A Secretive Visit to Redmond
Unlike Yoo Jae-won's previous business trips, his journey to Redmond—home of the Android Division headquarters—unfolded in complete silence. Past visits had served not only to manage operations but also to publicly signal ID Group's movements, drawing considerable media attention. This time, however, the trip was one hundred percent about development, making the journey to Redmond feel like a covert operation.
“Mr. Chairman, welcome to Redmond.”
As expected, no grand reception awaited him upon arrival. He simply visited the office of Kevin Johnson, President of Android, for a brief status report.
“I assume you’ve heard the reason for my visit?”
“Of course. I’m sorry that even Beta 5 has failed to meet your expectations.”
“Not at all. I have no intention of criticizing you. I’m very satisfied with your management, President Johnson. However, I came across some good ideas while using the beta version, and it felt wasteful to let them go unused. Since the company no longer has any spare developers, I decided the most available person—myself—should come and work on them properly.”
Even after hearing Yoo Jae-won’s words, Kevin Johnson’s expression only relaxed slightly. Ever since taking the presidency, Kevin had felt the full weight of responsibility for Android’s next major version, which had begun full-scale development under his watch. Dividing the development teams appropriately, assigning missions so each could deliver their best results, and coordinating the overall schedule—all of it fell to him. The fact that the final product still didn’t satisfy Yoo Jae-won meant his burden remained undiminished.
Nevertheless, Yoo Jae-won was highly pleased with how Kevin Johnson was running the Android Division. The next-generation Android was progressing well, the policy of updating the existing Android 2.0 every hundred days was being followed faithfully, the QA department handling users worldwide—including in the United States and Korea—was operating smoothly, and the hardware division was also performing adequately.
“Where is my workspace?”
Kevin Johnson looked as though he wanted to talk more, but there would be plenty of time. Yoo Jae-won planned to stay in Redmond until the next Android met his standards, so there would be many opportunities to speak with him.
“Of course. I’ll show you the way.”
Kevin Johnson rose from his seat, and Yoo Jae-won followed. The Redmond headquarters was quite large, so they walked a considerable distance before arriving at the location of Alpha Team—the former Alpha Lab from the Microsoft era, renamed after ID Group’s acquisition. Though only one letter had changed, the reality was far more dramatic: a complete dissolution and reorganization, accompanied by a full system overhaul and personnel changes. All developer workstations had been replaced with NewEgg 2 units, and new Alpha Team members had been recruited through internal examinations.
Yoo Jae-won’s own workspace had also been prepared within Alpha Team.
“Here we are.”
When Kevin Johnson and Yoo Jae-won entered side by side, a light round of applause broke out. The Alpha Team developers felt considerable pressure knowing they would be working alongside Yoo Jae-won for the foreseeable future, yet many were also deeply curious about the chance to witness the world’s greatest developer in action. That curiosity, however, did not last long.
Each member of Alpha Team had been given a spacious three-pyeong personal workspace with clear partitions. Once Yoo Jae-won sat down, his presence effectively vanished. While such independent spaces could easily lead to distractions and reduced efficiency, the Alpha Team members were all professionals. Although external data transfers were strictly prohibited, internet access itself was not blocked. They could do whatever they wanted—as long as they delivered their assigned work on time. Thanks to this policy, the atmosphere in the Alpha Team office resembled a slightly busy café.
Even with Yoo Jae-won joining them starting today, the overall mood did not change much. As long as the development schedule stayed on track and the quality of completed programs remained consistent, Yoo Jae-won had no objection to an even more chaotic marketplace-like environment.
“Excellent.”
Yoo Jae-won settled into his own seat and began checking the system, blending seamlessly into the Alpha Team atmosphere. Though the specifications were somewhat lower than those of the iWorks he was personally developing, the latest NewEgg 2 came pre-installed with all necessary development software, along with ID Talk for company communications. The keyboard offered a satisfying mechanical typing feel, and the chair was an Aeron model—recently replaced across the company at his direction.
“Alright, let’s get started!”
After loosening his fingers, Yoo Jae-won immediately dove into work.
“First, let’s look at the milestones.”
Programmers rarely begin coding the moment they sit in front of a computer. While small programs of only a few hundred lines can be written straight from the mind, projects spanning millions of lines and involving dozens of developers require extensive preparation. Fortunately, the Android Division had already been optimized according to Yoo Jae-won’s guidelines, and he had been using the Beta 5 version consistently, giving him a clear understanding of the current development status.
With that foundation, Yoo Jae-won reviewed the development goals and examined the current workload of each team. He opened the milestone chart first. In the future, specialized milestone management software would exist, but for now it was merely a diagram created using the shape tools in ID Spreadsheet. Still, because each team leader updated it daily, opening a single file allowed him to instantly grasp the entire development status of Android Beta 5.
“As expected, kernel development is the slowest.”
The operating system was divided into the kernel—its heart—and the various applications that ran on top of it. The kernel managed hardware such as the CPU, RAM, and hard disk, allocated resources according to application requests, and controlled hardware as needed. Because the kernel’s completeness directly determined the operating system’s overall quality, it could not be treated lightly. Even though President Kevin Johnson had assigned the kernel development task to Alpha Team—composed of the company’s top talent—the pace had gradually slowed.
It was understandable. Yoo Jae-won had presented very specific targets for the next Android, and the more concrete the instructions, the better—yet the tasks he had assigned this time were extremely difficult, leaving Alpha Team struggling.
“At this rate, we might not make an end-of-year release.”
With the existing workload still in place, Yoo Jae-won had arrived carrying an additional bundle of tasks. Completing them would require time—at minimum three to four months just to finish the source code. That would push completion into late autumn, but when Yoo Jae-won spoke of next year, he was also factoring in the testing period after development. Compatibility issues made this necessary.
Users possessed an enormous variety of computer systems. While branded PCs had consistent specifications, assembled machines with various peripherals tailored to individual needs could cause problems on one system that worked fine on another. Even someone as skilled as Yoo Jae-won could not anticipate every possible issue, so at least three months of testing would be required to monitor compatibility. That meant the earliest possible release would be this winter, or more likely early next year.
“Hmm. In that case, if we release this year we’ll call it 3.0, and if it slips to next year we’ll go with 95?”
The numbers Yoo Jae-won mentioned referred to the naming of the next-generation Android. Computer software versions were traditionally expressed with a single decimal place. A whole-number increase indicated a major update, while a decimal increase signified a minor one. Later trends would introduce multiple decimal points, but the basic framework remained unchanged.
A significant shift in versioning began in 1995, when Microsoft released Windows 95 and popularized the use of years in product names. Many pieces of software adopted the “95” suffix. Yoo Jae-won much preferred the number 95 over the ordinary 3.0, as it conveyed a stronger sense of generational change.
“That said, there’s no need to deliberately delay the release just to use that name.”
The Android Division was no longer Yoo Jae-won’s private company. He held exactly 51% of the shares; the remaining 49% belonged to numerous shareholders. Following the public listing, a board of directors had been established, and several outside directors had been appointed. To meet shareholder expectations and dispel the doubts of investors still skeptical about IT, releasing the next version as quickly as possible would be ideal.
“Ah, I should get to work too.”
Yoo Jae-won set aside his wandering thoughts and returned his focus to the monitor.
The next day.
A brand-new BMW—still bearing the unmistakable signs of recent purchase—pulled into the Android Division headquarters parking lot. It was just past seven in the morning, so the lot was nearly empty. The car stopped in the employee space closest to the main building.
The driver was James Augustine, former leader of the Alpha Lab during the Microsoft era and now in charge of Glide X at the Android Division. Having been on vacation until yesterday, James had left home early to return to his routine. Though the hour was unusually early, arriving ahead of others had long been his habit, so it posed no issue.
Coming in early had become a regular practice for him ever since ID Technology transitioned into a group structure. Once the ID Group system was firmly in place, leaving on time became mandatory, but no one objected to arriving early. James chose to come in ahead of schedule not because he lacked confidence in finishing his work during regular hours, but because being at the company simply felt more comfortable. This was something he could never have imagined just a few years earlier.
Back when he worked at Microsoft, hearing someone say they enjoyed coming to work would have sounded absurd. Yet now that he found himself thinking the same way, even James found it strange. Compared to his time at Microsoft, it felt like an entirely different life. The immense stress he had endured there had driven him to confront Chairman Gates, which in turn led to his connection with ID Group—an ironic twist of fate. Had his eyes not “turned” at that moment, he would never have exposed Gates’ misconduct, and Microsoft might still be standing strong today.
Afterward, James had joined ID Technology, worked at ID Software in Dallas, and returned to Redmond following the organizational restructuring. When the Android Division became independent, he applied to Alpha Team and was accepted without difficulty. This allowed him to return to his original workplace, though much had changed.
The most dramatic change was his bank balance. Even as a member of Microsoft’s Alpha Lab, his annual salary had been around $120,000—a substantial income. After paying off student loans and mortgage payments and indulging in his hobby of high-end audio equipment, however, little remained. Once he joined the Android Division, everything shifted. His salary rose by $30,000 to $150,000, and an unexpected listing bonus dramatically increased his savings.
The Android Division’s listing bonus was distributed according to each employee’s core contribution to the operating system’s development. Because James had been involved with Glide X from the very beginning, he was considered an essential developer. His bonus amounted to $5 million. He had expected something, but the actual figure far exceeded his imagination. The real shock came when he saw the amount that actually reached his account. With a U.S. income tax rate of 39.6% on earnings above $400,000, roughly $3 million remained after taxes. It felt as though $2 million had been stolen while he sat still.
Still, he consoled himself with the thought that the government’s tax-funded infrastructure and education had created a thriving IT ecosystem that allowed his own income to grow so substantially. Even the remaining $3 million was an enormous sum. Saving that amount on his regular salary—after covering living expenses—would have required more than thirty years of saving every single penny.
He upgraded his parents’ home, paid off his own mortgage immediately, purchased the BMW he had long dreamed of, and bought the ultimate high-end amplifier and speakers he had always wanted, yet still had money left over. With his pockets full, his heart naturally grew more generous. For the first time in his life, he made a donation—choosing ID Foundation’s charity event for children with rare diseases rather than an unfamiliar organization.
The final change was the rekindling of his passion. James had become a programmer because of games. His parents, who held no prejudice against gaming, had bought him an Atari when he was a shy child who disliked sports. Deeply immersed in games, he had wanted to create one himself and discovered his talent, leading him down the programmer’s path. He had been scouted by Microsoft and joined the prestigious Alpha Lab, but the reality inside was nothing like the outside imagined. Beyond simply developing operating systems, he had been forced to carry out illegal orders, and harsh words never ceased no matter how hard he worked.
After the major trial and his move to the Android Division, however, the passion that had dried up began to return. The Glide X library he had helped create was now used in every game, visibly elevating the quality of titles on the market. Just a few years earlier, console games had far superior graphics and overall quality compared to PC games. Now the situation had reversed. With 3D and internet connectivity becoming mainstream, single-player console games rapidly lost popularity, while multiplayer PC games connected via the internet took over. Even James, once a dedicated console gamer, felt little excitement when Sony announced a new 32-bit console aimed at the summer season. In the past, he would have clipped magazine articles and counted the days until release. Now he simply didn’t care.
Arcade game centers were reportedly suffering the same fate. Computer games had surpassed arcade titles in quality, and with PCs becoming more widespread, fewer children visited the arcades. Knowing that the Glide X he had worked on was driving such a massive transformation in the gaming industry filled him with excitement.
Entering the main building directly from the parking lot, James showed his employee ID to the security guard he saw every day. Their interaction consisted solely of a nod. Company policy strictly prohibited personal conversations between security personnel and employees. The guard scanned the barcode on James’s ID card. His profile photo and personnel information appeared on the monitor. Only after confirming the face matched did the door open.
James had to repeat a similar procedure twice more on his way to the Alpha Team office. On the way out, employees even underwent bag inspections. The security system was far stricter than during the Microsoft era, and James felt slightly uneasy each time he passed through. In the current work environment, security was merely an inconvenience, but if the Android Division’s policies ever shifted back to Microsoft-style operations, it could become a powerful tool for controlling employees. James’s habit of arriving first every morning stemmed from his desire to do his part diligently and ensure the Android Division never changed for the worse. After all, Microsoft’s corporate culture hadn’t started out so corrupt either.
“Alright, let’s work hard again today, shall we?”
Upon reaching the office, James froze. The Alpha Team office door was already open. For a split second, the absurd thought of a thief crossed his mind—until he immediately realized how impossible that was. This place required passing through three separate layers of security just to reach. Gathering his courage, James stepped inside.
The office lights were all off, but at the very back, a desk lamp and monitor glowed brightly. Someone was sitting there, working intently at the computer.
To his astonishment, the person was Yoo Jae-won.
“Heh heh, if I do this… and then that… Ta-da! Complete!”
Muttering incomprehensible words to himself, Yoo Jae-won typed at a terrifying speed before immediately initiating a compile.