The Tsar’s Invitation
Russia had once competed in an arms race with the United States as one of the two superpowers in the Matrix world. Back then, it had been known as the Soviet Union, the standard-bearer of socialism. Yet the system had carried fatal flaws from the very beginning. In the end, the excessive military buildup led to its collapse. Afterward, several Eastern Bloc nations broke away to form independent states, and the Soviet Union was reorganized into the Russian Federation. Of course, Russia’s economic crisis was still ongoing. Last year, the country had even declared a moratorium—an open admission that it could not repay its debts. This threw the banks and nations that had lent Russia money into serious trouble. But the one in the most dangerous position was Russia itself.
Boris Yeltsin’s every attempt to introduce a market economy to the homeland of socialism had failed. As a result, the Russian people’s support for him had completely evaporated. Things grew so bad that a coup was attempted, and in the process of suppressing it, the Russian parliament building was set ablaze. No longer able to maintain power, Yeltsin had no choice but to hand the reins to his successor.
“And that successor was Putin. Wasn’t that on the very last day of the year?”
Putin’s current position was Prime Minister. That allowed him to step in as acting president when Yeltsin resigned. During his time as acting president, Putin had cracked down hard on the economic mafia that was devouring the Russian economy, generously revealing his presence to the Russian people. After winning the subsequent presidential election, he shed the “acting” label and began his full-fledged rule.
Yoo Jae-won had been slightly worried a few years ago that his contact might alter Putin’s trajectory. But Putin had cleanly brushed aside those concerns and settled exactly into his original place in history.
“What does the Tsar want?”
The invitation from Putin, delivered via ID Talk, was far simpler than its lengthy explanation suggested. It had come from Mikhail Ivanov, who had once been the head of Microsoft’s Moscow branch and now served as the head of ID Group’s Russian branch.
The Russian government was hosting an IT investment conference and wished to invite Yoo Jae-won.
“So an ID Talk message isn’t considered an official invitation.”
The message through Mikhail was clearly a preliminary negotiation. It implied that if Yoo Jae-won showed interest, a formal invitation would follow. That made sense. An invitation issued under the Prime Minister’s name could not afford empty seats without losing face.
“Hmm. Russia, huh…”
It wasn’t exactly an investment destination that sparked Yoo Jae-won’s interest. Russia’s industry revolved around exporting natural gas and crude oil; everything else was unremarkable. Still, it wasn’t completely barren land. The country produced quite decent talent in the IT sector. After all, Kaspersky—the very man who played a major role in the security systems of ID Group’s software and ID Technology’s cloud servers—was Russian. Investing in a company like Yandex, which would become Russia’s largest portal site, held sufficient value.
Moreover, this event was more than just an IT investment conference. The fact that Putin himself was hosting it was what mattered. There was undoubtedly an element of appealing to Yeltsin by showcasing his own capabilities. That was why he was conducting this preliminary negotiation—because he needed Yoo Jae-won’s presence.
Although Yoo Jae-won had been providing support since their meeting in Leningrad several years ago, sometimes showing one’s face in person was more effective than money alone. This event was exactly such a case.
“Of course I should go.”
Checking the schedule, the event was set for early July, leaving him plenty of time. Yoo Jae-won immediately reopened ID Talk and sent a reply expressing his delighted acceptance. He also instructed Kim Dae-seok to clear his schedule for a visit to Russia in July.
A few days later.
After concluding the important event where he had even proclaimed ID Group’s vision for the new millennium, Yoo Jae-won immediately returned to his main work. The next Android operating system, whose release was now only a few months away, still needed its completeness raised to the highest level.
As Android Inc. had grown in scale and the abilities of its programmers had improved, most issues were now resolved internally. But Yoo Jae-won never let his guard down.
“Hmm. I expected it, but there’s still a lot that bothers me.”
As he examined the kernel system’s source code, Yoo Jae-won’s face naturally crumpled into a frown. Android’s kernel system had begun with the 1.0 version that Yoo Jae-won had created entirely by himself. It had undergone continuous supplementation and development to reach its current state. Each time, Yoo Jae-won had personally reviewed it. For this next version, he had granted the Alpha Team significant authority to prepare a next-generation system.
Yet upon checking now, the code was not only unintuitive but contained far too many inefficient sections. There were even risks of bugs being created.
Yoo Jae-won understood the reason well enough. The next Android OS was being built with massive emphasis on multi-core and multi-thread support. In the enterprise domain, multi-core and multi-threading were familiar technologies. However, running a single specialized program tailored for large systems was one thing. Supporting countless applications and countless hardware configurations on a PC while extracting the absolute best performance was an entirely different level of difficulty.
Fortunately, each section of the source code was tagged so that the author could be identified immediately. Whenever Yoo Jae-won encountered irritating code, he revised it without hesitation and sent the author a warning along with various comments.
The moment the warning tags appeared, a commotion erupted across the Alpha Team with cries of “The boss is here!”
All development teams at Android Inc., including the Alpha Team, used the team programming platform that Yoo Jae-won had created. Therefore, they could see in real time that he had logged in and was modifying code.
For example, when a developer on the Alpha Team arrived at work, the first thing they did was swipe their employee ID—which contained their personal encryption key—through the security device at the entrance. The ID not only served as an attendance stamp but also unlocked their workstation PC. Once unlocked, the Android OS desktop appeared, allowing them to launch the development tools.
Of course, the development tools also required login. Entering their ID and password granted access to the Android OS source code according to the permissions assigned to that developer. On the left tab of the development tool, a list of connected users appeared, clearly showing which sections each person was working on.
In the current situation where the “The boss is here” alarm had sounded, the two letters “JW” appeared at the very top of the list, adorned with a crown icon. That was what triggered the state of extreme tension.
Only the world’s most recognized top programmers could join Android Inc.’s Alpha Team. These individuals were filled with pride in their own abilities and did not easily accept criticism from others. Yet even they had no choice but to acknowledge one person: Yoo Jae-won.
The fact that he had built the current ID Group through software development alone was already a miracle, though to those far removed from the events it remained an abstract story. However, when they watched their own “best effort” source code become more concise and dramatically higher in performance through Yoo Jae-won’s real-time revisions, they could not help but admit his superiority.
Developers who received warnings let out involuntary groans. Conversely, those who received praise—one or two out of every ten—became instant heroes. Although the warnings carried no actual penalties and the praise offered no monetary bonuses, pride was on the line for every Alpha Team member. So everyone held their breath.
The silver lining for the Alpha Team was that Yoo Jae-won’s frenzy soon passed. He left a message saying he had to step away briefly for other work, and the ID “JW” logged out.
Yet the Alpha Team could not breathe easy. The good times were over. The march of hardship was only just beginning.
“What is it?”
Yoo Jae-won clicked his tongue in clear disappointment. He had just gotten into the zone, only to be forced to log out before he could truly stretch his mind.
“It’s a call from Chairman Jeon Jae-gu, sir. You instructed me to connect you immediately if he called, so…”
Kim Dae-seok, whose experience was considerable, looked genuinely apologetic for breaking his concentration. Yoo Jae-won’s expression showed it was fine. It hadn’t been intentional, and he himself had been the one to order that Jeon Jae-gu’s calls be put through right away.
“Hello? This is Yoo Jae-won.”
Taking the business Tiffany Phone, Yoo Jae-won began the call immediately.
Jeon Jae-gu’s polite voice came through at once. Even the way he addressed Yoo Jae-won was not simply “nephew” but “esteemed nephew.” Strictly speaking, the connection was between Yoo Jae-won and Jeon Myeong-heon, so it had nothing to do with his sons. Yet Jeon Jae-gu and his two brothers were unwilling to let that connection slip away.
After all, Yoo Jae-won was the world’s wealthiest man by any measure. And his growth was not yet finished. ID Group was still an enterprise with unimaginable potential. Moreover, unlike Korean chaebols who often held only symbolic stakes, he possessed unshakable, overwhelming shares. He was the true owner.
“It’s fine. I was taking a break. How are you, uncle?”
Chairman Jeon Jae-gu spared no flattery. Yoo Jae-won did not bother denying it. In truth, Jeon Myeong-heon had carried an endless longing for his hometown and a burning desire to become president. Both had been desperate wishes. Meeting Yoo Jae-won had allowed him to fulfill them without restraint. Perhaps that was why his face in eternal sleep had looked so peaceful.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“But what brings you to call?”
However, Yoo Jae-won was not close enough with Jeon Jae-gu to share fond memories of Jeon Myeong-heon. While his relationship with Jeon Myeong-heon had been special, that was as far as it went. He had no particular personal ties with the three Jeon brothers.
Jeon Jae-gu had brought up the topic of Jeon Myeong-heon as an icebreaker and had more prepared remarks ready. But the unexpectedly direct question threw him off, making it difficult to deliver his rehearsed lines.
“Not at all. It is a legitimate succession. If not you and the others, who could possibly carry on Mirae Group?”
Yoo Jae-won did not view inheritance negatively. It was only natural for an owner’s child to inherit their parent’s group. Of course, that presupposed properly calculating and paying the inheritance tax.
The three Jeon brothers had begun discussions with the National Tax Service on payment methods, declaring they would pay the inheritance tax in full. As children of a former president and members of Korea’s premier chaebol family, the very idea of evading inheritance tax was unthinkable.
“Is that so?”
Even as Yoo Jae-won asked the question, he nodded as if it were only to be expected. In reality, siblings often fought bitterly over even small inheritances left by rural elders. So it would have been strange if there were no complaints when the Mirae Group—the pinnacle of Korean chaebols—was being divided.
No matter how precisely Jeon Myeong-heon had divided the inheritance, there was always room to challenge it legally. According to the Group’s intelligence team, Jeon Jae-jun—who had received the smallest share—was toying with the idea of claiming his legal portion, while Jeon Jae-geun was currently clashing with the very Jeon Jae-gu on the phone over dismantling the circular ownership structure. On top of that, the executive group that had grown old alongside Jeon Myeong-heon and helped lead Mirae Group were also demanding their own shares.
“Yes, of course.”
Yoo Jae-won learned for the first time today that Jeon Jae-gu was such a talkative man. In any case, Jeon Jae-gu’s long-winded speech boiled down to this: he wanted to strictly follow Jeon Myeong-heon’s will, but too many people were opposing it. Therefore, he needed Yoo Jae-won’s help to push it through.
“What kind of help?”
Yoo Jae-won asked even as he thought, It can’t be…
Yoo Jae-won could not answer immediately upon hearing Jeon Jae-gu’s words over the phone.
Did he truly not know the value of Mirae Electronics? Or did he know and still suggest the swap, pretending otherwise, in order to secure control of Mirae Group?
If the former, he was simply a fool. If the latter, he was a greedy fool. In that case, how should Yoo Jae-won respond to such a foolish proposal?
His hesitation was brief.
“Let’s do it.”
The answer came surprisingly easily.