No Pay, No Gain
Yoo Jae-won opened ID Talk, just in case, and began compiling the employee hiring trend reports he had received from the HR directors of his various affiliates. The task involved consolidating the numbers reported separately by each affiliate into ID Spreadsheet and transforming them into meaningful charts.
“Just as I expected.” The results were exactly what he had anticipated. The number of resignations had been steadily rising since the end of last year. Yoo Jae-won closed all the HR directors’ messages and double-clicked on Kim Taek-jun’s ID. He wanted to find out first why Kim Taek-jun had submitted his resignation.
“Yes, sir! Chairman. This is Kim Taek-jun!”
Fortunately, Kim Taek-jun appeared to be sitting at his computer, as his reply came immediately.
“I heard you submitted a resignation.”
“Gasp! I didn’t know my resignation would reach the Chairman!”
Kim Taek-jun sounded genuinely startled. He had apparently assumed that, as a team leader, his resignation would only go as far as his senior, Vice President Lee Chan-soo, or at most President Remington.
“Not just team leaders. All personnel matters concerning regular employees are reported to me.”
It was clear Kim Taek-jun had not known that personnel changes, no matter how junior the position, were all reported directly to Yoo Jae-won. That was only natural, given that personnel expenses constituted the largest portion of ID Group’s total costs. The only factories the group operated directly were the display and packaging plants, so facility maintenance and repair costs were minimal. There was also a hardware division under Android Inc., but most of it was handled through OEM manufacturing and could be largely ignored.
Of course, even though all personnel changes reached Yoo Jae-won, he did not personally intervene in every new hire or resignation. He reviewed the entrance exam papers for developers—the core of ID Group’s identity—while merely receiving reports on other positions. That was also why ID Group, despite its considerable size, had no open recruitment process. Administrative, cleaning, and security positions were handled by the presidents of the respective affiliates, while developer positions required Yoo Jae-won’s approval, making public recruitment unnecessary.
The most striking part of the personnel change chart he had just created was the developer category. When the numbers were turned into a graph, the trend became even clearer. A steadily upward-sloping line stood out sharply. The steepest rise occurred after Android Inc.’s listing, when the slope increased noticeably.
There was no way to ask those who had already left why they had gone, so the most straightforward approach was to ask the newest case—Kim Taek-jun. While one individual’s situation could not be generalized to everyone, it would still provide useful insight if filtered appropriately.
“What made you decide to resign?”
“Ah, well… That is to say… There was something I had always wanted to try. Game development.”
Kim Taek-jun began speaking with obvious difficulty, yet he still managed to explain his reason honestly, albeit hesitantly. Game development—the very reason Yoo Jae-won had placed at the top of his list when considering why Kim Taek-jun might leave.
“While working on SI projects, the area I handled the most was network system development. Thanks to that, I quickly acquired the know-how to handle reliable data between servers and clients in a stable and fast manner. It’s usually used for corporate office automation, but I’ve long thought it could also be applied to creating large-scale online games.”
A large-scale online game. At Kim Taek-jun’s words, “already” immediately surfaced in Yoo Jae-won’s mind. Kim Taek-jun was indeed the man who would later draw a line in Korean gaming history. He would create the Lineage series, which every Korean had heard of at least once, but the commercial service for the first installment, Lineage, would not begin until 1998—specifically in September, not the beginning of the year. Yoo Jae-won had assumed there were still more than four years left.
Yet after meeting Yoo Jae-won, Kim Taek-jun had accumulated network expertise, learned how to manage people and divide work through large-scale projects, and, crucially, received a substantial bonus following Android Inc.’s listing. That bonus had apparently solidified his resolve. Among all these factors, the Android Inc. listing had exerted the greatest influence by far.
Under the bonus distribution policy for Android Inc.’s listing, Kim Taek-jun had received several hundred million won. Although he belonged to ID Technology, his contributions to the Android operating system were highly valued, earning him a considerable sum. While still affiliated with ID Technology, he had assisted Yoo Jae-won with the kernel system of the Android OS and had also worked on the network systems. His contributions to the Android OS exceeded even those of Vice President Lee Chan-soo of ID Technology. As a result, he had received a bonus large enough to rival winning the housing lottery two or three times in a row, which had given him the courage to pursue the online game development he had long dreamed of.
“An online game? I’ve been keeping an eye on that field myself. Could you tell me more about your plans?”
“Ah, that’s… It’s supposed to be completely confidential, but since it’s you, Chairman, I’ll make an exception. Please keep it secret from everyone else.”
His voice carried a hint of reluctance, yet he had no secrets from Yoo Jae-won.
“Of course.”
“It’s not a completed project yet, so I’m quite embarrassed. Anyway, the online game I want to create is an RPG that places significant emphasis on action. As an RPG, it will feature a variety of classes and races. Players who choose different classes will cooperate or compete against one another within the game, allowing them to create their own stories.”
Kim Taek-jun’s voice was filled with passionate heat, enough that even Yoo Jae-won nearly caught the fever. However, having been a light user who had spent several hundred thousand won on the original Lineage in his previous life, Yoo Jae-won knew all too well how different ideals and reality could be, and he quickly regained his composure.
“Then you’ll need a great many people connected to a single server, won’t you?”
“As expected of the Chairman. You’re exactly right. People need to collide with one another for dense stories to emerge. So I want to maximize server specifications and build a solid network framework so that around a thousand people can connect simultaneously to a single server.”
A thousand people. Kim Taek-jun clearly had a good eye for games. If a thousand people could connect to a single server, they would naturally generate their own stories.
“Hmm, I see. It’s certainly an attractive plan. But do you have a solution for the server issue?”
“Of course. I was planning to use your cloud servers, Chairman.”
Yoo Jae-won nodded at Kim Taek-jun’s words. Even the highest-performance PCs currently available would require multiple machines linked together to handle more than a thousand simultaneous connections. Although PC performance had improved dramatically with HPC-certified components, the computational power was still insufficient. ID Technology was the only company capable of achieving this with PC-based systems. The technology to bind multiple PCs together and make them function as a single server was ID Technology’s exclusive patent. If Kim Taek-jun had claimed he would build a server using PCs alone, Yoo Jae-won would have dismissed it as nonsense—or suspected him of stealing cloud technology and arranged a meeting with ID Group’s legal team. Fortunately, since he intended to use the cloud servers, such an incident was unlikely.
“An excellent choice. From what you’ve described, the game sounds promising.”
“Right? Hearing you say that makes me feel much less anxious, Chairman.”
Kim Taek-jun’s voice brightened noticeably at Yoo Jae-won’s positive assessment. It was understandable—whenever Kim Taek-jun mentioned leaving ID Technology, everyone around him reacted with shock and called him crazy. ID Group’s prestige in Korea was growing daily. It had overtaken even the top conglomerates that had once been the first choice for job seekers, and that was no longer even news. As a cutting-edge IT company with an exceptionally good work environment—eight-hour workdays and Saturday mornings only—combined with salaries that surpassed those of major corporations and financial institutions, and massive bonuses distributed across the entire group during major events like affiliate listings, its popularity was explosive. Yet joining ID Group was harder than plucking stars from the sky. Unlike other conglomerates that conducted regular open recruitment by cohort, ID Group had never held a single public recruitment drive. It only conducted occasional recruitment when vacancies arose or headcount increased at each affiliate. For the developer positions—the most coveted and best-treated roles within ID Group—applicants had to pass an exam, and everyone knew that exam was no ordinary test. There was even a club on Nextcom called “Breaking ID,” with tens of thousands of members, all preparing to break through ID Group’s hiring barriers and share know-how once they succeeded.
Given how prestigious ID Group was, and especially given that Kim Taek-jun worked at Technology—the very core of the group—it was only natural that his parents and friends would all try to talk him out of leaving.
“Are you accepting investment right now? If there’s still room, I’d like to help as well.”
Yoo Jae-won knew full well that the original Lineage would achieve unprecedented success. When Lee Chan-soo had recommended Kim Taek-jun, the prospect of Lineage had played a significant role in his decision to hire him without hesitation. Yoo Jae-won’s original plan had been to establish a game development studio around 1996 or 1997 and entrust it with large-scale online game development. Since Kim Taek-jun had taken the initiative himself, however, there was no reason not to get involved, even if only in a supporting role.
Surprisingly, Kim Taek-jun’s reaction was unexpected.
“Ah, that’s… I’ve already secured all the funding, so it might be difficult.”
Whenever Yoo Jae-won offered to invest, everyone had accepted without exception. The investments he chose often seemed reckless to outsiders, and the recipients were usually in desperate situations. Kim Taek-jun had expected the same. Although the bonus from Android Inc.’s listing was a substantial amount for an individual, it was relatively small for running a business. The personnel costs for game development alone were considerable, and the expenses for building servers, laying dedicated lines, and marketing after development would be far greater. Kim Taek-jun must have known this, and Yoo Jae-won had made the investment offer with that in mind—yet the funding was already secured. It turned out Kim Taek-jun had not simply quit because he suddenly had money. He harbored considerable ambition. Like Yoo Jae-won himself, he wanted to build a large business of his own. Moreover, there were people encouraging this ambition—wealthy individuals eager to invest in IT. Both in the United States and Korea, numerous IT companies were springing up like mushrooms after rain, most of them lacking substance. Yet they could still be founded because, in addition to national support, there were even more “blind” investors captivated by the IT boom. Kim Taek-jun had already made a name for himself in Korea’s IT industry, so he could raise significant investment capital without Yoo Jae-won’s help.
“It’s already full?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. If it’s already done, there’s nothing to be done.”
Having confirmed that Kim Taek-jun’s mind was made up, Yoo Jae-won decided to let him go without lingering. He knew well that once someone’s heart had left, it was nearly impossible to bring them back.
“Ah, by the way, are you planning to develop the game alone?”
“No. Since it’s a large-scale game, I’ll need to assemble a team. I’m working hard to gather my friends, though I’m not sure how well it will go.”
At the end of the conversation, Yoo Jae-won asked one final question that still lingered in his mind. He wondered whether Kim Taek-jun had found his soul partner yet—the man named Sung Jae-myung, a legendary figure in the Korean gaming industry. Alongside Lineage, there was another online game that had drawn a line in Korean gaming history: The Kingdom of the Wind. The Kingdom of the Wind was currently under development at a company called Nexon, and its core developer was Sung Jae-myung. Sung Jae-myung had nearly completed The Kingdom of the Wind before resigning due to conflicts with Nexon’s management, after which he met Kim Taek-jun and together they created Lineage. According to the timeline, at this point in time, Kim Taek-jun and Sung Jae-myung had no connection whatsoever. Therefore, if Lineage were developed starting now, the chances of it turning out the way Yoo Jae-won remembered were extremely low.
“Understood. Please contact me once the game is complete.”
“Of course!”
It would be interesting to see whether Kim Taek-jun would succeed as he had in the past or walk a different path. After ending the call with Kim Taek-jun, Yoo Jae-won instructed all affiliate HR directors to compile detailed information on employees who had resigned this year. The reports Yoo Jae-won received daily contained only the results. They lacked details such as reasons for resignation, job responsibilities, and internal reputation. Since he wanted to collect and analyze big data on resigning employees, he had given the HR department a rather substantial task.
“Hmm? What’s this?”
Yet an even more useful report had arrived from the Korean intelligence team. It was a recent survey of employee trends, noting that an unusually large number of headhunters were contacting the development teams. Since these were already proven talents, new companies were desperately trying to solve their manpower shortages in one stroke by poaching developers and team leaders from ID Group. Fortunately, no one had yet been swayed by the headhunters’ offers. The companies using headhunters were mostly newly established firms, and few could make offers substantial enough to make someone seriously consider leaving ID Group. Moreover, many of these companies were so new that it was questionable whether they could even honor their contracts.
“If it’s like this in Korea, America will be no different.”
Upon receiving the domestic employee trend report, Yoo Jae-won naturally thought of the employees in the United States. Their numbers exceeded ten times those in Korea. ID Group’s presence was equally significant there. It was only reasonable to predict that a considerable number of headhunters would also be targeting ID Group employees in America. It was not difficult to infer a strong correlation between the number of active headhunters and the recent increase in resignations.
Of course, from the competitors’ perspective, they had no choice but to actively deploy headhunters. In the explosively growing IT sector, ID Group employees were undeniably proven talent. From Yoo Jae-won’s standpoint, however, the departure of talented individuals was a factor that would diminish the group’s competitiveness. While it was no exaggeration to say that Yoo Jae-won’s own abilities accounted for 99% of ID Group’s formidable capabilities, as the group grew larger and its business areas expanded, it would become impossible for him to handle everything alone. To build a solid front line that could hold its own in every area, there was no answer other than securing reliable talent. For now, other IT companies lacked competitiveness, so headhunters’ activities were inefficient, but as time passed and formidable competitors emerged, things would undoubtedly change.
“Hmm, I need to take preventive measures in advance.”
The thought of developing games had completely vanished from Yoo Jae-won’s mind. Instead, he began contemplating how to build a robust system that would remain unshaken even in the future. The first thing he checked was the master plan. Having prepared it thoroughly, it was a compass filled with all manner of strategies and technologies. Unfortunately, however, the master plan contained no special countermeasures for this situation. If he had experience managing an organization as massive as ID Group in his previous life, he would surely have devised a solution. Yet in his previous life, the business Yoo Jae-won had run employed fewer than thirty people, so he had never needed to consider such matters.
That did not mean there were no solutions. There was plenty of data in Yoo Jae-won’s mind that he could use as a cautionary tale. He began searching through the article database containing every major daily newspaper from Korea and the United States.
“Ah! There it is.”
Within minutes of starting the search, Yoo Jae-won found an article containing exactly the method he needed.
— Geumseong Group to Foster In-House Ventures!
— Providing Exceptional Startup Funding to Idea Employees!
There seemed to be no better way to prevent the talent he had personally verified and recruited from being poached by external companies than through an in-house venture program. With the proceeds from selling shares after Android Inc.’s listing still enormously abundant, unlike domestic companies that merely paid lip service, he could genuinely implement an in-house venture policy. If he added a few supplementary measures, he could do his utmost to prevent core talent from leaving the company.
Yoo Jae-won opened the scheduler on his computer and checked the earliest possible date for an announcement. The date that caught his eye was March 3, when he would visit the Texas ID Software headquarters.
“It looks like the Texas event will have to be a bit bigger.”
Providing feedback to the ID Software development team while announcing the in-house venture policy would be perfect.