The Daehan Ilbo's Monday Assault
Yoo Jae-won spent his entire weekend in meetings with Ma Huateng. Since founding Tencent, Ma Huateng had rarely appeared in public, so Yoo Jae-won’s knowledge from his previous life offered little insight. In person, Ma Huateng looked like an ordinary young man from China’s upper class. He appeared six or seven years older than Yoo Jae-won, and his body radiated the boundless energy of someone riding the wave of success after founding his company.
“In China, the Warcraft series is far more popular than the new release, StarCraft. If you grant Tencent the license, we will sell ten million copies.”
The game had already been out for over a year, yet Ma Huateng was claiming ten million sales. Not even Doom or Wolfenstein, titles released worldwide, had reached that mark. It could have been dismissed as typical Chinese bravado, but something about the claim felt credible. In China, such numbers were possible. If a game became the most popular title there, it often topped global sales charts in the twenty-first-century gaming industry. Yoo Jae-won also knew how deeply the Chinese loved Warcraft.
“I understand the chairman’s concerns. President Stefan has already explained them to me. I will prove that things will be different with me at the helm.”
Ma Huateng brimmed with confidence. He was certain that illegal copying would not be a serious issue once Warcraft received official ladder service and Battle.net support. He did not hesitate to mention his special guanxi either.
“It may sound embarrassing, but in China, guanxi—personal connections—often outweighs formal law and common sense. Fortunately, my parents know many people involved in game distribution, so I can provide real assistance.”
Ma Huateng delivered his presentation without a single stumble, clearly having prepared thoroughly for the meeting. Even if Tencent had grown through special connections, his own abilities seemed exceptional. Yet Yoo Jae-won gave no immediate answer. Just as Ma Huateng had prepared, Yoo Jae-won had come to this meeting after calculating every possible way to maximize benefits for himself and ID Group.
“Instead of a simple license, how about this? ID Group will invest in Tencent. Once we become one family, there will be no need to discuss licensing.”
He had already decided against direct entry into the Chinese market. Instead, acquiring an early stake in Tencent would allow ID Group to share in China’s growth. “An equity investment? Ah… how much are you considering?”
“Forty-nine percent. We will not interfere with management. We will be satisfied with steady dividends. However, no matter what changes occur in your shareholding or among other investors, ID Group’s forty-nine percent stake must remain guaranteed at all times.”
Tencent’s equity structure had been adjusted repeatedly as the company grew, especially through interventions by high-ranking Chinese Communist Party officials that defied common sense. The guanxi Ma Huateng spoke of so confidently required constant lubrication, and company shares were the usual currency.
“Is that difficult?”
“Well… I hadn’t considered receiving an investment.”
Ma Huateng’s face showed genuine bewilderment. Maintaining a fixed forty-nine percent stake regardless of future changes was an even taller order. “I’m not asking for an answer right now. Go back and discuss it with your colleagues, then let me know the result.”
Yoo Jae-won offered more time, but Ma Huateng shook his head. “No need. I came here with full authority. I will reach a conclusion as quickly as possible and inform you.”
Ma Huateng understood timing. He clearly recognized this as the opportunity of a lifetime. Without even consulting his colleagues back in China, he promised a decision within days.
After finishing the meeting with Ma Huateng, Yoo Jae-won thought he might enjoy a normal weekend. He was wrong. Only days had passed since he predicted Daehan Ilbo’s behavior, yet the newspaper reacted immediately.
The next day—Sunday—several offices at Daehan Ilbo headquarters remained brightly lit deep into the evening. The final editorial meeting for Monday’s morning edition was underway. While most staff focused on writing articles, the editor-in-chief’s office was particularly noisy.
“‘Blue House Civil Affairs Chief Receives Bribes and Covers Up Mirae Motor Corruption?’ Will this do? Hey, Director Shim. Is this the best you can do? Don’t you have anything sexier?”
Political Desk Director Shim Jae-cheol scratched his head. Though he had worked at Daehan Ilbo for nearly fifteen years, he still lacked the boldness of Editor-in-Chief Kang Hee-seok sitting across from him. Kang was demanding a stronger headline after already stirring the hornet’s nest. “Headline” referred to the front-page title that would influence both newspaper sales and the political narrative. Shim had agonized over his carefully crafted sentence.
“This is the best we can do. We’re still cross-checking.”
“Come on, you said the tip was solid. The Civil Affairs Chief received entertainment and money to cover up Mirae Motor’s embezzlement, and on top of that, he plays golf with Yoo Bong-man and pushes ID Foundation’s private school projects. Am I wrong?”
“No, sir. All of that is fact.”
“Then we need to write it more clearly and powerfully. ‘Civil Affairs Chief Covers Up President’s Sons’ Corruption’—that would stick in readers’ minds.”
“The president’s sons? According to the tip, the only direct connection is the president of Mirae Motor.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Do you think ordinary citizens don’t know Yoo Jae-won and the president are like grandfather and grandson? That makes them sons.”
Shim Jae-cheol’s mouth fell open. He could not believe Kang could twist the facts so brazenly. “How did someone like you become editor-in-chief of Daehan Ilbo?”
Kang, in turn, shook his head in disbelief at Shim’s cautious approach despite having such a strong tip. “Are we the police? The prosecution? If a tip has credibility, we just report it aggressively.”
Shim nodded, though he wondered how anyone could say such things with a straight face. If they truly reported every credible tip, what about the thick stack of untouched files in the cabinet? That cabinet contained numerous weighty cases—sexual scandals, bribery—that had never seen print. Similar files existed at the prosecution. According to the editor-in-chief’s logic, the cabinet should not exist at all. Yet Daehan Ilbo sometimes buried stories and sometimes rushed them into print the moment a tip arrived. The sole criterion was whether the story benefited Daehan Ilbo, its owners, or their allies.
“If you joined a newspaper, you should at least sit in the editor-in-chief’s chair once. If you have any ambition, develop more aggression.”
“I understand. But I worry that charging ahead now might come back to bite us later.”
“There you go again with the weak talk. Listen—if we back down here, what’s left? Whether we die this way or that, it’s the same. Even if we get sued, what can this government actually do? Those days of issuing reporting guidelines and arresting journalists are over. The worst they’ll do is file a defamation lawsuit.”
Shim nodded again. He wished that were true, but it did not feel likely. He hoped they would only target Mirae Motor, yet the fearless editor-in-chief was also dragging in ID Foundation—an organization that ultimately pointed to Yoo Jae-won, a name too dangerous to mention lightly. Still, Shim knew there was no turning back, so he simply nodded.
When Monday dawned, morning editions were delivered across the country. As expected, Daehan Ilbo’s edition reached readers first, packed with far more detail than the weekend online version. The political world erupted the moment the papers hit the stands.
Editor-in-Chief Kang Hee-seok had delivered exactly the kind of sensational headline he wanted. Anyone reading only the title would assume a massive scandal had been uncovered. Mirae Motor was Korea’s largest automaker, and ID Foundation was a world-renowned charity. Their connection alone was strange, and the idea that the Civil Affairs Chief had accepted bribes to cover up their corruption was shocking. Yet one of the parties involved—the Blue House—showed little reaction upon reading the Monday edition. Instead of panic, Jeon Myeong-heon felt pure rage. One part of the report was true: Mirae Motor’s slush fund.
Jeon Jae-geun, the fourth son of the Jeon family, had been placed in charge of Mirae Motor. Unlike the rest of the family’s slender build, he had a sturdy frame and a benevolent appearance. He was quiet and diligent, earning Jeon Myeong-heon’s favor—until now. For the first time, Jeon Jae-geun had disappointed his father.
“We have evidence that approximately twelve billion won was siphoned from operating profits through inflated unit prices and fictitious transactions. The Civil Affairs Chief was unaware of any wrongdoing and simply played golf with Chairman Jeon Jae-geun. The report makes it appear as though he accepted golf entertainment in exchange for covering up the corruption.”
Jeon Myeong-heon’s face creased with irritation. Before entering the Blue House, he had held a final family meeting and warned everyone to stay quiet and avoid trouble while he was in office. Yet less than a year into his term, his son had already embezzled twelve billion won. It was infuriating.
“This happened in 1997. Chairman Jeon Jae-geun went against your instructions when—”
“Hey, Chief of Staff. Did you take money from Jae-geun too?”
The chief of staff, who had been trying to defend Jeon Jae-geun, was cut off by a sharp rebuke. “1997? During the IMF crisis? He siphoned company money then? That makes it worse! What nonsense are you spouting?”
“I’m sorry.”
Faced with Jeon Myeong-heon’s fiery anger, the chief of staff could only bow his head. Jeon Myeong-heon had won the presidency by strongly distinguishing himself from former President Kim Young-sam, emphasizing that as a wealthy businessman he would never accept bribes. Now even that claim was ruined by his incompetent son. The next weekend’s regular approval rating poll would be obvious to anyone.
“Order a thorough investigation. If anyone tries to go easy, I’ll send them straight to the Gongsucheo. Tell them to do their jobs properly. A little prison time eating bean rice might clear their rotten minds. They’d get along well with Choi.”
Even when speaking of his own blood, Jeon Myeong-heon casually discussed sending his son to jail. “Yes, I will convey that clearly.”
The Gongsucheo was meant to investigate high-ranking officials, not chaebols. Yet Jeon Myeong-heon mentioned it because police or prosecutors who conducted sloppy investigations could themselves be sent there. The Gongsucheo law had already passed, and the organization was being formed. It would begin full operations on January 1 of the following year. Investigators were being recruited, and prosecutors with strong sense of duty were being selected. The agency was also hiring lawyers with over ten years of experience. The most critical appointment was the Gongsucheo chief, with a seven-year term longer than the president’s. If constitutional reform passed, the term would be constitutionally protected. The Blue House was vetting roughly six candidates with extreme care—more rigorously than cabinet appointments—because a poor choice would be disastrous. The chief also required National Assembly majority approval, so Jeon Myeong-heon could not simply install a loyalist.
“And… is the ID Foundation part true?”
Jeon Myeong-heon had been furious about his son, but he spoke much more cautiously about ID Foundation. His son could be dealt with as he pleased, but ID Foundation was different. It was not merely influential in Korea—it was the world’s largest active charity foundation, supporting everything from African AIDS relief to children with rare diseases and scholarship programs. Any scandal involving it would be no ordinary matter.
“No, sir.”
The chief of staff’s firm denial allowed Jeon Myeong-heon to relax. “Chairman Yoo Bong-man and the Civil Affairs Chief did meet for golf several times, but no money or favors changed hands. Furthermore, all permits for ID Foundation’s private school projects were already approved under the previous administration.”
The chief of staff spoke the truth without embellishment. All matters related to ID Group’s schools had been settled during Kim Young-sam’s presidency. Permits for kindergartens and engineering colleges had been granted. As a result, dozens of kindergartens had already opened in Seoul and Gyeonggi Province, helping families where both parents had to work. ID Foundation kindergartens were known for not skimping on budgets, and demand had grown so high that parents now had to draw numbers and wait. The engineering college was also progressing smoothly. Construction was underway on land purchased behind Umyeon Mountain in Yangjae-dong, Seocho-gu, Seoul, targeting a 2000 opening. True to ID Foundation’s reputation, there had been almost no noise from land compensation to construction.
“The golf meetings were actually initiated by the Civil Affairs Chief.”
Jeon Myeong-heon could see no reason for Chairman Yoo Bong-man to seek out the Civil Affairs Chief for favors. Any project would have passed smoothly without such lobbying. Moreover, he could not blame the Civil Affairs Chief. The slush fund issue dated back to 1997, and the meeting with Yoo Bong-man had been arranged at his own instruction. While golf carried a poor image in Korea, it was simply a popular sport abroad.
“It’s unfair, but tell the Civil Affairs Chief to take responsibility.”
“Yes, sir.”
Under the current circumstances, the Civil Affairs Chief had no choice but to resign. The swift opposition party was already framing the incident as Jeon Myeong-heon’s family corruption. Some outspoken lawmakers were even talking about filing complaints. It was better to step down than remain an ongoing issue. Of course, Jeon Myeong-heon’s loyalty would ensure the Civil Affairs Chief was well taken care of afterward.
“By the way, our Chairman Yoo is quite something, isn’t he?”
The chief of staff, who had been walking on thin ice since being summoned after reading the morning paper, finally relaxed when Jeon Myeong-heon mentioned “Chairman Yoo.” Talking about the president’s family always created tension, but Yoo Jae-won was different. There was genuine trust in him.
“Everyone knows how remarkable Chairman Yoo is.”
“Haha, ‘remarkable’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
Jeon Myeong-heon shook his Tiffany phone as he spoke. The chief of staff felt the same. Yoo Jae-won’s predictions were so accurate they would make Nostradamus weep, and that information had been shared only up to the chief of staff’s level.
“I assume the countermeasures are well prepared?”
“Of course. We’ve confirmed the intelligence is accurate. Everything will proceed without a hitch.”
“Good. Still, we can’t afford to be careless.”
“Yes, sir. I’m receiving real-time updates personally. The moment that fellow appears at the DH Hotel nightclub, the special narcotics unit will move in immediately for an on-the-spot arrest. The scene will be broadcast on television.”
Jeon Myeong-heon nodded at the explanation. This should be enough to easily bury that damned morning edition. What pleased him even more was that Nostradamus’s countermeasures did not end there.