The T-Touch Craze
The momentum behind the T-Touch Phone was ferocious. After the Tiffany Phone 2, only minor revisions and variants had trickled out—until now. A truly new product had finally arrived. Nothing else in the entire mobile industry came close to its level of innovation. People starved for novelty flocked to the ID Flagship Centers in droves. The lines grew so long, so fast, that stretches exceeding a hundred meters became commonplace. At the Silicon Valley branch—the oldest and largest ID Flagship Center in the world—the queue stretched for hundreds of meters. Lining up for new products had once been a distinctly Japanese phenomenon; no one had expected it to happen in America.
“Leave it as is.”
-Understood, Mr. Chairman.
“Yes. As long as we increase security personnel and maintain order, there shouldn’t be any major issues.”
-We will do our utmost to prevent any incidents.
When Ellen, the president, suggested dispersing the lines to avoid accidents, Yoo Jae-won refused. The very act of people queuing was proof of the T-Touch Phone’s popularity—and the most effective advertisement imaginable. Once an item became the object of universal desire, demand would surge regardless of specs or price. That kind of organic hype delivered marketing value far beyond what money could buy.
“Hmm. Still, I feel a bit guilty.”
After ending the call with Ellen, Yoo Jae-won couldn’t help voicing his unease. Such an explosive reaction to a mere touch phone—not even a true smartphone. Inside the High-Tech Research Lab, devices that could legitimately be called smartphones already existed, but they relied on components that were either unprofitable or not yet ready for mass production. The T-Touch Phone represented the highest spec they could realistically manufacture at scale. Thanks to that, buyers swarmed like bees, forming endless lines—yet by Yoo Jae-won’s standards, it still fell short.
He pressed the power button on the T-Touch Phone resting beside his keyboard. The default wallpaper—a clear, blue sea off Jeju Island—appeared on the 4-inch Super Clear LCD module.
“The bezels are practically finger-thick.”
He grumbled as he ran a finger from top to bottom. Despite the grand name “Super Clear LCD,” the actual resolution was only 360 by 720 pixels—a modest improvement over the Tiffany Phone 2’s VGA. The IPS panel offered better viewing angles and color reproduction, which justified the “Super Clear” label, but to Yoo Jae-won it still felt inadequate. What truly made him sigh was the 2G network speed.
Even 2G had stabilized considerably since its debut, with noticeably improved transfer rates. In good coverage areas, one could maintain a steady 60 Kbps even while driving. “Sixty Kbps… how depressing.”
Still, it was sufficient for text-heavy browsing and low-bandwidth online games. Thanks to Yoo Jae-won’s insistence, data pricing had also become remarkably affordable. Not only in Korea—American carriers now included up to 100 MB of free data even on basic plans. College students connecting their phones to laptops for internet and gaming outdoors had become the latest trend. The only drawback was that voice calls and data sessions could not run simultaneously; an incoming call would drop the data connection. Once IMT-2000 launched, mobile speeds would jump to 300 Kbps, and simultaneous voice and data would finally be possible. The network bottleneck would essentially disappear.
“I suppose time will solve this too.”
Yoo Jae-won clicked his tongue and set the disappointment aside. No one understood better than he did that time could not be bought, no matter how much money one threw at it. By the end of next year at the earliest—or early 2001 at the latest—he would be able to produce something worthy of being called a smartphone. Five years ahead of the original timeline.
Having wrapped up company business with Ellen, Yoo Jae-won decided to browse the community sites before shutting down his computer. Something about simply logging off felt incomplete. The forums were flooded with discussions about the T-Touch Phone and the Matrix Phone. As was typical of internet communities, opinions were polarized. Some praised the T-Touch Phone; others called the people lining up fools. Plenty of posts also debated the heavily marked-up Matrix Phone. Though the device retailed for five hundred dollars and had not even shipped yet, reseller listings showed tenfold premiums. Some were selling units that did not even exist yet. Heated arguments over whether the premiums were excessive raged across multiple threads, but Yoo Jae-won merely skimmed past them. Such phenomena were inevitable whenever a major product launched.
Then, as he continued scrolling, something struck him as odd.
“There’s almost nothing about that bug.”
In his previous life, the biggest issue at this time had been the Millennium Bug—the infamous Y2K problem. It had arisen because early computers used the MM-DD-YY date format. The year 2000 would be written as “00,” identical to 1900, creating massive confusion. Back then, people had feared everything from global financial system crashes and nuclear plant meltdowns to satellite control failures, plane crashes, and even accidental nuclear missile launches that could trigger mutual assured destruction. Wild rumors linking the bug to Nostradamus prophecies had circulated widely.
Yet now, searching the internet or news archives turned up almost nothing about the Millennium Bug.
“Hmm. Is it because of me?”
The thought was uncharacteristically self-centered, but the more he considered it, the more certain he became: the only meaningful difference from his previous life was his own presence. Especially the dominance of the Android operating system. Android had zero compatibility with DOS. While there had been a transitional graphical interface layered over DOS called Alpha, everything changed once the official version 1.0 launched. Backward compatibility was handled through a DOS emulator that created a virtual PC environment, while the Android kernel itself was a true 32-bit operating system. Naturally, its date-handling method differed as well—MM-DD-YYYY instead of MM-DD-YY. There would be no problems until the year 9999. The system even intelligently converted “00” inputs in the year field to “2000.”
A few specialized industrial systems still ran legacy software that could trigger Y2K issues, but the vast majority of PCs used by ordinary people were immune. In the past, people could test their own machines and witness the bug firsthand. Now, with Android everywhere, demonstrations were impossible, empathy never formed, and talk of the Millennium Bug quietly faded—except in certain industrial niches.
“It’s all for the best, though the consulting firms that used to make easy money off it must be devastated.”
During the original Y2K panic, the biggest winners had not been skilled programmers or even Microsoft. It had been the consultants who stoked fear and connected panicked clients to “solution providers.” They had profited handsomely by exaggerating a manageable problem into an existential threat. With Android now dominant, those opportunists had no stage left to perform on.
“Speaking of invisible threats, that movie should be coming out soon.”
He was thinking of Star Wars. The series enjoyed an enormous Western fanbase. Episodes 4, 5, and 6 had already been released; now Episodes 1, 2, and 3 were scheduled to follow, beginning with the subtitle The Phantom Menace. The visuals had been impressive—the podracing sequence rivaled the action in The Matrix, and the CG had effectively conveyed the sheer scale of the battle droid army.
“It’ll be even better this time, won’t it?”
ID Entertainment’s CG work had raised everyone’s expectations. Gamers now demanded cinematic cutscenes rather than simple ones. The same applied to films. The Matrix had set the new gold standard. Technology would continue advancing and standards would rise further, but The Matrix would remain the benchmark no one could deny.
After indulging in a moment of self-praise, Yoo Jae-won shut down his computer and stood up.
“Jae-won! Dinner’s ready!”
Right on cue, Tiffany called him to eat. These days she came to his house every weekend, like a part-time wife. Today was no exception—especially since she had prepared an especially lavish meal to celebrate his successful T-Touch Phone launch. His steps toward the dining room quickened.
“How’s the company?”
“It finally feels like things are settling into place.”
The conversation surfaced midway through dinner. On the surface it sounded as though Tiffany were asking Yoo Jae-won, but the reality was reversed. A few weeks earlier, Tiffany had left Chevron to start her own venture—a geological data analysis firm. While Yoo Jae-won had played a major role in locating Chevron’s Texas Well No. 23, Tiffany’s own efforts had been equally significant. Even though he had supplied the high-accuracy analysis algorithm, she had been the one who built the system to implement it. Had the field been smaller, the achievement might have been diminished, but Well No. 23 remained Chevron’s largest exploration success in recent years—perhaps even the past decade. As a result, Tiffany’s standing within Chevron had grown substantially. Chevron had even purchased the cloud-based data analysis system she requested—naturally from ID Technology.
Everything had proceeded smoothly while she oversaw the system’s installation. Then, just as it went live, Tiffany abruptly resigned. Days later she founded T&U Research. The name was her creation: “T” from Terra, meaning earth, and “U” from Universe—though it was obvious the letters also referenced her own name and Yoo Jae-won’s initial. Even after going independent, every analysis contract T&U Research had secured so far came from Chevron. As a brand-new company, it had yet to prove itself to other oil majors. In effect, it was still practically a Chevron subsidiary. Yet everything felt different from working inside Chevron’s own research division. Her office was now in a Silicon Valley business building rather than Chevron headquarters. She leased computing power from ID Technology’s cloud servers instead of using Chevron’s systems—scaling up when needed and minimizing costs otherwise. Until recently she had been frantically hiring; now the team was largely in place and operations were stabilizing.
“By the way, the merger with Texaco is still on track?”
“Yes. Grandfather is supportive, Jacob is pushing hard, and Texaco seems positive too. Barring any surprises, it should go through.”
“Ah, Jacob again.”
Tiffany’s sudden departure from Chevron had been triggered by internal opposition—specifically, executives backing Jacob, the designated heir, who had grown wary of her rising success. The tension had not reached the level of palace intrigue, but it had been palpable enough for someone as perceptive as Tiffany to notice. The moment she sensed it, she walked away without looking back.
She had never been particularly interested in becoming heir herself. Yet the constant pressure from those around her had made staying untenable. Ironically, the person who had most provoked Jacob’s faction was Yoo Jae-won. His meteoric rise over the past several years had drawn increasing attention from Frederick. The Chevron chairman now treated Yoo Jae-won almost like family—recently even comparing him favorably to his own son, Jacob. Jacob’s supporters had felt an instinctive surge of alarm. The Texaco acquisition Chevron was now pursuing was, in no small part, a response to that pressure. Frederick Taylor II had been deeply impressed by Yoo Jae-won’s management prowess, watching ID Group’s explosive growth with both admiration and unease. Chevron, by contrast, had been treading water. Last year’s new well in Texas had not been enough. Meanwhile, the industry was undergoing seismic shifts: Exxon and Mobil had merged into the colossal ExxonMobil. The development had intensified the pressure on Jacob, prompting the push for a merger with Texaco as a countermeasure.
The Chevron-Texaco merger had occurred in the original timeline as well, so Yoo Jae-won did not view it as an overreach. Still, he wondered what variables the recent events at Chevron might create for him and Tiffany going forward.
“How about you?”
“I’m getting green lights across the board.”
Apart from the strange developments on Tiffany’s maternal side, everything was proceeding smoothly. The next version of Android, slated for IDDC 99, was on track. The gaming console business was rapidly taking shape. Even in Korea, the microcredit initiative that had been stalled by the presidential election had finally launched. Yoo Jae-won was overseeing all of it, which naturally reduced his media exposure. He had been living in a self-imposed seclusion of sorts. Time passed, and before long it was July. A few more days slipped by, and then Yoo Jae-won finally emerged from his retreat—for a visit to Russia at the invitation of Prime Minister Putin.