Forging the E-Sports Empire
"I'll give it positive consideration," Choi Jae-hyung replied.
"Ah, thank you. I know it seems questionable now, but I'm certain you'll be satisfied. Even if you decline, there's no penalty, so don't worry. I'll be looking forward to good news, then." Click. The call ended without hesitation. Duration: four minutes and twenty-four seconds.
Choi Jae-hyung, vice chairman of Ilseong Group, stared at the Evercall screen for a moment after the line went dead before folding his phone shut.
"A professional gaming team, you say."
"Pardon? What do you mean, sir?"
The entire executive meeting had turned toward him. Every president and director sat with eyes fixed on Choi Jae-hyung at the head of the table, eager not to miss a single word. Today's meeting was especially critical: Ilseong Group's formal decision to re-enter the electronics sector. While not as grand as semiconductors or displays, the discussion centered on concrete plans to enter the smartphone market—a clear future growth engine.
If Yoo Jae-won had excluded Ilseong from the mobile Android third-party program, they would have been forced to seek alternative paths. Instead, he had granted them unconditional access. The mobile Android source code had been delivered, along with the hardware design technology they needed. The meeting had been proceeding smoothly until the sudden call from Yoo Jae-won, chairman of ID Group—not routed through the secretariat, but placed directly to Choi Jae-hyung's personal phone.
At first, he had dismissed the unknown number. When it rang again, he instructed his secretary to handle it. Less than a minute later, the secretary returned pale-faced. Naturally—the unknown caller had been Yoo Jae-won himself. Setting aside how the man had obtained his private number, Choi Jae-hyung had taken the call and heard the important proposal.
As expected, nothing in this world came free. His father's words echoed in his mind. The proposal was simple: consider founding an e-sports gaming team—not under the main Ilseong Group, but under Ilseong Telecom.
Choi Jae-hyung had already received reports on the explosive growth of e-sports. Surveys showed teenagers and twenty-somethings preferred it over baseball, and recent data even suggested it outranked soccer. The World Cup had ended only two months ago, yet the numbers were undeniable. Compared to running a professional baseball team, operating costs were negligible, while the promotional impact was enormous. He had been meaning to seriously consider it anyway. Then Yoo Jae-won had called personally.
"No penalty, you said?"
Yoo Jae-won's voice over the line had been clear and crisp. In Choi Jae-hyung's experience, such assurances usually meant the opposite. But could Yoo Jae-won be measured by ordinary standards? No. If he said there was no penalty, then there truly was none.
"Secretary Kim."
"Yes, Vice Chairman!"
"Look into what would be required to establish a professional e-sports team and report back by tomorrow. Or is that too soon? The day after, then."
"Not at all! I'll have it ready tomorrow."
Founding a gaming team would normally fall to a team leader in Ilseong Telecom's marketing or PR department. Given that the suggestion came directly from Yoo Jae-won, however, Choi Jae-hyung decided to oversee it personally.
"Very well. Let's resume the meeting. Continue the report on the Pantech acquisition."
Choi Jae-hyung's face regained its commanding presence as the executive meeting continued. The discussion now focused on manufacturing Android-compatible smartphones. Just before Yoo Jae-won's call, they had been reviewing the acquisition of Pantech, a specialized mobile phone manufacturer. Ilseong Electronics, once Korea's largest electronics company, was long gone. Rebuilding production lines from scratch would be prohibitively expensive with uncertain success rates. Acquiring Pantech's management rights had been the chosen path.
Strangely, Choi Jae-hyung felt optimistic. Ilseong Group's corporate culture prized objective data above all. The saying went that they wouldn't cross even a stone bridge without tapping it first. Acting on mere intuition was more the style of Mirae Group. Yet this time, everything felt as though it would go smoothly.
"Should I call KT as well?"
Yoo Jae-won studied the contacts list on his Android smartphone, lost in thought. Calling private companies posed no difficulty—he could even reach the prickly Choi Jae-hyung without hesitation. Public corporations like KT were different. Any approach might be perceived as external pressure. The suggestion to create e-sports teams could later be twisted into a political scandal if the administration changed. The actual probability was less than one percent, but in dynamic Korea, nothing was certain.
"At this point, other companies will see the trend and move on their own."
Yoo Jae-won decided against calling KT. Starting with TG Mobile, then Busan Group, Mirae Group, and now Ilseong Telecom—Korea's major conglomerates were simultaneously launching professional gaming teams. Anyone watching would recognize the momentum. Companies that had been watching from the sidelines would soon follow. Game companies, banks, even heavy industry firms were likely to show interest.
"That settles the team proposals."
He drew a line through the item in his digital diary, then paused at the final entry.
"What's left is a dedicated gaming broadcast network."
ONGamenet was already airing Star League and team leagues, as well as Warcraft matches. They were doing their best under difficult circumstances. With ID Entertainment handling player treatment and match production, ONGamenet could focus on events, finals staging, and transmission. The real problem was not ONGamenet alone, but the cable industry as a whole: insufficient viewership. Cable television was paid service, so penetration remained slow. Low viewership depressed advertising rates and hurt profitability. Creative ideas abounded, yet production budgets were always tight. Marketing to expand the audience base was nearly impossible.
Yoo Jae-won's solution was to acquire ONGamenet and several other cable channels. In America, he already controlled Time Warner and NBC, building a complete media empire. Time Warner's global stature needed no introduction. NBC, after years of missteps, was being reshaped under the iron hand of Ted Turner. Bloated departments were being streamlined, and the drama division—previously weak—was being reinforced. A new drama department had been established, and negotiations were underway to bring in J.J. Abrams as overall head. Though still an up-and-coming director, he would become a trusted name in both film and television. His talent for reviving failed series was legendary; Mission: Impossible, Star Trek, and Star Wars stood as proof. He excelled in drama production as well. His only drawbacks were a slight bias toward science fiction and an excessive fondness for lens flares.
Yoo Jae-won had already completed an all-in-one system in North America—producing high-quality content and distributing it through his own networks. The quality stories secured through the Million Dollar Challenge could finally be adapted into visual media. NBC studios were already developing dramas based on Exorcism Records, White Roniaf River, and Monster Grassland. Casting was underway in both America and Korea, with numerous actors expressing interest in auditions. Passing the audition meant instant exposure to tens of millions through NBC and Time Warner Nextcom's distribution—worldwide stardom in a single stroke.
For Korea, simply acquiring broadcast channels would suffice to air the finished content. The ideal option would be a terrestrial network, but no remaining broadcast frequencies existed for new public channels. The next best choice was acquiring Seoul Broadcasting, yet its owner, Taeyoung Construction, had no intention of selling. A provincial construction company owning a terrestrial broadcaster was unusual, but in the abnormal year of 1989, they had unexpectedly won the bid—rumors of special favors from President Roh Tae-woo had circulated, though nothing had been proven. Taeyoung Construction remained a top-tier builder with substantial cash reserves; they had weathered the IMF crisis without incident while other construction firms collapsed. Extracting Seoul Broadcasting from such a well-capitalized company would require enormous sums—likely trillions of won. Even for Yoo Jae-won, that was excessive.
Therefore, acquiring multiple cable channels and specializing each one was the practical approach.
"Hmm. An e-sports channel, a music channel, and an entertainment/drama channel—three should do it."
Even cable networks were substantial companies, yet Yoo Jae-won spoke of them as casually as adding a few premium channels. The people running those networks would have been shocked. To him, however, the scale felt small compared to America. The entire cable business represented less than one percent of ID Group's total operations. Despite its modest size, the vision for the future was clear. Cable households were few now, but in ten years every home would have a set-top box. The transition to HD was already underway. Unlike analog terrestrial broadcasts that still produced a picture even with poor reception, digital HDTV signals produced nothing without sufficient strength. Households installing set-top boxes were increasing rapidly.
Partnering with Korea's cable companies to place these channels as basic offerings—or embedding the Timeflex app—would secure media distribution channels. "Or I could distribute IPTV directly," he mused. Daekom, Korea's largest internet provider, belonged to him. Before regression, Daekom had focused on backbone networks. Now it aggressively pursued B2C broadband services, moving beyond ADSL to VDSL and preparing fiber-to-the-home. Modems between fiber and PCs could easily carry IPTV and the Timeflex app.
"Damn broadcasters."
Yoo Jae-won's opinion of Korean networks was as low as his opinion of journalists—another legacy of his previous life. They inflated people to stratospheric heights, then smashed them into the mud without mercy. Having experienced it firsthand, the memory still rankled. Korean broadcasters operated purely on the logic of power and capital.
"Damn broadcasters."
The mere thought still made his teeth grind. After acquiring the cable channels, he intended to run them so differently that the existing networks would feel not mere anxiety, but genuine crisis.
"So the channels to acquire are ONGamenet and Mnet 23? tvM, the entertainment channel, doesn't exist yet, so we'll need to launch one."
Korea's broadcasting plans had been meticulously detailed in his master plan. Unlike the IT sector, where countless variables had emerged, the flow of Korean broadcasting remained unchanged from his previous life.
Creating the greatest AOS game and a sustainable long-term ecosystem was an enormous undertaking. Yoo Jae-won, who understood this better than anyone, added the item to an electronic document without hesitation and sent it to Vice Chairman Choi Kang-wook.
A few days later:
Vice Chairman Choi Kang-wook's movements had been captured by the press. The cable industry felt that what was inevitable had finally arrived. Terrestrial networks, while privately wary, downplayed the significance, insisting cable's influence would not bring major change to the broadcasting world. Amid these varied reactions driven by self-interest, not a single person realized that these moves were part of a grand design for AOS.