Choice and Concentration
“I’m not sure if this will suit your taste.”
Kim Mal-sook, Yoo Jae-won’s mother, entered the study carrying a tray of refreshments. Whenever guests visited, she always prepared something to serve, though not every tray was the same. A select few received special treatment—those visitors were always offered the finest green tea, imported fruits, and handmade pastries. Choi Kang-wook was one of those honored guests. In her mind, Yoo Jae-won’s success owed much to capable allies like Choi Kang-wook, and she wanted to show her gratitude in whatever small way she could. It was a far cry from the way chaebol families treated their aides like servants.
“Oh my, thank you so much, ma’am.”
Choi Kang-wook, well aware of the gesture’s meaning, accepted the tray with genuine appreciation. As someone who frequently interacted with aides from other conglomerates, he often noticed the stark difference in how he was treated at ID Group. Each time, he found himself thinking how fortunate he was to work with Yoo Jae-won. Thanks to that, Choi Kang-wook had risen to become ID Group’s second-in-command. Even as his salary and social standing underwent a dramatic transformation, he had managed to hold on to his original humility. His monthly paycheck alone now exceeded the annual salary of a top-tier professional in Seoul. Though technically on a contract basis, the money arrived like clockwork on the twentieth of every month, ID Group’s payday. Performance-linked options had also pushed his compensation steadily higher over the past year.
With his income rising, Choi Kang-wook’s lifestyle had changed almost daily. He had moved from an ordinary apartment to a villa in Hannam-dong the previous year, and now he owned a detached house in Seongbuk-dong, one of Seoul’s most prestigious neighborhoods. His wife and children’s quality of life had improved just as dramatically. Yet Choi Kang-wook himself remained unchanged—except for one visible difference: the watch on his left wrist. It was the finest piece from a selection Yoo Jae-won had purchased during a trip to Switzerland. A high-end model from Patek Philippe, the undisputed leader in watchmaking, its luxury tax alone could have bought several other premium timepieces. Apart from that watch, Choi Kang-wook looked exactly as Yoo Jae-won remembered.
Just as his outward appearance stayed constant, Choi Kang-wook had been working tirelessly behind the scenes for ID Group and Yoo Jae-won. Today, he could finally report the results.
“The reform bills you wanted will pass in early November.”
After taking a moment to enjoy the refreshments Kim Mal-sook had prepared, Choi Kang-wook moved straight to the point.
“I’m glad we won’t have to carry this over into next year.”
“I’m sorry it took so long.”
“There’s no need for you to apologize, Chief of Staff. The real problem lies with the lawmakers who put political squabbling ahead of legislation that actually helps people.”
The contrast with the U.S. Congress, which had moved swiftly once the downsides of the internet became clear, was stark. Still, the fact that an agreement had finally been reached was a relief to Yoo Jae-won.
Choi Kang-wook opened his briefcase and continued his explanation. Inside were memos, handwritten notes, and documents covered in underlines—the very bills Yoo Jae-won had proposed. With South Korea’s OECD accession now a foregone conclusion, the government was using that as justification to pass laws such as the class-action lawsuit act and the punitive damages act. However, many provisions had been watered down from the original drafts. The punitive damages act, for instance, capped compensation at only three times the damages—far short of the tenfold multiplier common in the United States. If the profits from illegal activity were large enough, many companies would still be willing to take the risk.
“Other companies’ lobbying efforts were considerable, so we had no choice but to make some compromises.”
“Well, the first step is the hardest. Once the framework is in place, we can strengthen it through amendments.”
In truth, Yoo Jae-won’s ambitions had been quite aggressive. Simply getting these laws passed would already be an unprecedented achievement. Even in his previous life, the punitive damages act had never made it through the legislature because of corporate opposition. After the IMF crisis, real power had shifted from the Blue House to the conglomerates, and Ilseong Group’s explosive success in mobile and semiconductors had cemented that reality. At least now, with political power still somewhat intact, the National Assembly had managed to produce legislation.
“The revision to the Personal Information Protection Act tailored for the internet era and the so-called anti-abuse bill will also pass—and those remain close to the original drafts.”
That was welcome news. The core of the personal information law was not about mandating specific technologies like ActiveX, but about holding companies accountable for results. The era when companies could claim they were “protecting” data simply by forcing users to install outdated plugins was over. Companies could choose their own security methods, but they would bear full responsibility for any breaches. With minimum compensation set at 50,000 won per person, a leak involving millions of records would be financially catastrophic—especially once class-action lawsuits and punitive damages were factored in. Some voices had already complained that the regulations were too heavy for an industry just getting started, but Yoo Jae-won believed that visible examples of failure were necessary for healthy growth. Besides, forcing companies to take security seriously would only help the security industry flourish.
“However, several labor-law provisions are still under negotiation.”
“Is that so?”
Yoo Jae-won’s reaction was noticeably cooler than Choi Kang-wook’s worried tone. He no longer felt much inclination to invest energy in labor issues. Passing these laws would not directly maximize his own interests. While labor costs did represent a significant portion of ID Group’s expenses—an inherent trait of IT companies—progressive and labor groups had been spreading rumors that Yoo Jae-won was deliberately trying to slash wages through “regressive” labor reforms. The claim was entirely malicious and unrelated to his actual goals. They failed to grasp that the purpose of the revisions was to benefit workers themselves. In an economy posting record numbers across the board, it was impossible for anyone to imagine the post-IMF situation. Consequently, they could only interpret Yoo Jae-won’s good intentions as malice. They seemed to have forgotten his repeated statements that competing globally required world-class talent and that such talent had to be compensated generously. Worse, Yoo Jae-won had not merely talked—he had actually followed through.
“Well, it’s fine. Forcing people to accept something they don’t want isn’t my style anyway.”
Given the circumstances, Yoo Jae-won’s enthusiasm for pushing the reforms had largely faded. He was beginning to think it might be better to wait until after the IMF crisis hit and then intervene. For now, as long as the worst bills that had previously been railroaded through were avoided, he was willing to accept the outcome.
“Thank you for saying that.”
Choi Kang-wook produced another bundle of documents—the labor-law amendments most likely to pass. These, too, had undergone numerous revisions. The most noticeable change concerned the definition of wages for non-regular workers. Yoo Jae-won had argued that temporary workers should receive higher pay than regular employees, with the premium set at 10–20 percent depending on circumstances. The version Choi Kang-wook presented had reduced that margin to 5–10 percent. The Democratic Party and labor groups had refused to negotiate at all, while the ruling Minja Party had suggested that paying the same wages as regular workers would already be generous. Only the United National Party had supported Yoo Jae-won’s original figures, but the gap between the two sides had resulted in the compromise range of 5–10 percent. It was a pity the Democratic Party and labor groups had not backed the United National Party; better treatment might have been possible. In addition, the range of industries allowed to hire non-regular workers had expanded far beyond the original proposal. The one saving grace was that even non-regular workers had to be hired directly—dispatch agencies were prohibited. While the process had yielded no gains and only losses, achieving even this much in a country with such strong pro-business leanings was still a significant accomplishment.
“What about these?”
Choi Kang-wook had not shown Yoo Jae-won everything in his briefcase. Curious, Yoo Jae-won asked, and Choi Kang-wook smiled as he answered.
“Various pieces of information gathered while working in Yeouido. There are also receipts for lobbying expenses and records of promises received.”
Nothing in this world was free. Even justice carried a price tag, and the gift basket Choi Kang-wook had brought came with one as well. Yoo Jae-won was prepared to pay that price. On a larger scale, this was simply the work of setting traps to repay debts from his previous life. Yet the shrewd Choi Kang-wook had returned with added value beyond the costs incurred. The remaining documents, taken together, amounted to a high-end directory of political figures. The true nature of Yeouido politicians was not easily discerned. Many who appeared decent in public reversed course once elected. Choi Kang-wook had meticulously collected and organized firsthand information. Naturally, it differed in quality from the data Yoo Jae-won had compiled while building his master plan. Because politicians could not afford to pretend when their own interests were at stake, the documents contained details that could never be gleaned from media reports alone.
When crafting the master plan, Yoo Jae-won had devoted the most effort to technology, followed by people. At the time, however, he had held no high position and could only access community posts and articles online. In contrast, what Choi Kang-wook had brought was vivid, living information—details no outsider could know. It was an extremely valuable asset.
Yoo Jae-won picked up the top document and examined it. Choi Kang-wook’s meticulous nature was evident in the clean, organized presentation. Beyond mere information gathering, the material could be used to put opponents in difficult positions. It was a treasure.
“By the way, do you have these in computer files as well?”
“Ah, well…”
For ordinary work, Choi Kang-wook would have delegated to staff, but this information was far too sensitive. He had handled everything himself. Involving employees risked leaks that could embarrass both the targets and ID Group, potentially squandering a valuable advantage. So he had done it alone. Choi Kang-wook was more comfortable with handwriting than typing, so he had created the documents by first setting up templates on a computer and then filling in the content by hand. Yoo Jae-won could understand that. With his fast typing speed, converting all the documents into Word files would take less than an hour.
“On another note, there’s an interesting power struggle developing between the National Assembly and the judiciary.”
Choi Kang-wook still had more to share. The conflict between legislative and judicial authority had begun with the impeachment of judges. The unprecedented impeachment of judges by the National Assembly had severely damaged the judiciary’s prestige. The judiciary was now working to restore its standing through a public apology from the Chief Justice and promises to prevent recurrence. Choi Kang-wook’s assessment was accurate: the judiciary’s swift counterattack had targeted National Assembly members facing trials. Arrest warrants that had once been difficult to obtain were now being issued routinely, and cases that might previously have ended with light fines were resulting in suspended sentences or worse.
“Heh, the checks and balances are finally starting to function properly.”
The people had chosen the separation of powers so that great powers would check one another. In reality, the three branches had treated one another’s domains as off-limits, solidifying their privileges through an unwritten rule. That rule had been shattered by the impeachment of judges over the comfort-women victims’ cases. The judges themselves had never imagined impeachment would actually happen—until it did. Now that judges were wielding heavier penalties against politicians and high-ranking officials, the National Assembly was moving to rein them in by addressing the issue of preferential treatment for former judges.
“Yes, this is what a proper separation of powers should look like.”
Choi Kang-wook agreed with Yoo Jae-won. The more fiercely the legislative and judicial branches fought using each other’s weaknesses, the better it was for the public.
“Exactly. Anyway, nothing’s more entertaining than watching a good fight. I hope they keep putting on a show for us.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Eventually the entertaining conflict would settle into a compromise, but the longer that process took, the better.
“By the way, it seems quite a few overseas guests are hoping to meet you.”
As Chief of Staff, Choi Kang-wook reviewed Yoo Jae-won’s schedule daily, especially when he was in Korea. He was naturally aware that the president and executives of Nextcomcast would be visiting in a few days.
“It looks like our family will finally have a proper gathering in Korea.”
“Yes, but it won’t just be our people.”
“Hmm? What do you mean?”
“Ah, you haven’t seen the message yet. There’s the contract signing with the company supporting Android’s Secure Area. Symantec has requested that the ceremony be elevated. They said they’d be happy to fly to Korea if you invite them.”
Once Choi Kang-wook explained, Yoo Jae-won understood. The contract could be signed with President Kevin Johnson without issue, but having Yoo Jae-won himself sign would generate far more publicity. At first the idea felt bothersome, but on reflection, making a splash in Korea wasn’t a bad thing. The higher the profile, the better.
“A big event sounds fun. Please make the necessary preparations.”
“Of course.”
Choi Kang-wook’s simple reply filled Yoo Jae-won with a deep sense of reassurance.