The God of the East Awakens

As the God of the East rose, with only one month remaining in the blue year of 2002, Yoo Jae-won and Tiffany quietly entered Korea. Yoo Jae-won had plenty of matters to handle in the United States, but the Korean presidential election took precedence. Tiffany, meanwhile, needed rest after working so diligently.

“Seoul is developing at a frightening pace,” Tiffany marveled.

The moment they landed at Incheon International Airport, the dramatically transformed scenery filled her eyes. As an international hub airport destined to command respect for decades to come, Incheon International Airport looked remarkably sophisticated even to her.

“It really is. Everything changes in the blink of an eye. I’ll have to visit often so my own hometown doesn’t start feeling like a foreign country.”

Yoo Jae-won nodded in agreement with his wife. The statement was, however, quite the exaggeration. Inside his head lay the fully developed image of Seoul as it would appear at least until 2030.

The area instantly grew noisy. They had tried to slip in quietly, but an airport was always packed with travelers coming and going. After clearing the VIP immigration lane, their path to the exit inevitably brought them into contact with the public. Koreans recognized Yoo Jae-won’s face immediately. Some even spotted Tiffany at a glance.

Soon the sound of shutters filled the air. It resembled film cameras, yet it came from Android smartphones. As Tiffany had said, the claim of frighteningly rapid development was no exaggeration. People held Android phones and began snapping photos of the couple with their camera apps. Murmurs rose about uploading the shots to TokTok or Cyworld.

It would have been nice if they had asked permission first, but that small courtesy was absent. Still, roughly two-thirds of those pointing phones at them were using devices bearing a clear ID Group mark, so Yoo Jae-won generously let it slide. Besides, the elite security team’s formidable protection prevented any fans from rushing forward while shouting “We’re fans!”

“Chairman, this way, please!”

The couple soon climbed into vehicles prepared by the secretary’s office and left Incheon Airport. Vice Chairman Choi Kang-wook had personally picked them up on previous visits, but knowing how busy he was, Yoo Jae-won had told him not to bother.

Two cars waited. The moment they entered the country, their Korean schedules began, and each had separate duties. Yoo Jae-won needed to head straight to Unification National Party headquarters. Tiffany’s itinerary included visits to the Caltex headquarters—the joint venture between Chevron and Geumseong Group—and the main office of Daeho Heavy Industries. She had also brought a separate Chevron delegation, so it made sense for them to depart the airport in different vehicles.

“See you at home tonight!”

After a light hug and kiss to express their affection, Yoo Jae-won and Tiffany parted ways, each heading toward their respective appointments.

“Huh? What’s this?”

“It’s a scrapbook I compiled with articles the Chairman might find worth reading.”

The ever-thorough Kim Dae-seok had prepared reading material inside the waiting Benz. While Android smartphones or tablets offered the quickest access, paper documents had not yet been entirely replaced. Moreover, nothing matched the comfort of paper when reading inside a moving car.

Just as Kim Dae-seok had said, the scrapbook brimmed with articles about the professionalization of e-sports—the field Yoo Jae-won had devoted the most energy to lately. At the same time, the pages reflected the fruit of the many phone calls he had made last month. Although he had already seen some of the news through ID Talk or email, many of the finer details appeared here for the first time.

TG Mobile had moved fastest in establishing a pro gaming team. They acquired not only Yoo Jae-won’s childhood friend—the currently hottest professional gamer Won Ju-min—but his entire StarCraft roster as well. The team name had been set exactly as Yoo Jae-won recommended: T1. They had also scouted the Terran Emperor, Lim Yo-hwan. True to the name T1, they had built the image of a prestigious powerhouse from the very beginning.

“IST Khan?”

That was the name of the team founded by Ilsung Communications. While IST stood for Ilsung Telecom, the abbreviation felt awkward to Yoo Jae-won because it reminded him too strongly of the infamous terrorist group IS. Still, “Khan” had originally been the team name used by Ilsung Group’s gaming squad. Looking at the roster, their star power rivaled that of TG T1. Storm Zerg Hong Jin-ho, Dreamer Kang Min, Solid Terran Kim Jung-min, Macro Protoss Park Jung-seok, and more. In terms of name value alone, one could argue they surpassed T1.

At the same time, countless storylines intertwined the players from both teams. If a telecom rivalry match ever took place between TG Mobile and Ilsung Communications, it promised to deliver a derby every bit as fierce as the greatest soccer rivalries. With KT also seriously considering a pro gaming team, the telecom derby could expand into a three-way battle.

News of additional e-sports team foundings continued to pour in from Mirae Heavy Industries and even from major commercial banks.

Thanks to the simultaneous wave of corporate team foundings, pro gamers’ market value had skyrocketed. Yet the articles generalized the figures as if they applied across the board. They even treated a casual survey about preferred careers among teenagers as though it were a rigorous opinion poll.

The average salary of seventy million won only reflected players signed by major corporations. The income of aspiring pros who had failed to secure contracts was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠abysmal and never appeared in the data. Even if Yoo Jae-won wanted to help them, he could only do so once they reached the Star League.

The most promising development was the launch of the Pro Gamers Association, which had occurred even before most corporate teams were founded. In the past, teams would never have allowed it, yet the association had beaten the corporations to the punch. Naturally, the biggest supporter behind the association was Yoo Jae-won himself. Some companies that had threatened to withdraw their team plans upon hearing of the association’s creation quickly retracted their statements.

Unlike other professional sports, the association had launched remarkably smoothly. Its first president was none other than Won Ju-min.

“I wonder if that guy Jumin can handle it,” Yoo Jae-won muttered.

Having watched Jumin’s feather-light behavior since their elementary school days, he couldn’t help feeling concerned. Yet when considering the overall careers of every pro gamer, no one was better suited for the role. Jumin was a first-generation pro who had begun his career in the mid-1990s. He had later unlocked his hidden potential and lifted championship trophies. Many players followed him, and he enjoyed genuine popularity among them. To the players, he was the generous older brother who bought them Korean beef.

Whenever he saw struggling players or trainees, Jumin would call them over—regardless of team or clan—and feed them until their stomachs nearly burst. The ability came from having parents who ran a cattle farm. About a year ago they had opened a large Korean beef restaurant in Gangnam. Their business had grown tremendously; what began as a simple barn raising a few head of cattle had evolved into a network of farms distributing premium beef. They had pioneered Korean beef gift sets, secured department store placement, and after the grading system was introduced, successfully built a luxury brand around 1++ grade beef.

By leveraging his parents’ influence to accumulate favors among players, Jumin had allowed the Pro Gamers Association to take root naturally. At the same time, it was somewhat embarrassing. Korea already operated major professional sports with massive popularity and history—baseball, soccer, basketball—yet e-sports had become the first to launch a players’ association. The sports world was now on high alert, fearing that other athletes might be stirred by the precedent. Yoo Jae-won could only think that the road ahead remained long.

Flipping further through the scrapbook brought him to a new section.

These were the political articles. They also explained why Yoo Jae-won was heading to Unification National Party headquarters right now.

Jeon Jae-jun is BACK!

Jeon Jae-jun, whose ambitions had always exceeded his actual abilities, had returned to the Unification National Party once again dreaming of the presidency. His confidence stemmed from the latest opinion poll showing him in first place among presidential candidates.

“It’s amazing that simply hosting the World Cup well could raise Jeon Jae-jun’s approval rating.”

What Jeon Jae-jun had shown this year was the success of the 2002 FIFA World Cup Inter-Korea. The team’s third-place finish was a ranking no one except Yoo Jae-won had imagined when the tournament began. But could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that achievement truly be credited to Jeon Jae-jun’s personal capabilities? Absolutely not. It was the players and Coach Hiddink who had delivered the results. If percentages were assigned, at least fifty percent belonged to Coach Hiddink.

Naturally, both Coach Hiddink and the national team players received ample rewards. CF contracts were a given, settlement money and bonuses arrived from FIFA, and they were granted military service exemptions. During his time as Prime Minister, Jeon Myeong-heon had revised the military service law. The previous loophole-filled exemptions for arts and sports had been tightened: for international competitions held every one to three years, only first place qualified; for events held every four years or more, the top three received benefits. The same standards applied to academic achievements, which was how Yoo Jae-won himself had received exemption after winning the Fields Medal. Since the World Cup occurred every four years, third place had earned the players the same privilege. The entire nation agreed with the decision. Some even suggested designating the day of the third-place match as a national holiday.

The enormous aftershock of the World Cup had reached the political sphere as well. Among the 2003 presidential contenders, Jeon Jae-jun had suddenly surged forward and seized first place. The number “one” had inflated his lungs with hot air. The flow resembled what had happened before the regression, but the difference was that Jeon Jae-jun had not founded a new party. Instead, he had returned to the Unification National Party and declared his participation in the primary.

For Lee In-je, who had been eyeing the next presidential nomination, it was like a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bolt from the blue. Naturally, he had used his position as party leader to obstruct Jeon Jae-jun’s entry as much as possible. As a result, the Unification National Party’s presidential primary remained shrouded in fog. Jeon Jae-jun, of course, expressed deep displeasure at Lee In-je’s maneuvers. The Unification National Party had been founded by his father, Jeon Myeong-heon. He considered himself the political heir and therefore viewed the party as his rightful inheritance. Yet an outsider like Lee In-je was acting as if he owned the place. It infuriated him.

The only point of agreement so far was that the primary would include both party members and a general public opinion poll. Concrete procedures had yet to be decided. With only about two weeks left until the primary date, a catastrophic outcome seemed inevitable. That was why Yoo Jae-won had come in person.

“Chairman, we’ve arrived. However…”

Kim Dae-seok’s hesitant tone pulled Yoo Jae-won from his thoughts. When he looked out the window, an absurd scene greeted him.

A large crowd had gathered in front of Unification National Party headquarters. They were party members who had come out to welcome Yoo Jae-won’s visit. Yet at the very front of the formation, a menacing atmosphere had developed, and a fight had broken out. What was worse, the two men shoving each other were people Yoo Jae-won knew very well—Jeon Jae-jun and Lee In-je.

“What on earth is going on?”

“It appears to be a fight, sir. I’ll find out the details immediately.”

Kim Dae-seok quickly made a call. Moments later, the full story arrived. Upon Yoo Jae-won’s arrival at party headquarters, an argument had erupted over who would shake his hand first. The moment they spotted the approaching Benz, both men grew desperate, and the verbal dispute had escalated into physical shoving.

“Excuse me? Does that even make sense?”

To Yoo Jae-won, the story was utterly ridiculous.