The Summit Revealed
Gresham's Law:Bad money drives out good. — Thomas Gresham (1519–1579)
On November 9, dark clouds gathered over the sky as if to celebrate Prime Minister Jeon Myeong-heon's return from North Korea via the Panmunjom land route, accompanied by his sons and entourage. Then the first snow of the season began to fall. The scene was not so different from when they had crossed Panmunjom with the herd of cattle. Countless domestic and foreign cameras focused their spotlights on Jeon Myeong-heon, firing off questions. Though he had lived a life of major decisions as chairman of Mirae Group, he had never before received this level of attention. Only one thing had changed: Jeon Myeong-heon's response. Before the visit north, he had answered reporters' questions with patience at Panmunjom. This time, however, he offered only a brief reply—"Thanks to all of you, the trip went well"—before boarding the waiting car under the tight protection of his security detail. His two sons behaved the same way. The youngest, Jeon Jae-jun, was still in exile on Jeju Island, but Jeon Jae-gu, chairman of Mirae Construction, and Jeon Jae-geun, chairman of Mirae Heavy Industries, had accompanied their father north. They too had been open to interviews before the trip; now they climbed into their cars without a single word. The rest of the delegation followed suit without question.
Witnessing this, the media began issuing breaking reports suggesting the visit had not gone well. Conservative outlets had already been sharply critical of sending the prime minister as a special envoy and of the massive gift of cattle, arguing that the optics made it look as though South Korea was bowing first. Just as the family had gathered at Yoo Jae-won's house a few days earlier to watch the broadcast of the visit, relatives assembled again today.
"What are we going to do? It seems the prime minister's visit didn't yield much," Yoo Jae-won's mother said, her voice already colored by the media's negative tone as she watched the television.
His father and uncle soon echoed similar concerns. Yoo Jae-won, by contrast, wore an expression of calm that bordered on nonchalance. He had received no prior word from Jeon Myeong-heon while the latter was still in the North, but the prime minister's demeanor upon arrival had told him everything he needed to know: the results were firmly in hand.
"I think it went quite well, actually."
"What? What do you mean?"
Yoo Jae-won had seen this pattern many times before—both in the reactions of the press and in the carefully measured expressions of high-ranking officials during major summits. With his memories of a previous life intact, the signs were unmistakable. Something enormous had been achieved, and everyone was managing their words and faces to prevent any leaks before the official announcement.
That evening, an urgent bulletin from the Blue House interrupted regular programming. Every major broadcast channel carried the same feed. Until moments before the announcement, Yoo Jae-won had been playing the Warcraft demo. The memory was so old it had faded like an aged photograph, yet the moment he started playing, nostalgia came flooding back.
"It's pretty much the same as before."
His expectations had been high, but the experience felt little different from what he remembered. The resolution was locked at VGA, so the visuals lacked detail. Still, the developers had clearly paid attention to the smooth movement of units; nothing felt stiff. The distinctive sound effects that played with every click remained unchanged—Orc units spoke in a guttural, rumbling style, while Human units had a smoother, almost buttery tone.
"Interesting that you have to connect roads before buildings can be placed."
Playing revealed several unnecessary limitations. Buildings could not be constructed on bare ground; at least one side had to touch a road. It felt borrowed from Dune II. The Human and Orc factions differed only in graphics and sound effects; their units and buildings matched one-to-one with no unique characteristics. Whether this was because the game was still in alpha or because the design had already been finalized, he could not tell. In his memory, Orcs had been able to summon powerful demons or receive temporary invulnerability buffs, while Humans had healing spells, long-range archers, and water elementals—none of which appeared in the current build.
Yet the game was not merely outdated. It had introduced distinctive features absent from Dune II, most notably the dual-resource system of mining gold and chopping lumber. The ability to group multiple units into a single formation and the presence of special abilities on certain units also gave it personality. Overall, while several shortcomings were evident, the core gameplay was undeniably strong—especially the background music and sound effects. On a machine equipped with a high-quality MIDI sound chip and DSP, the audio quality was excellent. Because it was a pure 2D title with no 3D effects, it ran smoothly even on 486 computers.
"A few more refinements and it'll turn out well."
Yoo Jae-won took notes on the shortcomings while he played. He had promised to respect Silicon & Synapse's corporate culture and not interfere with their development process, so his notes were suggestions rather than directives. Whether the company accepted them would be up to management, but he believed the advice was sound enough that an open-minded team would listen.
"I could also help improve the quality of the cinematic sequences."
Silicon & Synapse's strength lay in the short video sequences that played during the opening and between missions. While other studios relied on still images or text, Silicon & Synapse inserted brief animated clips. These would later evolve into the high-quality CG cinematics the studio became known for, but the opening movie included in the demo was still rough.
"We could use the data center as a render farm."
The Coyote City data center was already running at full capacity, so dedicating it to rendering was impractical. The new New York facility being built to serve the East Coast would work instead. It was still only a paper plan at this stage; originally the company had considered a suburban site near New York, but after purchasing the building in Manhattan, installing the servers in the basement seemed far more secure. Once funding was released, the facility would be completed within months—more than enough time to assist with rendering the cinematics for Warcraft.
"Jae-won! The Blue House announcement is starting!"
"Coming!"
Yoo Jae-won set aside his notes and hurried to the living-room television. The feed showed the familiar Blue House press briefing room. President Kim stood at the podium, the camera framed in a tight bust shot that revealed nothing of his surroundings. His expression was resolute, the look of a man who had accomplished something significant. He began to speak.
"I will now report to the nation on the results of Prime Minister Jeon Myeong-heon's visit to North Korea, which took place on November 5, 1993. As a displaced person himself..."
The opening remarks focused on Jeon Myeong-heon's personal history and praised his lifelong longing for his hometown. The president explained how Jeon had worked tirelessly across multiple channels to visit the North even once, and how that dream had finally been realized on November 5.
"Accordingly, during the visit I sent a personal letter to Chairman Kim Il-sung through Prime Minister Jeon Myeong-heon. The letter contained my sincere proposal for a historic inter-Korean summit dedicated to national reconciliation and unification."
Yoo Jae-won's ears pricked up at the mention of the letter.
"After some difficulty, the letter was delivered, and a reply was received."
President Kim paused to sip water, then dropped the bombshell.
"It has been agreed that the first inter-Korean summit will be held in Pyongyang on May 1, 1994. In addition, a reunion of separated families will be arranged in March as a preliminary step toward healing the wounds of division."
"Whoa! Incredible!"
Yoo Jae-won clenched both fists. May 1—his suggestion that any summit should occur before summer had been taken seriously. While May 1 was still slightly risky, it was two months earlier than Kim Il-sung's death, greatly improving the chances of success. The prospect of a forward-looking outcome from a meeting between Kim Young-sam and Kim Il-sung suddenly felt much more plausible. Though Kim Il-sung bore responsibility for the fratricidal tragedy of the Korean War, negotiating with him was still preferable to dealing with Kim Jong-il, who was far more prone to betrayal. Even more surprising was the announcement of the family reunion—an idea Yoo Jae-won himself had not anticipated. In 1993, the number of living separated family members was far higher than he had imagined. Before the president had even finished speaking, cheers and applause erupted among the reporters gathered in the briefing room. Such an unrestrained reaction inside the normally solemn and authoritarian Blue House underscored just how monumental the news was.
"Prime Minister Jeon, who personally led the delegation, will now provide further details."
As President Kim stepped down, Jeon Myeong-heon took the podium. Thunderous applause filled the room, yet the prime minister's expression remained distinctly sour. Yoo Jae-won understood immediately. Jeon had secured two achievements—the summit and the family reunion—that could have been breaking news worldwide. Yet President Kim had claimed both announcements for himself. From Jeon's perspective, the president had stolen his thunder. While the summit itself could only be announced by the president, the family reunion had been achieved through Jeon's own diplomatic skill.
"Good evening, fellow citizens. I will now report on the results of the three-day cattle delegation visit to North Korea from November 5 to 9."
Jeon Myeong-heon was still Jeon Myeong-heon. The moment he stood before the cameras, the displeased expression vanished and he launched into a clear, measured explanation. He began by expressing regret that, with so many separated families across the nation, he alone had been able to visit the North. Then, in a far warmer tone than the president, he recounted the events in Pyongyang—how he had directly raised the topics of the summit and family reunions with Kim Il-sung.
"We also received a positive response regarding inter-Korean economic cooperation. North Korea has agreed to establish a special economic zone in Sinuiju and open part of it to foreign investment. South Korean companies will be welcome to participate. In addition, cooperation on tourism development at Mount Kumgang has been confirmed."
Beyond the two major announcements already made by President Kim, Jeon Myeong-heon carried additional results. It appeared the Blue House and the prime minister's office had coordinated in advance, dividing the announcements between them.
"Building on these achievements, both sides have agreed to strengthen mutual trust so that family reunions can be regularized and various cooperative projects can be pursued."
"North Korea must have been deeply moved by the cattle," someone remarked.
"Exactly. They were ready to shoot down planes not long ago, and now it feels like unification could happen any day."
The defining characteristic of North Korea was that the country's mood and posture could shift like reeds in the wind according to the dictator's whim. With nuclear development proving difficult and Russian aid drying up as Moscow's economy collapsed, Pyongyang had apparently decided it was time to seek its own path forward.
"In return, we have also agreed to show goodwill by repatriating long-term unconverted prisoners."
There was no such thing as unconditional generosity. The cattle alone had apparently been insufficient; the return of the unconverted prisoners had been added to the deal. For South Korea, sending back troublesome figures in exchange for family reunions was, on balance, a favorable arrangement. At the same time, the Blue House's calculation was clear. The two largest, most impactful items had been reserved for President Kim, while the smaller packages—and the potentially controversial ones—were left for Jeon Myeong-heon to announce. Repatriating the prisoners, gifting cattle, and pursuing economic cooperation were all issues that could later be criticized. Jeon Myeong-heon was certainly aware of this. Yoo Jae-won resolved to call him the next day and offer some reassurance.
The following evening.
"You must be exhausted."
"Don't even ask. I can't put into words how tense I was in the North."
At the prime minister's official residence in Samcheong-dong, Yoo Jae-won sat beside Jeon Myeong-heon. The Blue House had requested a follow-up meeting to hear about the events in Pyongyang, but Jeon had cited fatigue from the trip and come home instead. Even the president could not complain; after all, the family-reunion announcement had originally been meant to be Jeon's moment. President Kim's excitement had simply gotten the better of him. That explained the sour expression Yoo Jae-won had seen on television the previous day.
Jeon Myeong-heon was not merely the prime minister—he was also the leader of the Unification National Party, which was in coalition with the ruling Democratic Liberal Party. Even after stepping down as party chairman, his influence remained stronger than that of any official leader. If he were to dissolve the coalition over yesterday's slight, the ruling party's majority would collapse and governing would become extremely difficult. Moreover, while the National Intelligence Service, the Ministry of Unification, and even China had been working behind the scenes to arrange the summit, Jeon Myeong-heon was the only person who had met Kim Il-sung face-to-face. The Blue House's attempt to summon him earlier had been less about official business and more about soothing his wounded pride.
Meanwhile, President Kim, who had claimed the two biggest announcements, was enjoying the political windfall. Modern polling had already arrived in Korea after the last presidential election, and regular approval-rating surveys were now standard. An emergency poll conducted after the announcement had produced an astonishing result: approval in the mid-80s. The impulsive president was pleased with the numbers yet anxious about Jeon Myeong-heon's reaction. His concern proved unnecessary. Though Jeon had been visibly displeased at the time, he now seemed to have moved past it. Sitting with Yoo Jae-won, he was busy boasting about the achievements he had secured in the North.
"You can't imagine how much of a fuss the North Koreans made when I went to meet Kim Il-sung."
During the earlier cattle visit, Jeon had only met Kim Il-sung near the end of the trip. This time the meeting had lasted longer and covered more substantive ground. Whether this was due to the gift of ten thousand cattle or the fact that he carried a personal letter from the president was unclear. Most likely both factors had worked together to move Kim Il-sung.
"I even brought the Nextcom computer you made. He liked it very much—especially the fact that the text was in the North Korean standard language. He praised it repeatedly."
Yoo Jae-won was surprised, though the praise itself elicited little reaction. What interested him more was that the computer had actually been turned on.
"You powered it on in front of Kim Il-sung?"
"Yes. You said it was an all-in-one unit—just plug it in and it starts. Honestly, I was a little nervous. If it had failed, both of us would have been humiliated. Fortunately, it worked perfectly. He was so pleased I'm sure it won't end up gathering dust in a warehouse. In fact, I suspect the extra concessions he made were partly thanks to that computer."
It was a relief that the machine had been tested. More importantly, the effort spent localizing the interface into the North Korean standard language—work that had taken even longer than embedding the rootkit—had paid off and contributed to the visit's success. The only disappointment was that the computer had not been connected to the internet. Still, Yoo Jae-won told himself that half the journey was already complete and hoped the rootkit would soon send its first signal.
"Ah, and you heard about the Sinuiju special zone, right? You'd better start preparing."
"The Sinuiju zone?"
Yoo Jae-won already knew from his previous life that Kim Il-sung, moved by the cattle delegation, had granted Mirae Group extraordinary privileges in inter-Korean economic cooperation and Mount Kumgang tourism. The sudden mention of Sinuiju, however, was unexpected. That region had originally developed through cooperation with China; Beijing had surely claimed the best parts. After hearing the announcement the previous day, Yoo Jae-won had dismissed the matter.
"Your company is the world's best in IT, aren't you? While wireless communication might be too much for them right now, ordinary telephone and internet service should be feasible."
Jeon Myeong-heon seemed to have Nextcomcast in mind. Wireless technology was being developed by Qualcomm and had little connection to Nextcomcast, but wired telephony and internet were another story.
"North Korea wants to lay internet infrastructure? They barely have any computers to connect."
"Heh, just trust me and submit a proposal to the Ministry of Unification. Of course, having an American company invest directly would be difficult. It would be better to set up a separate entity in China and route the investment through that."
If they could truly bring internet to North Korea, laundering the nationality of the company would be trivial. Expanding the business area to include Liaoning and Jilin provinces alongside Sinuiju could also generate significant synergies later.
"There's something else interesting," Jeon Myeong-heon added.
"Something interesting?"
"Yes. North Korea and China are supposed to be blood allies, aren't they?"
"They are."
"Yet when it comes to economic development, I got the distinct impression they want to deliberately limit China's involvement. Sinuiju is right on the border with China, after all. Still, they asked us to take a more active role than the Chinese companies."
Yoo Jae-won nodded. The relationship between China and North Korea was difficult to define in a single phrase. Pyongyang had always tried to avoid becoming too distant or too close. Jeon Myeong-heon tilted his head, puzzled. Sometimes, when listening to Yoo Jae-won speak or watching his mannerisms, he felt an odd sense of familiarity—as if the young man were an older version of himself. It was precisely this feeling that had led him to look after Jae-won more closely, which in turn had brought him the current good fortune. It was a strange coincidence.
A few days later, Yoo Jae-won left Korea. He had witnessed the historic cattle delegation, handled the Expo, TG Mobile, the headquarters building, and even Yeong-sik's situation with superhuman efficiency. Now he departed with a light heart. What remained was the stable conclusion of 1993 and preparation for 1994. Compared with the relatively uneventful 1993, 1994 promised to be far more demanding. He had already been hit with an enormous lawsuit he had never anticipated. Looking at the timeline for 1994 and the master plan aligned with it, the path ahead seemed daunting. As always, the only answer was to keep working hard.