The Blue House Banquet
The regime-change dinner at Cheong Wa Dae was an extremely uncomfortable affair for Yoo Jae-won. Though he had looked forward to dining at the Blue House after so long, he could barely tell whether the food was going down his nose or his mouth. The cause was the man seated beside him—Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung.
From the seating arrangement, Yoo Jae-won found himself positioned between President Jeon Myeong-heon and Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung. That was not all. The remaining seats were occupied by cabinet ministers and other high-ranking officials, forming a circle around them. The placement was deliberate. Every gaze in the room converged on Yoo Jae-won. Moreover, President Jeon Myeong-heon must have said something beforehand, because whenever Yoo Jae-won opened his mouth, everyone stopped eating and turned to look at him.
While he would have preferred to simply eat in silence, both President Jeon Myeong-heon and Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung kept interjecting with questions. The president’s questions were ordinary enough, but the prime minister’s were far more troublesome—queries about economic issues or politically controversial events. They were the kind of questions that had no easy answers and whose solutions depended heavily on political leanings.
Of course, Yoo Jae-won answered every question without evasion, stating his opinions plainly. Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung and the cabinet ministers listened attentively as he spoke.
“Pardon? The National Pension?”
At some point, the conversation turned to the National Pension. When Yoo Jae-won mentioned the lack of a social safety net, President Jeon Myeong-heon said he was considering measures, and Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung proposed the idea of fully implementing the National Pension.
Korea’s National Pension had a fairly long history. It began in 1973 with the enactment of the National Welfare Pension Act. At the time, the pension was designed less as welfare and more as an economic tool for mobilizing capital. The idea was to collect citizens’ money, build industrial facilities with it, and pay pensions from the profits generated. It was a sound concept. In an era of high inflation, even bank deposits lost real value, whereas industrial facilities could generate enough added value to outpace inflation. Though the National Welfare Pension Act was well designed, its enforcement was suspended for a year due to the Yushin regime, and later postponed indefinitely after the oil shock.
Then, in 1986, the “Welfare” was dropped from the name, creating the National Pension Act, which had been in effect since 1988. It targeted wage earners whose income was easy to verify, and benefits combined a flat-rate pension proportional to contribution period with an income-proportional pension. In his previous life, the system had remained in this form until President Kim Dae-jung’s administration, when it was fully implemented—bringing with it both the light and shadow of society, and creating numerous problems.
Yoo Jae-won had always been negative about the National Pension. After becoming a salaried worker, he had diligently paid into it, yet he never received a single won until the day he died alone. The fund had depleted far faster than projected. Various measures had been proposed to delay that date—lowering the income replacement rate, raising the eligibility age, and so on. The amount one could receive had shrunk relative to contributions, and the age at which one could apply kept receding further into the future. Under the original plan, he would have begun receiving benefits a few years before his death. In that case, the day of his regression would have come much later, and he would have brought back even more advanced future technology. Instead, he had died without ever seeing a single won of the pension he had paid into. He had often thought it would have been better to simply save the money or buy shares in large corporations.
Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung explained the National Pension to him in detail. Unfortunately, the structure he described was identical to the one from Yoo Jae-won’s previous life.
“Hmm. There seem to be some problems with it.”
Though it was their first meeting, Yoo Jae-won immediately began raising objections—an act of considerable rudeness. Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung, however, was no stranger to debate. He had even developed his own economic philosophy and received recognition for it in book form. While he had not anticipated Yoo Jae-won’s rebuttal, he listened with an open mind.
Yoo Jae-won pointed out the issues one by one—the very problems every young person in the twenty-first century knew well. Despite the barrage of facts, Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung nodded and continued listening. The one who grew flustered was the Deputy Prime Minister for Economic Affairs. He was the man who had taken President Jeon Myeong-heon’s directive to strengthen the social safety net, received Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung’s concrete idea of expanding the National Pension, and drafted the amendment for full implementation. He had known about the problems Yoo Jae-won was pointing out and had deliberately concealed some of them. Yet here was a young man who had only just heard about the pension structure delivering a counterargument on the spot—it was startling.
“The most important thing about the National Pension isn’t full implementation or the income replacement rate—it’s population policy. This plan assumes our country’s population will keep growing, but I believe it will decline sharply after the twenty-first century begins.”
In the sixties and seventies, the problem had been families having too many children. Three was standard, and households with six, seven, or even more siblings were common. A strong birth-control policy had been implemented and deemed successful. In hindsight, however, the policy had been an unnecessary blunder from the start.
“That seems like quite a leap,” the Deputy Prime Minister for Economic Affairs finally managed to retort.
“Whether it’s a leap or not, we’ll know once the twenty-first century arrives. The population will decrease very rapidly. And once that downward trend sets in, recovery won’t be easy.”
The turning point for Korea’s plummeting birth rate had been the IMF crisis. When it was difficult enough for a person to support themselves alone, who could think of marriage or childbirth? Yet President Jeon Myeong-heon, Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung, and everyone else present seemed unable to fully grasp Yoo Jae-won’s words. Still, Yoo Jae-won had chosen birth rate as the simplest and most reliable indicator for measuring how well he was executing the “governing the nation” portion of his grand plan.
In any case, Yoo Jae-won expressed clear opposition to the full implementation of the National Pension. He even suggested an alternative: creating a sovereign wealth fund. While pensions had limits as investment vehicles, a sovereign wealth fund could pursue returns exclusively. Moreover, with the many cheat keys he possessed, he could generate returns far exceeding even the massive profits he had made from oil futures during the Gulf War. If they followed his advice, he was even willing to guarantee the returns outright.
However, bureaucrats had their own interests depending on their affiliations, and President Jeon Myeong-heon and Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung belonged to entirely different parties. How the matter would ultimately be resolved remained uncertain.
“You worked hard.”
“You’re the one who worked hard, Grandfather.”
The banquet had ended, and they were now in a private meeting—just the two of them. Only then could Yoo Jae-won address him as “Grandfather,” and President Jeon Myeong-heon treated him not as the owner of the White Tiger Fund and ID Group, but as a grandson.
“I had intended to keep it simple, but Prime Minister Kim and the others all said they wanted to meet you. So the scale grew a bit.”
President Jeon Myeong-heon patted Yoo Jae-won’s back as he explained the reason for the lavish banquet. The dinner that had just concluded was certainly not in Jeon Myeong-heon’s usual style. He had always preferred simple meals—rice, a bowl of soup, and kimchi. His childhood eating habits had not changed even after becoming a chaebol. Rumor had it that even as president, he still ate breakfast that way. Yoo Jae-won vividly remembered their first private meeting, when they had eaten cheap seolleongtang together.
Yet because Yoo Jae-won was the main guest and the cabinet ministers including the prime minister were present, President Jeon Myeong-heon had no choice but to change his approach.
“By the way, I may have overstepped a bit during the banquet.”
“What nonsense. If that counts as overstepping, then no one would ever be allowed to speak the truth.”
President Jeon Myeong-heon seemed unconditionally on Yoo Jae-won’s side—whether out of affection or because his advice had always proven accurate. He had taken Yoo Jae-won’s side on the National Pension issue as well. Perhaps this would make Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung view him even less favorably.
“Besides, you’re probably the first person to push Prime Minister Kim that hard. Once you start listening to that man’s rhetoric, it’s easy to get swept away. There are plenty of other matters besides the National Pension.”
“Really?”
President Jeon Myeong-heon shook his head as if he had been quite troubled by Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung. Compared to Jeon Myeong-heon, who charged forward like a bulldozer once he set his mind on something, Prime Minister Kim Dae-jung excelled at reaching consensus through discussion. Their chemistry was not particularly good.
“Not long ago he insisted we needed to create a Ministry of Gender Equality. You have no idea how troublesome that was.”
Ah, the Ministry of Gender Equality. Anyone born in the seventies could say with certainty that discrimination against women had existed. Therefore, special attention to advancing women’s rights was the right thing to do. Yet clear improvements had been made since the eighties, and it would not be an exaggeration to say things had changed decisively after the twenty-first century. The problem arose when seventies sensibilities were applied to the twenty-first century—not merely creating trouble, but generating significant social conflict.
“So are you going to create it?”
“I said no. We’re busy reviving the economy—what’s the point of a Ministry of Gender Equality? I told him to do that sort of thing after I’ve revived Korea’s economy.”
As expected, President Jeon Myeong-heon was the original bulldozer. His greatest goal was rebuilding the Korean economy, and for that, he had no qualms about pushing other matters aside.
More conversation followed. Having not seen each other in a while, both Yoo Jae-won and President Jeon Myeong-heon had much to discuss. They spoke openly about the president’s family and Yoo Jae-won’s recent business developments.
“Who do you think will win the World Cup in France?”
Naturally, with the tournament opening soon, the French World Cup became a topic of conversation.
“It has to be Les Bleus. They have the home advantage and that terrifying new star Zidane.”
“What about our Korea? Do you think we can get even one win?”
“That’s a bit…”
While Yoo Jae-won boldly predicted France’s victory, he could only shake his head at the mention of Korea. The current Korean national team was led by the living legend Cha Bum-kun. They had caused an upset in the qualifiers, raising national expectations to a fever pitch. Yet in the finals, where they needed to show their true ability, they had failed spectacularly—suffering a record defeat to the Netherlands and seeing Coach Cha Bum-kun dismissed before the round of sixteen had even concluded. It was the so-called “Disgrace of Marseille.”
“How is the preparation for our World Cup going?”
With the French World Cup mentioned, it was only natural to bring up the 2002 World Cup as well. The official name of the 2002 World Cup, jointly hosted by North and South Korea after beating out Japan, was the 2002 Korea-DPRK World Cup—2002 KOREA WORLD CUP in English.
“We’re still in the design stage.”
The most important project for the 2002 Korea-DPRK World Cup was constructing seven international-standard football stadiums. Construction in each city needed to begin by at least 2000 to meet the 2002 opening deadline. There was still some time, but not enough to waste. Seoul would naturally have one. The remaining local governments were waging all-out battles to host a World Cup stadium in their proudest cities. The stakes were not limited to the stadiums themselves. Countless decisions remained—who would play which matches at which venues, how tickets would be sold, and so on.
Yoo Jae-won was no exception. The standardization war for HD digital broadcasting was scheduled to begin, with the 2002 World Cup serving as the opening skirmish. He needed to ensure that as many of ID Group’s technologies as possible were adopted as standards. He could not allow the previous situation—where only flashy scenes appeared while the rest was filled with artifacts—to happen again. Additionally, selling the equipment and technology would generate enormous revenue.
“We’ll need to manage things carefully so no complaints arise over the various issues. Especially the Korea Football Association president.”
The Korea Football Association president Yoo Jae-won referred to was none other than President Jeon Myeong-heon’s youngest son, the troublemaker Jeon Jae-jun. After a major blunder during the last presidential election that earned him his father’s severe disapproval, he had taken Yoo Jae-won’s advice and switched to football, where he had been riding high ever since. With the joint hosting of the Korea-DPRK World Cup, he was enjoying the golden age of his life.
“Yes, this is his last chance, so he’d better do well. If I hear even a rumor that he accepted bribes or anything of the sort, I’ll send him straight to Dokdo this time.”
Yoo Jae-won simply nodded at President Jeon Myeong-heon’s words. What was interesting was that this was not an overreaction. President Jeon Myeong-heon’s resentment toward Jeon Jae-jun, whose trustworthiness had hit rock bottom, had still not fully dissipated. Moreover, with the son of a former president currently imprisoned for acting like a shadow president and committing all manner of corruption, Jeon Myeong-heon was firmly determined that his own son would not follow the same path.
“By the way, what’s happening with North Korea?”
As the atmosphere mellowed, Yoo Jae-won brought up North Korea. Officially, the inter-Korean summit was for discussing the establishment of a peace regime on the Korean Peninsula and the details of the Kaesong Industrial Complex, Mount Kumgang tourism, and the joint World Cup. Yet it was clear there was more to it.
“Ah, that. The North said it’s time to end the war. They want to discuss it properly this time.”
President Jeon Myeong-heon spoke as if it were nothing significant.