The Big Deal
“Hmm~ To be honest, I still haven’t made a decision yet.”
—No! What do you mean by that! At Yoo Jae-won’s reply, Ted Turner nearly leaped out of his seat. Though the man himself wasn’t standing before him, the Tiffany Phone 2’s HD voice support on international calls made the quality so crisp that his indignant outburst came through loud and clear.
—Is this really Yoo Jae-won, the chairman? The one I knew never used to be like this!
“Huh? What exactly do you mean by ‘like this’?”
Yoo Jae-won asked without thinking, then immediately felt his arms and legs curl inward with embarrassment. Looking back at the exchange, it sounded exactly like the kind of dialogue between a protagonist and his rival in a youth comic.
—Adventure, innovation, boldness! Those are the things you’ve always excelled at, aren’t they? The proposal we’ve put forward fits them perfectly.
Fortunately, Ted Turner had apparently never encountered the kind of cringeworthy scenes found in comics or dramas, so he answered the absurd question with perfect sincerity.
—A merger between Nextcomcast and Time Warner would go down as the largest business deal in history!
Indeed. Through Ted Turner, Time Warner had proposed nothing less than combining Nextcomcast with Time Warner itself. The first person to react to the news that Nextcomcast might launch or acquire a broadcasting network had been Ted Turner. He had called Yoo Jae-won directly and peppered him with questions. Several weeks later, he formally conveyed Time Warner’s desire to merge.
When Yoo Jae-won first heard the offer, his mind went straight to the AOL–Time Warner merger. Back then, that union had also been hailed as the biggest deal on earth and had drawn enormous attention. The resulting company, AOL Time Warner, had become a colossal media and telecommunications giant with a market cap exceeding $160 billion. But now AOL no longer existed—it had gone bankrupt. Its core technology had been dial-up modem access, and modem users had simply vanished. Internet connections had unified around broadband thousands of times faster than modems. Naturally, the company that had unified the North American broadband market was Nextcomcast.
A few years earlier, Yoo Jae-won had summoned Nextcomcast executives to Jeju Island and ordered them to expand rapidly while matching the lightning-fast customer response times seen in Korea. Nextcomcast responded with bold organizational restructuring and massive investment. They hired thousands of cable technicians who dealt directly with customers and trained them rigorously. They developed and widely deployed equipment that allowed faster cable installations. They aggressively pursued mergers with regional cable operators and launched new low-cost service tiers. Thanks to these changes, Nextcomcast had achieved its current brilliant results in both cable and internet provision.
AOL, by contrast, had hesitated and failed to adapt to the broadband era, ultimately collapsing completely. It was fair to say that Nextcomcast now reigned in the space AOL had once occupied.
“I agree with that assessment. But will the U.S. government approve it? If we merge only to get hit with antitrust violations, that would be disastrous.”
American antitrust law was extremely powerful. There were no half-measures or gentle slaps on the wrist as in Korea. Standard Oil had been broken up, and so had AT&T. Even Microsoft—now a faded name—had once seriously considered the possibility of being split. That was precisely why Yoo Jae-won had never integrated ID Office into Android Inc.: he had been mindful of antitrust concerns. Android 95 even shipped with third-party web browsers pre-installed so users could choose at first launch.
A merger between Time Warner and Nextcomcast carried an even higher risk of running afoul of antitrust statutes. Nextcomcast was a far more formidable company than AOL had ever been. Its portal Nextcom, the largest North American community site 2CH.com, and the online software sales platform ESD.com all belonged to Nextcomcast. It boasted more paying members than any other site and held an impressive share of the online shopping market—not to mention dominance in internet advertising. On top of that, it had nearly ten million cable TV subscribers within reach. Time Warner, for its part, was a media empire with vast holdings in film, music, and broadcasting, including its own wired cable operations.
—Don’t worry about that. There are ways around it. You agree, though, that if the merger happens it will benefit both you and us?
“That much is true.”
If the merger went through, Yoo Jae-won would gain access to Time Warner’s broadcast networks, its enormous cinema library, and the music catalog of Time Warner Music. For Time Warner, the appeal lay in being able to supply its content to the new continent called the internet. The internet was the defining topic of the age, and countless companies had already fallen for failing to adapt. The IT boom that had begun as a gentle breeze in the early nineties had become a gale that now threatened to swallow Nasdaq itself.
“Give me a little more time.”
—Good grief, you’re far more cautious than I expected.
“I know. My calculations are almost finished. I’ll contact you soon.”
Ted Turner had pitched hard, but Yoo Jae-won never made impulsive decisions. He knew all too well how the ambitious AOL–Time Warner union had ultimately ended in disaster for both sides. There was no guarantee the Nextcomcast–Time Warner merger wouldn’t meet the same fate. Even if Yoo Jae-won, armed with future knowledge, could steer the combined entity in a better direction, wielding that much influence inside a merged company would be difficult. Time Warner’s CEO and senior leadership were tied to the Rockefeller family, America’s most powerful dynasty. If he wanted to avoid simply handing Nextcomcast over to them, he had no choice but to run the numbers with extreme care. There were too many variables—from the structure of the merger itself to post-merger operational strategy.
—Hmph. Can’t be helped, then. Understood. But I can’t wait forever.
“Thank you. It won’t take long.”
—Very well. I’ll give you a few more days. I hope you reach a good conclusion.
With Ted Turner’s voice still echoing in his ears, Yoo Jae-won ended the call. The conversation was over, yet his mind remained tangled in complications.
“Who was that?”
At that moment, a voice sounded behind him. A soft warmth pressed against his back. Tiffany, who had woken without his noticing, had wrapped her arms around him from behind.
“Mr. Turner.”
“Turner? Time Warner’s Ted Turner? Why is he calling?”
Tiffany pulled away in surprise. Ted Turner was every bit as famous as Yoo Jae-won. Building a broadcast network from nothing had been impressive enough, but his blunt, colorful way of speaking had made him unforgettable.
“Ah, Mr. Turner suggested merging Nextcomcast and Time Warner.”
“Whoa! Really?”
Tiffany’s expression shifted from shock to delighted hopping. Time Warner was a media company far more familiar to ordinary Americans than Nextcomcast. Whenever people watched movies, television, newspapers, or magazines, they inevitably encountered Time Warner. For such a familiar giant to propose merging with Nextcomcast meant Yoo Jae-won’s stature had risen another level, regardless of whether the deal ultimately happened. Tiffany was close enough to share in his joy and felt genuinely happy for him.
Yoo Jae-won’s gaze, however, inevitably drifted downward. Tiffany wore nothing but a thin shirt instead of pajamas, and the gentle sway of her chest was fully visible. His temperature rose instantly, but there was no reason to hold back. Merger talks and Time Warner could wait. Both of them surrendered to instinct.
Several days passed in this manner. With his departure scheduled for the following day, Yoo Jae-won began his final schedule in Korea.
—Ladies and gentlemen, the ID Entertainment Warcraft 2 Fantasy League Finals are about to begin!
Jeon Hyung-jun’s opening shout reverberated through the arena. His voice carried the power of a trained singer, and the venue’s superb sound system made the moment feel like a concert. The crowd’s roar that answered him was every bit as thunderous. Even in the cold of winter, the stands were packed to capacity, and the spectators’ cheers rivaled the caster’s own.
The atmosphere inside the arena was electric. This was the Warcraft 2 Fantasy League Finals.
—Let’s meet our two finalists.
As the caster spoke, the massive screen displayed the faces of the two players who had overcome every obstacle to reach this glorious final stage. Yoo Jae-won didn’t recognize either of them, but their skill was every bit as real as Korean e-sports itself. America’s attempt to build an e-sports scene around FPS titles had flickered and died. The Ferrari given away as a prize in Quake’s first tournament had generated buzz, yet the competitions themselves had failed to take root. Playing the games was simply more fun than watching, and the broadcast technology had been inadequate. Poor viewership had doomed the effort to secure regular programming slots.
In contrast, Korea’s e-sports scene, centered on the RTS title Warcraft, had taken hold with remarkable speed. The nationwide network of PC bangs served as an ideal grassroots system, continuously producing talented newcomers. ID Entertainment’s rigorous infrastructure had further strengthened the ecosystem. Gamers who proved themselves in PC bang tournaments advanced to the Champions League to determine the best among the best. Those who excelled there earned spots in the year-end Fantasy League, where they competed in a short, high-stakes tournament. Prize money increased with each stage; the Fantasy League champion received a full fifty million won. Even second and third place earned respectable sums, and simply qualifying for the Fantasy League guaranteed a five-million-won appearance fee. Naturally, the players burned with ambition.
The tournament was broadcast on a cable television channel. Unlike before, however, ID Entertainment now handled everything from tournament operations to commentary, while the network merely received the video feed and aired it—exactly the model FIFA used for its competitions. The World Cup broadcast was produced directly by FIFA; networks only supplied commentators and casters. This approach prevented future disputes over broadcasting or intellectual-property rights while ensuring the highest-quality production. At present, no other entity could afford the rights anyway, and viewership remained modest, resulting in losses. The amounts involved, however, posed no burden to ID Entertainment.
The venue itself was a performance hall located on the lower level of a shopping mall inside the 101 Building. It comfortably seated a thousand spectators for concerts and tournaments, and the broadcast equipment was already installed, allowing e-sports events to be run at low cost.
The match began at once, and the tension never let up. The contest remained fiercely competitive from start to finish. When the final “GG” appeared on screen, the entire arena shook with an enormous roar.
Carrying that fiery energy in his heart, Yoo Jae-won boarded his flight to the United States with renewed resolve.
That same evening, American television networks simultaneously began reporting the breaking news that Nextcomcast and Time Warner were exploring a merger.