tongil National Party, which had entered the National Assembly with forty-four seats, absorbed independents and grew into a party of over fifty seats.
Moreover, many political analysts had expected Jeon Myeong-heon, a complete outsider to Yeouido politics, to have little impact once in the Assembly. When the lid was lifted, however, their predictions proved entirely wrong. Jeon Myeong-heon immediately began implementing concrete measures for his signature chaebol-dismantling policy. The most notable was regulation of convertible bonds, a loophole previously used for tax-free inheritance. Even political and economic experts had never considered that convertible bonds could serve as an inheritance trick. Jeon Myeong-heon exposed it and pushed legislation through the National Assembly. When the chaebols were checked to see if he had miscalculated, most were in an uproar preparing countermeasures. Among them, Ilseong Group’s reaction was the loudest. Chairman Choi Hyun-hee, who had been abroad, rushed back to Korea, even summoning his son and daughter from overseas.
Jeon Myeong-heon did not stop there. He continued unveiling concrete methods to fulfill his bold promises. Lately, his focus had been on half-price apartments. The idea that expensive apartments could be halved in price was undeniably appealing. Yet realizing it would require astronomical budgets, so most dismissed it as unrealistic. They assumed half-price apartments would mean the government subsidizing half the cost with taxes or using heavy-handed pressure to force prices down.
Instead, the Tongil National Party’s concrete plan was to disclose the actual construction costs of apartments. As the owner of Mirae Construction, Korea’s largest builder, Jeon Myeong-heon knew better than anyone how much profit construction companies were skimming. Reducing those excessive margins would naturally lower apartment prices. He added another measure: heavy taxation on multiple property ownership. Households owning three or more apartments would face sharply increased property taxes, while capital gains tax would be temporarily abolished to encourage quick disposal of speculative holdings. The vast majority of citizens without even one apartment welcomed the policy with open arms. Those who owned apartments, however, did not hesitate to brand Jeon Myeong-heon’s proposals as communist policies.
Though the policy carried both gains and losses, politically it was calculated to win far more votes than it lost. Among Jeon Myeong-heon’s actions, the crowning achievement was his brilliant performance during the selection of Sunkyung as the second mobile telecommunications operator. He openly criticized Sunkyung and clashed with President Roh. He even targeted Kim Young-sam without hesitation. In an era when criticizing the remnants of military rule still required caution, Jeon Myeong-heon broke the dam, and proper criticism finally poured forth. Startled, Sunkyung immediately returned the second mobile license. The possibility of re-selection, which had been left open, was withdrawn the very next day. The government hastily replaced the Minister of Posts and Telecommunications, and even the Prime Minister had to issue a public apology.
Recent movements suggested that the controversial second mobile operator selection would be postponed until after the election, with the wireless pager business proceeding first. Nothing was confirmed yet. Rumors indicated that TG Mobile would be chosen as the second operator, a joint venture between POSCO and Kolon as the third, and Sunkyung would enter the market through the privatization of Korea Mobile Telecom. When Jae-won called President Lee Yong-kwon directly, he confirmed that nothing had been finalized. Still, it was not mere rumor; Lee mentioned that some form of contact with the Blue House was underway. The meaning of such secret contacts was simple: if TG could guarantee an appropriate sum or interests, it might be selected as the second operator instead of Sunkyung. But would President Roh only be contacting TG? POSCO and Kolon had surely received the same offer. Depending on the president’s choice, the second operator would clearly go to one of the two.
“So they’re willing to swallow any amount of criticism as long as they get paid?”
Jae-won felt tempted to tell them they were going through unnecessary trouble. Once power transferred to the next administration, the post-presidency security of the two former military presidents would end. Candidate Kim Young-sam was already sharpening his knives against them, and Kim Dae-jung needed no mention. Jeon Myeong-heon was there as well. His decision to run for president had been entirely because of the two former military presidents.
“Anyway, their greed for money is terrifying. I must never become like that.”
At the same time, Jae-won reaffirmed his resolve. Money should be a means to an end, never the end itself. Especially after regressing, living a life that pursued only wealth would be profoundly unfortunate. Thanks to this mindset, even with hundreds of billions of dollars sitting in the company account, he felt neither fear nor excitement.
“By the way, when would be a good time to return to Korea?”
Jae-won naturally intended to participate in Korea’s election rather than America’s. He wanted to support Candidate Jeon Myeong-heon decisively and produce a different outcome from his previous life. Even if Jeon Myeong-heon did not become president, Jae-won was determined to at least keep the Tongil National Party alive. The fact that Jeon Myeong-heon had avoided major missteps and delivered policies perfectly aligned with public sentiment had been possible only because of Jae-won’s support. Once the election began, advising over the phone from afar would no longer suffice. Jeon Myeong-heon, just as during the last general election, clearly hoped Jae-won would return to Korea to help; calls came almost daily. The closer the election date drew, the more anxious he seemed.
“It would be nice if I could at least win the Fields Medal.”
Jae-won clicked his tongue. The Poincaré conjecture would soon be renamed the Poincaré theorem. Mathematicians of the highest caliber, including John Nash, had already begun verifying the proof method Jae-won had presented. If there had been an error, it would have surfaced long ago, yet no objections had been raised. Instead, the unbelievable elements—his age, his position—only amplified his genius. Every time reporters thrust microphones at the verification committee members, they lavished praise on Jae-won, creating an unusual phenomenon. ID Technology’s sales had surged dramatically, and investment inquiries to ID Investment poured in. Although ID Technology was in a resting phase with no new products, orders for existing products had risen sharply. Keyboard Warrior’s sales growth was especially notable; parents were undoubtedly buying it as gifts, hoping their children might become like Jae-won.
ID Investment was the same. On Wall Street, it was writing its own legend. Achieving enormous profits through two major events was unprecedented even in Wall Street’s history. Yet questions about its credibility had remained. Wall Street was full of firms that had flashed like supernovas only to vanish without a trace. Jae-won’s proof of the Poincaré conjecture had neatly resolved those doubts. If someone could solve such a difficult problem, they must have found the royal road in investing as well. Thanks to this, even major players were now contacting ID Investment, asking when the next round of investment recruitment would begin.
The intangible benefits gained from proving one of the seven millennium problems were considerable. To make them even more concrete, nothing was better than receiving an award that confirmed his authority. The Fields Medal was perfect. Unfortunately, unlike the Nobel Prize, which awarded winners every year, the Fields Medal selected recipients only once every four years. Since it had produced winners in 1990, the next would come in 1994. The narrow scope of mathematics made annual standout achievements rare, so the four-year cycle made sense to Jae-won.
“Come to think of it, there’s no prize money either.”
Prize money for the seven millennium problems would only begin in 2000. Because the problems were so difficult that challengers had disappeared, the likelihood of solutions had only decreased. Unable to watch any longer, mathematicians at Harvard established the Clay Mathematics Institute and bundled the seven problems under the name Millennium Prize Problems. With one million dollars per problem, it was a sum worth attempting for individuals or small teams. Jae-won was not greedy for the money itself. Receiving the prize and donating it appropriately would have generated several more articles boosting his reputation, so it was a pity he could not do so.
“Hmm, what was I thinking about again?”
Having wandered off while looking at the calendar, Jae-won returned to the main topic. Unable to judge the best timing for returning to Korea from memory alone, he eventually entered his Memory Palace and searched through the major news archives from October to December before finally deciding.
“Late October would be good.”
Full-scale campaigning would begin in November, but arriving early would allow time for various preparations.
“Ideally, the Comcast acquisition would also be resolved before I leave for Korea.”
Thinking about Comcast’s board of directors made Yoo Jae-won groan involuntarily. He had never imagined that acquisition negotiations begun in summer would drag on into autumn. If he had known it would take this long, he would have scrapped the deal with Comcast and started negotiations with Warner Cable instead.
The biggest sticking point was, as expected, the price. Comcast’s major shareholders wanted a high premium, while Henry Samuel and Allen, acting as Jae-won’s representatives, aimed to offer only modest compensation based on Comcast’s assets and future value. Jae-won had been thinking that if there was no answer by October, he would contact Warner Cable when the phone rang.
“Oh-ho!”
With his sharp intuition, Jae-won immediately sensed who was calling.
“Hello?”
— Chairman! It’s Henry Samuel from NextCom! We’ve finally received their surrender!
As expected, his intuition had not failed him.