The Collapse of Mount Fuji: The Beginning of Japan's Conquest
The fall of Mount Fuji was not some grand, theatrical affair. The start of the conquest of Japan amounted to nothing more than a single text message sent to Vincent Greenhill, who was already stationed there. The short-term plans had been drawn up long ago; all that had remained was Yoo Jae-won's resolve. The only real question had been timing—when exactly to pull the trigger. Remington's enthusiastic support multiplied his courage a hundredfold, so he did it without hesitation.
“By the way, how are preparations for Next Music coming along?”
Perhaps because he had already committed, Yoo Jae-won’s face looked noticeably more relaxed. The current issues facing Time Warner Comcast naturally came to mind.
“Our internal pipeline is nearly complete. The problem remains the outside record labels. Especially major artists like Metallica—their perception of MP3s is extremely negative.”
Metallica. It had been a while since he’d heard that name. If there was ever a band that embodied American machismo, it was them. Even Yoo Jae-won, who had never been a huge rock fan, had heard their hit “Enter Sandman” several times. And Metallica didn’t merely dislike MP3s—they loathed them.
“On top of that, there’s this new service called Napster that’s become a real headache. It overlaps almost completely with our Next Music service, except it’s free. The industry’s view of the internet was already poor; now it’s hit rock bottom.”
Yoo Jae-won nodded with a grave expression at Remington’s words. Napster was a P2P MP3-sharing program. The issue was that it had originally appeared around 1999, yet here it was a full year early. The concept of P2P already existed; Napster had simply layered MP3 sharing on top of it. Its premature arrival hadn’t caused any catastrophic incident. The real problem was that it was highlighting the downsides of MP3s to the music industry and creating harmful preconceptions, which was making the Next Music business far more difficult.
“Still, Napster’s model is illegal. Ours is completely legitimate.”
Napster wasn’t true P2P. It stored users’ MP3 lists on central servers, then connected people who had the files when others searched for them. Shut down the servers, and the entire service would be paralyzed.
“In that case, I’ll take the lead and sue Napster myself.”
In the original timeline, Napster had been hit with massive lawsuits from the RIAA, Metallica, Dr. Dre, and others. The court eventually ordered the service shut down around 2001. It had appeared like a comet and vanished just as quickly. Yet the name Napster lived on, its impact on the music market that profound.
“Sir? Not through Warner Music, but you personally? That might damage your image.”
“It’s fine. A little notoriety won’t kill me. Besides, can someone who downloads music illegally really call themselves a fan? A real fan would at least buy the album. That’s the point I want to make.”
Even if suing Napster earned him a villainous reputation, Yoo Jae-won could bear it easily.
“That makes sense. In Korea, Next Music already seems to have become part of fandom culture.”
While preparing the global launch of Next Music, Remington had studied the Korean market most closely. In Korea, artist fandoms and Next Music had fused in a remarkably systematic way. Every fandom understood that streaming and download numbers on Next Music directly affected music show rankings. As a result, when a new album dropped, fans would concentrate their firepower and send streaming and download figures through the roof. It had become one of the defining features of modern Korean fandom culture.
The fact that something that should have appeared in the early 21st century was already happening in 1998 was thanks to Nextcom’s role as the holy land of fandom culture. Even during its PC communication service days, Nextcom had fostered vibrant community culture. After transitioning to full internet web services, those communities grew even stronger. Fan sites for singers were actively supported and created through Nextcom, allowing it to lead the way in shaping fandom culture.
Because of this, music critics often complained that the Korean Next Music charts had become nothing but an idol-dominated battlefield. Yoo Jae-won paid it little mind. After all, it meant they had captured the hearts of the teens and twenties who would shape the future.
On the contrary, the treatment of artists had improved dramatically compared to his previous life. Next Music’s 7:3 revenue split, along with the copyright management system and its derivative services, ensured proper accounting. Furthermore, the enforcement of standard contracts on entertainment agencies had almost completely eliminated slave contracts. The days when an artist could sell a million albums yet receive less than one percent of the total revenue were gone.
As a result, those who couldn’t keep up with the changing times grumbled that the “hungry spirit” had disappeared from the industry. Everyone was struggling after the foreign exchange crisis, yet the glamorous lives of singers only intensified the public’s sense of relative deprivation. Such nonsense was best ignored.
“Even so, we should be able to reach the ten million track library you mentioned by early July, sir. We’re collecting every possible song—Korean music, third-world music, classical, everything we can get our hands on.”
Yoo Jae-won nodded at Remington’s report. Most revenue would come from new releases, but the symbolic power of ten million tracks was enormous. If the mere mention of music streaming or downloads immediately brought Next Music to mind, they would have secured a foundation that could sustain them for a century.
“Oh! And Sony Music has made an interesting proposal.”
Sony? The relationship between Japan’s Sony and ID Group was complicated—sometimes cooperative, often hostile. Sony’s octopus-like expansion touched everything from finance to entertainment, creating numerous overlapping businesses with ID Group. They only cooperated in video games; in music, film, and finance they were locked in cutthroat competition.
This tension had even led to rumors that Sony was considering changing the operating system for the PlayStation 2. They supposedly planned to adopt the currently trending Linux to completely escape ID Group’s influence. The reason was simple: because the current OS was Android—the same as PCs—many third-party developers released PlayStation versions of their games and followed up with PC versions just months later. In an environment still rife with illegal copying, sales would plummet shortly after release.
Yoo Jae-won considered this perception unfair. Illegal copying wasn’t exclusive to PCs. PlayStation CDs were copied just as often. No mod chips were even necessary; a simple CD duplicator was enough. He couldn’t help but be disappointed by Sony’s management for blaming only PCs. Their decision to switch the PlayStation’s OS to Linux was an extension of that flawed thinking.
This had also strained his relationship with Ken Kutaragi, the father of the PlayStation. They used to exchange frequent ID Talk messages, but communication had stopped at some point. In any case, Yoo Jae-won’s response to Sony’s next-generation console was straightforward: if they switched the PlayStation 2 to Linux, ID Group would enter the video game console market directly. He had no desire to repeat Microsoft’s past moves, but a game console was an important piece on the board. Starting early wouldn’t hurt.
So when a proposal came from Sony Music—the very company he was growing distant from—his ears perked up.
“They claim to have developed new technology that prevents unauthorized CD copying. They want to propose it as a standard feature for Android?”
Pfft!
Yoo Jae-won, who had been listening attentively while sipping coffee, spat it out. Fortunately it didn’t spray toward Remington, but Shannon’s carefully tended plants were about to taste the Jamaica Blue Mountain No. 1. Even though it was premium coffee he hated to waste a single drop of, Sony’s absurd suggestion made it impossible to hold back.
“Was it that funny? Are you all right?”
“Ah, yes, yes! I’m fine.”
Sony’s so-called CD anti-piracy technology was a joke. If they couldn’t even stop the copying of PlayStation game CDs—their most important product—how could they claim to prevent music CD piracy? It was laughable.
“Send it over anyway. I’m curious what it looks like.”
“Actually, we already have a sample here. It seems Sony Music is quite serious about selling the technology—they’ve sent samples to multiple places.”
From Remington’s words, Yoo Jae-won sensed arrogance in Sony’s attitude. Asking for it to be adopted as a standard feature of the Android operating system was telling. If they had truly created anti-piracy technology, they could simply use it themselves and sell it to interested parties. Demanding it become the standard for Android revealed that they viewed PCs as nothing but a hotbed of piracy. While it was true computers made copying easier, they were not the root of all evil. Computers were essential for producing digital content. Every technology had two sides, yet Sony’s management only saw the negative, leading to such misguided decisions.
The conversation with Remington continued until, before they knew it, time had flown by. The sun had set over Central Park, darkness had settled heavily, and New York’s brilliant nightscape sparkled to life.
“Oppa! Let’s have dinner with Mom!”
Just as his stomach was beginning to growl, Emma appeared on the terrace brandishing her goblin club, calling them to eat.
“What about Dad?”
Remington had been left out of her announcement. Seeing his slightly hurt expression, Yoo Jae-won quickly prompted her.
“Dad, let’s eat too!”
Only then did Emma invite Remington as well. But that lasted only a moment. She hadn’t noticed inside the house, but once on the terrace she saw that the goblin club glowed in the dark.
“Whoa? Wow! Woni Oppa, look at this!”
Emma swung the glowing club around in fascination. The sight was adorably charming. Instinctively, Yoo Jae-won picked up his Tiffany Phone and captured both photos and video. The first-generation Tiffany Phone could only take pictures, but the second-generation upgrade added video recording. Thanks to that, he was able to preserve a precious memory they would cherish forever.
The Abnormal Overvaluation of the Japanese Yen. Suspicious.
Just months ago, the exchange rate stood at roughly 124 yen to the dollar. Now it has surged to 110 yen. While the rest of East Asia is caught in the foreign exchange crisis and their currencies are collapsing, only Japan is moving in the opposite direction.
Japanese citizens believe their economy is fundamentally stronger than the rest of East Asia, and that global recognition of Japanese products has driven the yen’s appreciation. This in-depth report completely overturns that perception.
The core message is clear: Japan’s commercial banks are in danger.
The mechanism is simple. Taking advantage of Japan’s zero interest rate policy, banks lent money recklessly across the globe. Since Japan cannot print dollars, these loans were made in yen. Borrowers would typically sell the yen and purchase dollars for use. However, the East Asian financial crisis has caused many of the entities that received these loans to collapse one after another.
Thailand remains in a groggy state, and Korea has received emergency IMF funding and transitioned to an IMF-led system. While East Asia did not account for the entirety of these loans, the damage was still severe. The commercial banks that had been enjoying easy profits are now suffering losses large enough to wipe out most of their previous gains. Some smaller banks that focused heavily on East Asian investments have already gone under.
The bigger problem is the Nasdaq crash and the linked destruction in the futures and options markets. When East Asia faltered, Japanese investors turned their eyes to America. Large sums of Japanese capital flowed in, causing the Nasdaq to surge repeatedly. Yet when the Nasdaq finally collapsed, all those gains were wiped out.
Stocks still held some underlying value unless the company was delisted or went bankrupt. Futures and options were another story entirely. The losses were astronomical. Numerous banks simultaneously issued margin calls. As investment funds scattered worldwide flowed back into Japan, the yen’s value spiked dramatically.
This is not a situation where Korea or other East Asian nations should watch Japan’s struggles like bystanders across a river. Japan must respond proactively. However, neither ordinary citizens nor economic experts seem overly concerned. Despite investment failures by various banks and securities firms, they maintain absolute confidence that Japan’s economic fundamentals remain unshakable.
Japanese products are beloved in Europe and America, and they believe latecomers like Korea could never catch up.
This is arrogance.
Not long after the Financial Times article was published, something unimaginable occurred: a massive quality manipulation scandal involving Kobe Steel, Japan’s third-largest steelmaker.