The Golden-Haired Rider
“But why the sudden interest in semiconductor performance?” Professor Chu-Cheng’s question was cautious. If Yoo Jae-won had been an ordinary student, the professor would have spoken with him as usual. However, not only had Jae-won breezed through the fast-track program, the aftershocks were still rippling outward. The debate over whether to preserve the lab that had solved one of the seven great mathematical problems was still ongoing. Since the Fields Medal was all but certain, some argued it should be turned into a memorial, while others insisted that sacrificing scarce research space would only diminish the university’s output. Jae-won’s every move created such waves that caution was inevitable.
“Ah, that. I visited Nextcomcast’s new data center today. The performance issues were severe. After tracing the cause, it all came down to the semiconductors.”
As a professor of electronic engineering, Chu-Cheng had no trouble following the explanation, though the scale was staggering. Twelve thousand of the latest PCs linked into a single cloud computing center. The department was still in the middle of upgrading its computer lab to Pentium-class machines, yet even that modest project—only a few hundred units—had required more than a month of wrangling with the budget office. Twelve thousand machines existed on an entirely different plane.
“Twelve thousand… That would mean 48 GB of system memory and 6.7 TB of storage.”
The professor’s mental arithmetic was impressively swift. When Jae-won listed the specifications of the machines forming the cloud, Chu-Cheng instantly calculated the aggregate RAM and storage. It was simple multiplication, yet it represented the actual usable capacity once a proper cloud operating system was in place. At the same time, memories of his previous life surfaced, drawing an involuntary sigh from Jae-won. By the early twenty-first century—around 2020—even ordinary individuals could assemble such specifications. Moreover, a single PC would suffice; memory modules had reached 32 GB each, so two would provide 64 GB, and a single hard drive could hold 16 terabytes. Solid-state drives built entirely from flash memory had also appeared, keeping pace with high-speed CPUs.
By contrast, the present hardware was painfully slow. Even though Jae-won had already accelerated the pace of IT development by roughly two years, it still fell short of his standards. True performance gains stemmed from advances in semiconductor fabrication, and he now felt a powerful urge to intervene directly.
Chu-Cheng clicked his tongue without realizing it. “So you built the world’s largest cloud system, yet even that wasn’t enough, and now you intend to improve semiconductor performance yourself?”
“Yes, exactly.”
Had an ordinary undergraduate voiced such ambitions, the professor would have offered polite encouragement and moved on. But the young man before him possessed both capital and proven execution. Who else could connect twelve thousand expensive Pentium-class machines into a functioning cloud?
“Whew… Remarkable.”
Chu-Cheng’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he accessed Stanford’s intranet. The name Nextcomcast was now firmly lodged in his mind.
“Hmm. Semiconductors really are a hot topic—there are well over a hundred active projects listed. And that’s only the ones registered on the intranet. I’d guess at least twice that many researchers are working off the grid.”
This was Stanford. Jae-won’s estimate had been only one-fifth of the actual number. He had known the faculty was large, but he had not expected so many distinguished scholars to concentrate on a single field. The research topics were diverse: collaborative projects with Intel to improve CPU architecture, extensive work on semiconductor materials, and related studies into superconductors. After all, room-temperature superconductors would find their most immediate application in semiconductor manufacturing.
“Are there any professors optimizing semiconductor materials?”
Jae-won had not come to campus without a plan. With 1992-era technology, only a few avenues existed for boosting semiconductor performance. The most accessible was changing the materials themselves.
“Semiconductor materials? So you’re interested in that as well!”
Chu-Cheng’s face lit up. He himself had made significant contributions in the field and was effectively the resident expert. Yet his own research diverged slightly from Jae-won’s interest; the professor was working on quantum gates as a potential replacement for transistors. Jae-won, conversely, believed abandoning transistor-based semiconductors was premature and preferred optimizing internal structures for immediate gains.
“Ah, internal wiring.”
Chu-Cheng’s excitement cooled at the mention of wiring. That did not make his research worthless—quantum computers would eventually bring his achievements to fruition—but that day lay decades in the future.
“The simplest and most reliable way to raise semiconductor performance right now is circuit optimization, particularly by changing the wiring material.”
“I agree.”
A CPU was a dense collection of transistors. Supplying electricity to those transistors required a carefully designed network of interconnects, and that network was critical. Intel and AMD’s latest Pentium-class CPUs integrated three million transistors, all linked by aluminum wiring. Higher speeds demanded greater current, which increased resistance, heat, and leakage—directly degrading performance. Aluminum interconnects were the primary culprit behind excessive heat.
Jae-won already possessed the solution. Although semiconductor design was not his specialty, he had deliberately stored the necessary knowledge in his Memory Palace while constructing his master plan. Because his understanding was only superficial, he kept his comments minimal, knowing that an open debate with a true expert like Chu-Cheng would expose his limitations.
“Let me see…”
With a concrete category in hand, the professor’s search grew faster. He fell silent. When he tried the keywords Jae-won had mentioned, no relevant results appeared. Stanford had no team or professor currently registered as working on semiconductor interconnect optimization—though unregistered work might still exist.
“I see. Then I’ll have to look outside the university.”
Jae-won spoke with quiet resignation. Chu-Cheng felt genuine regret; few people understood the scope of Jae-won’s capabilities better than he did.
“There may be professors who don’t use the intranet. I’ll ask around as well.”
Chu-Cheng could not quite let the matter drop. Jae-won bowed his head in thanks.
“Ah, and I’m also interested in the research you’re conducting.”
“My research?”
“The quantum gate project.”
Chu-Cheng was an open book when it came to emotion. The moment Jae-won expressed interest, his face brightened.
“Optimizing the wiring is something I can use immediately, which is why I’m focused on it. But transistor-based semiconductors have inherent growth limits. Quantum-gate CPUs, on the other hand, could scale performance almost without bound.”
“Precisely!”
“So, if it wouldn’t be an imposition, I’d like to offer full financial support for your research.”
“Support?”
Chu-Cheng reacted instantly. Time and funding were the eternal shortages in research; money, especially, could not be conjured from nothing. Even with Stanford’s backing, resources were always tight. Knowing this reality, he had kept the door open despite the intranet search yielding nothing. If a suitable professor had existed, Jae-won could have provided generous funding while keeping the work inside his alma mater. Now the young man was offering to back Chu-Cheng’s own lifelong project—an unexpected windfall.
For Jae-won, the arrangement was equally beneficial. While Chu-Cheng’s work was not the core technology that would complete quantum computing, it laid essential groundwork. Fundamental research rarely attracted corporate or government money, yet Jae-won had money to spare. He wrote a $100,000 check on the spot from his personal funds and told the professor to contact him whenever more was needed.
As Jae-won left the research building, his steps were heavy.
“Hmm. Should I just announce the results as my own solo work?”
The knowledge stored in his Memory Palace was so complete that collaboration was unnecessary. He possessed everything from the foundational technique for creating high-efficiency copper interconnects to the precise gas ratios required inside fabrication cleanrooms and the exact calibration settings for ASML equipment. While developing AI in his previous life, he had worked closely with hardware teams, sharing meals and drinks with engineers who eventually let slip details of older processes—details that were cutting-edge in 1992.
The problem was the aftermath. Unveiling a technology that would trigger a seismic shift in semiconductors would create consequences he could not fully predict. Simply replacing aluminum interconnects with copper or gold would deliver at least a 200% performance boost. Current flagship CPUs ran at only 66 MHz; copper wiring would push that to 200 MHz immediately. The improvement would apply across nearly all semiconductors—faster memory, better 3D acceleration, more spectacular graphics. Most importantly, the change required only partial process modifications, not a complete retooling of fabrication lines. With redesigned layouts, speeds of 300 MHz, 500 MHz, and eventually 1 GHz would follow naturally once finer nodes were introduced.
Because the technology was so powerful, announcing it alone felt reckless. He had hoped to attach it to an existing research team, but the intranet search had come up empty, leaving him uncertain.
“Is it simply too early?”
Reflecting on the timeline, he realized his own impatience. Copper-interconnect products had not appeared until 1998. Allowing three years for development placed the realistic start date around 1995—still two years ahead of schedule in late 1992.
“Well, I’ll check other universities. If nothing turns up, I’ll do it myself.”
Even without the ideal cover, he had no intention of abandoning the project. He had never been deterred by the risks of moving first. The aftershocks could be managed later; momentum mattered more. If 3D accelerator cards were already arriving ahead of schedule, raising the performance floor of semiconductors themselves would accelerate computing progress across the board. That, in turn, would hasten the arrival of practical AI and improve countless lives.
“After all, everything has been moving so slowly.”
Jae-won’s visit to the data center had been driven by AI. Once the cloud system reached acceptable performance, he planned to run simple machine-learning algorithms. The current hardware fell short, so he had postponed the experiment. Still, a full overhaul was unnecessary. The CPUs already met minimum requirements, and memory bandwidth was adequate. The real bottleneck was network speed between machines—an issue that could be addressed by swapping network equipment rather than the entire system.
Having organized his thoughts, Jae-won quickened his pace toward the bicycle rack.
Whirrr.
“Huh?”
A familiar sound made him look up. A figure with long golden hair sped past on a bicycle. The hair was striking, but the bicycle itself was unmistakable—carbon-fiber frame with its distinctive pattern, high-performance racing wheels, and the characteristic hum of an electric motor.
“That’s my bike!”
It was the custom Lightning Bolt bicycle Michael had built for him.
“Bike thief!”
Without another thought, Jae-won sprinted after the rider. Surprisingly, the distance began to close. His daily fitness routine gave him better speed than most, while the thief was oddly restrained.
“Stop right there!”
To his astonishment, the rider actually slowed down. A thief who obeyed commands was a first. Something felt off.
“Boss!”
Fisher’s familiar voice called from behind. The bodyguard was running toward him—pushing another electric bicycle.
“A thief? Are you talking about me?”
The golden-haired rider had stopped and now regarded Jae-won with an innocent expression. Only then did the morning email report surface in his memory: four Model 1 electric bicycles had been sold. He had never imagined one of them would appear on Stanford’s campus, let alone be ridden by a woman his own age.
Despite the cold wind, a cold sweat broke out on Jae-won’s forehead. Never since his regression had he felt so flustered and embarrassed.