High Definition and the Qing Bonds

Fantasy Universe welcomed the year 2002. On December 31, the New Year's celebrations bidding farewell to the turbulent 2001 unfolded more splendidly than ever. The United States, still reeling from the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, was no exception. Among the world's many New Year's events, the grandest and most dazzling was the ball drop in New York's Times Square, and the 2001 edition was held on an unprecedented scale.

More than just the scale had changed from previous years. A proper stage had been erected, and several artists who dominated the Billboard charts that year took to it to deliver unforgettable performances. From Destiny's Child to Janet Jackson, Usher, Nickelback—the lineup alone drew gasps of admiration. The cost of assembling such a lavish roster had skyrocketed, and even providing commemorative items like winter hats to the crowd proved a significant burden. Yet the event could be staged so magnificently thanks to one powerful sponsor: ID Group.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stage prominently featured ID Group's logo and mascot, and the winter hats distributed to visitors bore the ID emblem as well. Because the Times Square event was a staple of New Year's broadcasts, the brand exposure far outweighed the sponsorship cost. Still, neither Yoo Jae-won nor Tiffany appeared on the Times Square stage. With so much having happened at the end of the year, they had decided to welcome the new year quietly and comfortably at home.

Though 2002 had arrived, Yoo Jae-won's life remained largely unchanged. He went to the ID Technology headquarters for the New Year's ceremony and, in the main auditorium, presented the company's vision for the year alongside a brief event. This year's vision was High Definition. HD monitors, HD televisions, HD camcorders, HD mobile phones, HD sound systems—the year would see the widespread adoption of high-definition displays and high-fidelity audio devices. He firmly declared that content supporting these devices would also proliferate rapidly. Once people experienced well-made HD content on a proper HD monitor, their standards would rise, and lowering them again would never be easy. The same held true for music. Technologically and in terms of market conditions, everything was perfectly aligned for the spread of HD devices.

As expected, Yoo Jae-won's vision statement received massive coverage throughout the IT industry. While some aspects, such as artificial intelligence, seemed to arrive too quickly, most of his predictions materialized swiftly in concrete products that shaped the market. Yet in the mainstream media, another story overshadowed even his declaration that 2002 would be the year of HD.

Yoo Jae-won's predicted clash between the United States and China was now unfolding in earnest on the economic front.

“This time, it must not be swept under the rug.”

After the ceremony, Yoo Jae-won returned to the chairman's office and stared at his computer, his thoughts tangled. The large True HD CinemaDisplay monitor displayed the politics section of the Nextcom news page. The Washington Post's economics correspondent expressed deep concern that the cyber war might escalate into an economic war. The reporter's intent was to argue that the cyber conflict should not spill over into economics, but Yoo Jae-won thought the opposite—it must not be allowed to fizzle out. The reporter's message had failed to land.

Yet no one understood better than Yoo Jae-won what would happen if China were allowed to grow unchecked in East Asia. The reporter worried only about short-term economic indicators, but chasing immediate gains would clearly lead to enormous suffering later.

By this point, China had realized that the United States had no intention of letting the matter slide this time. Only then did regret surface over having handled the Skidrow Group's crackers so carelessly, and senior Communist Party officials who had accepted bribes and turned a blind eye felt the pressure. Because of these internal circumstances, China's first official response was extremely defensive. They did not even mention the word “retaliation” in connection with the tariffs. After all, China's rapid growth since the late 1990s had depended on foreign capital and technology. Foreign companies built factories in China to exploit cheap labor and sold the manufactured goods to the United States and Europe at reasonable prices. Now that tariffs on Chinese products were being raised across the board, their competitiveness was eroding. China's labor costs were so low that a 10 percent increase was not yet fatal, but the future was the real problem.

Moreover, the Qing Dynasty bonds that surfaced right at the start of 2002 were a bomb China had buried deep in its memory. Creditors had long demanded repayment, but China had refused. After all, the current Chinese regime was established through the Xinhai Revolution and did not fully inherit the Qing Dynasty. Legally speaking, the Qing bonds should be repaid by the Republic of China, not the People's Republic. Yet China had long pursued a “One China” policy, under which few countries recognized the Republic of China as a separate nation. The Qing bond issue could be used to undermine that policy, and China was deeply concerned.

Chinese President Hu Jintao reacted more sensitively to the Qing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bonds than to the cyber war itself.

“The cleanest solution would be to hand Skidrow's crackers over to the United States,” Yoo Jae-won muttered.

The 9/11 cyber war had escalated into an economic war because of China's sloppy investigation. There was not a single gram of credibility in China's investigative announcement. Handing the perpetrators over to U.S. authorities would have ended the matter simply, but China could not easily make that choice. The problem of Chinese crackers was not limited to Skidrow alone. A significant portion of hacking attempts targeting U.S. networks originated from China. While the internet's ability to route through multiple proxies made it impossible to attribute every attack definitively, many could reasonably be traced to Chinese hackers. Handing over the Skidrow Group members might open the door to American interference, and China's leadership could not see an end to its troubles.

“Watching the fire from across the river really is the best,” Yoo Jae-won thought. Simply observing the situation was enough for him. If the flames seemed to die down, he could toss in more fuel like the Qing bonds and enjoy the show. At the same time, he worried that unforeseen variables might arise, so he spent over an hour checking not only internet news but also China-related reports gathered through various channels.

“Next… the intelligence team's report.”

Having finished his assessment of the Chinese situation, Yoo Jae-won opened a new file. It was a regular situational report that had arrived from Korea a few minutes earlier. This came from a separate intelligence team, distinct from Vice Chairman Choi Kang-wook's operations, and only a handful of people knew of its existence. Consequently, the report contained highly confidential information. Yet its credibility was on an entirely different level from the usual political rumors circulating in Yeouido. It compiled the maximum amount of information obtainable without breaking the law, excluding illegal methods such as wiretapping or eavesdropping. The targets were naturally ID Group's senior executives, as well as politicians, high-ranking officials, journalists, and competing companies. In the early days, celebrity gossip had occasionally appeared, but at Yoo Jae-won's instruction it had been discontinued. There was no need to listen to stories of celebrities dating and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breaking up. At best, it might have helped when selecting celebrities for commercials, but Yoo Jae-won already maintained a separate file in his memory storage for that purpose.

Anyway, the latest report from the Korean intelligence team contained many items from December 2001. The largest share concerned the World Cup and the local elections. These were Korea's two major events of 2002, so news derived from them was naturally abundant. In the original timeline, one more event would have been added: the presidential election. The election to choose Korea's highest leader carried enormous weight. But after Jeon Myeong-heon, the presidential schedule had changed dramatically. The constitutional amendment had shifted the presidential term to a four-year, two-term system, and Jeon Myeong-heon's death from old age before completing his term had further altered the election timeline. As a result, Korea's next presidential election had been postponed to March 2003.

Because of the two-term amendment, President Kim Dae-jung could run once more. Yet the prevailing mood in Yeouido suggested he would decline. Age was the reason. Jeon Myeong-heon had also failed to complete his term due to illness. President Kim Dae-jung was likewise advanced in years. Moreover, the aftereffects of torture left him with mobility issues, and the strain of presidential duties seemed to be sapping his strength with each passing day. While President Kim himself remained ambitious, public skepticism was high. Naturally, many citizens yearned for younger blood. Within the ruling Democratic Party, voices calling for a young and fresh candidate were growing louder. Of course, the most important factor was President Kim Dae-jung's own decision. According to the party's rules, a president eligible for re-election was automatically nominated as the candidate. This dynamic within the ruling party was reflected in this year's local elections. The party contained multiple factions, each backing different candidates, so the nomination results would offer a preview of next year's presidential race. Many expected major developments surrounding the ruling party's nominations.

“Next, the economic section?”

Having finished the political part, Yoo Jae-won moved on to the economic section. It contained various developments among Korea's large and small enterprises. Companies were focused on preparations for the 2002 Korea-Japan World Cup. The most enthusiastic was TG Mobile. Having secured the official World Cup sponsor title at great expense, TG Mobile was actively leveraging the World Cup branding. They were preparing events such as giving new subscribers 100 MB of free data whenever the Korean national team scored a goal, and 1 GB if the team secured its first victory in the group stage.

“100 MB per goal? If they keep giving it away like that, the data network might actually crash.”

The Korean national team's performance in the 2002 World Cup would exceed all expectations. Utilizing the home advantage to the fullest, they would reach the semifinals and even play in the third-place match. They would essentially play every possible match except the final. The group stage draw had taken place on December 1 at BEXCO the previous month, and the results matched exactly what Yoo Jae-won remembered. Therefore, the outcome would likely be similar. If TG Mobile distributed data per goal and per victory, it could result in every TG Mobile subscriber effectively using an unlimited plan. While TG Mobile would be giving away resources without earning anything in return, the publicity would greatly benefit the company's brand recognition.

“Hmm?”

A sound of surprise escaped Yoo Jae-won's lips as he read the intelligence team's report. It came when the section on Ilseong Group appeared on the wide monitor.

“?”

What widened his eyes was the news that Choi Jae-young, the crown prince of Ilseong Group, had been living separately from his wife. The report was tagged “confirmed,” indicating high reliability. They had been separated for over a year, and the likelihood of divorce was assessed as very high. Choi Jae-young, heir to Ilseong Group, was married to the eldest daughter of a businessman who dealt in white powders such as sugar, salt, and MSG. They had married in 1998 and had one son and one daughter. In the original history, the couple would eventually divorce, but that had been scheduled for 2008.

“Things have seemed strange since last year,” Yoo Jae-won murmured. The remark implied that Choi Jae-young's married life had also been a major monitoring target for the intelligence team. The reason was simple: one of Yoo Jae-won's most bitter enemies, etched into his very bones, was Choi Jae-young's child—specifically, his third child. That individual had possessed insufficient ability but excessive greed. He had tried to compensate for his shortcomings with the power of Ilseong Group and had ended up crossing paths with Yoo Jae-won. Yet currently, Choi Jae-young had only one son and one daughter. The problematic third child was due to be born soon. But if the couple was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠already separated…

“What? That means that kid might never even be born.”

Yoo Jae-won felt a sudden sense of emptiness. He had not been chewing on bitterness every day like some ancient Chinese figure while vowing revenge, but the blade of vengeance still existed in his heart. His resolve to draw that hidden dagger at the moment when revenge would taste sweetest remained unchanged. Yet the very target of his revenge had vanished.

“What happened?”

Yoo Jae-won felt he needed more detailed information. He was curious about the cause of the separation and whether it would truly lead to divorce. He immediately sent an email to the Korean intelligence team, instructing them to gather the most accurate information possible, even if it took time, and to do so safely. After sending the email, his mind grew unsettled. The text on the monitor no longer registered properly.

“I should run a raid.”

Yoo Jae-won closed the report and clicked on World of Warcraft on his desktop. Three months after its release, World of Warcraft's user growth had briefly stalled. The initial launch hype had faded, and the game now had to win players on its own merits. Fortunately, it had succeeded in attracting the Warcraft fanbase, and these players had become hardcore WoWers who continued to enjoy the game steadily.

“As expected, there are people online.”

Even in the middle of the day, thanks to players like these, Yoo Jae-won was able to join a pickup group immediately upon logging in and enter the instance dungeon. As a rogue he might have struggled, but his character's class was a priest—always in demand. While he could not enjoy the massive damage output of a rogue, the main DPS class, leading a raid by keeping party members alive at the perfect moments, like flipping hotteok, was its own kind of fun. Immersed in the game and faithfully performing his role, his troubled mind quickly calmed, and time flew by. Before he knew it, the highly anticipated fantasy film The Lord of the Rings was just around the corner.