The Money Tree Explodes
“Really? I’m glad the response is good.”
At that point, Yoo Jae-won still hadn’t grasped the true power of the Keyboard Warrior he had unleashed on America. He simply enjoyed the excited tone in Remington Sting’s voice over the phone. After all, he couldn’t access the CompuServe bulletin board himself. All he could do was check the download numbers for Keyboard Warrior uploaded to the CompuServe FTP. The numbers had certainly surged dramatically, but they didn’t fully convey the situation in the United States. Besides, the FTP downloads weren’t even the main target—those were reserved for the testers. The real goal was to climb the rankings on the CompuServe PC communication bulletin board.
—We already hit the target. Downloads have already exceeded ten thousand.
“That quickly?”
Yoo Jae-won responded better to concrete numbers than vague expressions. The figure of ten thousand gave him a slight sense of the American situation. After all, ten thousand wasn’t a number most programs could achieve. Only software that defined an era—RealPlayer, Winamp, Data Man, and the like—could reach that mark.
“So the American game industry is in an uproar over our program?”
—What are you talking about? It’s not just an uproar!
Today’s call with Remington had started as a simple check to see if the testers were posting good reviews. But if Keyboard Warrior was already number one on the software bulletin board, the game was over. He could run headlines claiming they had seized the American mainland right now. Yet this was happening far too fast. While America surged ahead, Korea was still lagging. Full-scale marketing was only just beginning. Fortunately, it wasn’t weeks away—once the product was delivered to Sambo Computer tomorrow, they would begin running articles and advertisements with the press and television networks. The stories would highlight how Yoo Jae-won, recipient of the ministerial award, had collaborated with Sambo Computer to release a properly refined typing trainer. In tandem, Yoo Jae-won planned to air a television commercial of his own. After stirring up that wind, he would prepare launches at Seewoon Electronics Plaza and Yongsan, then run follow-up ads trumpeting the U.S. number-one ranking to draw distributors and conglomerates to him.
—CompuServe isn’t even the issue anymore. The entire American computer industry is being turned upside down by Keyboard Warrior!
From what he heard, something Yoo Jae-won hadn’t predicted was unfolding. The MIT eccentrics had run Keyboard Warrior’s built-in performance measurement program on every computer in the school labs and their own research rooms, compiled the scores into a chart, and posted it on the school bulletin board. From the top-spec 386 DX down to the lowest-spec 286 AT-12MHz. They had even broken it down by compatible CPU types—Intel, AMD, Cyrix, and others. Not only that, the eccentrics had scored every video card model and every memory chip type.
‘This is exactly the kind of benchmark chart people used to hunt for whenever a new game came out.’
In an instant, Yoo Jae-won understood exactly what Remington Sting meant. Whenever an A-grade game launched, people checked frame rates across every system. In modern times the field had become so specialized that evaluations covered not only CPUs and GPUs but memory speed and capacity as well. If a game ran smoothly on average systems, it was praised for good optimization; if it struggled on most machines, harsh criticism followed. Yet if it delivered visuals that were ahead of their time, players would wait with bated breath until hardware capable of running it appeared. Keyboard Warrior had reached that level. It had gained enough popularity and mainstream appeal to become the centerpiece of benchmark programs almost overnight. Its optimization was also highly rated. While the baseline hardware requirement of a 386 was high, everyone understood that once that threshold was met, the game delivered a satisfying sense of speed.
However, the greatest strength—and weakness—of IBM-compatible PCs was the sheer number of component suppliers. There were over eight manufacturers of VGA cards alone. Naturally, performance varied between brands. Systems that scored highest were elevated to glory, while components that had maintained premium prices thanks to brand image were suddenly lambasted when their scores came up short. The highest CPU score went to Intel’s 386 DX-33, which outperformed even the higher-clocked AMD 386 DX-40 by 10 percent. Although AMD’s frequency was 20 percent higher, actual game performance favored Intel. Among VGA cards, those using Cirrus Logic chips performed best. Meanwhile, ATI’s video cards, despite being the most expensive, scored roughly 10 percent lower than the competition.
Thinking about it, the reason was simple. As the developer, Yoo Jae-won’s own computer had been equipped with an Intel 286 AT chip, and the video card he had recently purchased was a Cirrus Logic model. The optimization had simply favored the hardware he used. Yet because Keyboard Warrior wielded nuclear-bomb-level destructive power, even those tiny factors had become a massive storm. The component ranking chart created by the MIT eccentrics quickly became a hot topic online and began influencing consumers. Within days, Cirrus Logic was fiercely closing the gap on ATI, which had long held the top market position. Not only VGA cards but all major components that scored well in Keyboard Warrior—CPUs, RAM, and the like—saw sales rise across the board, while those with poor scores suffered declines.
Previously, each hardware maker had relied on its own unique selling points. ATI boasted vibrant colors, S3 was popular for decent performance, image quality, and reasonable price, while the budget segment was dominated by Tseng Labs products. Now a killer title had appeared that could serve as an absolute performance benchmark in a market where manufacturers had competed on distinctive strengths. Just as nuclear weapons changed the rules of conventional warfare, the ability to maintain Keyboard Warrior’s signature smooth visuals became a critical performance metric for VGA cards and CPUs. A single piece of software was beginning to shake the hardware market itself.
At this point, the commission was a success. While Keyboard Warrior had instantly captured users’ hearts, much of the credit also belonged to Remington Sting for finding a way to spread the word. There was no need to return the three thousand dollars already received, and Yoo Jae-won even felt willing to pay the promised five-hundred-dollar bonus—and perhaps more—with a glad heart.
—What on earth have you been listening to? This isn’t the time for casual talk about bonuses!
Remington’s voice was practically shouting. He and his grandfather were truly different in personality. Perhaps only after going bankrupt would the old man’s temperament emerge? Still, Yoo Jae-won had to understand Remington Sting’s situation. His CompuServe mailbox, which could hold up to 999 messages, was already full. The secretary-assistant who had quit after missing a week’s pay had to be called back. Even with the secretary’s return, they were still short-handed. It wasn’t just the mailbox—Remington Sting Detective Agency’s phone was ringing off the hook.
—Major distributors across America are flooding my office with calls. They all want to handle Keyboard Warrior’s distribution. I’m not exaggerating. If I say yes to even one of them, they’ll come charging in with money in hand. Several companies are already saying they’ll pay whatever it takes and just sign the contract.
—You’ve heard of Electronic Arts, Activision, and ByteBix, right? Companies with nationwide distribution channels are practically storming our office. Oh, and for some reason, publishing houses are calling too.
Even though Yoo Jae-won knew Remington wasn’t joking, he couldn’t quite believe it. He had only aimed to dominate the CompuServe bulletin board, yet somehow he was on the verge of conquering America itself. At the same time, his instincts told him to row while the tide was in. But he couldn’t fly to America right now. After thinking it over, he realized there was a way.
“Shall we try something bigger and more proper?”
—Huh? What do you mean?
“You must know some reputable and capable lawyers, right?”
As a detective, Remington’s job kept him close to the law, so Yoo Jae-won figured he would have good connections with lawyers. And as the saying went, birds of a feather flock together—good people tended to surround themselves with other good people.
—Of course I do. Why?
The answer was exactly what Yoo Jae-won had hoped for.
“I’m appointing you—and the lawyer you introduce—as ID Technology’s U.S. agents. Represent ID Technology in meetings with distributors and negotiate the best possible terms. I’ll give you full authority over the negotiations, but final contract approval rests with ID Technology. So just prepare contracts that only need a signature and fax them over.”
—Hmm? You’re not just commissioning me—you want me to act as an agent?
It was a far cry from detective work. His previous experience wouldn’t help at all. Yet the idea wasn’t unappealing. Keyboard Warrior was clearly a blockbuster item, and his personal interest in the company that created it was strong. Still, there were several reasons he hesitated to agree outright. Giving up the freedom of a detective’s life—with no boss and flexible hours—felt like a loss. Most importantly, he had no idea how much ID Technology would value him and his lawyer friend.
“I’ll guarantee you both a base salary well above the industry average. In addition, as an incentive, I’ll give the two of you ten percent of the profits ID Technology earns from Keyboard Warrior in America. You can decide how to split that ten percent between yourselves. Please negotiate to maximize our gains in this opportunity.”
At Yoo Jae-won’s next words, Remington Sting couldn’t help but shout “Call!” This was an unconditional yes. The fees he earned as a detective were at most in the low thousands of dollars. But shifting to a profit-share model changed the scale entirely. Even a conservative estimate put the figure well into the tens of thousands. When the numbers changed that much, so did a person’s life.
—Sounds good. But let ID Technology decide the incentive ratio. No matter how close people are, money has a way of ruining relationships.
Despite his excitement, Remington’s seasoned experience led him to point out a potential future mistake in advance. Yoo Jae-won realized he had almost repeated an old error from his previous life by acting on impulse.
“Ah, understood. Then I’ll evaluate your performance after the contracts are signed and set the ratio accordingly. In any case, since you’ll be officially representing ID Technology, we’ll need a formal contract.”
—Right. So are you coming over here?
“That’s impossible. Did you forget what I told you last time? I’m a foreigner. I’m in Korea.”
—Huh? Korea? You mean that country that just hosted the Olympics? That tiny country next to Japan?
Yoo Jae-won wished he would drop the “tiny country next to Japan” part, but Korea’s image was still that of an unknown nation. Without the Olympics, most Americans wouldn’t even have been able to distinguish it from North Korea.
“Yes, so we’ll have to handle the paperwork by fax. Please speak with your lawyer friend and make sure everything is prepared without a hitch. Ah, and contact CompuServe to pull the Keyboard Warrior ranking chart and download data, then send that over as well. We’ll need it as business material here. Oh, and any articles from reputable media outlets or materials useful for business would be even better.”
—Ah? That’s my specialty.
Yoo Jae-won hadn’t lost sight of his original goal. The purpose of the American version of Keyboard Warrior was to serve as leverage to move Korea’s conglomerates and government. It would be ideal if news from America landed in Korea on its own, but preparing in advance wasn’t a bad idea either. When the Sambo Computer executives saw tomorrow’s CompuServe data packed with enormous numbers, their skepticism would vanish instantly. Then they would throw themselves into marketing Keyboard Warrior far more aggressively. Wasn’t this the very definition of achieving results without lifting a finger?