The Funeral Delegation and the Mobile Business

Normally, a call to Yoo Jae-won would begin with a polite inquiry about whether he was available to talk. But for his parents, Tiffany, and Jeon Myeong-heon, it was always a free pass.

“Grandfather?”

“Yes! I just arrived in Seoul. How did you all manage to call right after we got off the plane? The timing was perfect.”

At Jeon Myeong-heon’s words, Yoo Jae-won immediately understood. It seemed there was some kind of automatic report triggered whenever he entered the country. Whether it was surveillance or protection, the fact that he was considered that important to Korea didn’t ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠feel entirely bad.

“Of course not. I’m hardly at an age where a half-day flight would cause any problems!”

Moreover, Jeon Myeong-heon was someone he could speak with comfortably and even act a little spoiled around. So even this sudden call led to a warm, pleasant conversation.

“Are you doing alright, Grandfather? With the news of Kim Il-sung’s death, I imagine the Blue House is in complete chaos.”

“Hehe, well, anyone could have guessed that much. I hear there’s even been a run on supplies in the markets. You think the Blue House is any calmer?”

As expected, the matter of paying respects was the real problem. From what he heard, there was a quiet power struggle within the Blue House over whether to send a delegation. Although a North-South summit had taken place, Kim Il-sung was the man responsible for starting the tragic fratricidal Korean War. The number of lives lost in that conflict was staggering. With so many people who had lived through the war still alive, many argued that attending the funeral was an entirely different matter from the summit.

On the other hand, those like President Kim and Jeon Myeong-heon, who wanted to move toward a new era, insisted that if North Korea was to be treated as a legitimate dialogue partner, then paying respects was simply the right thing to do. Even with President Kim’s sky-high approval ratings, the clear opposition showed that feelings toward the North couldn’t be erased overnight.

The fact that Jeon Myeong-heon had called the moment Yoo Jae-won landed suggested that his advice would solidify the older man’s stance.

“We should go.”

Yoo Jae-won had already given this matter plenty of thought, so the answer came immediately.

Jeon Myeong-heon, who had an unusually deep attachment to North Korea, immediately sounded brighter at the affirmation. It wasn’t just sentiment; the North Korean development projects looked like extremely promising business opportunities in his eyes. His decision carried multiple layers of calculation.

But Yoo Jae-won wasn’t finished.

“However, I’d prefer it if you didn’t go yourself, Grandfather.”

“The relationship with the North is good right now, but without resolving the fundamental issue of their nuclear program, it could freeze over again at any moment. When that happens, there will definitely be people who attack you for having attended the funeral. It would be better to send the Chief of Staff instead.”

Jeon Myeong-heon’s reaction was lukewarm. It was clear he didn’t like the suggestion.

From the reply, Yoo Jae-won could tell Jeon Myeong-heon’s mind was made up. The man’s greatest trait was pragmatic activism. He was the type to ask someone who said something couldn’t be done whether they had actually tried it. Expecting him to quietly back down just because Yoo Jae-won advised against it was unrealistic.

Besides, at this stage, securing an opportunity to meet Kim Jong-il was the right move. And if he was going to meet him, having Jeon Myeong-heon observe wasn’t a bad idea. The only regret was that, to Yoo Jae-won who had returned from the hellscape of the 21st century, Kim Jong-il was already a failed figure.

Given Kim Jong-il’s personality, he would undoubtedly pursue nuclear weapons. That would lead to the collapse of the North Korean economy and the beginning of the Arduous March. It was all but certain.

“Well then, instead of going alone, why don’t you go together with the leaders of the political parties?”

Yoo Jae-won offered a compromise. Rather than taking all the heat himself, dragging others along like drowning ghosts would at least dilute the focus of criticism. Since even President Kim was pushing for the condolence visit, the ruling party’s floor leader couldn’t refuse. The opposition parties, who had historically been more conciliatory toward the North, would have no reason to reject the proposal either.

Jeon Myeong-heon clearly disliked the idea of sharing the spotlight, but he didn’t outright reject it. Yoo Jae-won’s concern was perfectly reasonable.

“Yes. I originally had a broadcast appearance scheduled, but it was canceled because of this situation, so I no longer have any business in Seoul. Normally I’d come see you, but I know you’re busy right now.”

Jeon Myeong-heon sounded like he wanted to make time even if it meant pushing himself, but as Yoo Jae-won said, he was incredibly busy. He had to meet with other party leaders to organize the delegation; there wasn’t a spare moment.

“Understood.”

Jeju Island?

Yoo Jae-won’s investment in Jeju Island had been proceeding without a hitch. While Jeju locals ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were generally wary of mainlanders and reluctant to sell land, not everyone was like that. If offered two or three times the normal price, many would reluctantly agree. There were also many cases where Seoul residents already owned the land.

According to the recent report from Hwang Jae-hong, who now lived on the island almost full-time, roughly fifty percent of the coastal areas in Gimnyeong and Woljeong-ri had been acquired, while more than seventy percent of the inland areas were secured. ID Group’s aggressive investment had inspired many other major players to follow suit, breathing new life into Jeju’s real estate market.

“Understood. Please contact me when you return, and I’ll clear my schedule immediately.”

Since Jeon Myeong-heon would never make a harmful suggestion, Yoo Jae-won agreed without hesitation.

The very next day, reports about the delegation poured out at lightning speed. Just two days ago, the Park Sang-han incident had dominated every medium. Today, the news was filled with stories about the condolence delegation and the schedule for the North Korea visit.

“Tsk tsk. Is this what they call pot mentality?”

Yoo Jae-won clicked his tongue. If you only watched television, it was as if the Park Sang-han incident had never existed. The newspapers were the same. Depending on their political leanings, they ran articles either criticizing or supporting the formation of the official government delegation, and in doing so, the Park Sang-han story vanished completely.

To Yoo Jae-won, who had sharpened his sword while preparing for the debate, it felt utterly hollow. He had gathered a mountain of social science experiment data after contacting his professors at Stanford, and he had also found numerous papers from British journals known for their eccentric experiments. Naturally, most of the materials showed little to no connection between game addiction and violence.

The relationship between games and violence had already been studied extensively overseas, so he hadn’t needed to spend much time finding the data. In addition, he had collected plenty of information related to Park Sang-han himself. He had mobilized the intelligence team and transferred materials stored in his Memory Palace.

As expected, when examining Park Sang-han’s background, the real issue wasn’t game addiction but his relationship with his parents. Park Sang-han had a selfish personality and rarely saw anything through to the end. He also enjoyed drinking and frequently caused trouble. His parents tried to correct his behavior with coercion and violence, which only made him rebel more.

This conflict exploded when it came time for university. Park Sang-han had originally been interested in automobiles and planned to pursue that field, but his parents wanted him to attend a Korean medicine college. That was understandable—his father had built a successful herbal medicine business from nothing and hoped his son would carry on the legacy.

The problem was that Park Sang-han’s grades were nowhere near good enough for Korean medicine school. Nor were his parents willing to let him study what he actually wanted. In the end, he enrolled in business administration at a local university but couldn’t adapt. As a last resort, his parents sent him to study in America. Of course, a forced study-abroad program was doomed to fail.

Eventually, he racked up massive gambling debts at an illegal casino and returned to Korea. When the debt collectors began pressuring him, he committed that horrific, immoral crime. In that context, games had simply been an escape for Park Sang-han—a temporary way to forget reality. Moving from Doom to the fresher, more stimulating Lineage was only natural.

Armed with these facts, Yoo Jae-won had been ready to bombard with hard evidence those who claimed without any proof that the mere presence of games on Park Sang-han’s computer made them the cause of his crime. But because Kim Il-sung had passed away earlier than expected, all of that preparation had become useless.

“Well, these things happen.”

Although disappointed, Yoo Jae-won didn’t dwell on it. He wasn’t the type to let a little timing misalignment ruin his mood—not after everything he had been through in his previous life. Besides, the debate had only been one part of his plan. There were countless other ways to completely change the public image of gaming.

“Then shall we begin the official schedule?”

Today’s first order of business was a meeting with Lee Yong-kwon, president of TG Group. They were scheduled to discuss the inspection of TG Mobile, which was about to begin trial service, along with various other business matters they were pursuing together with ID Group.

“Ah, you came out to wait for me again? I’m not too late, am I?”

As soon as Yoo Jae-won stepped out of the car, he greeted Lee Yong-kwon. Even though TG Group’s status had risen dramatically, the president was once again waiting in front of the main lobby, just like before.

“When the chairman comes, it’s only natural for the president to wait first.”

Although they were strictly leaders of separate companies, Lee Yong-kwon spoke as if they were part of one organization.

“By the way, you look much healthier than you did on ID Talk. Have you been taking special care of yourself lately?”

Lee Yong-kwon’s complexion and overall aura had clearly improved since their last meeting. It wasn’t empty flattery. Even compared to their very first encounter, he had changed significantly. Though his words were light, his demeanor carried the weight of someone leading a massive organization.

Indeed, TG Group had grown large enough to flirt with the top ten conglomerates in Korea. Once TG Mobile properly launched, entering the top ten would be no problem at all.

“Alright then, shall we head up right away? The presentation has been ready for a while.”

“Yes!”

Lee Yong-kwon, perhaps influenced by Yoo Jae-won, now got straight to the point as well.

Yoo Jae-won had come to see Lee Yong-kwon today to receive updates on the preparation status for commercial service and the business plan for TG Mobile, which was scheduled to officially launch this autumn at the latest, or by winter at the latest.

They took the elevator to the top floor of the TG Building and were led into the executive conference room. When Yoo Jae-won and Lee Yong-kwon appeared together, everyone who had been waiting stood up at once.

Just from the atmosphere of the conference room, Yoo Jae-won could feel how different corporate cultures could be. TG Group was unmistakably a classic Korean conglomerate. Everyone present was dressed in formal suits, and the mood was extremely solemn.

The conference table was arranged in a U-shape, with two ornate chairs positioned at the head. The executives of TG Mobile sat in perfect order of seniority along both sides. Compared to the meetings Yoo Jae-won occasionally held with the Alpha Team in Redmond, this felt more like a presidential cabinet meeting, whereas ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the gatherings in Redmond had resembled a bustling marketplace.

“Please, take a seat.”

At Lee Yong-kwon’s invitation, Yoo Jae-won sat at the head of the table. Only then did the standing TG Mobile executives take their seats.

Although Yoo Jae-won personally owned forty-nine percent of TG Mobile, he had completely delegated management to Lee Yong-kwon. Aside from the auditors appointed by ID Group, this was his first time meeting most of the people in the room. After brief self-introductions, they moved straight into the presentation.

“Good afternoon. I am Jeong Min-ho, Head of Mobile Planning at TG Mobile.”

The presentation was delivered by a man in his early forties with a rather stiff expression. He connected the Shell Book to the projector, displayed the ID Office screen, and picked up a red laser pointer with a solemn look. The presentation that followed perfectly matched the rigid atmosphere he projected. It was dry and boring.

The logo for SPEED 010—the mobile carrier brand Yoo Jae-won had personally selected—along with various promotional strategies, all carried the unmistakable flavor of 1994. The logo itself, rendered in thick Gothic font against a blue background reminiscent of Porter cars, was faithful to the era’s sensibilities. It showed effort, yet it felt hopelessly outdated.

Yoo Jae-won could have said plenty about the microscopic design flaws that grated on him, but he raised no objections. Logos were ultimately a matter of personal taste, and his own sense of aesthetics came from a future far removed from the present.

Besides, with the golden 800MHz frequency band, groundbreaking coverage from the very beginning, and even the Tiffany Phone ready, TG Mobile was a business that could succeed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even with a far worse logo. It was simply that strong.

“Hmm?”

While listening with such generous tolerance, a sound of doubt escaped Yoo Jae-won’s lips again when the service fee section appeared on the screen.

“Subscription fee? 100,000 won?”

The 100,000 won subscription fee displayed prominently in front of him felt overwhelmingly burdensome.