Fields Medal Glory and the PlayStation Launch
The Power Blogger — International Mathematical Union Announces 1994 Fields Medal Winners
— Yoo Jae-won (Chairman of ID Group, Korea), who proved the Poincaré conjecture
— Efim Zelmanov (Russia), who solved the restricted Burnside problem
— Pierre-Louis Lions (France), for contributions to the study of nonlinear partial differential equations
— Jean Bourgain (Belgium), for achievements in the geometry of Banach spaces
On August 1, 1994, the International Mathematical Union announced the Fields Medal recipients, and a flood of related articles followed. Yoo Jae-won’s name appeared first, followed by the other three winners. The Fields Medal carried prestige in mathematics comparable to the Nobel Prize. Major world media outlets reported on it at least once, spreading the names across the globe. Yet not all four recipients received equal attention. One stood out so dramatically that coverage focused almost entirely on him: Yoo Jae-won. He was the youngest, had solved a problem long regarded as one of the most difficult, and was by far the wealthiest. Most people assumed mathematicians had little connection to vast fortunes, but Yoo Jae-won existed at the complete opposite end of that spectrum.
As news of the award spread, congratulatory calls poured in. Most were handled by the secretarial office to avoid disrupting his schedule, though a few calls made it through directly to Yoo Jae-won. The call he was currently on was one of those.
“Chairman Yoo, congratulations on the Fields Medal. With all your business commitments, I’m amazed you still managed such an achievement. You truly are a national treasure!”
“You flatter me, sir.”
“When do you plan to return to Korea? Be sure to contact me when you do. This time I’ll treat you to a proper banquet instead of just kalguksu.”
“Kalguksu was already wonderful, but an even more lavish banquet? My expectations are soaring. I’ll definitely reach out once I’m back.”
“Haha, good. Make sure you do.”
President Kim’s congratulatory call lasted about five minutes. Having met in person before, the conversation felt natural. To President Kim, Yoo Jae-won felt far more approachable than his own party rivals. Those rivals smiled outwardly while sharpening knives behind his back. President Kim was quietly advancing his signature project of historical rectification, only to face constant obstruction from opposition factions within his own party. In contrast, Yoo Jae-won paid taxes exemplarily, created jobs aggressively, and enhanced national prestige through his achievements. It was impossible not to feel favorably toward him.
“The reaction is more intense than I expected.”
Yoo Jae-won handed the phone to Kim Dae-seok once the call ended. President Kim’s enthusiasm had genuinely surprised him. Offering a full banquet instead of the Blue House’s trademark kalguksu spoke volumes.
The calls weren’t limited to President Kim. His parents, Tiffany, Tiffany’s parents, his elementary school teachers, and Jeon Myeong-heon had all reached out. Stanford professors and countless others who had crossed paths with him also called. Even Tiffany’s grandfather, Fredrick Taylor II, personally telephoned to offer congratulations. Business associates followed suit, keeping the secretarial office in chaos.
“Of course it’s intense. This is the Fields Medal—the Nobel Prize of mathematics.”
So that’s how it is.
“If I ever win an actual Nobel Prize, would the reaction be even bigger?”
If the master plan unfolded smoothly, receiving a Nobel Prize would be inevitable. Among the knowledge and technologies Yoo Jae-won would personally develop, several would instantly surpass the boundaries of human achievement.
“Naturally. Just imagining it is overwhelming. Given your position as chairman of ID Group, plenty of people will try to curry favor with you through this opportunity.”
Kim Dae-seok’s reply carried the usual exaggeration of someone who supported everything Yoo Jae-won did, yet it also struck at the core truth: much of the heightened reaction stemmed from his status as head of ID Group. Yoo Jae-won had not been the sole recipient. Three other mathematicians, each with far longer records of accomplishment in the field, had also been honored. The fact that coverage focused almost exclusively on him rather than them was telling.
“Will you attend the International Congress of Mathematicians on the 14th?”
“With everyone this excited, of course I’ll go.”
Attendance carried another significance: military service. Thanks to Jeon Myeong-heon’s generous consideration, the Fields Medal had been added to the list of exemptions, resolving the military issue that had once troubled the master plan. Yoo Jae-won had never considered renouncing his Korean citizenship, so his options had been either to pursue an exemption through extraordinary means or to serve when called. After careful reflection, the latter had carried more weight. His past-life experience had left him with a somewhat positive view of military service; the rigors of enlistment had helped pull him out of an unhealthy obsession with virtual worlds and back toward normalcy. Though physically exhausting, the experience had been genuinely beneficial.
“Understood. I’ll make the arrangements.”
Yoo Jae-won informed Kim Dae-seok that many people would accompany him to Switzerland—his parents, and Tiffany, whose summer break aligned with the timing.
“Yes, sir. I’ll ensure everything is prepared without a hitch.”
With those words to his capable secretary, preparations for the Switzerland trip were effectively complete. Returning to work, Yoo Jae-won surveyed the neatly arranged packages on his desk, steeled his resolve, and focused his concentration.
A few days later, internet news from Japan caught his eye.
The official launch of the PlayStation, a console destined to leave its mark on video game history, had finally arrived.
“Well, they’ve certainly lined up quite the queue.”
Among the attached photos, the first showed a long line stretching in front of a shopping center in Akihabara, Japan’s electronics mecca—people waiting to purchase the PlayStation. Scrolling further revealed images of the shopping center preparing for the crowd, with massive PS logos and promotional banners covering the building, along with staff in mascot costumes and cosplay.
“Over 300,000 won for a single console, and that many people are buying it?”
The official Japanese price was set at 39,980 yen. At the current exchange rate of 803 won per 100 yen, that translated to over 320,000 won in Korean currency. Even accounting for Japan’s higher income levels, it was a substantial amount. Yet the turnout proved just how passionate gamers were.
“Then again, Japan’s economy does seem to be recovering somewhat lately.”
Indeed, Japan’s economic situation had shown signs of improvement. The Nikkei index, which had recorded a historic crash, had rebounded thanks to the U.S. economic boom, recovering much of its losses. Some Japanese economic institutes were even suggesting that Japan might finally be emerging from its long stagnation. Yoo Jae-won had considered having ID Investment issue a rebuttal, but he let it go. People were free to dream. Soon enough, they would be talking about the “Lost Decade” instead.
“Well, as long as the Doom 1 expansion pack sells well, that’s enough for me.”
Among the flood of 32-bit consoles, the PlayStation would prove the most successful. This version boasted more than three times the performance of its previous-life counterpart, leaving little room for competition. The only disappointment was that the initial launch was Japan-exclusive. Had it been up to Yoo Jae-won, he would have mass-produced units for a simultaneous global release. Sony, ever cautious, had chosen to secure its domestic market first before expanding sequentially. The U.S. launch appeared targeted at the winter holiday season—likely Thanksgiving at the earliest, Christmas at the latest.
More important than the hardware itself were the launch titles. A console needed games to fulfill its purpose. There were four simultaneous-release titles, mostly matching what Ken Kutaragi had previously shared: Ridge Racer, Battle Arena Toshinden, Tekken, and the Doom 1 expansion pack. In terms of quality, the Doom 1 expansion stood head and shoulders above the rest. Optimized for the PlayStation’s Android operating system and Glide X 3D library, it had been ported with relative ease. Objectively, its graphics and sound surpassed the other launch titles by a wide margin.
The only uncertainty lay with Japanese gamers’ unique tastes. They were the very definition of “Galápagos”—stubbornly clinging to preferences that diverged from global trends. Whether they would embrace a first-person shooter remained an open question. America, however, was different. FPS had already become the undisputed king of gaming genres there. Countless imitators of Doom and Wolfenstein had flooded the market. The phenomenon of everyone rushing to copy a successful title wasn’t unique to Korea.
“But none of them turned out well.”
The copycats had achieved only mediocre results. Without solid planning, merely imitating others guaranteed low quality. North American gamers, burned by these inferior clones, were eagerly awaiting a proper title. The PlayStation version of the Doom 1 expansion would go a long way toward satisfying that thirst. Of course, what gamers and Yoo Jae-won truly anticipated were Wolfenstein and Quake. Wolfenstein represented the pinnacle of what computer games could currently achieve, while Quake—built around multiplayer—would pioneer the new concept of e-sports.
Beep.
— Chairman, it’s Ellen. I’ve finished reviewing the revised terms and sent them via email.
The message arrived via ID Talk from Ellen, the legal director who had been unusually quiet lately. With ID Group’s rapid growth, lawsuits—both as defendant and plaintiff—had multiplied. On top of that, the upcoming game releases and Android terms revision had made her the busiest person in the company. Yoo Jae-won had no qualms about expanding staff, so the legal department saw new faces almost daily. Yet Ellen’s perfectionist nature meant she personally verified everything, leaving her just as overwhelmed as before. Unlike Yoo Jae-won, whose movements always drew attention, Ellen’s heavy workload went largely unnoticed.
“I’ll review it right away.”
Yoo Jae-won fully understood the importance of her work. In his previous life, he had lost money more than once by signing contracts without carefully reading the terms. Now the roles were reversed—he was the one presenting the terms—but that didn’t mean he could draft them carelessly.
“Let’s see.”
The new terms incorporated numerous clauses designed for the internet era. They clearly defined responsibility for user personal information management and established ownership of data stored on online servers. The key concept used was “rental.” In games like Ultima Online, all player data resided on servers. Claiming ownership over items obtained through gameplay would create countless complications. Framing everything as a rental during the period of account usage simplified matters considerably. At the same time, the terms did not minimize user rights. They explicitly guaranteed compensation for any infringement caused by system errors and pledged best efforts for data recovery. The Android operating system terms followed a similar direction: purchasing a license granted usage rights, not ownership. Unauthorized reverse engineering or modification of system files was therefore illegal. Retail versions could not be shared among multiple users—a measure targeting businesses like PC bangs. Usage rights were tied to the purchaser’s name, and profiting by allowing others to share the license violated the terms. Purchasing a commercial license resolved this issue. Though PC bangs were still a niche industry with limited numbers, they would soon explode in popularity. Past conflicts over this very matter had been severe, which was why Yoo Jae-won had ordered preventive measures before such businesses even emerged.
Scanning the densely written terms with wide eyes, Yoo Jae-won confirmed that Ellen had faithfully executed his instructions. The problem was that the legal jargon was so rigid that after just a few lines, his eyes grew heavy and drowsiness set in.
Something’s definitely wrong here.