Reckless Challenge, Overwhelming Retribution
“Four years since the IMF crisis hit. Can you believe it?”
“Indeed. When you look ahead, the road seems endless, yet looking back, time has flown by.”
Choi Kang-wook’s reply carried a mix of emotions. The sentiment resonated deeply, and Yoo Jae-won found himself nodding in agreement. The tasks ahead stretched out without end, but glancing backward, it was hard to believe they had already come this far.
“Watching television these days, it almost feels like the IMF never happened.”
“Yes. All this talk of well-being and gourmet living feels strangely out of place.”
Since arriving in Korea, the television had been the first thing to catch his eye. When he wasn’t meeting relatives or benefactors like President Park, he found himself parked in front of a computer or the TV. The family home brought a comforting warmth to both body and mind, yet it offered little in the way of entertainment for Yoo Jae-won and Tiffany. Fortunately, the television in Deokjin-ri was the latest LED model from ID Electronics—a spacious 42-inch screen boasting full 1080p resolution. Choi Kang-wook and Kim Dae-seok had seen to its delivery, and his mother had made a point of bringing home the newest ID Group products whenever possible. She wanted to keep her son’s creations close, a quiet source of pride.
In his heart, he wished he could bring over the equipment from their San Francisco residence, but the risk of technology leaks made that impossible. Compared to the San Francisco home—with its permanent security detail, CCTV integrated with image-analysis servers, and drone surveillance—the security at the family house was rudimentary at best.
While watching television, one word kept surfacing: well-being. It referred to eating well and living well, a phrase that would become rare in Korea after the mid-21st century. That made sense; pursuing genuine well-being meant abandoning the relentless pursuit of cost-performance that had defined the previous era. Many of the health-focused foods now promoted were unfamiliar, and organic products in particular defied any notion of value for money. Travel segments were also proliferating—promotions for Jeju Island and overseas destinations—yet travel itself felt incongruous with the lingering shadow of the IMF.
“Tourist numbers have surged as well. Jeju Island saw an explosion in visitors, didn’t it?”
It wasn’t just on television. Actual tourist figures had risen sharply. Last year, overseas travelers exceeded three million, while visitors to Jeju surpassed six million—more than double the previous count.
“Exactly. I wonder if the Chairman invested in Jeju with this outcome in mind all along.”
Yoo Jae-won merely smiled at Choi Kang-wook’s question. Wonderland, once operating at a loss when it first opened under ID Entertainment, was now turning a profit, and land prices across Jeju had climbed dramatically. Naturally, the gains flowed to Yoo Jae-won. He had purchased such vast tracts of land each year that people joked one could not set foot on Jeju without stepping on his property. Of course, he had not stopped at acquisition; his investments went far deeper, sparking the tourism boom earlier than in the original timeline. He had led efforts to preserve Jeju’s signature stone walls, coastal walking paths, and scenic shorelines while remodeling spaces for cafés and restaurants. Reckless development was minimized, and investments were structured to share profits with native Jeju residents. Not everyone followed his advice—there were always contrarians—but those who joined cooperative cafés or entered the food-service industry reaped the rewards of the second tourism surge. The largest share of the profits, however, remained his. Wonderland, along with luxury hotels and resorts that once welcomed walk-in guests, now required reservations months in advance. The same held true for rides; showing up without a booking meant waiting one or two hours. The surge was not limited to domestic tourists. Foreign visitors poured in as well, driven by the explosive success of World of Warcraft. Wonderland, long themed around Warcraft, was finally receiving the recognition it deserved. With guests arriving from China, Japan, and beyond, hotels and resorts operated at full capacity year-round.
The well-being trend had become possible because the average standard of living had recovered to pre-IMF levels—and in some cases surpassed them. South Korea posted 10% economic growth in 1998, followed by steady expansion of 7.5% in 2000 and 6% in 2001. While the growth rate was decelerating, it remained extraordinary by developed-nation standards, fueled by China’s explosive expansion next door.
“Well then, let’s move on to the main topic.”
“I’ll begin with the status of the White Tiger Fund. The most dramatic turnaround has been at Daeho Heavy Industries.”
Choi Kang-wook finally opened his kill list. Yet despite the ominous nickname, his expression as he discussed Daeho Heavy Industries was bright. The domestic economy was booming, and corporate balance sheets looked healthy. The companies under the White Tiger Fund had performed especially well. The “kill list” label stemmed from the fund’s founding philosophy: acquiring firms on the brink of bankruptcy due to the IMF shock, reviving them, and returning them to society. Some critics claimed ID Group had created the fund to avoid accusations of octopus-like expansion. They pointed to Shin-Nihon Investment Bank as an example. Despite its name, the bank functioned more like a holding company that effectively owned Japan’s finest enterprises. Japanese media had belatedly begun voicing concerns, but Shin-Nihon Investment Bank was already deeply entrenched in Japan’s economic landscape. The White Tiger Fund, however, operated differently.
“Daeho Heavy Industries has secured orders for more than twenty LNG carriers. The plant sector, through its partnership with Daeho Construction and the Task Force Team, also looks extremely promising. They have enough backlog that they could operate for four years without new orders.”
The fallout from the Kobe Steel scandal, which shattered Japan’s craftsman myth, had benefited Korea. Daeho Heavy Industries stood out most prominently. Its starting prices were far lower than Japanese shipyards, yet performance matched them. Custom orders were accepted without issue, and additional investment yielded correspondingly superior results.
“Then there should be no problem with selling it.”
“Several domestic and overseas companies have expressed strong interest.”
No company better exemplified the word “revival.” Yoo Jae-won had orchestrated the turnaround by leveraging Chevron and Daeho Heavy Industries, yet he felt no regret. Keeping the firm under the White Tiger Fund felt awkward, and folding it into ID Group would have been equally strange. ID Group’s core businesses centered on electronics, semiconductors, software, content, telecommunications, and media. Adding heavy industry would have looked conspicuously out of place.
“Among domestic firms, Mirae and Ilseong have shown interest. Japanese and European companies are also watching.”
“Given its size, that’s hardly surprising. What’s the expected sale price?”
“Roughly three trillion won.”
Yoo Jae-won nodded calmly. When Daeho Group had been dismantled, only the viable subsidiaries—construction, heavy industry, electronics, and Dynasty Club—had been retained. The White Tiger Fund had acquired all of them for less than one trillion won. Now Daeho Heavy Industries alone was valued at three trillion—a spectacular return in a short period.
“Daeho Construction is valued at approximately 2.2 trillion won. Eunho Asian Group has shown particular interest.”
“Ah, Eunho.”
Eunho Asian Group was best known for its airline, Asian Airlines. In the current overseas-travel boom, it was raking in profits hand over fist. It had also acquired Daeho Construction in the previous timeline. Yet the construction firm was simply too large relative to the parent company’s scale, and the construction market had not risen as expected. Eunho Asian Group had ultimately been forced to divest it. Would things be different this time? Yoo Jae-won considered the question briefly, then shook his head. Eunho Asian Group’s track record offered little reason for optimism.
“What about Ilseong? Are they not interested?”
Only companies ranked within the top ten chaebols could realistically absorb Daeho Construction. Among them, Yoo Jae-won believed Ilseong offered the best synergy. After transferring its electronics division to ID Group, Ilseong had restructured around automobiles, heavy industry, and telecommunications.
“They are interested. However, Ilseong’s priority remains Daeho Heavy Industries, so Daeho Construction appears to have been pushed back.”
“Let’s structure a deal: Daeho Heavy Industries to Mirae, Daeho Construction to Ilseong. Cash payment only. Offer a discount for full cash settlement.”
“Understood, Chairman.”
Choi Kang-wook answered without hesitation. In the past he might have viewed the arrangement negatively, but years of managing corporate affairs had given him a clearer picture of Korea’s economic undercurrents, shifting his perspective. The IMF crisis had shattered the long-standing myth of “too big to fail.” Traumatized, chaebols now hoarded enormous cash reserves. They had abandoned the octopus-style expansion of the 1990s, investing only in proven, conservative opportunities. Success in their core sectors naturally led to accumulating cash, yet the reluctance to distribute profits left employees increasingly dissatisfied. Wage growth lagged far behind corporate performance. Still, compared to the brutal restructuring during the IMF period, the situation remained tolerable, so discontent had not yet boiled over. This transaction, however, was different.
“The labor union is extremely anxious about the sale. Collective action is a distinct possibility.”
Concern laced Choi Kang-wook’s voice. Yoo Jae-won understood immediately. Even with the qualifier “possibility,” the reality was clear: once the sale of Daeho Heavy Industries was officially announced, the union would almost certainly protest. ID Group itself had unions—at Android and at ID Electronics, where the former Daeho Electronics and Mirae Electronics unions had merged into a single organization. Most unions had been inherited through acquisitions, and Yoo Jae-won had never opposed them. ID Group’s treatment of workers had kept relations stable. The White Tiger Fund, however, was another matter. Daeho Heavy Industries’ union belonged to the Korean Confederation of Trade Unions’ metalworkers’ federation and was among its most militant factions. Until now, the overriding national task of overcoming the IMF crisis and the fund’s trusteeship management had kept them quiet. The sale announcement would change that. What the union secretly hoped for was integration into ID Group, just like Daeho Electronics. Having fallen to the very bottom during the group’s dissolution, they understood how good their current conditions were. Even if full membership in ID Group proved impossible, most preferred remaining under the White Tiger Fund’s management. The worst outcome, in their eyes, was sale to a foreign company. Mirae Group was viewed in much the same light; its history of labor disputes was notorious, and its workforce was oversized relative to its operations. A sale to Mirae would almost certainly trigger aggressive restructuring.
“These are the companies that received failing grades.”
This was why Choi Kang-wook’s report had earned the nickname “kill list.” While some firms like Daeho Heavy Industries were spreading their wings again, others had not recovered. At the time of acquisition, revival had seemed possible, but even Yoo Jae-won was not infallible. These companies would now be liquidated, and the list lay before him.
“Saewon Information & Communications?”
The company at the top of the list was one Yoo Jae-won knew well. During the dot-com bubble on KOSDAQ, its 500-won par-value shares had soared above 300,000 won, pushing its market capitalization to five trillion won. After the bubble burst, the stock had plummeted through the floor and kept falling. The White Tiger Fund had acquired the wreckage for a mere ten billion won. Its VoIP technology had been serviceable, and it held a modest stake in Ilseong Group. Now, however, revival was deemed impossible. Yoo Jae-won accepted Choi Kang-wook’s recommendation and ordered dissolution. Thus ended the story of the company that had once reigned as KOSDAQ’s emperor.
Afterward, Yoo Jae-won met with the presidents of ID Group’s Korean subsidiaries—Display, Electronics, Investment, Microcredit, and Dream Entertainment—reviewing each company’s issues in detail. On his final day, he attended the groundbreaking ceremony and dinner for the development team behind Fantasy Universe. More than a hundred people participated in the lively event. The nameplate read Firefist Games—literally “Fist of Fire Games.” True to its name, the logo featured a flaming fist icon. Though it felt hastily conceived, it looked fitting in person. Given the rapid staffing expected as development progressed, an entire floor of the ID Global Headquarters Building had been allocated. With the opening ceremony complete, Yoo Jae-won returned to the United States—only to be met with shocking news.
- Federal Communications Commission withholds approval of Time Warner Nextcom’s NBC acquisition.
- Detailed investigation required due to the scale of the deal.
The NBC acquisition had slammed into an unexpected roadblock. A detailed investigation? Yoo Jae-won confirmed the report and, the moment he stepped off the plane, placed a call to Vice Chairman Ted Turner, who had been overseeing the deal.
“Uncle Turner! I mean, Vice Chairman Turner! You said approval was guaranteed. What on earth is going on?”
He had trusted Ted Turner and gone to Korea. This outcome was deeply disappointing.