The Open Source Transition

If it had been the Yoo Jae-won of old, the name Ilsung Group would have stirred a faint ripple in his heart. Now? Nothing. He couldn’t yet tell whether it was because the object of his revenge had never been born in this life, because the ID Group and his own position had grown unassailably firm, or because marriage had finally granted him emotional equilibrium. What was certain was that the name Ilsung no longer carried any particular weight for him.

“Ilsung still can’t let go of the electronics business.”

He could, however, clearly feel their lingering attachment to the sector and the desperate effort to survive. The smartphone market would soon eclipse the PC market in scale. Like PCs, it followed a roughly three-year generational cycle, though the turnover was far quicker. Moreover, devices costing well over a million won sold briskly even in emerging markets such as Southeast Asia.

The Android S2, released in August, had not yet received a formal Southeast Asian launch. As a third-wave country, it would not see official distribution until next year. Nevertheless, the number of registered Android S2 units in the region had already climbed into the hundreds of thousands. This explained the frequent headlines about peddlers sweeping stock from first-release nations or the device becoming a major smuggling commodity.

Even though smartphone applications had not yet woven themselves into daily life—no ride-hailing apps, only rudimentary translators, and QR codes still struggling for adoption despite ID Group’s aggressive push. Fintech under the N Pay banner was expanding, yet offline use remained limited. Augmented and virtual reality were still dreams. Still, simply carrying an Android smartphone conferred a certain status. It was regarded as the equal of a luxury item.

If one ranked this “luxury power,” the Android S2 sat at the absolute top, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠followed by Apple’s iPhones. Third-place devices from Nokia and BlackBerry carried their own operating systems—Symbian and BlackBerry OS—whose completeness and convenience lagged far behind Android or Apple’s mobile platforms. Their sales reflected that shortfall, yet at least these companies could produce real smartphones. Most others could not even reach that threshold; no matter how much time they were given, they remained stuck at “something resembling a smartphone.”

“Well, if they’re willing to spend their own money to accelerate the spread of the mobile Android operating system, there’s no reason to refuse.”

The moment the thought ended, Yoo Jae-won moved Ilsung onto the approved list. He had no particular interest in how Ilsung Electronics—having already sold its electronics division—intended to manufacture smartphones. As long as they produced high-quality Android devices on the level of the Galaxy series from his previous life, he would be satisfied.

“The problem is China.”

China was already churning out counterfeit Android smartphones. Replacing the “I” in the ID logo with a lowercase “l” to create “lD” was almost cute. Some units used a crude 2G feature-phone core beneath an exterior molded to mimic the S2. Others copied the home screen pixel-for-pixel. A few even offered touch functionality. Prices varied wildly depending on the quality of the copy, and performance ranged from toy-like gadgets to devices that could actually make calls.

“This cannot be taken lightly.”

Technological progress always began with replication. The exteriors had already grown remarkably similar. The operating ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠system, M4 mobile processor, flash memory chips, and mobile display modules could not yet be duplicated, which was why only crude counterfeits circulated. Once the mobile Android OS was released, however, it was easy to predict that far more convincing products would flood out of China. The M4, flash memory, and display modules would still need to be imported from Korea, but everything else could be counterfeited locally.

After the U.S. trade conflict reached its climax with the Qing Dynasty bonds settlement, Beijing had begun posturing about protecting intellectual property. The effort remained cosmetic—enough to announce a few token achievements to the international community, but nowhere near enough to change the average Chinese citizen’s attitude toward IP. Yoo Jae-won could only chuckle at the Chinese Communist Party’s astronomical subsidies for “advanced technology development” that somehow included companies producing blatant knockoffs.

Yet this was exactly how China had succeeded in his previous timeline. Step by step they had localized components, eventually producing plausible smartphones using only domestic parts. The same pattern would apply to operating systems.

“They simply couldn’t keep up with the trend.”

Indigenous system development had come too late. The world was already divided between Android and Apple—even inside China. Chinese consumers found domestic devices inconvenient and refused to use them. More decisively, the data required for a true cyber life was already piled inside Android and Apple ecosystems. Almost no one fully migrated to a native Chinese platform.

“Hmm. I wonder which will be faster this time?”

A proper answer would require thorough investigation into China’s development speed and the leadership’s determination, but his first impression was not unfavorable. Technological acceleration had already advanced dramatically. The gap between Korea and China had been stretched wide. Closing it would demand enormous investment from Beijing, and neither Korea nor the United States would simply wait while China caught up.

Yoo Jae-won himself had just approved ten trillion won in new investment for both semiconductors and displays—capital for next-generation processes and the construction of massive production facilities.

“Distributing it earlier might actually be better.”

Big data was power. If ID Group could securely harvest Chinese users’ data before the Communist Party fully understood its value, the game would effectively be over. Releasing the mobile operating system achieved exactly that without requiring direct market entry into China. The inevitable flood of counterfeits could be managed by blocking their export beyond Chinese borders. In his previous life, copyright-infringement injunctions had proven an effective tool to blunt China’s IT rise.

“All I need to do is crush Huawei.”

Yoo Jae-won’s gaze settled on Huawei, listed at the very top of Chinese companies requesting the mobile Android OS. In his past life, while working as an AI specialist, he had met with Huawei representatives seeking investment. The memory still left a foul aftertaste. A straightforward exchange of capital and technology should have sufficed. Instead, they had demanded heartfelt submission. Such arrogance existed in Korea, but Huawei’s version was worse—colored by Middle Kingdom ideology and the Party’s desire to reshape even thought itself. One of their conditions had been to implant pro-Party consciousness into the machine psychology module. The sheer audacity still made his blood boil.

Enraged, he had rejected Huawei and partnered with Ilsung instead. The decision ultimately brought him misfortune in that timeline, yet he harbored no regrets.

“Now it’s my turn to give them a taste of something spicy.”

As he copied Huawei’s name onto the approval document, Yoo Jae-won renewed his resolve. What would have been impossible in the past was now entirely feasible—even on a personal level. He could not only check them; he could trip them and bring them crashing down.

He continued down the list, adding ZTE and other problematic firms. Since Huawei itself had been approved, there was no reason to hesitate with the rest.

The announcement came several days after Yoo Jae-won’s decision. When people had watched the open-source reveal at IDDC 2002, they had expected some grand ceremony or the unveiling of a massive new organization. None of them had imagined the entire mobile Android operating system would simply be uploaded to the internet for anyone to download.

Now anyone who wished could download the PC simulator, run the mobile OS, and modify it at will. Previously, developers had been given a simulator for Android smartphone applications, but modification had been locked. That restriction had now been lifted entirely.

At the same time, worried articles appeared.

These pieces stemmed from misunderstanding. The argument was that because third-party companies now possessed the full mobile Android source code, hackers would inevitably discover vulnerabilities. At first glance the worry seemed reasonable, yet the actual risk was low. Apple’s closed-source OS had never been immune to attacks, nor had Linux’s open nature made it trivially easy to breach. The AES encryption algorithm Yoo Jae-won had released early into the world offered a perfect example: its specifications were completely public, thousands of academic papers had been written about it, yet it remained unbroken.

The same principle applied to mobile Android. No matter how ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠closely one examined the source, the keys needed to reconstruct personal user data were nowhere to be found. Even if malicious code were inserted by modifying the OS, the secure area where personal information resided could not be accessed. Any change to the system code altered its hash value, and a mismatched hash automatically locked the secure partition.

Rooting produced similar results. In a rooted state, financial and shopping applications such as N Pay and One-Click Shopping would cease to function. The same restriction applied to games that used microtransactions. Such modifications were therefore useless except for development purposes.

The only real concern was the possibility of companies stripping out Google search, AdSense, and the official app store to replace them with their own services. Even that loophole had been anticipated. The simple solution was to refuse supply of the M-series processors. Mobile Android ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ran exclusively on M-series chips; it was incompatible with the ARM architecture used by Apple and others. The M-series—especially the latest M4 with integrated modem and high-performance GPU—overwhelmed competitors in both power efficiency and performance. Though expensive, no better mobile processor existed, nor was one likely to appear in the foreseeable future. Companies harboring dark intentions after joining the third-party program could simply be cut off from processor supply.

“This should be sufficient.”

As always, Yoo Jae-won sat in his study reviewing the articles before returning to his true work: Project LL. Completing it quickly was currently his highest priority.

Since the launch of Fantasy Universe, the AOS genre had taken root faster than he had anticipated. The Chaos map—a Dota variant that should not have appeared until 2004—had already emerged. Chaos, a Korean Warcraft use-map, began as a Korean translation of Kyle’s “Ancient Defense” map but quickly diverged as its creators arbitrarily modified object data. Its popularity exploded, catapulting it to the top ranks of Korean Warcraft use-maps almost overnight.

Kyle’s original Ancient Defense was slower-paced, required heavy micromanagement, and demanded constant attention. Chaos, by contrast, was fast and aggressive—perfectly suited to Korean tastes.

At this stage, there was little Yoo Jae-won could do directly for Project LL. Resting, however, was not in his nature. So he searched for something he could contribute and found it in a single phone call to someone in Korea.

The friendly voice burst through before the ring tone had even finished.

“President Lee, hello.”

The man on the other end was TG Group’s Lee Yong-kwon. Their relationship had begun when he was vice president of Sambo Computer. Thanks to his connection with Yoo Jae-won, he now sat as president of TG Group. The company stood among the top five domestic conglomerates, its reputation soaring not only in computer manufacturing but especially through TG Mobile, Korea’s largest mobile carrier. The decisive factor in that meteoric rise had been the partnership with Yoo Jae-won—a fact Lee Yong-kwon never forgot for a single day. That was why his voice still brimmed with genuine warmth even after so long.

As expected, President Lee knew him well. After three minutes of pleasantries and catching up on recent events, he had cut straight to business.

“I have a proposal for you, President.”

“The establishment of an e-sports team.”

The external assistance Yoo Jae-won had envisioned for Project LL was to persuade TG Group to found a professional gaming organization.