The Pacific Reckoning
“Here we go again.” Yoo Jae-won clicked his tongue as he stared at the monitor. Breaking news flashed across the screen: Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi had once again visited the Yasukuni Shrine. The annual pilgrimage had become a ritual ever since he took office in 2001. This marked his third consecutive visit. What set this one apart, however, was the date. In 2001 he had gone on August 13, two days before Liberation Day, and the following year he had chosen a slightly later date. This time he had arrived precisely on August 15.
August 15 was Liberation Day in Korea. In Japan it was the anniversary of the war’s end. The emperor had declared the war over, and they called it the “end of the war” rather than defeat. That choice of words reflected Japan’s steady rightward drift. Compared to the Japan of his previous life, the current shift was far more pronounced. The decisive factor, once again, was Yoo Jae-won’s own intervention.
When the 1997 Asian financial crisis struck, Korea should have suffered the spectacular finale. Instead, thanks to Yoo Jae-won, the explosion had occurred in Japan. Japan had already been limping through its Lost Decade, but it had not been on the brink of an IMF-level collapse. Multiple crises converged, however, and the accumulated pressure finally detonated. Japan offered far richer pickings than Korea, so the blast was correspondingly more violent.
The aftermath left Japan in an entirely different position. Its economic stagnation deepened and lengthened. The Nikkei 225, which should have recovered to the 20,000-point range by 2000, had only managed to crawl back to 18,000. From there it began sliding again. By 2003 it was setting new record lows. The index had already broken below 10,000 the previous year and now hovered beneath 8,000 with no sign of recovery. Economic vitality had vanished from every sector of society.
Internationally, Japan faced a crisis of its own making. The country most affected by these changes was the United States, whose East Asia strategy was shifting dramatically because of China’s rise and North Korea’s changing role. China’s rapid economic growth had translated directly into military modernization. The People’s Liberation Army had discarded its obsolete equipment and upgraded across the board, dramatically increasing its capabilities. As a major nuclear power, China now stood alongside Russia as a direct challenge to American interests. The Qing Dynasty bonds had temporarily halted China’s modernization program, but that was only a stopgap. Once the bonds were repaid, confrontation was expected to intensify.
In that context, the stationing of even a single U.S. company in North Korea carried enormous symbolic weight. The moment the first American troops arrived, Japan’s sense of crisis sharpened. The Liberal Democratic Party still dominated Japanese politics, and many of its leaders longed for the glory days of empire or the economic golden age of the 1970s and 1980s. What they all agreed on was that Japan must never drift from the United States. North Korea’s new closeness with America struck directly at that conviction.
Above all, the LDP leadership revered the Acheson Line—the 1950 defense perimeter announced by Secretary of State Dean Acheson that had placed Japan and the Philippines under American protection while leaving Korea outside. The Korean War had proven the line’s significance: Korea was devastated while Japan reaped the economic windfall of serving as the rear base. The same line had underpinned Japan’s postwar economic miracle. Now North Korea’s elevation had pulled the Acheson Line inward, encompassing the Korean Peninsula and leaving Japan no longer on the front line. The sense of being sidelined was acute.
Prime Minister Koizumi and the LDP leadership searched for a way out. Their answer was the “normal country” doctrine. Japan was being treated as a second-class ally because it lacked a proper military; therefore it must become a normal nation capable of fielding armed forces. Constitutional revision required popular support, and popular support required a stronger nationalist current. The result was Koizumi’s visit to the Yasukuni Shrine on August 15.
“Hmm.”
Yoo Jae-won scrolled through reports from the internet and ID Group’s intelligence division, weighing his options. Even in his previous life the tide of Japanese nationalism had been strong. Now it was rising faster and higher. He wanted to deliver a proper counter to the shrine visit, yet the tools available to a private citizen were limited. Attacking Koizumi on PowerBlog or TokTok would achieve little. Economic pressure on Japan would be equally ineffective and might only accelerate the nationalist backlash.
After a moment’s thought he found the weak point.
“What Japan cares about most is its international reputation, isn’t it?”
Korea was also sensitive to foreign opinion, but not to the same degree. Japan seemed to harbor an almost pathological need to be admired and loved by the world, reacting intensely to the views of wealthier nations—America and Europe—while dismissing Korea and North Korea entirely. That was why, alongside the rightward shift, Japan was simultaneously working to whitewash its wartime history.
“Then we need to strike exactly there.”
The most effective response, he concluded, would be to make the world aware that Japan was refusing to reflect on World War II, denying its war crimes, and yet demanding the right to rearm. A single, high-profile project could do that.
“Secretary Kim, I need to go to Texas tomorrow.”
Yes, sir. I’ll prepare the trip immediately.
Once Yoo Jae-won made a decision, he moved at once. With the IDDC event just concluded, his schedule was clear, so arranging the sudden trip proved simple.
The next day the ID Group private jet touched down at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport. Stepping onto the tarmac, Yoo Jae-won felt the heavy Texas heat press against his face and remembered he was no longer in air-conditioned San Francisco. He had almost forgotten it was summer.
“Mr. Chairman!”
The familiar, cheerful voice erased any irritation. John Carmack, president of id Software, had come to meet him as he always did whenever Yoo Jae-won visited Texas.
“John! It’s been a while.”
John Carmack looked genuinely pleased. id Software had grown steadily year after year and now occupied a stable, enviable position in the industry. After Doom 3 the studio had released no new titles, yet its real engine of growth was the id Tech Engine. Perfectly paired with Android’s Glide 3D library, the engine now commanded nearly sixty percent of the game-engine market. Dozens of specialized companies had sprung up to supply models and environmental data built exclusively for id Tech, and even dedicated graphics-plug-in studios had appeared. The engine had become the de-facto standard for 3D game development. As a result, id Software was earning more from licensing the engine than it had ever made selling its own games.
Yoo Jae-won followed John Carmack into the id Software headquarters. The building itself was the same one he had purchased years earlier, but the interior had been completely renovated. The first-floor lobby looked more like a luxury hotel than a corporate office, complete with an upscale café and restaurant for employees.
“Guess who’s visiting our company today!” John Carmack called out the moment they entered.
Every head in the lobby turned toward the entrance. Yoo Jae-won was startled; the John Carmack he remembered had always been quietly intense, not this exuberant showman. The employees’ reaction, however, was overwhelming. Cheers erupted, and within seconds a crowd had formed, hands extended for handshakes and phones raised for selfies.
“Oh! That’s the Android S3.”
Most of the devices pointed at him were the recently released Android S3. Ruby Red was the most common color, followed by Emerald Green and Sapphire Blue. A few employees still carried the older iPhone 3G, but Yoo Jae-won shook hands with everyone regardless. The market gap between Android and iPhone had widened to roughly 7:3 and was heading toward 8:2 or even 9:1. The S3 had been received with enthusiasm, and once the mid-range and budget variants launched in September, the remaining competition would be swept away.
Feeling like a rock star, Yoo Jae-won was finally ushered into John Carmack’s office on the top floor, where the entire Dallas skyline spread out beneath the windows. Once seated, he came straight to the point.
“Isn’t it time id Software started developing its own games again?”
“Ah, you’re right,” John Carmack agreed at once. The studio had devoted itself to refining the id Tech Engine in partnership with other developers, but its core business had always been game development.
“Now that you mention it, it has been quite a while since our last original title.”
id Software was the legendary home of the FPS. Every game it released had redefined the genre—Wolfenstein, Quake, Doom—each one a seismic event.
“You don’t have anything in the pipeline at the moment, do you?”
John Carmack nodded. Every available hand was already committed to evolving the id Tech Engine so it could support not only shooters and open-world games but also massive online RPGs and, most recently, the AOS genre behind Legend League. New game concepts existed, yet they remained locked in filing cabinets, never fully realized. The admission embarrassed him, but Yoo Jae-won found it encouraging.
“In that case, I brought a proposal with me. Would you like to take a look?”
John Carmack’s eyes lit up. He knew better than anyone that Yoo Jae-won’s talents extended far beyond semiconductors and operating systems; the man also possessed an extraordinary instinct for game design. Their first meeting had been sparked by Yoo Jae-won’s work on the Keyboard Warrior 2 engine.
“Of course!”
Yoo Jae-won opened his iWorks notebook and launched the presentation. The title screen displayed a single bold line: The Pacific.
The European theater had dominated World War II, yet the Pacific War had been equally savage. The game’s core premise was to portray that savagery without embellishment or softening. The player would take the role of an American soldier fighting across the Pacific; the enemy would be Imperial Japan. From Pearl Harbor through Midway, the Philippines, Nanjing, and the Korean Peninsula, every major battle would be rendered with unflinching realism so that players could experience the true face of the Japanese Empire.
“A realistic FPS,” John Carmack murmured.
For id Software and its president, who had built their reputation on science-fiction shooters, this would be an entirely new challenge. John Carmack leaned forward, studying the proposal with absolute concentration.