Technopia's Dazzling Debut
The eve of the Kookmin PC Daejeon Expo was nothing short of spectacular. Fireworks burst nonstop, searchlights soared into the night sky, and a laser show—pushing the limits of 1990s technology—painted the heavens in vivid green. Every exhibition hall blazed with light, turning the grounds into a city that never slept. While a grand concert celebrating the opening filled the Expo plaza, one pavilion drew an extraordinary guest: the Technopia Pavilion prepared by ID Group. Its visitors were none other than South Korean Prime Minister Jeon Myeong-heon and U.S. Vice President Al Gore.
Dozens accompanied the two leaders, but the one actually explaining everything was Yoo Jae-won. “This is your ticket. You can either give your reservation number at the counter or enter it at the unmanned kiosk over there.” Thanks to Yoo Jae-won’s flawless command of both Korean and English, communication flowed smoothly. Of course, given the national scale of the event, both Jeon Myeong-heon and Al Gore had brought interpreters, so there would have been no real barrier even without him. Still, hearing the explanations directly carried a vividness that no translation could match.
Yoo Jae-won demonstrated by entering the reservation number himself at the unmanned kiosk. Reporters trailed the VIPs, so the demonstration he gave now would also serve as the first public showing for tomorrow’s ordinary visitors. He explained every detail and chose the least cumbersome method possible.
—Confirmed. Once the sixteen-digit number was entered, a short message appeared and tickets slid out in a steady stream. Quite a few tickets emerged at once, since they covered not only Yoo Jae-won, Jeon Myeong-heon, and Al Gore, but their entire entourages as well. Yoo Jae-won handed one to each person, adding that inside the pavilion the ticket also functioned as a pass for the experience booths.
“My word, unmanned ticketing. That will be convenient when crowds gather,” Al Gore remarked, impressed even before stepping inside. It was understandable—by the 2000s such machines would be commonplace, but in 1993 this was something Yoo Jae-won was unveiling for the first time. Combined with online reservations, the system was unmatched in convenience. Most importantly, it showcased from the very entrance how IT technology could transform daily life, so the tech-savvy Al Gore could not help but be moved.
“Oh, this is only the beginning. There are far more surprises waiting inside the pavilion.”
“If the chairman himself is making such a promise, I’m dying to see what lies ahead. What do you think, Mr. Prime Minister?”
Al Gore responded to Yoo Jae-won while still making sure to include Jeon Myeong-heon.
“Haha, our chairman here never speaks empty words. That’s why he doesn’t make promises lightly. But when he does, he never disappoints.”
Jeon Myeong-heon chimed in with praise right on cue. Though no collusion was involved, the exchange was almost embarrassingly warm. Yoo Jae-won quickly guided the two men toward the entrance. In that moment, Al Gore, Jeon Myeong-heon, and Yoo Jae-won became the Technopia Pavilion’s very first recorded visitors.
“Good heavens!”
As expected, Al Gore gasped the instant they stepped inside. A massive wall—five meters tall and twenty meters wide—dominated the entrance, every inch of it an LCD display. Nearly a thousand of Sharp’s latest 24-inch panels had been joined together to create an enormous multi-vision screen. Though the bezels had improved since the early models, they remained thick, a fatal flaw for multi-vision setups. Yoo Jae-won had minimized the visual distraction by overlaying high-refractive-index glass on the bezels. When displaying fine detail the seams still showed, but when showing clouds or mist the effect became convincingly seamless. He had leaned into this characteristic to create a dreamy video that gave the impression of leaving the mundane world and entering utopia. Shot on IMAX film, the image quality was superb, and with high-end speakers arranged in three dimensions and premium amplifiers, the sound was flawless as well.
“This is our Infinity Display technology. While the current size is already impressive, we can add as many LCD panels as desired to make the screen arbitrarily large.”
Yoo Jae-won explained the technology with perfect nonchalance. In theory the screen could grow without limit, but in practice image quality would degrade while power consumption and cost would skyrocket, so a reasonable size was preferable. The bezel issue also caused noticeable distortion at extreme scales. Even so, the display was more than large enough to be recognized as the biggest of its kind in existence. The only pity was that today the hall was quiet enough for leisurely appreciation; starting tomorrow, the expected flood of visitors would make such calm viewing impossible. Still, the core technology had been proven, and any company or entrepreneur with interest would surely make inquiries.
Beyond the Infinity Display lay a vast lobby lined with two hundred New Egg 2 PCs—none of which had even been released yet. The Technopia Pavilion was a three-story U-shaped structure whose central open space had been converted into a PC-bang-style lounge. Visitors could either rush straight to the computers or follow the clockwise loop to enjoy the experience booths ID Group had prepared.
“What is this place?”
“It’s an IT cultural space. When it comes to experiencing the latest computer technology, nothing beats trying it yourself.”
Yoo Jae-won led the two men to the nearest PC and demonstrated how to use the ticket. A bill slot on the side of the desk accepted the ticket like a vending machine; once inserted, the previously locked computer unlocked and the Android 2.0 desktop appeared. There was one small difference—the wallpaper moved. Because even the New Egg 2 felt insufficient, he had created a special animated wallpaper with effects that would look extraordinary to anyone accustomed only to static screens. It was no exaggeration to say it felt like using a twenty-first-century computer. Of course, beyond the visual flair the feature consumed resources with no other practical benefit.
Yoo Jae-won immediately connected to Nextcom 2.0 and pulled up an article about Al Gore’s visit to the Daejeon Expo. The neatly formatted story even included a palm-sized video clip. Al Gore was utterly captivated. Jeon Myeong-heon, however, remained impassive. Anyone familiar with computers would have recognized how revolutionary the display was, but for someone like the prime minister whose experience with the technology was nonexistent, the impact was lost.
That was why Yoo Jae-won had prepared something else.
A low, resonant hum filled the air as an object materialized in the lobby.
“Jae-won-ah! What in the world is that?”
Jeon Myeong-heon was so genuinely startled that even his rarely used dialect slipped out.
“It’s called a drone. Because it has four propellers, it’s also known as a quadcopter—an unmanned aerial vehicle controlled wirelessly.”
The drone descended from the lobby ceiling, a far cry from the duct-tape prototypes once flown at the high-tech research lab. Its carbon-fiber frame, commissioned from Lightning Bolt, was sleek and lightweight. The motors were high-performance, low-power units from a Japanese small-to-medium enterprise under the Shin Japan Investment Bank. The stability sensors came from a micro-sensor specialist under ID Technology, and a high-end digital camera with anti-shake gimbal sat at the center bottom—another ID Technology and high-tech research lab creation. It was the pinnacle of technology only ID Group could produce.
“Please look over there.”
Yoo Jae-won pointed to another Infinity Screen installed in the center of the lobby. Though only a third the size of the entrance display, its resolution was sharp enough to clearly distinguish individual faces even from a distance. On the screen appeared Yoo Jae-won, Al Gore, and Jeon Myeong-heon—the live feed from the drone. That alone was impressive, but there was more. Rectangular frames instantly outlined each person’s face, and names appeared beside them. It was real-time video analysis, one of the fundamental drone technologies of the twenty-first century, executed here and now. Even Jeon Myeong-heon, who had little computer experience, stared with his mouth agape, as did the accompanying reporters.
Of course, there was a trick involved. Because wide-band wireless data transmission did not yet exist, the drone was physically tethered by cable to both the controller and the server. A safety rope had been attached in case of sudden malfunction, but its real purpose was power and data transmission. Still, the impact was undeniable. To the people of this era, it was technology from another dimension.
“Shall we move on to the experience booths now?”
Neither man objected to Yoo Jae-won’s suggestion. Normally, VIPs at such events would make a cursory tour before heading to lavish dinners, but today was different. Both were brimming with childlike curiosity, and Yoo Jae-won could feel their genuine eagerness to experience everything firsthand.
He guided them through more than ten meticulously prepared booths. They tried sticker photo machines that made them look at least twenty years younger, took selfies on tablet PCs with various effects, printed the results instantly, and uploaded them to Nextcom. The post shot straight to the top of the popularity rankings. Because comments were enabled, netizens from both Korea and the United States began flocking to it like a pilgrimage site. For future historians of the internet, the post stood a strong chance of being recorded as the very first selfie verification in history.
The two men were so absorbed that they lost track of time until the dinner hour was nearly upon them. Their reactions dominated the nine o’clock news that evening, sparking an enormous response. Though the broadcast footage had been framed to highlight the individuals as much as possible, the drone and Infinity Display still featured prominently.
—Chairman, the reservation site has crashed!
Kim Taek-soo, in charge of server management during the Expo period, sounded frantic. Barely an hour had passed since the news aired.
“Really?”
Even Yoo Jae-won found it hard to believe at first. The reaction had been so overwhelming that the exhibition reservation site had gone down. The silver lining was that the servers themselves had not collapsed entirely—thanks to the mainframe IBM had sold to the Korean Nextcom servers. Though it had been extraordinarily expensive at the time, it had since been overshadowed by the cloud server system Yoo Jae-won had developed. When it came to stability, the traditional mainframe still delivered. That was why banks and similar institutions continued relying on mainframes well into the early twenty-first century.
“How many concurrent users?”
—Over fifty thousand per minute.
“Good grief.”
Even Yoo Jae-won could not help but be astonished. Fifty thousand simultaneous connections represented roughly two-thirds of Nextcom’s peak concurrent users. Since a clear distinction still existed between internet and PC-communication users, it was fair to say that virtually everyone capable of accessing the internet had rushed to the site. It was only a simple reservation page with no virtual tour or additional content. Yet the moment the address appeared on the news, people had connected out of sheer curiosity.
It was clear they needed to separate genuine reservation seekers from casual browsers. Yoo Jae-won had originally planned a Technopia online pavilion, but preliminary surveys suggested low demand, and since he had no memory of visiting the Daejeon Expo’s own internet site in his previous life, the idea had been shelved. An archive site summarizing the event’s success and records had been slated for after the Expo. Today’s reaction, however, far exceeded expectations.
“We’ll need to open a Technopia online pavilion for those who want to explore virtually—and we’ll need to do it as quickly as possible. If we don’t clearly separate it from the reservation system, the very convenience we built may end up causing chaos on-site.”
—Understood! We already have preparations in place, so it shouldn’t take long.
Adapting plans to reality was one of Yoo Jae-won and ID Group’s greatest strengths. Kim Taek-soo answered without hesitation, clearly having already formulated countermeasures before making the call.
After hanging up, Yoo Jae-won considered the situation briefly. A few days of confusion were inevitable, but nothing catastrophic. Reservations for the pavilion had opened a week earlier, and many schools had already booked. Even if the site remained hectic for the next several days, the exhibition halls would not stand empty. Naturally, schools such as Deokjin Elementary and the middle and high schools in Yeoju had secured their slots long ago.
One regret was that Yoo Jae-won would be departing the country in two days and thus unable to personally welcome them as host. The principal of Deokjin Elementary had already retired, but the homeroom teacher remained, making the timing especially unfortunate. Postponing his departure was impossible; during his extended stay in Korea, matters in the United States had piled up to the point they could no longer be delayed. Numerous major issues also required his direct oversight, so the original plan had been to attend the opening ceremony and fly to America immediately afterward.
Yet reality rarely followed plans. Although Yoo Jae-won successfully completed the opening ceremony, his departure was once again postponed. One variable had been anticipated around this time: the sudden implementation of the real-name financial transaction system. The other was a group-level business matter—Chairman Choi Hyun-hee’s abrupt visit. After sending Kim Hyuk-soo to negotiate the Coppermine technology deal and receiving nothing but empty promises, the true master of Ilseong Group had finally taken his heavy steps forward.