The First Nuclear Bomb
“Money Tree,” Yoo Jae-won said, demonstrating the process. There were two types of products to assemble. The bundle version simply required placing the diskette and manual inside a thick envelope. The full-package version needed the manual and diskette secured in a cardboard tray before being placed inside a colorful box. Sambo Computer had ordered two thousand bundles and three hundred full packages, so the job was relatively straightforward.
The only item common to both products was the twenty-four-page manual. The envelopes for the bundles had already been printed by the advertising shop, featuring the ID Technology logo on high-quality paper. The full packages were more involved. Both the outer box and the inner cardboard tray had to be assembled.
Yoo Jae-won first showed the children how to prepare the manuals. The warehouse floor was dominated by stacks of three thousand loose manual sheets, each printed on both sides in B4 size and grouped into twelve bundles. “Sort these in order and staple them. See the marked spots? Press the stapler firmly at those three places.”
“What’s a stapler?” one child asked.
“Oh, you mean a stapler—hosikis,” Yoo Jae-won replied.
Stapling was not the end. After turning the cover page, they had to affix a registration-number sticker to the next sheet, then insert a diskette from the SKC distributor into the pocket on the final page. That completed the manual. Assembling the boxes and trays was even simpler—just fold along the pre-pressed lines. Only three hundred units were needed.
“All right, everyone try one on your own. Ask if you get stuck.”
The children moved quickly. They had sharp eyes and followed his example, gathering the loose sheets, tapping them straight on the floor, and stapling them. Quality varied on their first attempt; some girls lacked the strength to drive the staples cleanly.
“This one passes. That one doesn’t.” He set the rejects aside without scolding. There were slightly more than three thousand sheets anyway—extra pages always came out of each ink cartridge—so mistakes were tolerable.
Yoo Jae-won walked them through every step: manual assembly, box folding, and full-package construction. “This is the finished product.” The children nodded, now understanding exactly what was required.
“Let’s get to work.”
He led them toward the materials. Their dream was a Ferrari, but reality was a Ford. He was not talking about cars. In his previous life he had driven Mercedes when business was good. The analogy was about production. Ferrari still relied on craftsmen for most assembly. Ford had introduced the conveyor-belt system and mass-produced the Model T. Yoo Jae-won decided to finish the manuals first and put his friends on the line.
They lined up as if collecting textbooks at the start of a new semester, each taking one sheet from page one to twenty-four, stapling, attaching the registration sticker, inserting the diskette, and finally sliding the completed manual into a bundle envelope. One person handled the entire process, like Ferrari. After a while, however, bottlenecks appeared. Some children struggled to pick up single sheets; there was only one stapler; some stuck the registration stickers quickly while others worked slowly and carefully.
Yoo Jae-won had wanted them to experience the full process so they would not lose interest in repetition, but it was still too early. Eight children produced only 120 units in thirty minutes. Productivity was dismal. He had no choice but to switch to the Ford method.
He assigned tasks according to each child’s aptitude. Three handled sheet gathering, two operated staplers—he bought a second one at the stationery store—and one each was assigned to stickers and diskettes. Yoo Jae-won took charge of inspection and relief work, removing defects and helping wherever the line slowed.
The Ford system proved its worth. The same children who had made 120 units in thirty minutes now produced 230. At that rate, the manuals would be finished in four hours. All that remained was sealing them in the envelopes.
“Let’s take a short break.”
Even that proved difficult. These were children whose attention wandered easily. Doing the whole job had been fun; now the work was repetitive and they tired quickly. Not everyone, though. One boy stood out—Yeong-sik. They were classmates but had rarely spoken. Yeong-sik was quiet and not particularly active, yet he had volunteered to help and performed his assigned task in silence. Even Jumin and Soo-kyung grew restless after fifty minutes, but Yeong-sik kept going like a steady train. Yoo Jae-won thought Yeong-sik could work four hours straight without complaint.
The greatest weakness of the Ford conveyor system, however, was that if one station stopped, the entire line stopped.
“Let’s eat first.”
Yoo Jae-won set out the promised snacks—bread and drinks. He had bought an assortment from the bakery rather than factory loaves: red-bean buns, cream puffs, vegetable bread, sandwiches, hamburgers. There was plenty for everyone. He also brought 100-percent orange juice and milk.
“Wow, bread!”
The children cheered and rushed over.
“Take off your work gloves so you don’t get crumbs on the product.”
They hesitated, removed the gloves, and began devouring the bread.
“I’ll pack extra for you to take home. Don’t force yourself if you’re full.”
Grateful voices rose, but Yoo Jae-won had no intention of paying for their labor with snacks alone. The snacks were simply hospitality between friends. Wages would come from ID Technology and be properly accounted for, reducing taxable income later. Paying people he trusted was far better than handing money to an unreliable government.
“Good work today. We’ll finish the rest tomorrow.”
It was 6:30 p.m. and growing dark. After the delicious break the children had worked hard; no one had slacked. They had left school at three, so actual working time was a little over three hours. In that time they had assembled 1,300 units—respectable progress. Now that everyone was used to the process, they could finish the remaining 1,700 manuals tomorrow and complete the full packages on Wednesday before heading to Seoul on schedule.
“Here, take these.”
Yoo Jae-won handed each child a gift box he had ordered from the bakery. Inside were seven assorted breads and a one-liter carton of orange juice. He also gave each a yellow envelope.
“This is your daily wage.”
Jumin, grinning as he accepted the box, pushed the envelope away. “Hey, we’re just helping a friend. What’s this about wages? Are you insulting us?”
Yoo Jae-won had no desire to run a company on sentiment. He had tried that in his previous life and gone bankrupt. “This isn’t from me. It’s from ID Technology, and it’s been properly recorded. If you don’t take it, the money goes to taxes. I’m taking a wage too. If it bothers you, just work harder tomorrow and the day after.”
Some children looked puzzled at the talk of taxes, but fifth-graders understood that refusing meant the government would take the money. They accepted the envelopes with a mixture of embarrassment and pride.
Yoo Jae-won also arranged taxis for those who lived in the same neighborhood. Once everyone had left, only he remained. He checked that no flammable materials were left out and that the windows were secure, then locked the warehouse door.
“Whew. It’s been a while since I did real work. I’m exhausted.”
Despite the fatigue, the day had been rewarding. Outwardly they were the same age, but Yoo Jae-won’s mental age was that of a grandfather. Watching the children work with their small hands and enjoy the bakery snacks had been genuinely enjoyable. He hoped they would grow into pillars of ID Technology.
His only worry was the second call with Remington Sting scheduled for dawn. He did not know whether the original plan would succeed or whether he would have to activate Plan B. Even his usually reliable intuition offered no clear answer this time.
The next morning, awakened by the alarm, Yoo Jae-won took the phone into the living room so his parents would not be disturbed. He dialed the international number for Remington Sting’s detective agency. The line connected almost immediately.
“Remington Sting Detective Agency. How may I help you?”
The prompt answer and the tension in the receptionist’s voice were positive signs. They had been waiting for his call.
“This is ID Technology. Have you confirmed the deposit?”
“Whew. Yes. At the same time, one question has been driving me crazy, so I skipped lunch and waited by the phone.”
“What question?”
“Why did you wire such a large sum all at once when I could have just taken the money and disappeared? We didn’t even sign a contract.”
“Then I would have gone to the person who introduced you and complained loudly.”
“You have someone who introduced me?”
“Yes. He told me you’re the best detective in California, skilled with cutting-edge technology like computers, and that you’re not busy these days so you would handle any request with full sincerity.”
“Huh? You wired the money based on that? You must trust that person a lot. Who is he?”
“Who else? You.”
Fortunately, the younger Remington also had integrity. “Now do you believe me? Will you accept the job?”
“I’ve already spent half the money, so I suppose I have to. But we still need to sign a contract. When are you coming to my office? Or do I have to go to you?”
“No. Let’s proceed with a verbal agreement for now and sign the contract later. I’m recording this call, so even if you change your mind we’ll have evidence.”
“Ah, understood. So what exactly do you want me to do?”
The real conversation had begun.
“There’s a program called Keyboard Warrior uploaded to CompuServe’s public FTP. It’s our company’s product. The goal is to promote it across the entire United States.”
“Haha, the entire United States?”
“We don’t expect instant success. We’ll proceed step by step.”
“First target is California?”
“CompuServe.”
Remington had named a region; Yoo Jae-won named the service. That was the difference in their perspectives.
“Huh? CompuServe? You mean the PC communication service?”
“Exactly.”
Remington spoke of CompuServe with familiarity. That made sense. His grandfather had mentioned spending idle hours on CompuServe in the late eighties when business was slow. The image of a somewhat old-fashioned detective and PC communication did not seem to match, but the younger Remington was different. Before becoming a detective he had worked for the LAPD in the high-tech crime unit, so he was comfortable with computers and had experienced the Silicon Valley IT revolution firsthand. That background allowed him to grasp the distinction between region and service.
“Please recruit one thousand CompuServe users for the Keyboard Warrior public beta test. We’ll pay thirty dollars each. After three days of using the program, have them post their impressions on the CompuServe free bulletin board or software forum.”
“Good strategy.”
The plan was simple yet contained several layers. The selected testers would download Keyboard Warrior. So would those who applied but were not chosen. Download numbers would rise naturally. When the testers posted their reviews, Keyboard Warrior’s name would gain exposure. If any reviews were strongly positive, those users would actively promote it further.
“Paying each person individually sounds tedious. How many will come to my office for cash? Even online transfers might make applicants uncomfortable about sharing personal information. That could make recruitment difficult.”
Yoo Jae-won could not argue. His roadmap from 1997 onward was flawless, but the early years still had gaps—especially 1988.
“Here’s an idea. A one-month CompuServe subscription would be attractive to users. It’s also far simpler than handing out cash. We only need their CompuServe IDs, which we’ll get when we recruit online anyway. And buying a thousand paid subscriptions at once should let us negotiate a discount with CompuServe.”
Yoo Jae-won was impressed. The younger Remington had found a solution that eliminated the payment hassle, increased user satisfaction, and saved money through bulk purchase. Any lingering doubt about entrusting him with the job vanished.
“Yes, that’s perfect.”
“Right? We’ll deliver the subscriptions after they post their reviews. It would also be smart to stagger the posting times—group the users in batches of a hundred so the reviews don’t all appear at once. A sudden flood might look suspicious and the exposure window would be shorter.”
“Exactly. That would be much more effective.”
Yoo Jae-won gave Remington full authority over the paid-tester campaign and promised to provide any necessary funding. Remington, delighted to receive a high-paying job he could handle from his desk without legwork, agreed to begin immediately. They arranged daily progress reports at the same time each day and ended the call.
“In ten days we should see some reaction,” Yoo Jae-won thought. Recruiting one thousand testers would take about five days, three days of testing, and two days to monitor results—ten days total. That estimate, however, was based on an incomplete understanding of the American market.
Remington Sting executed the plan flawlessly. He negotiated a twelve-percent discount on one thousand one-month subscriptions and secured CompuServe’s cooperation with the event. The subscriptions attracted one thousand testers almost instantly. In wealthy America, more than half of them owned 386 machines, and some even had full MIDI setups. They experienced Keyboard Warrior’s perfect fusion of education and gaming and became enthusiastic supporters overnight. Those supporters quickly dominated the CompuServe boards and spread the word to universities and schools still running early internet services. Keyboard Warrior became a hot topic—far faster and hotter than expected. Then, at some invisible threshold, it exploded.
Later, countless researchers would study ID Group’s meteoric rise and the man who led it. They called Yoo Jae-won the Emperor of IT, the Father of Android, an insatiable greedy maw, a specialist in dismantling chaebols. He was one man, yet interpretations varied according to the speaker’s ideology. On one point, however, no one disagreed: the November 1988 event that first brought ID Technology, the predecessor of ID Group, into the public eye. The phrase that followed was universally accepted: “A nuclear bomb had detonated. It was the first nuclear bomb detonated by ID Group.” America, after all, was a country that, once ignited, burned spectacularly.