The Blue House Call
Yoo Jae-won had been ready to reach a quick conclusion, but he realized he needed a little more time to think it through.
“Father, do I have to give you an answer right now? There are a few things I still need to review.”
—Ah, no need for that! Take a few days if you must.
“No, I won’t need that long. An hour should be enough.”
—All right. Even if you decide against it, don’t feel pressured.
Yoo Bong-man added that last part just in case his son felt burdened. Yoo Jae-won smiled faintly.
“Come on, what burden could there be in becoming president of a small sports association? It’s just that a couple of things are bothering me. I’ll call you back soon.”
Of course, Yoo Jae-won felt no pressure at all about taking the helm of a minor Korean sports association. The two pillars of ID Group—ID Technology and ID Investment—were growing rapidly, raking in money at an astonishing pace.
A quick look at ID Group’s current state made its solid growth unmistakable. ID Technology, the group’s foundation, was expanding steadily. The computer market was growing five to six percent every month, which translated to at least twenty percent per quarter and eighty to ninety percent annually. Every computer flying off the shelves came preloaded with the Android operating system.
Recent advertising revenue had surpassed fifty million dollars, while the ad-free version preinstalled on corporate machines generated another thirty million dollars in monthly sales. Enterprise edition sales were still in the low millions, but the corporate operating-system market was expanding rapidly as well. ID Office and Doom 2 continued to sell in huge volumes—over a million copies of ID Office and hundreds of thousands of Doom 2 every month. Nextcomcast collected monthly fees from five million subscribers, and ADSL sign-ups were climbing fast. A few users delayed payments or tampered with set-top boxes, but revenue remained steady.
The data centers were in a similar position. Although expenses were high, schools and companies leasing servers or using cloud services were increasing, turning the operation profitable. Yet ID Technology was not solely focused on moneymaking ventures. Numerous startups under its umbrella, including Hi-Tech, were researching future technologies such as mobile devices—organizations that operated far from immediate profitability.
The semiconductor division, launched only months earlier, was a prime example of a cash-burning black hole. Semiconductor equipment cost billions of won per unit, and the researchers operating it commanded high salaries. Although the Coppermine technology had delivered a major breakthrough, the decision to license it at low cost to advance the industry meant expenses still outpaced revenue. Even so, the sheer scale of ID Group’s earnings made funding the semiconductor division and other startups effortless.
“Ah, right—the hardware division too.”
Finally, the relatively small hardware arm of the Android division was also turning a profit. Joysticks and pads equipped with Live Force Feedback had become essential items for gamers, boosting USB adoption in the process. New models with enhanced Live Force Feedback features were driving sales, and other peripheral manufacturers were actively adopting the technology, resulting in healthy licensing revenue.
In contrast to the thriving ID Technology, ID Investment was in a brief consolidation phase. Having already written two legendary investment stories, it was now preparing a third. Unlike the previous short-term windfalls, this one was planned over a longer horizon. To outsiders it might appear to be stalling, and Korean newspapers had indeed run such articles—chief among them Daehan Ilbo, which harbored clear animosity toward Yoo Jae-won. The pieces claimed his investment instincts were fading or that two successes had made him arrogant.
Yet the criticism carried little weight. As summer arrived, major IT stocks such as IBM had fallen seventeen percent, their share prices dropping from twelve dollars into the ten-dollar range. Still, few investors withdrew funds from ID Investment; their trust in Yoo Jae-won remained firm. Some even increased their commitments, believing the lower entry point offered better value. While the sudden implementation of the real-name financial system had frozen the broader market, ID Investment alone remained buoyant.
It was a wise choice. Following newspaper articles that distorted facts for political gain would only have cost investors money. Although the press portrayed ID Investment as being all-in on stocks, its portfolio was far more diversified. Investments in films and music albums were expected to generate substantial returns the following year. As an angel investor in Silicon Valley, ID Investment had also backed numerous promising companies. While typical angel portfolios needed one success out of a hundred to break even, ID Investment was poised to demonstrate an entirely different hit rate—given enough time.
“Handball, huh.”
Yoo Jae-won viewed his father’s potential appointment as handball association president favorably, though his distrust of Korean sports associations ran deep. It was often said that only archery truly functioned properly; most associations were hotbeds of corruption. Handball, despite lacking a professional league, was no exception. Irregularities in national-team selection were routine, and incidents of assault or scandal were common. Accepting the presidency risked tarnishing both his father’s name and ID Group’s reputation.
Yet the position was not without advantages. The handball association had yet to receive official recognition from the Korea Sports Council. Securing that recognition would open the door to broader influence within the council itself. Starting with handball, Yoo Jae-won could gradually extend ID Group’s reach into the entire sports world. In return, substantial investment would be required, but he was more than willing to open his wallet if it meant cleansing the sports world of the corruption that had flourished under chaebol dominance. This was not born of altruism but of a desire for revenge. He could never allow the companies that had wronged him in his previous life to prosper.
The master plan already included intervention when a major scandal erupted in the sports world in the early twenty-first century. If his father established a foothold in advance, the plan could be executed with even greater certainty. The price would be investment in handball’s development, but the sums involved were modest. There were few corporate handball teams, and only a handful of schools fielded squads. It was remarkable that such a narrow base continued to produce Olympic medalists. In any case, ID Foundation already received substantial annual donations from the group, so funding would not be an issue.
The phone rang again just as Yoo Jae-won’s thoughts were settling into a positive conclusion. He assumed it was his father calling back, but Kim Dae-seok’s startled expression after answering suggested otherwise. After a brief exchange, Kim Dae-seok’s eyes widened—an unusual reaction even when speaking with corporate presidents or governors. Yoo Jae-won’s curiosity sharpened.
“It’s the Blue House Chief of Staff’s office.”
The Blue House? Once the caller’s identity was revealed, Yoo Jae-won found the matter rather mundane. Kim Dae-seok, who had lived through the military dictatorship, might still feel the weight of presidential authority, but Yoo Jae-won had seen far too much to be intimidated. Still, he could not guess why the Blue House was contacting him now.
“Hello? This is Yoo Jae-won.”
—Is this ID Group Chairman Yoo? This is Park Gwang-yong.
Park Gwang-yong? The name immediately surfaced from the personnel files stored in Yoo Jae-won’s Memory Palace. Park Gwang-yong was not merely a secretary but the Chief of Staff himself. Before taking the post he had been a National Assembly member and had resigned his seat upon moving to the Blue House. His political roots lay in the Democratic Liberal Party. He had served as President Kim Young-sam’s right-hand man, later becoming a presidential special advisor and then regional chairman in Busan ahead of the next general election. His ability to secure comfortable positions was itself a talent, and in that sense Park Gwang-yong was highly capable. It would have been better had he used that talent for the nation, but he was not that kind of man. He had repeatedly involved himself in various interests, accepted bribes, and had even stood in the prosecutor’s photo line.
“Yes? What is it?”
Yoo Jae-won’s tone was naturally less than cordial. Park Gwang-yong, unaccustomed to such bluntness from business leaders, was visibly flustered. Every executive he had ever dealt with had been excessively deferential. The single phrase “Yes? What is it?” left him deeply offended. Yet he could not simply hang up; as Chief of Staff, he was conveying the President’s wishes, and it was President Kim Young-sam’s intent that had prompted the call in the first place.
—President Kim Young-sam will be visiting the United States in November for a Korea-U.S. summit. There will be a dinner with overseas Koreans, and the President hopes you will attend.
President Kim’s U.S. visit was still three months away. Yoo Jae-won found it curious that the schedule was being finalized so far in advance. ID Group usually prepared Yoo Jae-won’s calendar roughly a month ahead, though his frequent spontaneous decisions made it far more complex in practice. Still, when the President himself was involved, locking in the date early made sense.
“It would be an honor. Please let me know the exact date and I’ll review my schedule and get back to you.”
—What? What did you say?
Park Gwang-yong finally lost his temper and slipped into informal speech. From his perspective, a personal invitation from the President to such a prestigious event should have been accepted immediately. Being told that Yoo Jae-won would “review his schedule” sounded unbearably arrogant. Nevertheless, Yoo Jae-won fully intended to attend if possible. President Kim had viewed him as an adversary since the election and apparently still harbored resentment—evidenced by the fact that ID Investment had been the most frequently investigated financial firm after the real-name financial system took effect.
—Listen here, Chairman Yoo. I’m well aware that you proposed the Kookmin PC project to the Prime Minister. For that project to succeed, cooperation from the Blue House is essential. This attitude of yours is going to cause problems.
Park Gwang-yong could never resist revealing his true colors. Mentioning the Kookmin PC project was particularly telling and lowered Yoo Jae-won’s estimation of the man’s political acumen another notch. After all, Yoo Jae-won stood to gain nothing from the Kookmin PC initiative. The beneficiaries were Korean PC manufacturers and the high-ranking officials who would select the designated suppliers. The more PCs sold, the greater Yoo Jae-won’s losses, as the subsidy burden would balloon.
“Pardon? I said I would gladly attend. I merely wanted to check whether it conflicts with any White House invitation. And if you examine the Kookmin PC project, I’m the one absorbing the losses. I’m rather disappointed you would think otherwise.”
—You have a White House invitation?
Meeting authority with authority was the most effective approach. At the mention of the White House, Park Gwang-yong’s displeased tone vanished. Even President Kim Young-sam, whose approval rating exceeded eighty percent at home, wielded little influence in the United States—and the same held true for Yoo Jae-won.
“Yes.”
Yoo Jae-won kept his answer short, offering no further explanation. Park Gwang-yong clearly sensed the slight but could not afford to express anger. Moreover, the revelation that the Kookmin PC project brought Yoo Jae-won no benefit shattered every assumption he had made before placing the call.
—Understood. I’ll contact you once the detailed schedule is confirmed.
Having suffered a complete defeat, Park Gwang-yong raised the white flag and ended the call.
“President Kim apparently wants to invite me to a dinner during his November U.S. visit. I intend to accept, so when the call comes, please handle it at the secretariat level.”
Yoo Jae-won handed the receiver to Kim Dae-seok and gave instructions regarding the dinner. There was nothing tangible to gain from attending, but he wanted to gauge the depth of President Kim’s hostility toward him firsthand.
Meanwhile, the car had already arrived at the new house and come to a stop. Judging by the atmosphere, it had been waiting for some time. Yoo Jae-won stepped out and entered his new home with a light heart.
Several weeks passed. Mid-August had arrived, yet San Francisco’s weather remained pleasantly autumnal. During that time Yoo Jae-won hosted a housewarming party for Tiffany and company executives. His parents and relatives from Korea visited shortly afterward, concerned after hearing about the various incidents that had prompted the move. Seeing his bright demeanor, they were reassured. Having personally received a mail bomb and felt only momentary displeasure, Yoo Jae-won’s mental fortitude was unshakable—tempered by the countless trials of his previous life. The recent paparazzi troubles were nothing compared with what he had already endured.
Before Stanford’s semester began, he took his parents and relatives on several days of sightseeing: a Grand Canyon tour, Disneyland, Major League Baseball games, and even deep-sea fishing aboard a rented three-deck yacht. While enjoying what amounted to an unofficial vacation, several developments occurred.
Yoo Bong-man was elected president of the handball association, and in celebration ID Foundation donated one billion won to a handball development fund. To Yoo Jae-won the sum was insignificant, yet the association was deeply moved—it was the first time such substantial support had arrived since its founding. Even after winning gold at the ’88 Olympics, the association had offered no rewards beyond the government’s medal pension due to chronic underfunding. The situation had changed so dramatically that articles now appeared noting how athletes from other sports envied handball players.
The Kookmin PC project also launched.
As Yoo Jae-won had predicted, subsidies were not extended to every PC. The Kookmin PC Project Group had been established, and only PCs meeting certain specifications from small and medium-sized manufacturers would be designated as Kookmin PCs. Korean PC makers and Yongsan computer shops began dreaming big. Among them, one company moved first.
President Lee Sung-soo, who had returned to Korea, had been quietly waiting for the Kookmin PC project to begin. While Korea buzzed over the initiative, a similar atmosphere prevailed in the American computer industry.
AMD became the first CPU maker to confirm an HPC CPU launch date. The new processor was named K6, with the top model rated PR400. Yoo Jae-won wished they had abandoned the Performance Rating system entirely, yet it had been carried over into the HPC era. The retail package that arrived at his door revealed an actual clock speed of 333 MHz—an enormous leap from the previous flagship that had barely exceeded 100 MHz. Equally eye-catching was the cooler, roughly the size of two adult fists. Though smaller than the tower cooler Yoo Jae-won had gifted earlier, it remained dramatically oversized. The 333 MHz figure and PR400 rating made it clear just how hard the chip had been pushed, with the massive cooler as proof.
Intel did not remain idle.
Like AMD, Intel held a launch event and sent Yoo Jae-won a sample. Although it arrived a step behind and ran 33 MHz slower, Intel’s microarchitecture proved more efficient. Benchmark tests showed the Pentium II roughly five percent faster. It also ran cooler than AMD’s chip; the stock cooler was flat like a Choco Pie, with a copper core at the contact point that aided performance. Most importantly, Intel emphasized that the chip would be available at retail on launch day—pointedly contrasting AMD’s weaker distribution network, which often left products unavailable even days after release.
Yoo Jae-won knew Intel’s original target had been around September 20, but AMD had struck first. With both companies announcing competitively, the HPC computer era had officially begun.