The Summit and the Labor Law

The detailed briefing from Choi Kang-wook on Ultima Online had just begun when Korea’s biggest issue shifted entirely. With the inter-Korean summit only days away, every television channel and newspaper was now consumed by it. The event radiated an overwhelming presence that nothing else could rival.

It was inevitable. The Korean Peninsula had been divided for nearly half a century, locked in tense confrontation. While South Korea had achieved dazzling economic growth even under the armistice, constant provocations from the North had imposed a persistent Korea Discount on the nation. In particular, North Korea’s nuclear development program, which had accelerated since the late 1980s, represented an entirely different level of threat.

In the midst of this long-standing tension, a rare mood of reconciliation had emerged. Now, at its climax, the inter-Korean summit was about to begin. It was only natural that every headline and every conversation revolved around it.

At Choi Kang-wook’s continued explanation, Yoo Jae-won immediately grasped the flow of events. President Kim’s approval rating still hovered in the upper 80 percent. At that level, it was practically a dictatorship. The economy was projected to grow close to 6 percent without major difficulties, and on the North Korea issue—an agenda traditionally owned by the progressives—the current administration had outpaced any conservative government before it. Local elections were next year, followed by the general election the year after. If things continued like this, the progressives faced not just crushing defeat but potential annihilation. They were desperate to do something—anything—and the labor law had become their perfect target.

Yoo Jae-won felt deeply frustrated by the explanation. From the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠perspective of union members, irregular employment was indeed disadvantageous. If they could avoid it, they would. But this was not something they could simply refuse. Looking at President Kim’s economic policies since joining the OECD and leading a civilian government, an IMF crisis was inevitable. Although ID Group had grown to dominate the IT sector, it still could not shoulder the entire nation’s burden alone. No single entity could single-handedly absorb the foreign exchange crisis created by countless hedge funds working in concert.

He had been drawing up scenarios to intervene only after the IMF crisis erupted. But if the labor law issue was not resolved beforehand, they would have no choice but to accept the IMF’s recommendations as written. The IMF was packed with devotees of neoliberalism, and their policies were staunchly pro-capital. From a purely financial standpoint, there was nothing bad about the IMF’s approach for Yoo Jae-won. It allowed companies to utilize excellent labor at low cost and discard workers easily based on corporate circumstances or personal judgment, thereby maximizing profit margins. Moreover, it opened previously restricted public sectors, creating stable revenue streams.

The ones who suffered most in this scenario were powerless workers. Korea before and after the IMF would become completely different. The most severe change was extreme polarization. Once the turning point was crossed, no amount of effort could ever return society to its previous state. That was precisely why Yoo Jae-won had proactively pushed for labor law revision first—to prevent the same tragic flow from repeating.

The revision recognized irregular employment but mandated significantly higher wages than regular positions. It also strictly limited the industries where irregular workers could be used. In particular, indirect hiring through dispatch agencies was completely banned to prevent unnecessary middleman exploitation. As a bonus, he had quietly inserted a clause preventing companies from filing damage compensation lawsuits against workers for losses incurred during strikes.

To 21st-century Korean unions, these provisions would have been welcomed with open arms. Yet the current labor circles, lacking that bitter experience, simply dismissed them as the complaints of the well-fed. Only after they bled would they realize how good things had been—but by then it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would be too late. The biggest problem was that there was no time left to persuade them.

Choi Kang-wook’s question placed Yoo Jae-won at a critical crossroads. After a brief moment of thought, he made his decision.

“We have no choice. If dialogue doesn’t work, we’ll have to force it through.”

“Of course I’m aware of that.”

Unfortunately, the Tongil National Party held just over fifty seats. They needed to join forces with the ruling Democratic Liberal Party to secure a majority. Yet within the Democratic Liberal Party, many lawmakers were heavily influenced by the interests of big business. The chaebols wanted a far more flexible irregular employment system than what Yoo Jae-won had proposed, and they would try to maximize their influence during this opportunity.

Yoo Jae-won found himself in a sandwich position. Still, if there was any possibility at all, it lay in the fact that he had closer ties to the highest levels of power than the chaebols did. Jeon Myeong-heon went without saying, and his relationship with President Kim was relatively favorable. Considering the significant role he had played in making this inter-Korean summit possible, Yoo Jae-won’s contribution could not be ignored. On top of that, ID Group paid more taxes than any other conglomerate. While traditional companies still led in cumulative taxes, looking toward the future, ID Group held an overwhelming advantage. The fact that it earned precious foreign currency overseas and brought it back to Korea gave it an entirely different level of presence.

“I will leave this matter entirely to Chief of Staff Choi. No matter how much money you spend, who you meet, or what promises you make, I will stand behind you. Even if it fails, we can simply wait for the next opportunity. Please proceed without any burden.”

Offering such a guarantee was no small thing. Yet Yoo Jae-won trusted Choi Kang-wook enough to say it without hesitation. His faith in the man was profound.

Choi Kang-wook steeled his resolve. He wasn’t simply carrying out the task because Yoo Jae-won had ordered it. Even from ID Group’s perspective, he believed his employer’s judgment was correct. ID Group’s business model leaned far more toward serving general consumers than corporate clients—from games and computers to software and various internet services. The company could only continue growing if a strong middle class existed. Looking at examples from the United States and Europe, the emergence of irregular employment was inevitable. If it had to happen, they should avoid the worst possible form. In that regard, the European model was far more suitable for Korea’s situation than the American one. With such convictions, Choi Kang-wook’s own determination burned even brighter alongside Yoo Jae-won’s full support.

May 1st.

The announcer’s excited voice poured out without pause. Thanks to the feverish delivery, the television coverage of President Kim’s journey to North Korea looked more like a horse race commentary than a serious state visit.

“It looks like Madam Son isn’t accompanying him.”

On visits to other allied nations, the presidential couple would usually travel together. But since this was North Korea, it seemed Madam Son would remain in South Korea.

The situation in Korea was being broadcast live in the United States as well, so Yoo Jae-won could comfortably watch from his living room. In Korea, huge crowds had gathered along the road to Seongnam Airport to cheer President Kim off. His approval rating was high, and the moment was historic, so many had come out voluntarily.

But Yoo Jae-won was on the other side of the globe, and having seen similar scenes in his previous life, he felt less excitement. A few years before his death in his past life, inter-Korean relations had stabilized to the point that any South Korean who wanted to could travel to the North, invest, or even conduct business. He himself had visited Mount Kumgang, climbed Mount Paektu, and trekked across the Kaema Plateau. So his sense of wonder at the current situation was somewhat muted.

“I wonder if they’ll produce any concrete declarations or measures.”

What Yoo Jae-won was truly curious about were the specific actions that would follow the summit. He didn’t have high expectations, but if even a single statement from Kim Il-sung could tie the hands of North Korea’s future successors, it would be a huge success. North Korea operated under an unprecedentedly powerful dictatorship. While it might seem that dictators could do whatever they pleased, that only applied to the first generation. By the second or third generation, they could never escape the chains their predecessors had forged. The influence of hereditary dictators derived from the sacred will of their forefathers; the belief that this must never be broken was deeply ingrained.

“Hmm. A declaration of denuclearization would be incredible, but I suppose it will end with economic cooperation and Mount Kumgang tourism?”

Since Yoo Jae-won operated intelligence teams in both Korea and the United States, he had received numerous reports on the upcoming summit. Both teams had reached nearly identical conclusions: contrary to what Korean media was hyping, sudden unification was impossible. The most realistic prospect was economic cooperation—not large-scale projects like the Kaesong Industrial Complex, but joint development of North Korea’s mineral resources or opening scenic areas like Mount Kumgang for tourism.

Yoo Jae-won agreed. Thanks to his unique information channel—the rootkit—he could roughly gauge the North Korean leadership’s intentions through Kim Jong-il’s recent internet search history. It seemed the man had now placed a NewEgg2 computer in his own room; there were quite a few adult content searches that revealed his personal tastes. But it wasn’t all trash. There were searches related to bank accounts in East Asia and Switzerland, along with various economic keywords. From this, the conclusion was clear: North Korea was willing to pursue economic development with South Korea, but absolutely refused to allow its citizens’ eyes to be opened in the process. Therefore, they would only propose projects they could tightly control. Whether President Kim accepted or not didn’t seem to matter much to them.

Another objective was to propose a North Korea–United States summit. If the meeting with President Kim went well, they planned to expand it into a U.S.–North Korea summit.

“Anyone can dream, I suppose.”

Unlike the inter-Korean summit, Yoo Jae-won saw almost no possibility of a U.S.–North Korea meeting. The United States was preoccupied with the Middle East and had no bandwidth to turn its attention to North Korea. With the American economy experiencing explosive growth, securing stable oil supplies was critical. If the powder keg between Palestine and Israel exploded, the Clinton administration’s economic policies would collapse. To prevent that, all of America’s diplomatic resources were currently concentrated on the Middle East.

Furthermore, the conditions the United States had set for dialogue with North Korea were complete denuclearization and full nuclear inspections. As long as North Korea refused to abandon its nuclear ambitions, Washington would not even treat it as a dialogue partner. And according to information from the rootkit, there had been no mention whatsoever of denuclearization. One might wonder how he could be so certain by searching Kim Jong-il’s computer rather than Kim Il-sung’s, but when comparing the keywords transmitted by the rootkit with the North Korean data stored in his Memory Palace, there were no conflicting terms.

Above all, Kim Il-sung knew his own health condition well. He had begun transferring power to his son Kim Jong-il long ago. Kim Jong-il already held much of the real authority in North Korea. While the domestic Agency for National Security Planning likely hadn’t grasped this yet, the United States would have at least inferred it. And yet, since the rootkit had been active, Kim Jong-il had never once mentioned denuclearization. At least the fact that a summit between President Kim and Kim Il-sung was actually taking place created a faint new variable. Yoo Jae-won could only hope for the best.

While Korea was completely absorbed by the inter-Korean summit, the United States was finally revealing tangible internet-related legislation. Just as Remington had promised, the bill had come out exactly as Yoo Jae-won had envisioned. The strong emphasis on personal data protection, severe punishment for leaks, and strict measures against opinion manipulation were particularly pleasing. The penalties were even harsher than what he had originally proposed. For data leaks, fines started at a minimum of one thousand dollars, and depending on scale, top executives could face prison time.

Looking closer, the intent was interesting.

“This seems aimed at me.”

The clause allowing punishment of the highest responsible party depending on the scale of personal information leakage had caught Yoo Jae-won’s attention. Here, “highest responsible party” went beyond data or security officers—it referred to the company’s CEO or president.

Among the countless internet sites worldwide, the one with the most users was Nextcom. As the world’s largest portal, it provided services in local languages across Korea, the United States, and many other countries. The personal data protection bill currently before the U.S. Congress explicitly defined “large-scale personal information leakage” as ten million records or more. Currently, only two internet service companies had more than ten million subscribers: Nextcom and AOL.

A few years ago, AOL had been the largest online service provider in North America. However, it had failed to adapt as communication shifted rapidly from dial-up to broadband like ADSL. Moreover, AOL’s strength—its various paid services—had lost luster due to the reckless free policies of internet companies. It was belatedly attempting to transform into a portal, but it could not catch up to Nextcom. As paid users steadily declined while marketing costs skyrocketed, AOL’s cash flow had deteriorated ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dramatically. As a result, its management was undergoing drastic changes, with many key positions currently vacant. The most likely outcome was a sale. If no suitable buyer appeared, AOL’s decline would only accelerate. In that case, the historically disastrous merger between AOL and Time Warner might never happen—a stroke of luck for Ted Turner, the major shareholder of Android Inc.

Ted Turner had transferred his broadcasting stations to Time Warner, receiving a large amount of cash and a substantial stake in the company in return. But the catastrophic AOL-Time Warner merger had caused that equity value to plummet, resulting in enormous losses. In any case, judging by AOL’s current state, the company that would be hit hardest by the new personal data protection law was clearly ID Group.

That was why President Remington had sounded so apologetic when delivering the news. But Yoo Jae-won was fine with it. He had already thought this through.

The root cause of personal data leaks was the massive collection of such information at the time of registration. In Korea, real names, addresses, contact information, and even resident registration numbers were required. Later, credit card numbers were demanded as well, multiplying the destructive power of any breach. That was why Yoo Jae-won had chosen to collect only the minimum necessary data. He had even created Email.com, operating it as a unified ID system alongside the email service. If you didn’t collect personal information that could cause problems even if leaked, then no problem would arise in the first place.

Of course, this greatly reduced user convenience. For example, every time someone wanted to shop online or make a payment, they would have to manually enter their home address and credit card number.

“Personal information can simply be stored on each individual’s computer.”

The solution was simple. Frequently used information could be saved in a secure area of the web browser or operating system and retrieved when needed. Moreover, if each user encrypted their own data, a hacker would have to decrypt every record individually. Even the most idle hacker would be unable to collect large amounts of personal information that way.

“Chairman, it is time to depart.”

“Yes, I’m coming.”

At Kim Dae-seok’s voice from outside the door, Yoo Jae-won picked up the carry-on suitcase that had been sitting in the corner of the living room. The problem was that such a function had not yet been implemented. The reason he was heading out with luggage now was to solve these very issues. He planned to go straight to Redmond, where Android’s headquarters was located, and camp out with the Alpha Team and other developers to finalize the next version.