A Chance Encounter
New experiences had a way of proving the old saying true: when caught completely off guard, the mind really did go blank. Even for someone like Yoo Jae-won, whose life had been filled with extraordinary events, this moment was entirely new. For several seconds he stood frozen, unable to form a single word.
In that brief silence, Fisher—whose physical prowess was as remarkable as ever—swiftly wheeled the heavy electric bicycle over to him. The blonde woman had already set her own bike aside and turned fully toward Yoo Jae-won.
“Hah.”
The sound escaped him involuntarily. He had guessed from the long golden hair that the thief was female, but the face that greeted him far exceeded any expectation. Though he couldn’t pinpoint her exact age—she was clearly Western—she was at least nineteen or twenty, and strikingly beautiful.
“I’m so sorry. Your bicycle looks exactly like mine. I thought someone had taken it.”
Fortunately, Yoo Jae-won’s tongue loosened after a moment. The blonde woman, now facing him directly, widened her eyes in surprise.
“Wait—Big Boss? When did you get to school?”
She launched into the oddest remark. Big Boss? She had clearly recognized his face, so this wasn’t a case of mistaken identity. Still, the nickname was completely unfamiliar.
“Oh, I’m Tiffany. Second-year computer science.”
Tiffany seemed outgoing by nature; she introduced herself first and extended her hand without hesitation.
“Yoo Jae-won, first-year electrical engineering.”
He shook her hand and returned the introduction.
“Hoho, surely you have more impressive titles than that? Chairman of ID Group, or the man who proved the Poincaré conjecture?”
Tiffany clearly knew quite a bit about him. She had mentioned both the chairmanship of ID Group and the Poincaré conjecture—details he hadn’t offered himself. The atmosphere eased a little.
“Hehe, it feels embarrassing to go around introducing myself with those.”
“If it were me, I’d brag about them every single day.”
While Yoo Jae-won and Tiffany spoke, Fisher quietly parked the bicycle beside them and then jogged away again. His usual security protocol at school involved keeping a discreet distance in a car, so he was retrieving the vehicle.
“I apologize for calling you a thief.”
“It’s fine. Not the first time it’s happened.”
Tiffany accepted the apology with breezy good humor, her expression showing no trace of offense. She looked every inch a princess, yet her personality was more forthright than any Busan tough guy.
“When did you get that bike? It’s identical to mine—I really thought someone had stolen it.”
“Ah, my father bought it. He’s a bicycle enthusiast. He never rides the ones he buys, so I started using this one. It’s incredibly comfortable. I’ve been riding it every day since last week.”
Yoo Jae-won nodded. A hundred-thousand-dollar electric bicycle was hardly something a student could afford, though even for an adult it was an extravagant purchase. Buying a Mercedes would have been far more practical—an opinion Yoo Jae-won, owner of Lightning Bolt, wholeheartedly shared. Still, the Model 1 was no mere novelty. Even as an early model, the technology he had passed along had produced a remarkably refined machine. The lithium battery offered far greater range than expected on a single charge, and the LED display made monitoring power levels simple.
“It’s caused quite a few mix-ups. People have accused me of stealing your bike, and some even claimed you gave it to me as a gift because we’re dating.”
That explained why Tiffany had remained unfazed by the accusation.
“My father’s just a huge fan of yours. He ordered one built exactly like the one you ride. A lot of people mistake it for yours. Now that you’ve done the same, I guess we’re even.”
No wonder. Not every Model 1 was identical. While the carbon frame and motor were the same, details could vary. Tiffany’s bicycle matched his down to the smallest touches—clearly the work of Michael Bolton’s perfectionism creating an unexpected situation.
“Your father is a fan of mine? I’d be happy to sign something for him.”
“Oh! Really? He’d love that.”
Tiffany brightened and began rummaging through the bag slung over her shoulder.
“By the way, what did you mean by ‘Big Boss’?”
Yoo Jae-won asked while she searched. He still couldn’t guess why she had used the nickname.
“Ahaha! That? You always have bodyguards with you, right? And what do they call you?”
“Boss?”
“It’s funny enough when a kid gets called ‘Boss,’ so they added ‘Big’ for extra sarcasm. Hence, Big Boss!”
Tiffany burst into bright laughter. Ultimately, it was his own fault for not correcting Remington the first time the man had used the nickname in jest. Correcting it now, after years, would be difficult. Yoo Jae-won had already decided not to care what others said, so he let it pass.
Meanwhile, Tiffany produced a clean sheet of A4 paper and a fountain pen. A fountain pen? From a student? And not just any pen—a Montblanc. Yoo Jae-won accepted it and signed with a flourish, adding the date as well.
“Your father’s name?”
He meant to personalize the signature, but Tiffany shook her head.
“Hehe, just write ‘To Tiffany’s father.’”
Respecting her wish not to reveal the name, Yoo Jae-won wrote “To Tiffany’s father” in elegant cursive at the top.
“Could you do one for me too?”
She held out another sheet.
“Of course.”
He already had the pen in hand.
“Does this count as a proper apology?”
“Absolutely! Thanks to my dad, I got to talk with Big Boss and even got an autograph. I bombed my exam, but today turned out pretty lucky after all.”
Tiffany was both cheerful and meticulous. She waited for the ink to dry before carefully sliding the papers into a file folder to keep them flat. Watching her, Yoo Jae-won felt a sudden pang of regret—as though he had forgotten something important.
Contact information. That was it.
“Ah! If you ever have any problems with the bike, please reach out.”
He took a business card from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Lightning Bolt, the company that makes these bicycles, is one of mine. We’ll handle any after-sales service thoroughly.”
“Really? Wow, that’s impressive. I thought you only made operating systems. When did you start making bicycles too?”
“It’s been a while.”
Tiffany accepted the card, then pulled out her own notebook, wrote something down, and gave the page to him. It contained her name and phone number.
“Well then, see you around.”
She shouldered her bag, mounted the electric bicycle, waved, and rode off. Yoo Jae-won stood watching until she disappeared from sight. It was only a small incident, yet it marked the first time since arriving at Stanford that he had spoken with a woman for this long. He had even managed to exchange phone numbers. Though few empty rooms remained in his Memory Palace, today’s events were worth preserving.
He waited until the memory was safely stored, then mounted his own bicycle.
The next day, Yoo Jae-won visited the ID Technology headquarters in Silicon Valley for the first time in what felt like ages. The office atmosphere had changed so much that it almost felt unfamiliar. What had once been a typical scrappy startup—complete with no desk even for the founder himself—now projected the polished calm of a successful IT company. Partitions divided the space by team, and high-end desks and chairs had replaced the earlier makeshift arrangements.
“Boss! Finally, we meet again!”
Remington greeted him with his usual exuberance, though his choice of words remained as potentially misleading as ever.
“What do you mean ‘finally’? We saw each other yesterday.”
“Heh, that was personal business. Seeing you here at the company feels different.”
After returning from school the previous day, Yoo Jae-won had visited Remington’s home. While the reunion with Remington had been pleasant, his real purpose had been to see young Remington Junior. The gifts he brought had all been baby items. The child represented something entirely new in his life—both strange and proof that his regression had been worthwhile.
“It feels different seeing you here.”
Choi Kang-wook was also waiting in the office. He had overseen ID Technology during Remington’s paternity leave and had even managed the entire ID Group while Yoo Jae-won was in Korea for the election campaign. The heavy workload had left him noticeably thinner, though his eyes remained sharp and alert. Now that both Yoo Jae-won and Remington had returned, Choi Kang-wook would finally receive some time off—once the handover was complete. His voice brimmed with energy at the prospect.
After greeting Choi Kang-wook and Remington, Yoo Jae-won shook hands with the newly promoted executives. Most had risen from within the company and were already familiar to him. Once introductions were finished, they moved straight to business: a report on the current state of ID Group and the formulation of the 1993 business strategy.
In the conference room, the projector was switched on and an ID presentation loaded. The projector’s brightness was still inadequate, so the fluorescent lights had to be turned off and thick curtains drawn over the nearest windows before the colors became distinguishable. Once laser projectors arrived, such adjustments would no longer be necessary—but until then, this was the routine.
“Ah, there were a few updates from Korea I should mention.”
Just as they were about to begin, Choi Kang-wook briefly diverted the topic. News from Korea. Yoo Jae-won wasn’t particularly curious, but the aftershocks of the presidential election were still unfolding, and several matters concerned him directly. Choi Kang-wook had therefore included them.
“Jeon Jae-jun has resigned from the National Assembly.”
Typical of that troublemaker. He had made no secret of his reluctance to be a politician, and now he had gotten his wish. Yet Choi Kang-wook’s next words diverged from Yoo Jae-won’s expectations.
“He hasn’t returned to Mirae Group, either. He’s gone down to Jeju Island.”
Resigning from politics had seemed like a necessary step before rejoining the conglomerate. Apparently that hadn’t happened.
“It appears to have been a punitive dismissal. The clash between him and the chairman was already common knowledge in political circles. It seems the story reached Assemblyman Jeon Myeong-heon’s ears as well.”
Yoo Jae-won had known Jeon Myeong-heon held him in high regard, but he hadn’t expected the man to remove his own son so decisively. Forcing him to resign his seat was especially striking. The National Assembly seat represented the people of his district; discarding it so casually suggested Jeon Myeong-heon viewed the constituency as little more than a personal fiefdom he could grant or reclaim at will.
Well, he’s not entirely wrong.
Within the Tongil National Party—or more precisely, under Jeon Myeong-heon’s personal seal of approval—anyone could become a lawmaker. For Yoo Jae-won, who had suffered through Jeon Jae-jun’s antics, the outcome was satisfying. The man was far more useful to both himself and the country when left to live quietly on Jeju Island.
Ah, the World Cup might be an issue, though.
Recalling Jeon Jae-jun’s achievements, Yoo Jae-won remembered how the man had helped turn what had been Japan’s certain hosting into a joint Korea-Japan bid for the 2002 World Cup.
Well, I can just host it myself.
He had no intention of missing such a major event. Without Jeon Jae-jun, he would step in personally. He could even begin preparations early and aim for Korea to host alone rather than share the tournament with Japan.
“Also, there have been numerous inquiries about when ID Investment’s third investment product will open. Quite a few of the people asking hold significant positions—across both parties and among the chaebols as well.”
Money, as always. The first and second investment rounds from ID Investment had rewritten Wall Street history with their extraordinary returns. The second round, which had even allowed ordinary citizens to taste massive profits, remained a hot topic in Korea. Once people had experienced such gains, they found it difficult to abandon the dream. Korean investment banks had rushed to launch similar products, some even leveraging the names of major conglomerates like Ilseong or Geumseong despite the legal barriers of the separation of banking and commerce. Their results had been dismal. Investment performance could not be hidden forever; when clients sought to withdraw their funds, the numbers spoke clearly. Most products had barely beaten bank interest rates—or fallen short of them. Some had even lost principal. Compared with ID Investment’s second round, which had multiplied capital more than threefold, the contrast was stark. No amount of advertising could overcome that gap, leaving investors increasingly anxious. Their desperation had driven some all the way to the Manhattan office—though Vincent Greenhill had been unable to help them, since Yoo Jae-won alone decided ID Investment’s actual allocations.
“Hmm. It’s about time we started the third round.”
Yoo Jae-won had already considered the matter. While there were no major events like an oil-price spike or a Nikkei crash on the immediate horizon, stocks were expected to rise steadily from 1993 through 1998. Simply tracking index funds would yield solid returns, and certain individual stocks would surge dramatically. Film and music investments also offered attractive opportunities. After holding for five years, the great bull run—the beginning of the IT bubble—would finally arrive. The bubble would peak in the early 2000s, with highs not recovered until 2015, fifteen years later.
“We’ll discuss the details when we cover ID Investment. For now, let’s hear the report from Technology.”
Today’s meeting was focused on ID Technology’s current status; Vincent would handle investment matters separately.
“Yes, let’s begin.”
Choi Kang-wook took the lead once more. Although Remington was nominally president of ID Technology, his extended leave meant he was as much in the dark as Yoo Jae-won. Both would listen to the briefing and then complete the handover so Remington could resume his duties.
- Doom 2, release scheduled for December 22.
- Android 2.0, release planned for early January 1993.
- ID Office 3.0, release planned for Q1 1993.
- 3D Graphics Studio 1.0, release planned for Q1 1993.
- Prime Cut 1.0, release planned for Q2 1993.
The highly confidential release schedule for ID Technology’s new software appeared on the screen in sequence. Products with the nearest launch dates were introduced first, beginning with Doom 2. Gamer anticipation for the sequel had already reached fever pitch. It was the true follow-up to the global phenomenon that was Doom, and the first game to feature fully three-dimensional terrain and objects. As a result, it required at least a 486 PC and a 3D accelerator card as standard. While 486 machines had become commonplace, 3D accelerator cards were still in the process of widespread adoption. Without one, the game simply would not run, making it unlikely to surpass the original’s sales. Furthermore, enjoying the game properly required purchasing the CD-ROM version, yet CD-ROM drives remained relatively rare. Consequently, sales projections for the first six months after release stood at 1.5 million units for the diskette version and 300,000 units for the CD-ROM version. Activision, the new publisher, had taken a considerable risk. Given the advance and royalty terms granted to id Software, the diskette version alone would need to sell three million copies just to break even. Success in the U.S. market alone would not suffice; worldwide performance would determine the outcome. Yoo Jae-won was unconcerned.
“3D accelerator cards and CD-ROM drives will become standard PC components with a little more time.”
As he had promised, time would resolve both issues. Moreover, Doom itself had originally been a steady seller before becoming a mega-hit. Development of Android 2.0, the successor to version 1.0, was also proceeding smoothly. This was only natural. Since completing version 1.0, Yoo Jae-won had gradually reduced his direct involvement with the source code, though he had not withdrawn entirely. He continued to set the overall development direction, and whenever progress or optimization in the Android division lagged, he stepped in personally to make corrections. Even during the election campaign, he had installed the beta version on his computer and directed development through ongoing feedback.
The most critical additions in 2.0 were internet functionality and the file system. Numerous plug-ins had been incorporated to create a faster, more proactive internet environment, alongside optimizations for running internet servers. The file system now used a 32-bit architecture, allowing unlimited filename lengths and supporting single files up to four gigabytes. Security had also been strengthened, enabling per-user control over file access and editing permissions. What had been a preview in the 1.0 patch was now fully implemented as the Android File System 32-bit version—commonly abbreviated AFS32. These enhancements widened the gap between the general consumer edition and the enterprise edition, and the size difference became even more pronounced. The consumer version emphasized 3D gaming support and ribbon interface improvements, earning the name Gaming Edition. The enterprise version boasted a massive footprint—equivalent to forty 3.5-inch diskettes—and would be the first to offer a CD-ROM edition.
The report continued. 3D Graphics Studio was essentially a byproduct of Doom 2’s development—an engine-like tool capable of importing 3D modeling data, creating game scripts, and performing level design. At John Carmack’s insistence, there were no plans to sell it. Many ID Technology executives had expressed regret; the included resources and editor were of such high quality that charging for it would have been justified. Yoo Jae-won respected Carmack’s wishes, however, believing that wider distribution of the tool would accelerate the adoption of 3D gaming environments.
Prime Cut was a new software proposal from the Android division—a video editing tool. While not yet suitable for broadcast use, it was more than adequate for personal applications. Priced at ten dollars, the low cost was strategic: the codecs bundled with Android were intended to become the PC standard. Once standardization was achieved, revenue could be generated through other means, justifying the price well below production cost.
Yoo Jae-won also received updates on various other projects underway across ID Technology and its subsidiaries. The session lasted more than two hours. Under ID Technology’s umbrella were Hi-Tech and Nextcomcast, along with numerous venture investments such as Lightning Bolt. Simply hearing brief summaries of their current focuses consumed considerable time. Despite the length, few reports stood out as particularly noteworthy. Technology did not advance by magic; meaningful progress required sustained effort. The most significant updates were Hi-Tech’s successful test flight of a quadcopter drone and the steady progress of Nextcomcast’s terrestrial retransmission negotiations and Major League Baseball broadcasting rights talks. The excessive bubble in NFL and NBA rights fees remained a minor concern, however.
“Excellent. I have no criticisms—this is highly satisfactory.”
Yoo Jae-won applauded, and the executives who had been slightly tense visibly relaxed.
He then began presenting his vision for 1993.
“Next year, I want to surprise people. I want them to exclaim, ‘Can a computer really do that?’ I’ll give you a hint: something like a handheld computer no larger than the palm of your hand.”
Although the presentation was a vision statement, Yoo Jae-won disliked vague language. Hence the bold hint.
“The problem is that the technology to realize this vision doesn’t yet exist. That’s why ID Group will take the lead. We will invest directly in the LCD sector, which has been confirmed as the next-generation display technology, and we will also launch large-scale investments in high-performance, low-power semiconductor development.”
The executives’ mouths fell open at the declaration. They had expected an ambitious vision, but this was far larger in scope than anticipated.