Mint Choco Linux
The message Regime Change Ellen had sent in a panic was clear: they could not simply sit back and watch this Linux situation unfold; they had to sue immediately. Yoo Jae-won first replied to President Ellen, telling him to hold off. Then he visited the homepage of the most famous Linux distribution—the one with the red hat, commonly known as Red Hat—and began downloading the newly released 2.0 version.
“Hmm, is this really the official site?” The homepage was so basic it bordered on sloppy. It was so rudimentary that Yoo Jae-won genuinely couldn’t tell whether it was a personal site or one thrown together to make money.
Some might wonder how a free operating system like Linux could generate revenue, but that confusion stemmed from a misunderstanding of the word “free.” The Linux kernel itself was indeed free. What people actually used, however, were distributions—packages that made the kernel user-friendly with convenient interfaces and pre-configured software. Among these, Red Hat had recently gained significant popularity. While the distributions themselves were also distributed for free, receiving technical support after installation required payment. Compared to the Android Enterprise edition, the price was very cheap, and the support level matched that low cost. For people who knew their way around computers, it was an extremely attractive option.
“It’s slow.” The Red Hat homepage apparently ran on an independent server. That made sense; the newly released Linux 2.0 had been created specifically to compete with ID Group’s cloud system, so establishing their own servers was only natural. The problem was that so many people were trying to download it at once that speeds had plummeted. At least the server hadn’t crashed, which suggested decent stability. Still, the dedicated internet line seemed to have limited capacity—the transfer rate hovered around 200 KB per second.
“Wow, internet speeds really have gotten incredibly fast.” Seeing that number sent Yoo Jae-won spiraling into nostalgia. He remembered the days when he had struggled to distribute Keyboard Warrior in America. Back then, he had connected through a modem to a paid trial internet service and used FTP to send files. Transfer speeds at the time had been a miserable 1 to 2 KB per second. Now the world took 1 MB/s connections for granted. Of course, even faster services—100 times or even 10,000 times quicker—would emerge in the future, but the psychological impact would never feel as dramatic as this leap.
Receiving 1 MB per second and then dropping to 100 KB felt unbearably slow. “Might as well play a game.” Rather than stare blankly at the progress bar, Yoo Jae-won decided to launch a game for the first time in a while. The title was Half-Life.
When the game started, the ID Entertainment logo burst onto the screen. Originally developed by a company called Valve Corporation, it had been founded by Gabe Newell and Mike Harrington. The reason the ID Entertainment logo now appeared was actually quite amusing.
If Yoo Jae-won had simply used his future knowledge to acquire Valve and fold it into ID Entertainment, the story would lack flavor. Besides, he had been too busy to micromanage that particular deal. The truth had unfolded naturally. Surprisingly, both Gabe Newell and Mike Harrington had been Microsoft employees. After ID Group acquired them, their position had grown somewhat precarious, but the company’s job security policy had allowed them to transition smoothly into the Android division. When Yoo Jae-won later introduced an internal venture program, they submitted a proposal to develop a game. It was approved.
Unlike P Market, which had launched relatively quickly, Half-Life had taken quite a long development cycle. Nevertheless, Yoo Jae-won had waited. Or more accurately, he had simply forgotten about it. The budget allocated to Half-Life was negligible compared to ID Group’s overall scale. In a capitalist society, the size of an investment usually reflected the level of attention it received. Projects with massive funding drew focus, while smaller ones tended to be overlooked—even for someone like Yoo Jae-won.
Especially recently, Blizzard had been working with Origin Systems on an enormous project that consumed an astronomical budget. That project was an MMORPG built on the Warcraft universe. Origin Systems possessed the know-how from having created Ultima Online, the world’s first major graphical online game. However, Ultima Online had reached the end of its lifespan. The main storyline had concluded, leaving only player-created content. With interest shifting toward 3D online games, its user base had been steadily declining.
Had this been Korea, they might have introduced item enhancement, random boxes, experience boosters, and oppressive control systems. But neither Yoo Jae-won nor Richard Garriott had any interest in such practices. Instead, they had diligently hunted down macro users running automated farms. They had agreed that once the servers grew completely empty, they would shut the game down gracefully.
In exchange, Origin Systems would leverage the expertise gained from developing and operating Ultima Online to create a new MMORPG. Blizzard felt the same. Fresh off the success of StarCraft, they were preparing to release an expansion pack. The quality was so high that they had scheduled the release for the first anniversary of the original. While finishing that project, they had also begun work on their next Warcraft title.
The question had been whether to make another 3D RTS or something entirely different. Learning of Origin Systems’ situation, they had agreed to create a 3D MMORPG set in the Warcraft universe. Origin Systems would handle the network systems while Blizzard took charge of the client program. Origin Systems had been considering a 3D MMORPG but had hesitated because it was uncharted territory. Blizzard’s timely proposal had been perfect. The two companies had drawn up a roadmap: first create an MMORPG together, then use the acquired technology to develop the next-generation 3D MMORPG.
Yoo Jae-won had naturally agreed to fund part of the development costs. He had also given the Blizzard MMORPG project its name—WOW.
His attention had been completely focused on the WOW project when Half-Life suddenly appeared. The team had sent him a CD, saying they wanted to show it to him before creating the gold version. The unexpected timing had surprised him once; the dramatically improved quality had surprised him twice.
The Android operating system and GlideX library had fundamentally changed PC game development. In particular, the GlideX included in Android 98 had converted the entire GPU resource system into a shader framework that developers could fully utilize. Half-Life took 100 percent advantage of this. No wasted resources meant significantly higher graphical quality. The game’s improved water effects, reflections, and shadows created an incredible sense of immersion.
“Should we print an initial run of about five million copies?” The PC game market was growing rapidly. Video game consoles still held the largest share and would continue to do so, but PC games were showing explosive annual growth. At this rate, a game selling ten million copies—an unprecedented milestone—would appear soon. Naturally, Yoo Jae-won wanted that historic first to belong to his own company.
Having played Half-Life in his spare time over the past few days, he had become increasingly convinced that this was the title destined to reach that unknown realm. It wasn’t without flaws, however. The motion sickness was worse than in other 3D games—the infamous 3D nausea. It was the biggest problem with 3D FPS titles. Despite developers’ best efforts, many gamers still experienced it. This version of Half-Life was particularly severe. Even Yoo Jae-won, who was completely accustomed to 3D games, felt it slightly. Someone more sensitive like Tiffany would likely experience immediate symptoms.
Fortunately, solutions existed. They could reduce the slippery feeling when the character moved and add more distinct visual cues for walking and running. Adjusting the field of view would also help alleviate the nausea.
Other issues included a somewhat unnatural story and a MacGuffin that didn’t quite function as one. Additionally, the planned trilogy had previously ended after only two games. This time, he intended to secure a firm promise that they would definitely release the third installment and properly conclude the series.
Ding!
Yoo Jae-won had been enjoying the game while organizing feedback when the alarm sounded. The download had finally finished. He closed the game, transferred the completed file to a USB drive, and moved to the test computer.
It was an assembled PC built with individually sourced parts rather than an iWorks machine—the computer they used specifically for installing competitors’ software. Since USB memory transferred faster than CD, installation was quick. Once it booted, Yoo Jae-won immediately began examining Linux’s condition.
His face, which had started relaxed, grew increasingly rigid as time passed. Eventually he began reading the source code, and the time he spent doing so grew longer and longer. His concentration lasted until the early hours of the next morning. Had his stomach not growled, he might have continued until breakfast. The fact that he had skipped dinner was what finally woke him.
“Linus and Richard really sharpened their blades for this version.” Linux 2.0 was on an entirely different level from what Yoo Jae-won remembered. The reason Linux had evolved so rapidly was clearly the existence of a solid reference to study: the Android Enterprise edition. Of course, they hadn’t copied it blatantly. The source code was original to Linux. Nevertheless, the similarities were substantial. The intense analysis was obvious.
If the Enterprise version hadn’t existed, neither would this current Linux. “What should I do about this?”
The key issue was price. For small companies, adopting Linux instead of Android Enterprise would be far more beneficial. Stability had yet to be proven and post-support would be minimal, but the fact that it was free was the decisive factor.
“Should I just flood the market with Enterprise too?” The internet was territory they could never afford to lose. If securing market share required it, Yoo Jae-won was fully prepared to release the Enterprise version at rock-bottom prices just as he had done in the PC market.
However, taking legal action would only raise Linux’s profile. Filing an astronomical lawsuit was easy, but it seemed more likely to help the opponent than harm them. The simplest strategy for second- or third-place products to challenge the leader was to establish a rivalry. A lawsuit from the top dog would do exactly that. Regardless of actual quality, once a rivalry was established, consumers would view the products as equals.
Many companies worked tirelessly to manufacture such rivalries. Android’s rise in recognition through its lawsuit against MS was a textbook example. If ID Group sued Linux now, it would be the same as instantly elevating Linux from near-zero recognition to worldwide fame.
Yoo Jae-won’s deliberation deepened. Then a light bulb went off in his mind.
“What if we just join them?” There were no restrictions on participating in Linux development. That was why developers from all over the world contributed enthusiastically. Some ID Group developers even participated in their spare time. Their usernames were clearly visible on the Linux homepage. Since Yoo Jae-won remembered not only the Alpha Team members’ real names but also their IDs, spotting them had been easy.
Fortunately, they hadn’t simply copied Android’s source code. Had they done so, a lawsuit would have been immediate. The Alpha Team received exceptional treatment, but they were also required to sign strict confidentiality agreements. Violating them meant repaying several times what they had earned, so their security awareness was quite thorough.
In any case, anyone could participate in Linux development. Creating a distribution was even easier. One simply needed to combine the open kernel and applications appropriately. The Linux Foundation held the sole authority to finalize the official source code, but if one demonstrated superior technology, they would have no choice but to adopt it.
By interfering with Linux’s development direction using advanced technology and releasing their own distribution, they could exert influence over Linux itself. They could market to small and medium enterprises, schools, and other cost-sensitive organizations with the new distribution, while targeting places that required uncompromising performance with Android Enterprise regardless of price. Wouldn’t that further strengthen ID Group’s portfolio?
Having organized his thoughts, Yoo Jae-won immediately sent a reply to President Ellen. He instructed him to scrap the lawsuit and instead establish a dedicated Linux development team within ID Technology. He had already thought of a suitable name.
“Mint Choco would be perfect.” Among the thirty-one flavors at that ice cream shop, one stood out in the most peculiar way. That was mint chocolate. People who loved it really loved it, but far more people hated it. The current position of Linux was exactly like mint chocolate. The name was certainly unusual for a distribution, but since Red Hat already existed, Yoo Jae-won figured it didn’t matter.
Having wrapped up his response to Linux, Yoo Jae-won was finally able to slip into a comfortable bed. But unfortunately, just as he fell into deep sleep, a phone call jolted him awake.
"Let's go somewhere."
Only a handful of people could wake Yoo Jae-won from sleep—his parents and a few close acquaintances. This call came from within that circle. The person on the other end was the hottest figure in Korea these days: President Jeon Myeong-heon.
Still half-asleep, Yoo Jae-won answered the phone only to have Jeon Myeong-heon bluntly tell him they needed to go somewhere.
"It's Pyongyang."
Pyongyang! At the word “Pyongyang,” Yoo Jae-won’s sleepiness vanished instantly.