The Million Dollar Challenge
The end-of-century goal Yoo Jae-won declared upon returning from Korea was simple: buy everything worth buying. By that he meant any special technology or any company that possessed it. The surest way for a corporation to endure through the passage of time, he knew, was to never fall behind the changes of the world. Yet he also understood that merely keeping pace would never make a company truly first-rate. Only those that led the trends could claim that title. Rush too far ahead, however, and the trend itself would leave you behind, dooming the venture. That was precisely why, despite knowing every future technology, Yoo Jae-won refused to release them all at once.
The “buy everything” directive he had just issued was not about bleeding-edge inventions. It targeted technologies that could seize the lead and set trends, yet had remained in shadow simply for lack of capital. If such opportunities existed, ID Group would acquire them.
“Do you have any particular technologies in mind, sir?”
Alan, president of ID Technology, asked for concrete guidance during the video conference.
“Silicon Valley IT firms are fine. Also look for companies making miniature sensors—anything that can be mounted on mobile devices in a single-chip form.”
“GPS, tilt, acceleration, temperature sensors, and the like?”
Alan grasped the request instantly. A former attorney who had once handled all legal affairs for ID Technology, he had risen to the presidency after Remington’s promotion. His legal background had initially left him short on technical depth, yet as a founding member of the ID Group he had spent nearly a decade defending its patents and attacking infringements. That experience had given him an expert’s eye. His quick comprehension now proved it.
“Exactly.”
“In that case, aren’t those the very products already being developed by companies that secured early positions?”
Alan’s follow-up was equally precise. Yoo Jae-won had already begun angel-investing in Silicon Valley sensor makers to accelerate smartphone adoption. Yet, as he pointed out, few ventures had produced concrete results. Accuracy, speed, and power consumption issues still blocked immediate commercialization. With the massive capital secured in Japan, Yoo Jae-won intended to acquire proven sensor companies, pit them against one another, and force faster development. The will to bring smartphones to market years earlier was unmistakable.
“Understood.”
Alan answered at once, reading his employer’s resolve.
“We have plenty of ammunition right now. Don’t limit the search to sensors. Sweep broadly across all IT technologies. Hybrid automobile systems, for example. Even if we aren’t building cars ourselves, we are already experimenting with electric vehicles. If any technology shows promise, I want to secure either full ownership or a controlling stake.”
“Yes, Chairman.”
Having grasped the full scope, Alan replied with a determined expression. The assignment was substantial. Even restricted to the United States, the task of surveying the full breadth and depth of American IT leadership would be demanding. Yet the effort would also allow ID Group to detect emerging threats and promising technologies in advance—an invaluable advantage.
After ending the call with Alan, Yoo Jae-won contacted Remington.
“Boss, I trust your trip to Korea went smoothly.”
“Thanks to your concern, it did.”
“Life can bring sudden partings, they say. The loss must weigh heavily, yet perhaps the best way to honor your late mentor is to rise with the same vigor as before and astonish the world once more.”
Remington’s consolation was apt. The late principal would have preferred to see his former student active and prominent rather than withdrawn in grief.
“Yes. That’s why I’ve been preparing several events.”
Yoo Jae-won explained both the launch of ID Microcredit in Korea and the sweeping acquisition campaign he had just ordered Alan to conduct.
“Whew—three hundred million in deployable funds? That’s extraordinary, isn’t it?”
“What good is money sitting idle? I believe in owning tangible assets—technology, people, factories. Cash is useful, of course, but even a cash-rich group like ours can face sudden liquidity crunches. In a global downturn, factories and personnel can become burdens. That time hasn’t come yet. While we are still expanding aggressively, growing our footprint is the wiser choice.”
“Have you had time to familiarize yourself with the new role?”
The operational cultures of IT and media companies differed sharply. Even Remington, hand-picked by Yoo Jae-won to lead ID Technology, had encountered an entirely new world after becoming general chairman of Time Warner Nextcomm. Media and film carried deeply entrenched organizational cultures that required considerable study.
“It’s been a bit of a struggle. I expected media people to be progressive, but they’re anything but.”
“Is that so?”
Established directors and producers already possessed fully formed worldviews and working methods that resisted uniform systems. The practical approach was to grant them creative autonomy and judge them solely by the finished work.
“If you want fresh films, Boss, you’ll probably have to entrust them to new directors.”
The “fresh films” Yoo Jae-won desired were not art-house dramas but commercial blockbusters—specifically, live-action adaptations of Marvel and DC superhero comics.
“Is our computer-graphics capability sufficient?”
“Yes. ID Entertainment’s CG team has already earned recognition within the group.”
The team’s technology had advanced far beyond its earlier level, both in speed and quality. ID Entertainment had been an early adopter of cinematic CG, and Blizzard’s sequences—from Warcraft onward—had received consistent praise, reaching full maturity with StarCraft. The cinematic CG released with last year’s StarCraft far surpassed anything from Yoo Jae-won’s previous life. Powered by tens of thousands of cloud-computing nodes, the footage looked as though it belonged on a theater screen. Gamers, drawn by the visuals, threw themselves into single-player campaigns; completion rates exceeded forty percent, an exceptional figure when most titles struggled to reach twenty.
Once the CG team’s prowess was acknowledged, it was reorganized as an independent unit that could support even small developers with high-quality work at reasonable cost—an exclusive privilege of ID Entertainment affiliation.
Yoo Jae-won saw new cinematic possibilities in that capability. Hollywood’s use of CG had surged after The Abyss and peaked with Terminator 2 and Titanic. Liquid-metal robots in the former and seamless integration in the latter had demonstrated the technology’s potential. Although both films were directed by James Cameron, other directors were also embracing CG aggressively. Yoo Jae-won believed ID Entertainment’s team could compete in Hollywood. He had asked Remington to arrange an internal showcase; the report he had just received was the result.
Time Warner Nextcomm already included Warner Bros., one of Hollywood’s premier distributors. Pairing the group’s cutting-edge CG unit with Warner Bros.’ distribution muscle would generate undeniable synergy—enough to silence even skeptical investors.
The obstacle, as Remington noted, was that established directors clung to their own proven methods and often resisted CG. Forcing the technology on them might produce results, but never inspired ones. Hence the preference for newcomers unburdened by prejudice.
“What about The Matrix?”
“The brothers are directing, which raised some eyebrows, but the project is proceeding smoothly. Principal photography is complete and post-production has begun. I slipped in for a look; the results exceed expectations. No additional funding appears necessary, and they’re quite open to CG. Of course, the final product will decide everything.”
The Matrix had been a landmark in Hollywood science-fiction history. Released in 1999, it perfectly captured the fin-de-siècle mood with its dystopian setting, virtual-reality construct, cyberpunk aesthetics, and harmonious blend of Eastern philosophy. Even years later, many still remembered it vividly. Yoo Jae-won found Remington’s reference to “the brothers” slightly awkward; in time the Wachowskis would be known as sisters. He himself was already more accustomed to that later designation. For now, the smooth progress was welcome news. With ID Entertainment’s advanced CG at their disposal, the upcoming Matrix would boast far greater visual polish than its predecessor.
Remington continued his report.
“Time Warner’s VOD platform is finished, and Next Music has completed all preparations as well.”
Typical of Remington: both projects Yoo Jae-won had personally championed had been delivered on schedule and without complications.
“That’s excellent news.”
“Per your instructions, users can access the service directly through any W3C-compliant web browser—no separate program required.”
Remington transmitted an ID and address that would open developer mode in ID Talk. Yoo Jae-won immediately followed the link, entered the credentials, and watched a sleek webpage load. A popular TBS variety show dominated the top banner; one click launched the latest episode directly in the browser. The picture quality was slightly below DVD standard, yet revolutionary for an America still dominated by analog broadcasts. Scrolling revealed separate tabs for television and film, each subdivided by genre. While the site did not yet personalize recommendations like twenty-first-century platforms, it made navigation intuitive even without knowing exact titles. A search bar was, of course, present from the start.
Next Music followed a similar layout, differing only in that its content consisted of music albums. The decisive advantage was that both services functioned inside any standard browser without proprietary players—an approach early VOD and music platforms had avoided, preferring closed ecosystems to lock in paying users. ID Group possessed the technical strength, even in 1998, to deliver both services simultaneously, backed by capital sufficient to execute without external assistance.
“This is outstanding. Keep testing, though—especially how the system handles massive concurrent access.”
Cloud-server capacity was being expanded as needed, and cache servers were being deployed across the United States, Korea, and Europe to support eventual global rollout. Stable service required sufficient bandwidth; only direct testing could reveal where bottlenecks might occur.
“Of course.”
Remington answered promptly, then began to wind down the call.
“Then, until next time—”
“One moment.”
Yoo Jae-won still had one item left.
“I came up with an idea while crossing the Pacific. I plan to launch the third Challenge series soon.”
“Another Challenge? The Security Challenge from before?”
“Yes, but the category is completely different. This time it’s novels, comics, and webtoons—a Million Dollar Challenge for literature.”
Great films required great stories. While a gifted director could sometimes elevate clichéd source material, such directors were rare. Strong source material simply raised the odds of a strong film. Yoo Jae-won intended to solicit novels, comics, and webtoons brimming with compelling, attractive narratives. The prize would be one million dollars per selected work—fitting the name. Yet the reward would not end there. Serialization on Nextcomm and publication would be guaranteed. Works with broad appeal would also be fast-tracked for film, drama, or animation adaptations.
“Will you select only one winner per category after a set period?”
“No.”
The critical parameters were duration and total selections. Yoo Jae-won had decided on one hundred works. Rather than quotas per category, the contest would close once one hundred cumulative winners had been chosen across all formats.
“Whew. That should set most writers’ eyes ablaze. We’ll be sweeping up the best material for quite a while.”
“Exactly as intended.”
Yoo Jae-won had no intention of treating the Million Dollar Challenge as a one-off event. If ID Group was to dominate the IT sector, then Time Warner Nextcomm would dominate culture and media—the ambition behind the entire plan.