Unnecessary Precautions

"Do we really have to go this far?" Yoo Jae-won asked, his voice heavy with displeasure.

"Of course we do," Remington replied with an expression that left absolutely no room for debate. The same unyielding resolve showed on the faces of Greg and Fisher, Yoo Jae-won's bodyguards standing beside him.

The reason Yoo Jae-won had even voiced the complaint was the sheer scale of the security detail assembled for what should have been a simple outing. It looked as if the entire team had been placed on emergency recall; ten people alone were gathered in front of his house. They were even armed with pistols. To transport such a large force, two full-size SUVs had been deployed. The vehicle reserved for Yoo Jae-won himself was a Mercedes reinforced with bulletproof glass.

He had wondered where they could possibly have borrowed such expensive cars on short notice, but apparently they belonged to equipment ID Group already owned. The acquisition of Microsoft had brought a surprising amount of ancillary assets, and the same pattern held when purchasing venture companies. Some startups had taken investment money for technology development only to buy things like armored Mercedes instead. When ID Group absorbed those companies, the vehicles came along as part of the package.

Naturally, Yoo Jae-won had no interest in driving someone else's used car. ID Investment, which had overseen the acquisitions, had been quietly selling off such unnecessary assets on the secondary market at fair prices. Today's emergency had pulled one of those vehicles back into service for his protection.

"To be honest, this still feels insufficient," Remington added, clearly still uneasy. "The worst bomb-making murderer in American history has targeted the Chairman. The ideal solution is to avoid going out at all. If you must leave, this level of security is the absolute minimum."

It was genuinely touching to have someone worry about him so earnestly. Still, this was excessive by any measure. At this point in time, no one understood the Unabomber better than Yoo Jae-won. Anyone who knew his background might have questioned whether watching a single Netflix drama had exaggerated the threat, but that series had captured not only the Unabomber's crimes but his ideology and personality in meticulous detail. It was the equivalent of having read the man's biography multiple times.

That was why Yoo Jae-won could only nod in acknowledgment when the Unabomber chose him as a target. At the same time, he knew this degree of security was unnecessary. The Unabomber was a mail-bomb terrorist. Sometimes the packages detonated in transit, sometimes they failed to explode. On occasion they were simply lost and never heard from again. But the killer had never resent a bomb because the first one failed to reach its target, nor had he ever pursued someone in person with a gun.

Like most people who committed this type of crime, the Unabomber lacked the physical capability to overpower even two bodyguards in a direct confrontation. That was why Yoo Jae-won had originally planned to ride his electric bicycle to school with only a single guard.

"Sigh... Fine, I understand."

In the end, the words that left his mouth signaled acceptance of Remington's arrangements. The man's expression was so resolute that not even a needle could have pierced it. Besides, explaining why such heavy security was unnecessary would require detailing the Unabomber's characteristics, which would mean revealing knowledge from his previous life. No matter how loyal Remington was, that was impossible.

It was bothersome, but following the security chief's measures for now was the wiser choice.

Traveling to school in the armored Mercedes flanked by escort SUVs front and rear, Yoo Jae-won quickly concluded that obeying Remington had been the right decision a hundred times over.

"Hey! Mr. Yoo! Just a moment!"

"LA Times here! How did you recognize the Unabomber's bomb?"

"Excuse me! Just one comment, please!"

This was America, where yellow journalism reigned supreme. Countless media outlets stood ready to publish any story that could stimulate readers' curiosity and baser instincts. The moment Yoo Jae-won's party left the house and entered a public road, more than a few cars that had been lying in wait emerged from side streets to follow them. Some even trailed them onto the Stanford University campus itself. The school gates were always open, and security guards did not check every person's identification.

When they arrived at the parking lot near Memorial Church and stepped out of the vehicles, reporters swarmed toward Yoo Jae-won with microphones and cameras as if they had been waiting for exactly this moment. Had the bodyguards not formed a screen in advance, he would have been completely surrounded and unable to move.

Yoo Jae-won tried to ignore them lightly and head toward his destination inside Memorial Church.

"Some are saying this was a self-staged incident to attract attention. What's your response?"

But an additional question from one of the reporters brought his steps to an abrupt halt.

When he had confirmed it was a mail bomb last night, the shock had been immense. Had he opened the package absentmindedly as usual, the probability of death or permanent disability would have been 99.999 percent. Thanks to the exceptional composure he had carried over from his previous life, the psychological damage was minimal, yet the thought of what could have happened still sent a chill down his spine.

And now they were calling it self-staged?

The reporter who had asked the question seemed to think Yoo Jae-won's reaction was significant, because he pressed forward with even more excitement.

"This is Donny Vermillion from Fox News. Please give a word to those claiming it was staged!"

A true yellow journalist. He had introduced his name and affiliation, yet phrased the question as if he were merely relaying what others were saying.

"You can refer to the FBI's official statement. That is my position."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

He could have simply ignored them and continued on, but Yoo Jae-won did not want to. The name of both ID Group and Yoo Jae-won himself needed to symbolize stability and trust. At the same time, directly saying yes or no felt undignified, so he had redirected the matter to the FBI.

Since the package had been taken away only that morning, the analysis results would emerge soon. Once they did, all talk of staging or copycats would vanish cleanly. However, with current technology, the process would take at least three or four days. It seemed he would have to endure the circus until then.

A short while later, with the bodyguards' assistance, Yoo Jae-won pushed through the reporters and entered Memorial Church. Fortunately, the journalists did not follow him inside. Even yellow journalists apparently drew the line at invading a house of worship.

"Jae-won! Over here!"

As soon as he stepped inside, Tiffany was the first to greet him. She had not been waiting exactly; she had been handing out programs at the entrance and had spotted him, then came running.

"Are you really okay?"

Even though they had spoken on the phone that morning, Tiffany asked again if he was all right.

"Yes, of course. The bomb didn't even go off, after all."

His mood had soured slightly because of the reporters, but Tiffany's genuine concern lifted it again. Moreover, she showed him a new side of herself every time they met. Today she wore a lively dress. At school she usually dressed casually, but for today's piano performance she had chosen something especially pretty.

Yoo Jae-won himself was wearing jeans and a white cotton t-shirt, but with a blazer thrown over it, standing beside Tiffany did not feel mismatched at all. He had originally found wearing a blazer bothersome, but leaving the coordination to Kim Dae-seok had clearly been the correct decision.

"Here, this is the program."

Tiffany handed him a pamphlet as well. It listed more than ten performers, and the entire recital would run over two hours. For a university club event, it was remarkably professional. Inside, a respectable number of people were already seated.

What was interesting was that most of the audience had their heads turned toward the entrance, peering curiously. Tiffany had called out to him in a particularly loud voice, so everyone seemed to have heard. Still, no one rushed over to ask about last night's incident or request an autograph. Perhaps because it was a classical music recital, the people in the seats remained well-mannered.

Yoo Jae-won walked briskly to the front row. The only seats where the bodyguards could sit beside him were in the front. Since the venue was a church, it appeared the rear rows had filled first.

Soon the time came and the recital began. The next two hours passed in the blink of an eye.

When the final performer's piece ended, applause poured forth. Yoo Jae-won joined the ovation, clapping until his palms turned red. While others were applauding because the tedious recital had finally finished, his applause was sincere.

The fundamental reason, of course, was that Tiffany had been the last performer.

She had played Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 14. Surprisingly, it exceeded all expectations. It seemed she had been playing piano since early childhood; the performance was far better than he had anticipated. The piece she chose was also more accessible than the others, making it pleasant to listen to.

Not every performance had reached Tiffany's level, however. After all the pieces concluded and people began leaving the church, Yoo Jae-won remained in his seat until the end. He was waiting for Tiffany, the final performer, to finish tidying up and come down from the stage.

"What did you think of our club's recital?"

"It was good."

His honest assessment was that it had been average. That score included Tiffany's final performance; looking only at the previous performers made him want to shake his head. Some had chosen difficult pieces despite lacking the skill, and mistakes had appeared frequently. Still, it was a hobby club for students and admission had been free, so the level was tolerable.

"Hehe, so it didn't quite live up to your expectations," Tiffany said, seeing straight through his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠polite words.

"Ah, that's not what I meant..."

A flustered Yoo Jae-won fumbled for a response.

"It's fine. It's just a hobby. By the way, would you play something for us too?"

Huh? What did she just say?

The question had come out of nowhere. He looked at Tiffany again, but she simply pointed at the piano with an innocent expression. He had no memory of ever telling her he could play. How had she known?

Regardless, Yoo Jae-won found himself walking onto the stage as if in a trance and sitting down in front of the piano. He briefly considered what to play. Something short would be best. One piece immediately came to mind: Chopin's Etude Op. 10, No. 12, known as the Revolutionary Etude.

He took a short breath while seated at the piano, recalling the memories from his previous life, then began to play.

The piece had always been passionate, but the events of last night and the pathetic reporters he had just encountered made his fingers strike the keys with even greater intensity. The short performance, two minutes and forty-four seconds long, poured out without a single pause for breath.

"Wow!"

Tiffany's gasp of admiration was expected, but even some of the people who had stood up to leave stopped in place to listen, eventually breaking into applause.

"This is a bit embarrassing now."

After finishing, he felt as if he had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠completely fallen for Tiffany's light provocation. If he had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠simply praised her more generously earlier, that would have been the end of it. Still, playing the piano after so long greatly improved his mood.

Afterward, through Tiffany's introduction, Yoo Jae-won exchanged greetings with the other club members. The fiery confrontation he had half-expected never materialized. In a typical teen drama, a club member secretly in love with Tiffany would have picked a fight with the outsider she had invited. Yet the upperclassmen and underclassmen of the classical music club were uniformly friendly toward him. They bonded instantly over their shared appreciation for classical instruments and music.

Thanks to that common ground, Yoo Jae-won felt no awkwardness even among strangers. He even joined them for the after-party.

A few days later.

"Sigh."

He had felt good after returning from the university, but that pleasant feeling had completely evaporated after just a few days. The pathetic reporters he had seen on campus had only been the preview.

Instead of focusing on the Unabomber's return after six years, the American media churned out sensational articles about Yoo Jae-won's personal life, speculating whether the incident had been staged or the work of a copycat. It was good that his success story was appearing in the press again. In one month, Nextcomm would begin ADSL service in the California region, and the marketing focus had been on success stories achieved through online platforms.

But the narrative had become badly distorted, turning into sensational claims of a self-orchestrated stunt. It seemed the commotion would only die down once the FBI, which had taken the package, issued an official statement confirming it was genuinely from the Unabomber.

Yoo Jae-won had not remained idle. Yesterday he had personally called Skinner, the head of the Unabomber task force, to ask when the analysis would be completed. Skinner had said he would notify him as soon as results were available, but there had still been no word.

"This guy really can't be a gentleman, can he?"

Speak of the devil. As Yoo Jae-won sat at the computer desk in his study grumbling about Skinner, an alarm sounded. It was the fax machine in the corner of the desk. The sound indicated an incoming transmission, and soon a sheet of paper emerged.

The FBI emblem was clearly visible at the top of the document.

"As expected, it's the genuine article."

Yoo Jae-won nodded as he quickly read through it. With so much media noise about staging and copycats, even he had begun to wonder. But the FBI's CSI analysis concluded that the bomb inside the package had been manufactured by the Unabomber.

They had left a 1% margin for the sake of absolute certainty, but an official document stating this much was as good as confirmation.

"Hm? Why is there nothing else?"

After reading the single-page document, Yoo Jae-won flipped it over just in case. The back was blank.

The reason for his surprise was that the only content was confirmation that the package bomb sent to him had come from the Unabomber. What he had been waiting for was not merely authentication.

"I offered to help for free, yet there's no response at all?"

On the day he had met with Skinner, Yoo Jae-won had clearly proposed assisting the Unabomber investigation using advanced computer analysis techniques. He had not asked for money. He had even stated that he would create the analytical computer tools himself. That proposal had been made five days ago.

If it had been ID Group, a conclusion would have been reached days earlier and action already underway. Yet the official document that arrived after five days contained not a single word about cooperation. There was no indication whether his offer had been rejected or accepted.

At this rate, he could neither wait patiently for the FBI's contact nor decide to assemble his own hunting team to move before another victim appeared. There was nothing Yoo Jae-won hated more than wasting time so pointlessly. Irritation surged up from deep inside him, accompanied by a rush of heat.