The Glass Wallet
Yoo Jae-won returned to his lodging and sat before his iWorks laptop, browsing Nextcom and other internet sites to gauge the public reaction to his announcement.
“As expected of the Western crowd. Their enthusiasm is infectious.”
Every community he visited overflowed with praise, and the smile that rose to his lips was only natural. At the same time, a twinge of conscience stirred within him. The Dragon Ball RM video released that afternoon—already being called simply RM online—was not, in fact, an original animation. It was a short cinematic trailer originally produced for Fantasy Universe: Storm of Time and Space, scheduled to debut at IDDC 2002.
The footage depicted Son Goku and Majin Buu locked in fierce combat before being swept into a temporal storm and hurled into an unfamiliar world. The high-polygon models and resources used for the characters had been repurposed from the game assets, then refined by ID Entertainment’s renowned CG team. While not entirely fabricated, a full-length animated feature of this cinematic quality had never existed before. From this point forward, however, it would.
ID Entertainment had long maintained a dedicated CG division, continuously upgrading its rendering farm and even developing proprietary rendering software optimized for large-scale cloud systems. The team that had directed the Son Goku versus Majin Buu sequence could simply be elevated into a full studio dedicated to Dragon Ball RM. With over a decade of experience and talent that Hollywood actively coveted, the CG team was already the finest on Earth. Yoo Jae-won’s only remaining task was to purchase more PCs and expand the rendering farm—an expense that money could readily solve.
“By the way, why is there so much profanity in the replies?”
Yoo Jae-won shook his head as he continued scanning the forums. While discussions of the Goku–Buu fight and Dragon Ball RM were welcome, the sheer volume of vulgar language was excessive. Nextcom and 2CH.COM had implemented filters to block direct profanity, yet users simply circumvented them with altered spellings and special characters. He understood that early internet culture had been chaotic, but this felt excessive. He had considered releasing ID Group’s filtering system for free, yet public resistance to the very concept of filtering had rendered the effort ineffective.
His thoughts were interrupted.
“Hm? What’s this?”
A newly posted article on Nextcom caught his eye.
Perugia FC Owner Gauchi: “Ahn Jung-hwan Has Betrayed Italy!”
“What kind of nonsense is this?”
The article referenced an interview given the day after Korea’s match against Italy, in which Perugia FC owner Gauchi had made inflammatory remarks. The criticism directed at Ahn Jung-hwan crossed every line. It accused the player of collecting an exorbitant salary while contributing nothing, labeled his Golden Ball performance against Italy as an act of betrayal, and warned him never to return to the club. Though Gauchi framed the threat as coming from the club’s hooligans rather than himself, the implication was identical.
Yoo Jae-won immediately cross-checked the story, suspecting Korean outlets might have sensationalized it for clicks. English reports confirmed the same appalling tone.
“How can someone this irrational be a club owner?”
The moment the article registered, one of Yoo Jae-won’s assumptions about the world collapsed. At the same time, he recognized a blind spot in his own preparations. His Memory Palace contained an enormous news archive, yet it centered overwhelmingly on Korea and the United States, with only secondary coverage of China, Japan, and Britain. Italy had never been a priority. Moreover, the archive focused on IT, emerging technology, and academia; sports had never been an area of personal interest. Had he known of Ahn Jung-hwan’s situation in advance, he could have acted. Instead, the problem had surfaced long after the fact.
“I can’t just leave this alone.”
If the owner behaved this way, Ahn Jung-hwan’s return to the club would be miserable. Yoo Jae-won’s mind was already moving. He had no desire to watch one of the 2002 World Cup heroes suffer. From what he remembered, Ahn Jung-hwan was an admirable man—excellent both at club and international level, diligent in his broadcasting career after retirement, and later even a candidate for FIFA presidency. The absence of negative articles in his archive suggested the man had simply encountered bitter experiences.
Yoo Jae-won considered his options. His exceptional processing speed generated concrete plans in seconds. The first action he took was to pull out his Android Phone and press speed-dial number one.
“Yes, Jae-won?”
The recipient was, of course, Tiffany. The method he had chosen was drastic enough to warrant her direct approval.
“The announcement was wonderful. That’s my husband. Even though I saw it first, my heart raced all over again. The internet is full of nothing but talk about you.”
Tiffany, calling from NBC headquarters, poured out her excitement about the new vision he had unveiled. Anonymous praise online felt pleasant, yet nothing compared to hearing it from the person he loved.
“Have you eaten dinner yet?”
Her concern warmed him further. Now, however, he needed to raise a more difficult subject.
“I’m about to.”
“You have to eat properly even without me.”
“I will. I’m having dinner with the Remingtons tonight. Before that, though, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“When ID Technology lists, a large sum of money will come in. I’ve found another place that needs it.”
“Go ahead.”
Yoo Jae-won had begun the conversation prepared to persuade her, yet her consent arrived with startling ease. He double-checked to ensure she had understood correctly, but Tiffany had not misunderstood.
“It’s money you earned through your own hard work. I support whatever you decide to do with it.”
“Really?”
“Of course. It’s not as if you’re going to abandon your family or the company and squander it all, right? I trust you more than anyone. Do what you think is best.”
Her words moved him deeply. With her blessing secured, he could proceed without hesitation.
“Secretary Kim!”
He immediately summoned Kim Dae-seok via ID Talk. Although the man was physically in the next room, the messaging app felt more convenient.
“Yes, Chairman!”
Kim Dae-seok, however, preferred face-to-face communication and arrived at the study within moments.
“Please check whether any Premier League clubs—either established mid-table sides or teams likely to be promoted this season—are available for purchase.”
Buying a football club. Not just any club, but one competing in the English Premier League. That was the solution Yoo Jae-won had devised for Ahn Jung-hwan. The idea had initially struck him as extreme, yet upon reflection it served both the player and the company. Although Korea had finished third at the 2002 FIFA World Cup, it remained peripheral in global football. The fastest way to absorb advanced systems and experience was to play in a top league. Between Serie A and the Premier League, the latter was clearly superior. The Premier League’s globalization had already begun in the early 2000s, drawing substantial viewership from East Asia and the United States alike. While white American audiences were growing, the surge was driven primarily by the exploding South American immigrant population—people for whom football was a universal passion. Broadcasting the league through Time Warner Nextcom and NBC would also be advantageous. Most importantly, Tiffany had already given her approval.
A few days later, Tiffany arrived in New York for the ID Technology NASDAQ listing ceremony.
ID Technology Lists on NASDAQ at Record-High Offering Price!
Yoo Jae-won and Tiffany Yoo Beam at NASDAQ Listing Ceremony.
Founded on February 4, 1971, NASDAQ had never before hosted a company of ID Technology’s scale. The ceremony was correspondingly grand. A massive screen at NASDAQ’s headquarters on Wall Street displayed the company’s logo alongside the word “WELCOME,” while the stage was bathed in the signature ivory of ID Group. Yoo Jae-won and Tiffany stepped forward to sign the acrylic board, officially commencing trading of ID Technology shares.
Shares released by successful IPO participants and buy orders from those who had missed the offering collided, driving explosive trading volume. Prices fluctuated wildly—sometimes dipping below the opening price, sometimes surging upward. What amused Yoo Jae-won most were the financial outlets that immediately published pessimistic articles whenever the stock dipped. Their bias was so blatant it was almost comical. Headlines ranged from claims of an excessive bubble in the offering price to assertions that ID Technology’s era of innovation had already ended.
Each time he read such an article, his fingers itched. Everything the company had revealed so far represented less than one-tenth of the innovations he had prepared. Next-generation mobile communications, quantum computing, virtual and augmented reality, artificial intelligence, Android—the list went on. Even without his personal involvement, ID Technology’s internal capabilities were already world-class. The company possessed the talent to independently develop at least half of the technologies he had enumerated. The moment Wall Street’s fools unanimously declared the stock overpriced was, in fact, the best opportunity to acquire it cheaply. ID Technology’s growth would only accelerate, and it would be the first company in history to reach a one-trillion-dollar market capitalization.
If he were to wager everything, he would gladly stake the entire proceeds of today’s IPO.
Deposit confirmed.
A characteristically concise message arrived from Vincent Greenhill. Yoo Jae-won opened the HTS application jointly developed by ID Investment and ID High Tech. After completing the identity verification, he tapped the balance inquiry button and stared at the staggering figure displayed.
“Even I’ve never seen this much cash in one place before.”
Although the amount was enormous even in Korean won, the balance shown was denominated in U.S. dollars—the universal currency of global finance. His previous cash reserve had hovered around two billion dollars. Proceeds from the Qing Dynasty lottery bonds had added substantially, though much of that windfall had been spent acquiring NBC and Rockefeller Center. Today’s sale of forty percent of ID Technology’s shares had pushed the total past one hundred billion dollars—an astronomical sum that could not even fit within a single display field.
“Still, most of it will be gone in a few days.”
Despite the occasion, an unexpected note of self-mockery colored his voice. After all, the account he was viewing was the most transparent glass wallet in the world.