The Grand Opening and Bitter Defeat
December 21, a Saturday, with global-standard Christmas just around the corner. Yoo Jae-won had been back in Korea for nearly a month. Carol music filled the streets, and department stores, shopping malls, and shops were adorned with dazzling Christmas decorations. People walking the streets pulled their collars tight against the cold, yet the armfuls of gift packages they carried warmed the year-end atmosphere. Just a few years earlier, the winter had been frozen solid with no hope in sight, but by the winter of 2002 the economy had fully thawed, recovering the mood that had existed before the IMF crisis. Even those who did not believe in Christianity found themselves caught up in the festive spirit.
Inside the car on the way to his next schedule, Yoo Jae-won watched the glittering street scenes and enjoyed the atmosphere at first. Then a sudden doubt crossed his mind. Wait… this isn’t the prelude to the credit-card crisis, is it?
In his previous life, the early graduation from the IMF had also occurred. Immediately afterward, under the banner of economic revitalization, credit-card issuance requirements had become almost nonexistent. It was common to see people being solicited to sign up for cards on the streets and in front of schools. The most important factor in credit-card approval—creditworthiness—had been ignored; any office worker or university student who applied received even premium cards without issue. The apparent economic recovery right after the early exit from the IMF had been nothing more than an illusion created by reckless credit-card distribution. Those without repayment ability simply obtained new cards from other companies to pay off old balances. It bought them a little time, but the cycle could not continue forever. Eventually, debts grew too large to manage through rollovers, leading to personal bankruptcies. As the number of such cases surged, even the credit-card companies began to falter. When rumors spread that Geumseong Card—the nation’s largest—was on the verge of default, the government rushed in to extinguish the fire. The term “public funds,” once heard only during the IMF period, reappeared in newspapers. Having barely escaped the IMF crisis, the People’s Government could not allow another IMF-like disaster caused by a credit-card meltdown, so it once again used taxpayer money to prop up failing companies.
Yoo Jae-won widened his eyes and scanned the streets, wondering if anyone was still aggressively promoting credit cards. Fortunately, after watching for several minutes, he saw none. Just to be sure, he pulled out his Android Phone and searched the internet, but found no articles about relaxed credit-card issuance requirements. The preventive injection called “investment bank” had worked. After ID Investment was established, countless other investment banks sprang up like mushrooms after rain. From chaebols to small regional banks and even securities firms, everyone dreamed of becoming the next ID Investment and launched their own investment banking arms. Competition naturally grew fierce. To attract investors, they promised enormous returns and took on high-risk investments. When many of these banks collapsed after losing money, stricter establishment requirements were finally imposed and the situation stabilized. Moreover, because so many companies had been badly burned by investment banking, a large number remained skeptical of aggressive credit-card sales, preventing the overheated frenzy of the past.
“What’s wrong?” Tiffany, seated beside him, asked, noticing the sudden sharpness in his expression.
“I was just thinking that the year-end atmosphere has finally arrived. A few years ago it was so gloomy.”
“Ah, I understand what you mean.”
Unable to mention the credit-card crisis from his past life, Yoo Jae-won steered the conversation toward something ordinary. Fortunately, Tiffany seemed satisfied. The car soon arrived at the second schedule, shifting the topic entirely.
The opening ceremony of the ID Digital Media Center. That was the main event Yoo Jae-won and his wife were attending today. The massive performance hall had been built on the site of the former Daehan Ilbo chairman’s mansion, once a symbol of Heukseok-dong. Construction of the building itself had finished early in the year, but interior work on the performance stage, large-scale audio systems, and other facilities had dragged on, delaying the opening until now.
The ID Digital Media Center was a colossal performance facility Yoo Jae-won had built entirely with his own funds, knowing that Seoul—the capital with over ten million residents—lacked a proper indoor concert venue. It seated 9,300 people. Had compact theater-style seating been installed, the capacity could easily have exceeded ten thousand. But such sardine-can seating would not have matched the sophisticated identity of ID. Even the business-class seats left comfortable space between neighbors, and generous gaps between rows ensured a pleasant viewing experience.
Particular emphasis had been placed on the audio system. The highest-grade speakers were installed so that even the rearmost seats could hear every instrument clearly when an acoustic band performed live, and the interior acoustics had been meticulously designed. The most visible proof of this design was the complete absence of internal pillars. Pillars would have made construction cheaper and structurally safer, but removing them eliminated blind spots and improved sound quality.
A large facility also existed underground. The second and third basement levels housed parking, while the first basement level contained shopping and rest areas. The exterior was equally distinctive, adopting design elements from mid-21st-century architecture. As a result, the ID Digital Media Center stood out dramatically amid the 1990s-style buildings that lined Heukseok-dong.
The venue would normally host various events and concerts and occasionally serve as an e-sports stadium, but its primary purpose was live performances. In keeping with ID Group’s social contribution philosophy, indie bands and theater troupes that struggled to secure large halls would be offered the space at affordable rates. Should podcasts and book concerts later become popular, the center would gladly accommodate them as well. Any event matching the keyword “digital media” would be welcome, regardless of category. Because demand would far exceed the single venue’s capacity, an online reservation system would be implemented.
Those in the performance industry reportedly already had people lining up, waiting for the reservation site to open. With a chronic shortage of performance facilities, securing a concert hall during the year-end and New Year period had been a battlefield. The sudden appearance of a 9,300-seat indoor venue with low rental fees was a godsend.
“Mr. Chairman!”
The first face Yoo Jae-won and Tiffany saw after stepping out of the car was Vice Chairman Choi Kang-wook. The man who managed Korea and all of East Asia in Yoo Jae-won’s stead looked as reliable as ever. It was thanks to Choi Kang-wook’s careful oversight that the ID Digital Media Center had been completed without issues, and the recent cable-broadcasting-station acquisition had also gone flawlessly. Most impressive of all was his management of the White Tiger Fund; countless companies, starting with Daeho Heavy Industries, had been revived through the fund, earning him the nickname “the Chaebol’s Hua Tuo.”
“Many distinguished guests have come to grace today’s event.”
“Yes, I can see that. It’s quite impressive.”
At Choi Kang-wook’s words, Yoo Jae-won glanced toward the lobby and saw a crowd gathered like clouds. Led by Seoul Mayor Goh Kun, who had just been re-elected in the local elections, politicians from both ruling and opposition parties had turned out in force. Presidential candidates from each party and numerous National Assembly members were present. Even the leaders of the Grand National Party and the Democratic Korea Party—usually at odds—had come. Their intention was obvious: to bask in Yoo Jae-won’s popularity. ID Group’s stature needed no explanation, and Yoo Jae-won’s own popularity was equally overwhelming. Whenever university students were asked to name the most respected business leader, Yoo Jae-won’s name always ranked first, often by a margin several times larger than second place. His appeal was not limited to the young; even those over sixty showed overwhelming support. A single handshake photo with him was considered highly advantageous in elections. That was why camera flashes erupted relentlessly whenever Yoo Jae-won shook hands with politicians.
Only the most prominent political figures could approach him directly. Political newcomers, city councilors, and district councilors were pushed far to the back.
“Next are the business leaders.”
The VIPs who had come to celebrate the opening were not only politicians. Numerous corporate figures were also present.
“Huh?”
Yoo Jae-won’s eyes widened.
“Congratulations on the opening of the ID Digital Media Center, Chairman Yoo.”
An unexpected figure extended a hand—Choi Jae-young, vice chairman of the Ilseong Group.
“I didn’t expect you to come in person, Vice Chairman.”
Among business leaders, Choi Jae-young of Ilseong Group commanded the greatest presence. Executives had come from Mirae Group, TG, and even Busan Group—companies with special ties to Yoo Jae-won—yet only Ilseong had sent a member of the royal family.
“Thank you for coming.”
Yoo Jae-won shook Choi Jae-young’s hand without hesitation. A year earlier, he would not have been able to do so so freely. What had changed his mind was Choi Jae-young’s divorce. The divorce had occurred far earlier than in his previous life, causing the third son—the very existence of whom had been one of Yoo Jae-won’s targets for revenge—to vanish before he was even born. Yoo Jae-won, who had been sharpening his blade for revenge, found the situation absurdly hollow. In the end, he decided to wait and observe. Even if the third son no longer existed, Ilseong remained Ilseong. Whether the first or second son would repeat the same actions in his place was still unknown. Thanks to this conclusion, no lingering resentment showed on Yoo Jae-won’s face when dealing with Choi Jae-young. If anyone still harbored emotions, it should have been Choi Jae-young. After all, Yoo Jae-won had essentially seized Ilseong Electronics—the company Ilseong had staked its future on—at a bargain price and sent Chairman Choi Hyun-hee to prison. Though the term “imperial imprisonment” had been coined because Choi spent more time in the hospital than behind bars, he would remain incarcerated until the year after next.
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
How many people could smile brightly in front of the man who had sent their father to prison? Whether Choi Jae-young’s relationship with his father was not as publicly portrayed, or whether he judged it wiser to bow his head for the sake of new ventures such as Ilseong Telecom and the smartphone business division, the fact remained that Choi Jae-young was no ordinary man.
Once greetings with the business leaders concluded, the ceremony began. The opening event itself was brief. A few VIPs who enjoyed the spotlight stepped onto the stage to say a few words, followed by the ribbon-cutting ceremony. After a group photo, the political VIPs departed to attend to their duties. The busiest among them were the members of the Unification National Party, for today was the final day of the presidential primary. From 3 p.m., national delegate voting would take place at Jangchung Gymnasium during the party convention, and from 6 p.m. the votes would be counted and combined with online ballots to determine the presidential candidate. Other parties also planned to finalize their candidates by early January at the latest, so Assembly members from every party were moving frantically.
In contrast, the remaining guests moved leisurely into the ID Digital Media Center. The hall was already filled with people, and more were still entering. The ribbon-cutting had been little more than a formality; while Yoo Jae-won and the dignitaries performed the ceremony at one entrance, the other entrance had already been admitting spectators. The reason was simple: another event was being held to mark the opening.
The 2002 Star League Winter Season Finals! The biggest event closing the winter season of e-sports had been chosen as the historic first event at the ID Digital Media Center. Another significance of today’s event was that admission tickets were being sold for the first time. Although priced at a mere 10,000 won, it marked the first time in Star League history that venue tickets had been offered for sale. Some officials had worried that spectators accustomed to free viewing would refuse to pay, but their concerns proved unfounded. Reservations opened online, and the tickets sold out a week before the event. The miracle had occurred because e-sports had taken root faster than in the original timeline and because public perception of gaming had improved. Moreover, various promotional gifts and game coupons were being distributed at the venue, offering far more value than the ticket price. Most importantly, the matchup was extraordinary: JM Power versus SlayerS_BoxeR—Won Ju-min, seeking to write another autumn legend, against Lim Yo-hwan, aiming for the emperor’s return.
After the match, announcements would be made regarding the establishment of professional gaming teams by companies including Ilseong Group, Mirae Group, Mirae Motors Group, and TG Mobile, along with the launch of a new professional league series. While gamers already knew the news, today marked the official public announcement of what had previously circulated only as rumors and scattered articles. That was why each company had sent its operational staff—except for Ilseong, which had sent Choi Jae-young himself, making his presence all the more surprising.
Following pre-show performances by the top male and female idol groups HxT and S.O.S, the two players made their entrance on the spectacular stage prepared by ID Entertainment’s e-sports division and OnGameNet, sending the massive ID Digital Media Center into a frenzy.
—The match begins!
With caster Jeon Yong-jun’s announcement, the winter evening of 2002 burned hot.
At the same moment, another place was burning with heat: Jangchung Gymnasium, where countless histories lay dormant. If the ID Digital Media Center symbolized cutting-edge technology, Jangchung Gymnasium symbolized history and tradition. The event unfolding there was the Unification National Party presidential primary. After three weeks of fierce competition between Lee In-je and Jeon Jae-jun, the lid had finally been lifted.
—The Unification National Party presidential candidate is…… Jeon Jae-jun! Jeon Jae-jun! Jeon Jae-jun!
The moment Kim Dong-gil, chairman of the primary management committee, called Jeon Jae-jun’s name, the gymnasium echoed with chants of his name. While everyone applauded, one man could not bring himself to do so. Biting his lip to suppress the surging humiliation, Lee In-je stood with eyes blazing, as if ready to cause an incident at any moment.