The History
The F2 demonstration, grounded in history, created an enormous impact. Talk of Terminators or robots that would kill their masters quickly died down. That was only natural, since the experiments for the press corps were streamed live over the internet via Nextcom. The number of simultaneous viewers easily surpassed one million, a figure that would have been unimaginable in the past, reflecting the intense public interest in F2.
Streaming was an old technology, but it remained notoriously difficult to handle at scale. Simple radio streams could manage tens of thousands of concurrent users without issue, yet video placed a massive load on servers. Other internet companies’ video streams would stutter once only tens of thousands connected simultaneously. Nextcom’s video, however, benefited from such advanced distributed processing that even if the one million viewers ballooned to several million, there would be no problems.
Those who watched the F2 demonstration live saw with their own eyes how the artificial intelligence sacrificed itself to protect both the driver and pedestrians in a dangerous situation. Thanks to that, the mass media outlets that had been looking for any flaw in F2 or the AI to exaggerate in their articles had no choice but to tread carefully. The speed at which articles poured out over the internet was far slower than the speed at which netizens spread their own posts. Any article taking the opposite stance would be bombarded with downvotes.
The downvote button was a new policy introduced on Nextcom’s news pages a few months earlier. It did not impose penalties on individual journalists or media companies; it simply removed the article from the front page of Nextcom News. The article itself was not deleted and could still be found by navigating to the appropriate section, but the difference in click counts between front-page articles and those buried in sections was enormous. Articles that performed well on the front page generated tens or even hundreds of millions of won in revenue, while those pushed to section pages earned at most a few million won, and often only tens of thousands.
In this environment, Yoo Jae-won’s paper proved decisive. It was his second paper, but due to time constraints it had not been submitted to a prestigious journal. Instead, it had been presented at an electronics conference organized primarily by professors from Stanford University’s Department of Electronic Engineering. It was not even the work of a doctoral candidate, merely a paper submitted by a university graduate. Yet its impact was stronger than any doctoral thesis. It was a paper on the core algorithms of artificial intelligence, the subject of the greatest current interest. Moreover, it was not merely a theoretical foundation; it detailed the algorithms of AI Gold, whose formidable performance had already been verified through AI Eyes, F2, and Nextcom.
The Stanford Electronics Conference was instantly overwhelmed by a flood of phone calls and emails. Every inquiry was the same: they wanted the full text of Yoo Jae-won’s paper. The conference’s response eventually became fixed: “It has been uploaded to the internet homepage!” Yet the traffic that hit Stanford’s internet system reached unprecedented levels. Furthermore, accessing the paper required membership in Stanford’s internet academic community. As a result, far fewer people obtained the paper through official channels than attempted to do so. Even so, its impact was even greater than that of the F2 demonstration.
Yoo Jae-won’s paper, containing precise equations and source code, was analyzed down to the last character by countless scholars and researchers attempting to find contradictions or criticisms. Given Yoo Jae-won’s immense stature, anyone who discovered a flaw would reap enormous prestige. Yet days and weeks passed without a single person successfully identifying an error. On the contrary, teams that successfully built basic machine-learning systems based on the paper began to appear one after another. Since reproducibility had been one of the paper’s key elements, the moment these teams succeeded, it became clear that Yoo Jae-won’s paper was genuine.
The department chair’s statement that a revolution had occurred in artificial intelligence research was no exaggeration. Naturally, as more teams began working on machine learning, interest in Yoo Jae-won surged once again. Many were especially moved by the revelation that Real Camera had been operating a machine-learning system since 1992. Scholars sent invitations asking him to attend academic conferences so they could hear his direct explanations and engage in Q&A sessions. Unfortunately, Yoo Jae-won was far too busy and declined every invitation. Yet the societies and scholars who had sent them felt no disappointment, only regret. After all, this was the first time a company had taken cutting-edge technology and presented it in such a meticulously detailed academic paper. The academic world had been gripped by a sense of crisis, even fear, that it was falling behind new technologies; Yoo Jae-won’s paper had largely dispelled that anxiety. Grateful scholars took it upon themselves to alleviate the public’s fears about artificial intelligence, quickly and efficiently quelling rumors that AI Gold was the predecessor to Skynet.
While IT-related academic societies in electronics and computer engineering desperately sought Yoo Jae-won’s name, the man himself was in Korea. He had been invited to the inauguration ceremony of Roh Moo-hyun, who had been elected the 17th President of the Republic of Korea. Unfortunately, Tiffany’s business schedule prevented her from accompanying him; Yoo Jae-won had entered the country alone. No one knew how disappointed Tiffany had been. After all, Korea was enjoying the warm May weather of blooming flowers and sprouting buds, while the destination of her business trip was Siberia, a frozen land where ice still formed even in May.
“Next time, I’ll go with you.”
Yoo Jae-won offered the consolation to the disappointed Tiffany. In truth, her trip to Siberia was not a bad thing. As the front manager of Chevron’s Future Strategy Office, Tiffany’s official visit to Siberia was bound to be significant. Previously, President Putin had sold exploration and development rights to a specific region in Siberia to T&U Research at a bargain price out of friendship with Yoo Jae-won. Although the price had been extremely low, industry reactions had not been particularly positive. Siberia was called a treasure trove of resources, yet there were regions where repeated surveys yielded nothing. The exploration area T&U Research had acquired was one such region. Even after exploration activities began, no significant results emerged. Then came the 9/11 terrorist attacks, triggering upheaval in Chevron’s succession structure and bringing Tiffany back to the company. T&U Research was subsequently acquired by Chevron, and with it came the Siberian exploration and development rights.
Interest in Siberian exploration had since hit rock bottom, but the exploration team’s activities continued, funded not by Chevron’s official support but by money from Tiffany’s own pocket. Tiffany’s attachment to T&U Research was special. The thrill she felt when black oil gushed from Well No. 23 through T&U Research was unforgettable. Moreover, since T&U Research’s organization had been absorbed intact as a sub-organization of the Future Strategy Office, it could operate according to her personal judgment as long as operating expenses were secured.
And just recently, while the world was preoccupied with the artificial intelligence issue, contact had come from the Siberian exploration team. They had struck oil. When the report arrived that black gold was gushing from the drilling rig, Chevron was naturally thrown into chaos. Even Frederick Taylor II, Chevron’s current owner, ended his long seclusion and reappeared. He contacted Tiffany, who was about to depart urgently for Siberia, suggesting they travel together. With Frederick taking the lead, a large number of Chevron executives accompanied her, and the scale of the protocol prepared by the Russian side grew accordingly. It was not enough to warrant President Putin’s personal involvement, but it reached the level where Prime Minister Medvedev, Russia’s second-in-command, would participate.
Within Chevron, people said Tiffany had scored another major success, and she even gained the nickname “Queen of Black Gold.” It was inevitable. Starting with Texas Well No. 23, Tiffany had also succeeded in shale gas development. Each venture had been an enormous jackpot, but this one was being called the greatest of all time. In reality, the region Yoo Jae-won had pointed out ranked among the highest in Siberia in terms of oil reserves. Economically recoverable reserves alone exceeded 30 billion barrels, with total reserves reaching 100 billion barrels, comparable to Saudi Arabia’s Ghawar Field, the world’s largest oil field. While crude oil prices were soaring due to the civil war in Iraq, Koreans, who produced not a single drop of oil themselves, could only watch with envy.
Thus, on the day Tiffany, Frederick, and Chevron executives departed urgently for Siberia, Yoo Jae-won arrived in Korea and was seated in the VIP section of the presidential inauguration ceremony.
“It’s nice and warm.”
Despite sitting in a historic place, Yoo Jae-won’s face showed no trace of burden. Under Korea’s original presidential election schedule, the inauguration would have been held in the middle of winter with biting winds. However, the death of former President Jeon Myeong-heon had moved the date forward, resulting in a May inauguration. Thanks to that, Yoo Jae-won wore a light-fabric suit yet felt no chill. On the contrary, the gentle sunlight was so pleasant that drowsiness began to creep in. If he were to doze off even briefly in this seat, it would create a lifelong embarrassment, so Yoo Jae-won lightly shook off the sleepiness.
“I swear that I will faithfully execute the duties of the President by observing the Constitution, defending the State, pursuing the peaceful unification of the homeland, promoting the freedom and welfare of the people, and endeavoring to develop national culture, before the people.”
President Roh Moo-hyun.
As Yoo Jae-won applauded the president who had finished the oath, he recalled many things about this 17th presidential election. In short, it had been an election where Lee In-je acted like Lee In-je and Jeon Jae-jun acted like Jeon Jae-jun. Although Roh Moo-hyun was the protagonist, the two men had displayed a presence that rivaled or even exceeded his. Lee In-je, who lost the primary, left the party, founded a new party, and participated in the presidential election, was remarkable. Equally remarkable was Jeon Jae-jun, who, after agreeing to a single candidacy, lost in a public opinion poll, reached an agreement for a unified candidacy with Roh Moo-hyun, only to unilaterally break that agreement the day before the election. While Lee In-je might have been blinded by ambition, Yoo Jae-won could have controlled Jeon Jae-jun if he had chosen to, but he had not. As a result, Jeon Jae-jun displayed his full trolling ability, which ultimately came back to bite him. Fortunately, both Lee In-je and Jeon Jae-jun, who had fallen by the wayside, announced their retirement from politics and stepped down. It was still an era when politicians retained some sense of shame. In the mid-21st century before the regression, it had been standard for candidates who lost presidential elections to immediately return as party leaders out of lingering greed. Of course, their retirement was only provisional; they would eventually return, but they would certainly remain quiet for the time being.
Many believed the departure of the heavyweights Lee In-je and Jeon Jae-jun would deal a blow to the Tongil National Party. Surprisingly, however, the party experienced no major turmoil. A new focal point had emerged. There were still about ten months until the general election the following April, giving them breathing room, and the new focal point was quite powerful: Attorney Jung Byung-woo, representative of the Kim & Jung Law Firm. Following Jeon Jae-jun’s retirement, the Tongil National Party formed an emergency response committee and recruited Attorney Jung Byung-woo as its chair. While the party members had initiated the recruitment, Attorney Jung Byung-woo’s joining of the Tongil National Party had been done with Yoo Jae-won’s approval. After all, there was nothing to lose. The Kim & Jung Law Firm was the most reliable ally for ordinary citizens and small and medium-sized enterprises whenever they needed to go to court or the prosecution. Those who inevitably found themselves in legal blind spots compared to the upper class or large corporations turned to the Kim & Jung Law Firm. Even now, while human rights lawyers were active, none matched the effectiveness of the large-scale, systematically operating Kim & Jung Law Firm. Naturally, its public image was excellent. The mere fact that Jung Byung-woo of the Kim & Jung Law Firm was joining the Tongil National Party raised the party’s approval rating by three percent. For Yoo Jae-won, who knew exactly what path Jung Byung-woo would take in the future, the scene carried multiple implications. If Jung Byung-woo had been one of the key figures in the 2016 winter state affairs scandal that shook the Republic of Korea, now he stood tall as a human rights lawyer. Moreover, he was not merely an independent human rights attorney but the representative of the Kim & Jung Law Firm, a position envied by all legal professionals. Above all, his impression had completely changed. After serving as head of the Kim & Jung Law Firm for over ten years, he had naturally accumulated virtue; the unpleasant face from before the regression was nowhere to be seen. At a glance, his expression had become so gentle that he almost resembled a Buddha. Attorney Jung Byung-woo was the clearest example of how one’s thoughts change when one’s position changes.
“Next, we will hear President Roh Moo-hyun’s inaugural address.”
While Yoo Jae-won was briefly lost in thought, the most important moment of the presidential inauguration began. The first words spoken by the president standing before the people were essentially a preview of the next four years of governance. Having already studied the speech in advance, Yoo Jae-won watched President Roh Moo-hyun’s mouth with anticipation, wondering how much it would differ from what he knew.