Conquering the Airwaves

On July 5th of Android 95, ten days before the pilot service launch, TG Mobile’s Speed 010 commercials began flooding television airwaves. Flip through any channel and the advertisement appeared with such frequency that it was impossible to miss. Newspaper ads had already been running for a full month, and because reservations opened at the same time, every slot was already taken. Mobile communication demand in Korea had exploded so violently that the print campaign alone generated a staggering wave of prospective ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠subscribers.

Even so, the decision to push television spots was deliberate: they wanted to brand the name Speed 010 indelibly into the public consciousness. With Shinsegi Communications and now the Seonkyung Group entering the fray, the mobile market had become a three-way war. Among the competitors, TG Mobile suffered the lowest name recognition. Shinsegi and Seonkyung traced their histories back to the 1960s and ’70s, while TG had only emerged in the 1980s. Its rivals operated across dozens of industries; TG had walked the single path of computers.

Yet beneath the surface, TG Mobile was remarkably robust. Its parent company, the TG Group, was riding the IT boom perfectly, posting record computer sales month after month. With that kind of war chest behind it, TG Mobile could blanket the airwaves with expensive television commercials for Speed 010.

What made it interesting was that the only trademark TG Mobile had filed for was the word “Speed.” Legal review concluded that 010 was a shared carrier prefix used by all three companies, making exclusive rights impossible. Only “Speed” received trademark protection. A minor controversy flared over whether TG could monopolize even that single word, but precedents such as Apple and Android had already normalized the practice, so the issue never escalated.

“Time for us to begin in earnest as well!”

Yoo Jae-won, making one of his rare appearances at ID Technology’s Korean headquarters on Seoul’s Rodeo Street, spoke with firm enthusiasm. What he meant was the promotional campaign for the Tiffany Phone. Speed 010 was the carrier’s advertisement; the phone itself required ID Group to handle its own marketing.

“Yes, everything is ready,” Choi Kang-wook replied in a steady, reassuring voice.

The Tiffany Phone prototype had been completed the previous year, and production of advertisements and promotional events had proceeded in lockstep. All preparation work had taken place in Korea, which held a pioneering position in the commercialization of CDMA 2G mobile networks. Other countries were still lagging and preparing GSM—the so-called European standard—instead.

Producing a GSM version of the Tiffany Phone posed no major obstacle. After coordinating with carriers, only a handful of key hardware components needed swapping and the software required minor tuning; the core design could be reused almost entirely. Because Korea was the first nation to commercialize CDMA, the current advertising campaign had been crafted specifically for the Korean market.

“Following your instructions, Chairman, we prepared two distinct advertisements. We’ll begin with the first installment of the detective series.”

The conference room lights dimmed. The projector flickered to life, and the prepared commercials played in sequence.

The first commercial featured the universally recognizable Korean actor An Seok-gi. Shot in a detective-chase concept, An, dressed as a seasoned investigator, pursued a fugitive into the mountains only to lose him at a critical moment. His radio failed at the worst possible time, yet contact with his colleagues through the Tiffany Phone allowed them to close the net. The story was simple, but it landed.

The memorable tagline at the end was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠impossible to forget. When Yoo Jae-won began to clap, the entire conference room erupted in applause. Though freshly completed, the commercial carried the deep, savory flavor of long-simmered broth. That was only natural; the agency behind it was Geumgang Planning, a subsidiary of the Mirae Group, and the color grading, framing, and entire visual grammar faithfully reproduced the style of 1990s advertising. Old memories surfaced vividly even without Yoo Jae-won opening the doors of his Memory Palace.

Still, the execution was excellent and the intended message crystal clear. As the title suggested, this was the opening chapter of a serialized detective story, and it had launched strongly. Most importantly, the core point—superior performance in mountainous terrain—had been driven home perfectly.

The Tiffany Phone itself, however, was barely visible. The device had been deliberately kept in the shadows, its presence implied rather than shown. The reason was obvious.

“Next is the first global edition.”

The following commercial felt instantly familiar to Yoo Jae-won—pure 21st-century styling. The camera focused relentlessly on the Tiffany Phone, while high-speed computer graphics showcased every function with fluid grace. The device was the sole protagonist. A perfectly synced voiceover explained its capabilities at a brisk pace, each feature elevated to artistic levels by the accompanying visuals.

Compared to future smartphones the specifications were modest, yet the commercial successfully conveyed that this was the finest mobile device the current era had to offer. Yoo Jae-won’s strategy was clear: appeal to the fundamentals through An Seok-gi’s relatable detective story, then highlight the performance that set the Tiffany Phone apart from rivals with a sleek, stylish production.

Even a man like Yoo Jae-won could not be entirely certain how the public would react to two such contrasting commercials airing simultaneously. The situation had changed in countless ways since his previous life. Competitors, empowered by technologies he himself had introduced, had advanced far beyond their original timelines. Korean companies in particular had come to understand the critical importance of design—an understanding proven by TG’s Egg series, which had seized the global high-performance PC market in a single stroke.

Anyone could assemble a PC if they secured the right components. Previously the game had been won on price, but the revolution of design had transformed TG overnight into the synonym for premium computers. The design innovation displayed by the Tiffany Phone was equally revolutionary. Even the prototype, when glimpsed in limited leaks, had reportedly left Ilseong Electronics and Mirae Electronics reeling. At first glance it existed on an entirely different plane from their own clunky black-plastic devices.

Copying it, however, would not be easy. Technical and design patents, combined with ID Group’s exclusive control of key components, created insurmountable barriers. The vibrant color LCD on the Tiffany Phone’s front, for example, came from ID Display and used specifications no one else could yet mass-produce. The synthetic resin protecting the screen and forming the rear casing was Corning’s Gorilla Glass, secured through an exclusive mobile-sector contract. The same applied to the lithium-ion battery and high-sensitivity antenna.

While other ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠companies could obtain modem chips through Qualcomm, they would have to develop everything else themselves or settle for inferior alternatives. Still, because the Tiffany Phone had established the new design direction, complacency was dangerous. In IT, gaps of several years could vanish in the blink of an eye, and similar designs would soon flood the market.

Yoo Jae-won knew the entire future roadmap, yet the reality remained challenging. The future technologies stored in his mind could not all be implemented immediately. A true smartphone required an integrated Application Processor combining modem, CPU, GPU, and memory controller. Without it, battery life and processing speed would collapse. Creating a chip worthy of being called an AP would take years.

Until then, he would have to compete against latecomers using feature phones of comparable performance. Even after the smartphone era arrived, the pattern would continue. Shared foundry processes would equalize hardware specifications. Therefore Yoo Jae-won’s strategy was to armor the Tiffany Phone with an unshakable identity of innovation from the very beginning, cultivating a core base of loyal supporters.

“Has the limited-edition recipient list been finalized?”

Yoo Jae-won was asking about the list of individuals who would receive gift Tiffany Phones. Since Korea was the first launch market, more than half the names were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Korean.

“Yes, here it is.”

Choi Kang-wook handed over a document. It contained a carefully curated selection of mid-1990s celebrities and prominent social figures who could aid the advertising effort. Each entry included a photograph, a concise biography, and notes on their upcoming activities. Thirty people in total—singers, actors, athletes, writers—all at the absolute peak of popularity in their fields.

Yoo Jae-won flipped through the pages rapidly, pausing here and there to leave a star. The entire review took less than five minutes; he seemed to be judging largely by image alone. When he finished, he returned the document to Choi Kang-wook.

“Please replace the checked individuals. They don’t quite match our brand image.”

Choi Kang-wook’s face filled with question marks as he examined the marked entries. The selected people shared no obvious common traits—different ages, different professions. In truth, they were all individuals destined to cause scandals in the near future: gambling, drunk driving, corruption. Some would erupt within months, others within a year or two. Yoo Jae-won was simply filtering them out in advance.

Nothing caused a company more headaches during a major campaign than an endorser imploding. In Korea, when a celebrity caused trouble, the damage inevitably spilled over to the brand. Advertising agencies had even begun conducting unauthorized background checks on talent, and leaks of that information had created their own scandals. For Yoo Jae-won, who carried an entire library of future events inside his Memory Palace, the task was effortless. He simply marked the names he remembered and moved on.

“Understood!”

Choi Kang-wook had seen this pattern before. He accepted the instruction without question, knowing that in a few months the reason would reveal itself, just as it always had.

Discussion continued on numerous additional promotion strategies: posters for retail outlets, incentive programs to drive aggressive dealer sales, and more. Yoo Jae-won personally reviewed and approved every policy. The preparations were now so complete that a formal launch could begin at any moment.

A few days later, the Tiffany Phone commercials Yoo Jae-won had reviewed appeared on television. Seen through a cathode-ray tube rather than a projector, they carried a subtly different atmosphere. Their effectiveness, however, was undeniable. Although stock had not yet reached the ID flagship store, dozens of customers were already inquiring. Carrier dealers reported pre-orders pouring in at a pace that dwarfed both domestic handsets and foreign brands like Motorola and Nokia.

“Hmm? Isn’t that one supposed to air?”

Even after confirming the Tiffany Phone spots, Yoo Jae-won remained seated in front of the television.

“Secretary Choi said it would come on before the news. Wasn’t it supposed to be KBS?”

He scratched his head, trying to recall, and reached for the remote. Just as a saccharine chocolate commercial ended, a blizzard swept across the screen, coalescing into a single logo—Blizzard Entertainment.

“Ah, it’s finally here!”

Created using more than ten thousand cloud computers, the breathtaking fantasy world, the majestic score that elevated its atmosphere, and the perfectly matched voice acting formed an impeccable whole.

Yoo Jae-won had never forgotten for a single moment the reason behind this trip to Korea. Although Kim Il-sung’s death had indefinitely postponed the main scheduled debate, every other prepared measure was proceeding exactly as planned. The first of those measures—the Korean-language commercial for Blizzard Entertainment’s latest title, Warcraft: Humans and Orcs—had just struck the nation’s public airwaves with thunderous force.