The Day After Technopia
The day after Technopia 1993, the procession of Yoo Jae-won and his entourage heading to Daejeon was nothing short of spectacular. Rolls-Royce sedans airlifted straight from the United States led the way, flanked on all sides by ID Group security teams. Behind them trailed a long line of group executives and attendants. More than ten vehicles moved in formation—an unprecedented display for a civilian entourage, rivaling even presidential motorcades in scale. To Jae-won, it all felt excessive.
Even as late as the end of the 1980s, violent crime had still been a regular occurrence in Korea. But after the declaration of the War on Crime and the steady purge that followed, the crime rate had plummeted. It had not yet reached twenty-first-century levels, yet Jae-won had no intention of wandering dark back alleys. The security detail struck him as overkill, but both Remington and Choi Kang-wook had insisted it was necessary, leaving him no choice but to accept it.
Upon entering Daejeon, the procession grew even longer. The city had added its own ceremonial escort. It could hardly be helped—ID Group was currently the largest investor in Daejeon. From the Expo pavilion to the LCD plant and Mirae Electronics, everything of consequence bore the ID Group name. The price of such prominence was constant scrutiny and the loss of any semblance of privacy, yet it also allowed them to shut down aggressive press coverage from the very start. Sometimes the veil of protocol had its advantages.
“Chairman Yoo, you must be exhausted after such a long journey!”
“Exhausted? Thanks to you, the trip was quite comfortable. And please, speak to me as you always have.”
The first person Jae-won sought out upon arrival was, naturally, Oh Myung, the former minister now serving as chairman of the Daejeon Expo 93 Organizing Committee. With the opening ceremony less than a month away, the committee’s headquarters had already relocated from Seoul to Daejeon. Though everyone was frantically busy with final preparations, Oh Myung had cleared his schedule the moment he heard Jae-won was coming. Among all the participating companies, ID Group was the only one showing genuine enthusiasm and providing real support. Other Korean conglomerates had built pavilions, but none matched ID Group’s level of commitment.
The Expo itself had been decided more by political logic than market logic, and most participating firms had been dragooned into joining. Jae-won, however, intended to use the event to showcase ID Group’s technological prowess to the world. He also saw it as an opportunity to present a vision of the utopia technology could create, offering a counter-narrative to the growing concerns over personal data in the IT age. For Oh Myung and the committee members tasked with making the Expo a success, Jae-won was nothing short of a godsend. He also remembered his roots and treated the older leaders with genuine respect, which only improved the reception he received.
“Haha, how could I possibly do that? When one’s position changes, so must the manner of address. You had best get used to it, Chairman Yoo.”
After receiving Oh Myung’s gracious words, Jae-won began his first official schedule.
“By the way, I hear ID Group intends to hire its own helpers directly?”
Oh Myung broached the subject carefully. In the twenty-first century the word “helper” had taken on different connotations, but at the time of the Expo it simply referred to volunteers in the best sense. The organizing committee had recruited young men and women from Daejeon and was currently training them. They would serve as interpreters for foreign visitors, provide directions, and guide guests through the exhibition halls. Uniforms had been designed for each role. The narrator helpers stationed inside the pavilions remained the most memorable; their selection had included appearance as a criterion alongside ability and enthusiasm.
“Yes. ID Group will deploy personnel selected through our own recruitment process.”
Jae-won was declining the helpers the committee had prepared. Logically and commercially, using the official volunteers made sense. Those young people had volunteered with genuine passion to help the Expo succeed. What bothered Jae-won was precisely that word—passion. Passion without compensation was simply unpaid labor, the very “passion pay” he had once endured.
After returning from military service in his previous life, he had joined a small software company and been exploited until he could no longer stand it. At first he had accepted the low pay because he was still learning, but even after he was pulling his own weight—and then some—the conditions never improved. The harder he worked, the more work was piled on. Eventually he had walked out and started his own business, turning misfortune into fortune. The memory, however, remained vivid even after regression. The current helpers did not even realize they were being exploited. Jae-won could not bring himself to participate in the same system.
“Of course, wages will be paid according to the duties performed.”
He could have simply accepted the committee’s helpers and looked the other way. But something inside him refused. The promise he had made when he quit that tiny software firm was that he would never again allow his own skills to be taken for free—and that if he used someone else’s skills for profit, he would pay them fairly. He had kept that promise while building ID Group, and the Expo would be no exception. He would not become the very exploiter he had once despised simply because his position had changed.
“How many do you plan to recruit?”
“Looking at the pavilion operation plan, we’ll need roughly three hundred.”
“Three hundred? Even though your pavilion is quite large, we estimated one hundred would suffice.”
“We’ll be running two shifts. With the enormous crowds expected every day, the physical demands will be far greater than at other events.”
Oh Myung and the other executives nodded. It was clear they would not change Jae-won’s mind, which raised questions of fairness with helpers assigned to other pavilions. Still, his confident prediction of massive attendance eased their expressions. For them, the success of the Expo itself outweighed any helper dispute. Trillions of won—public and private—had already been committed, yet confidence remained shaky. If Jae-won was certain the crowds would come, their greatest worry was suddenly lifted. The meeting that had begun with a hint of tension ended on a warm, amicable note. The issue of direct hiring was resolved by giving both participating companies and the helpers themselves the freedom to choose.
True to his usual speed, Jae-won immediately ordered the recruitment notice to be posted. The schedule called for alternating shifts every other day, with extra pay for weekend work. Those who completed a full month without absences would receive between 1.8 and 2 million won. The only drawback was the three-month short-term contract. Yet in 1993, few jobs offered women that level of compensation, so he expected plenty of applicants despite the temporary nature of the work.
Of course, 1.8 million won was relative. Compared with ordinary factory or service-sector part-time jobs it was substantial, but within ID Group it was not particularly high. It could not be compared with the salaries of programmers on the Redmond or Rodeo teams, and even the women working at the packaging plant in Deokjin-ri earned 70 to 80 percent of that amount. ID Group’s wage scale was deliberately set one or two levels above the market. Unlike other companies, ID Group paid its taxes in full, yet Jae-won preferred to channel money that might otherwise disappear into taxes toward higher employee compensation. Higher wages attracted better talent, which in turn strengthened the company’s competitiveness. As long as the level remained reasonable, the advantages far outweighed the costs.
“If it’s not too presumptuous, may I ask about your next schedule? We would be happy to guide you through the Expo pavilions.”
Oh Myung looked ready to personally escort Jae-won. Jae-won declined.
“No need. Visiting now would only disrupt the work. According to the briefing I received from Choi Kang-wook before leaving, the pavilions won’t take on a proper shape until at least mid-July. Rather than cause a commotion, it’s better to visit quietly with the people who actually need to see the site.”
Of course, the workers on site would have preferred he wait until everything was finished, but there were tasks only Jae-won could handle—server system setup, for example. Today’s schedule had already been set for the Mirae Electronics Second Factory and the ID LCD plant.
“Chairman Yoo! Welcome to Mirae Electronics!”
At the Second Semiconductor Factory, President Kim Young-hwan greeted Jae-won. On this sweltering summer day he had been waiting outside, sweat pouring down his face, yet he broke into a bright smile the moment Jae-won appeared and began the formal welcome. The sweat was so heavy it ran down the frames of his silver-rimmed glasses. Naturally, with the president present, all the Mirae Electronics executives under him were also standing by.
“Good to see you.”
As Jae-won shook hands, he wondered why they insisted on this unnecessary ordeal. He would have been perfectly content waiting inside an air-conditioned building. His preference for practicality applied equally inside and outside the group, which was why ID Group had long since minimized pointless ceremony—and companies that dealt with them regularly had followed suit. External firms like Mirae Electronics, however, still felt compelled to perform the full ritual.
Today’s schedule at the Second Semiconductor Factory included two ceremonies between ID Technology and Mirae Electronics: one for the provision of Coppermine process technology and a partnership agreement to further develop it, and another for the exclusive bulk supply of HPC-class DRAM to ID Technology. As the computer industry advanced, demand for memory chips would only grow. Prices would skyrocket as supply failed to keep pace, so Jae-won had moved early to secure volume. He would receive stable DRAM supplies; Mirae Electronics would have no worries about sales. Moreover, Jae-won was already Mirae Electronics’ largest shareholder and even held a stake in the entire Mirae Group. His relationship with founder Jeon Myeong-heon was known to be exceptionally close—closer, some whispered, than Jeon Myeong-heon’s relationship with his own designated successor, Jeon Jae-gu. Given Jae-won’s overwhelming presence, it was only natural that President Kim Young-hwan had come out in person.
After the welcome ceremony, the formal proceedings began. Both sides signed contracts they had already reviewed in detail. The working-level teams had fought fiercely over every clause—how to handle future price fluctuations in semiconductors, for example. Without such provisions there would be no point in signing a contract at all, yet a single poorly chosen word could cause serious losses, so the negotiations had been brutal. In the end, the agreements were structured so that neither side would suffer. Price adjustments would be reflected almost in real time, and Mirae Electronics would give ID Group’s volume requests top priority. They also signed a separate partnership agreement ensuring that any new semiconductor technologies developed by ID Technology would be offered to Mirae Electronics first. Naturally, nothing was free. ID Group would set the price, and Mirae Electronics would decide whether the technology’s value justified accepting it. Still, receiving advance notice ahead of competitors gave them a powerful strategic advantage.
After the signing, commemorative photographs were taken. Instead of holding the signed contracts, they posed with a wafer whose surface shimmered with rainbow colors depending on the angle. The wafer measured a full 200 mm in diameter. While other semiconductor companies still used 150 mm wafers, the Second Semiconductor Factory had been designed from the ground up for 200 mm wafers and had even been prepared for a future transition to 300 mm. Larger wafers naturally meant higher output. A 150 mm wafer had a surface area of 176 cm²; a 200 mm wafer reached 314 cm²—more than double the area, and therefore more than double the chip yield. Although the larger wafers were more expensive and carried a higher risk of defects, the sheer increase in volume improved price competitiveness dramatically. Combined with the Coppermine process, high-performance memory chips would soon pour out in volume.
The only remaining weakness was the level of process technology and memory design. The 64 Mbit chip design was reportedly complete, yet yields were still too low for mass production. The wafer Jae-won and Kim Young-hwan now held was not 64 Mbit but 16 Mbit. Its large size also made it difficult to mount many chips on a single memory card. Ilseong Electronics had already begun mass-producing 64 Mbit chips, so a gap in integration density was inevitable. Yet Mirae Electronics possessed its own decisive advantages. The chips carried HPC certification and ran at a blistering 150 MHz—the fastest memory chips currently available. Heat generation was low enough that no heat sink was required. Another advantage was price. A year earlier, memory had cost more than 80,000 won per megabyte; now it had fallen into the mid-40,000-won range. Four megabytes had become standard even in basic systems, while high-performance machines often carried eight. Once finer processes and 300 mm wafers came online, computers would become affordable to far more people, and far sooner than anyone expected.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
With the ceremonies concluded, Jae-won moved to his next appointment. President Kim Young-hwan tried to detain him for tea, but Jae-won’s schedule was already fixed. Visiting the LCD plant construction site on the outskirts of Daejeon was important, yet an even earlier meeting had been arranged—a secret rendezvous with the president of Ilseong Electronics. The man must have been in quite a hurry. Jae-won had only mentioned to Jeon Myeong-heon the previous day that he was willing to discuss Coppermine technology with Ilseong Electronics, and the response had arrived almost immediately. Jae-won disliked dragging out negotiations when the outcome was obvious, so he had suggested the following day. The other side had no room to refuse. Thanks to that, the meeting had been arranged at lightning speed.