The Emergency Chairman
On the morning of October 24th, a welcome call arrived. “Chairman, we’ve finally completed all the acquisition procedures!” Vincent Greenhill, Vice President of ID Investment who had been in Japan since summer, delivered the good news. The largest piece was Sanyo Electric’s battery division, followed by a major acquisition involving over a dozen strong Japanese mid-sized firms. They had successfully acquired more than 90 percent of the companies Yoo Jae-won had listed. Acquisitions rarely went smoothly when delays occurred; either the sellers had no intention of parting with their businesses or the prices simply didn’t match. Unlike the Comcast deal, the Japanese acquisitions had dragged on so long that even Yoo Jae-won had thrown up his hands, telling Vincent it was time to come home. Yet Vincent had asked for a little more time. He hadn’t requested additional budget, and ID Investment had no immediate plans for new investments, so Yoo Jae-won had agreed. He had left the Japanese matter entirely in Vincent’s hands and nearly forgotten about it—only for the man to return with success.
“Sanyo Electric, Inomata Chemical, Nichicon, Kobayashi Seisakusho, Onex, and seven other companies will now fall under Shin-Nihon Investment Bank,” Vincent reported. The entity that had pierced Japan’s notoriously closed corporate culture was none other than Shin-Nihon Investment Bank itself. Though the name sounded impressive, it was essentially ID Investment’s Japanese subsidiary. Capitalized at roughly four billion dollars, it would serve as the holding company for the newly acquired firms and as the primary channel for future investments into Japan. Despite its enormous capital, the staff remained small—barely more than ten people from the president down to the newest employee. Every single one of them was Japanese, a deliberate choice that had made the acquisitions far smoother. Japanese companies felt far less resistance handing shares to a Japanese investment bank than selling outright to a foreign entity. It was, in essence, a thinly veiled maneuver, yet it had worked remarkably well. Some firms had even approached them seeking investment, suggesting that, with proper management, Shin-Nihon could become an effective tool for cracking Japan’s rigid corporate cartels.
“Excellent. Well done.”
“Not at all, sir. I should have finished sooner. I apologize for causing you concern.” Even after such a major achievement, Vincent remained as courteous as ever. Yoo Jae-won felt certain he could entrust the day-to-day operations of ID Investment to him. A promotion to president was now confirmed. Investment decisions, however, would remain Yoo Jae-won’s responsibility; Vincent had little talent in that area.
“When will you return to the States?”
“I’ll need another two days here. There are still some minor details to wrap up.”
“Understood. Stop by the Korean headquarters before you head back to America. Not just you—have the entire acquisition team come as well.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll contact you before departure.”
Vincent followed the instruction without question. The reason was simple: a promotion to president could not be announced over the phone. Yoo Jae-won intended to hold a proper ceremony at the Apgujeong headquarters of ID Investment and, as a bonus, reward the acquisition team for their success in Japan.
“Hmm. The puzzle is nearly complete.”
Yoo Jae-won murmured as he examined the list of companies now united under Shin-Nihon Investment Bank alongside the firms under ID Technology and ID High-Tech. Battery technology, aluminum alloys, high-performance capacitors, CCD sensors, and low-power CPUs—every piece was already moving under the ID Group’s umbrella. Ultra-compact sensors were also being developed at a rapid pace. GPS modules, accelerometers, gravity sensors, and tilt sensors all demonstrated impressive accuracy. When these components came together, they would create something extraordinary: a single device combining telephone, camera, music player, and computer. The smartphone.
Wall Street had long criticized Yoo Jae-won’s investments as scattered and incoherent. Without ID Investment’s consistently remarkable returns, he would have been dismissed as just another Silicon Valley eccentric. Yet from the very beginning, when he started acquiring small Silicon Valley firms, every move had been made with the smartphone’s grand blueprint in mind. The technology was never limited to smartphones alone. Aluminum alloys and high-precision machine tools could produce premium casings for PCs and laptops. GPS combined with mobile CPUs would yield navigation systems. The key was how these technologies were fused—and how quickly they could bring devices that transcended their era to market.
One final piece remained.
“So the last puzzle is the display?”
The dominant display technology was still the cathode-ray tube. CRTs had continued to evolve, and fully flat models were on the horizon. In Japan, picture quality had improved dramatically; Sony’s Trinitron line had already reached near-HD levels. LCDs, by contrast, were still in their infancy and far from mass adoption. They were used mainly in notebook computers, where both image quality and production yields remained problematic.
“That damned yield rate!”
Yoo Jae-won had placed a large order for LCD panels from Sharp, the originator of the technology, for use in Shell Book laptops. Months later, the company still could not deliver satisfactory quantities. Sharp had believed LCDs would take more time to become mainstream, and the massive crash of the Nikkei had frozen Japan’s economy, pushing back any large-scale factory expansions. Current monthly output stood at only thirty thousand panels—nowhere near enough to meet the anticipated demand for Shell Book. Defective panels with dead pixels were also unacceptably high. The laptop’s design had long been finished, yet it remained unreleased due to the parts shortage. TG planned to set the launch date once inventory reached sufficient levels, most likely around Thanksgiving or Christmas.
“The display is the bottleneck.”
If Yoo Jae-won’s master plan proceeded smoothly, IT development would accelerate by roughly two years. Smartphones would arrive that much sooner—yet the display issue threatened to hold everything back.
“Should I just make them myself?”
The future of next-generation displays, including LCDs, was dazzling. Every CRT would eventually be replaced by LCDs, and demand from mobile devices would be enormous. Building factories would require significant capital, but once operational, they would generate steady cash flow until virtual reality arrived.
“I’ll decide after the election.”
With time still on his side, Yoo Jae-won set the matter aside.
Ding!
Another ID Talk notification. Choi Kang-wook, the chief of staff handling matters in the United States, requested a connection.
“The distribution contract for Doom 2 has been finalized. The advance is forty million dollars with a 7:3 revenue split—naturally, seven parts going to ID Technology.”
Choi Kang-wook spoke with evident pride.
“Wow.”
A 7:3 split was standard in the twenty-first century, but this was still 1992. Moreover, this was physical distribution, not digital. The distributor bore the full cost of manufacturing packages and delivering them to retailers. Even a 5:5 split would have been considered generous back then.
“The partner is Activision.”
Yoo Jae-won had sensed their aggressive stance. Electronic Arts had been a reliable partner but notoriously strict on revenue splits; their final offer for Doom 2 had been 6:4. Activision, desperate to prevent Electronic Arts from dominating the market, had placed an aggressive bet. If Doom 2 failed, Activision would essentially collapse. Their willingness to take such a risk spoke volumes about how highly they rated the game’s quality.
“President Hawkins must be quite disappointed.”
“He called just a moment ago to complain. But business is business, after all.”
Choi Kang-wook understood Yoo Jae-won’s intentions perfectly.
“Still, don’t treat President Hawkins too coldly. We may need Electronic Arts later.”
Yoo Jae-won’s master plan included entering the game console market. If Ken Kutaragi had accepted his proposal, Sony would already be deep into next-generation console development. With Sony’s return, that project had paused, but once PlayStation launched around 1994, the real battle for the 32-bit 3D console market would begin. Electronic Arts would be crucial then. Hardware mattered, but software was even more decisive. Any lingering resentment over Doom 2 going to Activision could become a problem later, so it was best to smooth things over now.
“Understood. I’ll maintain our partnership with Electronic Arts.”
Ring ring!
Yoo Jae-won had barely ended the ID Talk call and settled in front of his computer when the phone rang again. He had planned to finish his spreadsheet work today, but concentration proved impossible.
“Hello, this is Yoo Jae-won.”
“It’s me!”
The voice on the other end belonged to Assemblyman Jeon Myeong-heon. His long silence had caused considerable worry.
“Ah, Assemblyman!”
“Sorry for the late call.”
“It’s fine. Politics is full of unexpected variables, after all.”
“Haha, thank you for understanding. Everything went well. You now have full authority. I had to pull quite a few strings to create that position for you, so there will be plenty of grumbling. You’ll face plenty of headaches too.”
“Thank you. I can handle the headaches.”
Exercising full authority naturally came with complications; Yoo Jae-won had expected as much.
“Good. I’m counting on you from now on—Emergency Committee Chairman.”
“Yes. I’ll show results.”
He did not say he would do his best. He had already been giving everything for Jeon Myeong-heon; the only difference was that those efforts had not flowed through the party’s official channels. That was about to change.
Within days, the Tongil National Party’s previously sluggish pace transformed. The election committee chairman resigned, citing inadequate preparation, and the party leader followed, accepting responsibility for the recommendation. The press conference announcing their resignations drew few reporters—mostly junior staff and second-year reporters. The real scoop came next: an emergency general assembly voted unanimously to shift to an emergency response system and appoint Yoo Jae-won as emergency committee chairman. What normally took days in a modern democratic party happened in a flash. Voting was done by show of hands rather than secret ballot, but the public focused less on procedure than on the name Yoo Jae-won. Surprisingly, many accepted the appointment without objection. His global achievements were so substantial that his age was treated as a mere number. Even those who grumbled about a young man entering the dirty world of politics did not criticize his age—they simply disliked seeing such a promising figure wade into the mire.
Of course, a minority voiced outright opposition.
— Yoo Jae-won, 16, appointed emergency chairman of the third-largest party!
— Is the election a joke? Tongil National Party reaches new heights of absurdity.
— Jeon Myeong-heon plays a dangerous game for the presidency!
Daehan Ilbo and Dongha Shinmun, both hostile to Yoo Jae-won, along with the Minjeong and Minju parties, attacked the appointment. The two newspapers, long starved of ID Group advertising, ran especially negative coverage. Rival parties, robbed of momentum just before the official campaign period, were understandably furious.
Meanwhile, people began flooding the Tongil National Party headquarters in Yeouido. Word had spread that Yoo Jae-won’s inauguration as emergency committee chairman would take place in two hours.
“I’ll be going.”
After warning his family to be careful of reporters and strangers, Yoo Jae-won secured the house. He double-checked the encryption on the disk containing his master plan before locking it in the safe. Politics could create unpredictable ripples, and he intended to be prepared.
“Be careful.”
His parents’ faces showed clear concern, yet they trusted their son’s judgment.
“All right, let’s go.”
Dressed in a formal suit for the first time in a while, Yoo Jae-won climbed into the waiting car. His only luggage was a single Shell Book. It was enough.