Patents and the Blue House Banquet
Thanks to the super synergy effect, Yoo Jae-won and his party arrived safely in Seoul and headed straight to the Seoul branch office. The Cheong Wa Dae event did not begin until six in the evening, so they decided to take care of official business beforehand. There was not much to do. Choi Kang-wook had already handled nearly everything with his usual thoroughness, leaving Yoo Jae-won with almost no decisions to make. Instead, there was a great deal of paperwork to review so he could confirm how well his chief of staff had performed.
“Take a look at this.”
The first thing Choi Kang-wook proudly presented was a document envelope.
“Is this… what I think it is?”
Choi Kang-wook answered only with a quiet smile and gestured for him to open it at once. Yoo Jae-won carefully cut the tip of the envelope with scissors and pulled out the contents.
— Patent registration certificates. The documents were written in English, German, and French. Each followed its own format, yet every one bore the same two phrases: “patent registration certificate” and “Ribbon Interface.”
“Whoa! They finally came through!”
The American and European patents for the Ribbon Interface, Yoo Jae-won’s hidden card, had been granted. For the next twenty years, the start button, taskbar, and similar elements would belong exclusively to ID Technology. Although the process was notoriously strict, once a patent was registered it became valid across Europe; at present, however, each country still required its own separate filing. Even so, with registrations secured in Germany and France—the leading nations of Europe—the remaining countries would be far easier to clear.
“I’ll have to frame these and hang them in the office!”
At the moment, few people understood the true value of these documents. Even Choi Kang-wook, who had done the actual work on Yoo Jae-won’s behalf, simply assumed his employer was pleased that his idea had been patented in Korea, the United States, and Europe. Having witnessed the Keyboard Warrior’s success alongside Yoo Jae-won, Choi Kang-wook still held this limited view; the general public’s understanding was even shallower. Yet the power of the Ribbon Interface would not require a long wait to reveal itself. Yoo Jae-won had already begun development of programs incorporating the interface, with a launch scheduled for the following summer—hardly distant.
The Cheong Wa Dae banquet was set to begin at seven, but Yoo Jae-won departed the Seoul branch in the Grandeur before six. Upon arrival there would be no immediate meal; instead, time was allotted for instruction on proper conduct—what must be observed and what must be avoided. When they left the Seoul branch, the most nervous person in the party was Kim Dae-seok, ID Technology’s sole protocol officer and driver of the number-one vehicle. Neither Yoo Jae-won nor Choi Kang-wook showed the slightest tension, yet Kim Dae-seok began trembling the moment they entered Jongno. Of course, Yoo Jae-won and Choi Kang-wook were the exceptions; any ordinary person of this era would have been as anxious as Kim Dae-seok. Still, his preparations were meticulous. After lunch he had painstakingly removed every trace of dirt from the used Grandeur and polished it until it gleamed. By the time they passed through the main gate of Cheong Wa Dae, the car looked immaculate. The vehicle was not particularly old, so a simple dusting would have sufficed, but Kim Dae-seok had gone further—washing it with water and applying wax even in the freezing weather that threatened to turn the water to ice. Yoo Jae-won had tried to dissuade him, but Kim Dae-seok would not listen.
His satisfaction with his new position was absolute. Serving as assistant to Choi Kang-wook and Robert Halley had changed the caliber of people he met. He now encountered high-ranking executives of major corporations, lawyers, and legal officers. He had even met a minister, and now he was about to meet the President himself. The work was excellent, and the duties themselves were light. All he had to manage was a single Grandeur, and the car—only a few months old—had yet to suffer a single breakdown. When his passengers went inside for meetings, he enjoyed several hours of free time. On top of that, he received five thousand won daily for meals, enough to buy premium dishes such as seolleongtang and still have money left over. In the past he had spent idle hours at nearby arcades, gripping joysticks, but after once keeping Choi Kang-wook waiting because of his gaming, he now carried books instead. He had read a few novels and was now reviewing high-school textbooks he had long abandoned. He had no plans for university, yet he wanted at least a high-school diploma through the equivalency exam. In any case, Kim Dae-seok was prepared to wash a car with water and wax it in midwinter if it served the company.
Though he had been tense all the way to Jongno, the moment the distant entrance of Cheong Wa Dae came into view, Kim Dae-seok’s posture became crisp and professional. The Grandeur glided smoothly to the gate, where identity checks began. Unlike the makeshift guard posts of the military, the inspection scanned the occupants’ faces and even the underside of the vehicle. Only after it was completed did the gate open.
The banquet, held at the Cheong Wa Dae guesthouse, proved tedious and unremarkable for Yoo Jae-won. It opened with President Roh Tae-woo mounting the dais and, in his characteristic style, proudly recounting his administration’s achievements: the success of the ’88 Olympics, economic growth rates, foreign-reserve levels, and so on. He also offered polite thanks to the business leaders present, crediting them for the nation’s progress, and urged them to strive for even greater results the following year, promising that the government would provide full support for economic growth. While the Olympics could be acknowledged—thanks to the advantage of hosting and the athletes’ fighting spirit—the rest of the economic figures gave Yoo Jae-won pause. Korea’s 1988 economic performance had been buoyed by the tail end of a global boom. The United States was already tightening policy and accumulating strength for a new era of IT revolution, whereas Korea, intoxicated by the successful Olympics and its own growth, was inflating a massive bubble—one that would eventually burst in the 1997 IMF crisis. Yet Yoo Jae-won possessed neither the power nor the intention to alter that trajectory now.
When the President finished, it was the turn of Koo Jang-kyung, chairman of the Federation of Korean Industries and of LK Group. Amid applause he ascended the dais, praised the President’s accomplishments, and delivered a banquet speech pledging that the business community would devote itself wholeheartedly to the nation’s economic development. Words such as “selfless devotion to the public good” or “loyal service like that of a dog or horse” were not uttered directly, but their meaning was unmistakably present in the polished phrasing. Both the President and Chairman Koo seemed to possess a skill that induced yawns in their listeners. Their delivery lacked flair and dragged on, yet the occasion demanded superhuman patience, and Yoo Jae-won endured. Fortunately, Chairman Koo’s speech was far shorter than the President’s.
The President took the floor once more.
“Let us all raise our glasses in a toast.”
He lifted a flute of golden champagne, and every guest followed suit.
“To the eternal prosperity of the Republic of Korea!”
The toast was brief. Everyone took a sip; Yoo Jae-won did the same. Though underage, he had been served cider instead of champagne. Even if it was not the finest vintage such as Dom Pérignon Plénitude, the aroma and color confirmed it was high-quality champagne—yet he could only watch. The food and drink laid out in the banquet hall had all been purchased with taxpayers’ money. Considering the taxes Yoo Jae-won would one day pay, it would be impossible for him to recoup the cost even if he consumed everything alone.
After the toast the President descended from the dais to begin the meal proper and strode directly toward Yoo Jae-won’s table. He was not seeking a private conversation; the President’s assigned seat happened to be immediately to Yoo Jae-won’s right. In other words, the table at which Yoo Jae-won sat was the main table reserved for the chairmen of Korea’s top ten conglomerates. As a result, Choi Kang-wook had been seated at a distant table far from the center of attention.
Yoo Jae-won launched a fearless assault on the Hanwoo short ribs. His record was already impressive—three rib bones lay scattered across his plate while other chairmen picked delicately at their food. Even President Roh watched the boy’s hearty appetite with quiet amusement. To adult eyes it was simply an endearing sight of a child eating with gusto, but Yoo Jae-won was keeping a promise to himself. He might not be able to eat enough to offset all future taxes, yet he was determined at least to recover his “principal.” He focused on the most expensive items: short ribs, sturgeon roe, and truffles. The only pity was that, despite the variety, the portions were far from generous. Even the braised short ribs consisted of only four small pieces.
“You should eat this as well.”
Apparently moved by Yoo Jae-won’s voracious display, the man to his left offered his own serving of braised ribs. It was Jeon Myeong-heon, chairman of Mirae Group. Without hesitation Yoo Jae-won accepted with a polite “Thank you” and set about devouring it.
Some ten minutes later, as Yoo Jae-won’s spoon finally slowed, the President—who had been conversing with the other chairmen—turned his attention to him.
“I hear you started a venture company at such a young age, Jae-won. Minister Oh Myung has been singing your praises until my ears ring. How did you come up with such a fine idea?”
Thanks to the President’s question, every chairman at the table now focused on Yoo Jae-won.