Scaling Ambitions
Unicorn asked, “Is it possible within a year?” Team Leader Clark, who had boldly claimed that scaling up was feasible, let out a sharp gasp at Yoo Jae-won’s timeline. He then fell into deep thought, his expression turning serious. Was it truly that difficult after all?
“Yes! It’s doable! No problem at all!”
Yet after only three minutes of contemplation, Team Leader Clark nodded vigorously once more.
“In fact, computer simulations have already confirmed it’s possible.”
“Oh! Really?”
“Yes! I’ll show you right now.”
With that, Team Leader Clark guided Yoo Jae-won to another facility underground. While the experimental reactor was the most critical installation beneath the surface, the simulator room housing the supercomputer ranked a close second in importance.
The supercomputer installed there was IBM’s Blue Gene/S. Its computational power reached 200 petaflops—capable of 200 quadrillion floating-point operations per second. The “S” stood for “small.” The full-spec model, Blue Gene/L, boasted 380 petaflops. ID High-Tech had not purchased the smaller unit due to budget constraints. Rather, Blue Gene/S was simply the best supercomputer that could physically fit inside the underground laboratory. Moreover, Yoo Jae-won was something of a skeptic regarding supercomputers. He believed cloud computing was superior to expensive, difficult-to-maintain supercomputers. In reality, the CPUs powering the Blue Gene series were Intel Xeon processors—the same chips used in ID Technology’s cloud servers. Aside from the advantage of operating completely offline, supercomputers offered almost no benefits over cloud systems. If ID Technology pooled the entire computing power of its cloud servers, the total would far exceed the petaflop range and enter exaflops territory. One exaflop equaled 1,000 petaflops, and ID Technology’s cloud servers could reach a maximum of 337 exaflops. Whenever a new, more powerful CPU was released, the company purchased the top models by the hundreds of thousands to upgrade or expand its cloud centers. The only real drawback of cloud computing was that computational resources had to be shared. Internet server systems that required constant operation consumed the largest share, and institutions such as universities and research labs held separate allocations. For a critical site like the Waterville laboratory, which handled nuclear physics, running a dedicated supercomputer made more sense.
“This is a scaled-up model ten times larger than the experimental reactor we built underground.”
“Ten times? That would be 60 MW, then?”
“Yes! That’s under conservative operation. At maximum output, 100 MW is also possible!”
Team Leader Clark led Yoo Jae-won to the supercomputer and displayed the design schematics on the large connected screen. It was the enlarged version of the reactor they had seen in the basement earlier. The overall size had not changed dramatically—only the thorium fuel rods and the ultra-uranium seeds injecting neutrons had grown larger and increased in number.
“I’m running the simulation now.”
The three-dimensional model on the screen was not merely a design diagram; it also served as the dataset for an immediate simulation. It reflected real nuclear physics, simulating the movement of nuclear materials at the molecular level in real time. The fidelity was so high that, in theory, it could replace actual nuclear tests even in bomb development. The scaled-up thorium reactor running inside the supercomputer operated with stable output.
“If one hundred of these units run simultaneously inside a single reactor, you get the 1 GW power plant the Chairman wants—simple as that.”
“Excellent.”
Yoo Jae-won gave Team Leader Clark a thumbs-up. In other words, if the reactor contained one hundred slots for power-generation modules combining thorium fuel rods and ultra-uranium seeds, the result would be a 1 GW plant. Of course, they could not know what issues might arise during actual operation, so they would need to leave ample margin rather than filling exactly one hundred slots. Still, the design could deliver the massive output Yoo Jae-won desired.
“But will TBR M6 actually sell within a year?”
Director Andrey’s voice remained calm even as the simulator ran, in contrast to the excited Team Leader Clark.
“No, Director! The Chairman said it would sell, so why are you pouring cold water on it?”
Team Leader Clark raised his voice again. He was confident in his own abilities, and since the simulator showed flawless performance, he saw no problem with scaling up.
“The Chairman must look far and wide—that is his virtue. But we have a duty to handle practical matters. We cannot afford to forget that. Right now, we only have an experimental reactor. Nothing else is properly prepared.”
Director Andrey was correct. They possessed only the reactor design; the equipment to convert the heat energy generated by the reactor into electricity remained absent.
“Do we really need to handle that ourselves?”
Team Leader Clark believed they could simply adopt the energy-conversion systems already used in conventional nuclear power plants.
“As the Director pointed out, we will still need to prove the safety of the thorium reactor and obtain certifications for its long-term economic viability and stability.”
Yoo Jae-won understood exactly what Director Andrey was highlighting, yet he already had a solution in mind.
“I hear Westinghouse has been struggling lately.”
Westinghouse was a major American conglomerate. Its primary business division focused on nuclear power plant design and construction, but it had expanded like an octopus into defense, home appliances, and countless other sectors—rivaling even Korean chaebols in its reach. Such diversification worked well during boom times; factories could sell everything they produced, allowing rapid growth. However, when the economic cycle turned downward, those same bloated divisions quickly became liabilities. That was precisely what had happened to Westinghouse. Its overextended business units had turned into burdens, and even its core nuclear power division had fallen behind competitors, pushing the entire company toward bankruptcy.
“If it’s a thorium reactor, acquiring Westinghouse would be no trouble at all!”
Westinghouse’s brand name alone could erase any skeptical glances directed at the thorium reactor. Founded in 1886, the company carried history and tradition, along with an enormous portfolio of nuclear-related patents. Its reputation had simply faded in recent years. Pairing that legacy with the thorium reactor would create tremendous synergy—everyone present understood that.
“Therefore, until the Westinghouse acquisition succeeds, please keep the successful development of the thorium reactor confidential. Once we complete the acquisition, we will launch a massive publicity campaign.”
“Of course!”
Director Andrey and Team Leader Clark answered in unison. Everything Yoo Jae-won had promised so far had come true—often exceeding expectations. They could not help but anticipate what would follow the Westinghouse acquisition.
Several weeks had passed since Yoo Jae-won’s visit to Seattle. It was early July 2005, one month before ID Group’s flagship event, IDDC. The biggest issue shaking the world was the ESPO Pipeline project.
Tiffany’s presentation to persuade Chevron’s board—her personal battle—had succeeded. Even though the board was conservative and some directors were not particularly favorable toward her, no one dared obstruct a business decision that could determine the company’s survival. Thanks to her efforts, the long-cherished Russian ESPO Pipeline project gained momentum with Chevron’s participation. Cash was deposited the moment the stake was secured, and construction on multiple sections of the pipeline began simultaneously to accelerate completion.
“The stock market truly leads the way.”
Monitoring the news in real time from his study, Yoo Jae-won immediately saw the South Korean and Chinese stock markets reacting. Oil companies that imported and sold Middle Eastern crude hit bottom, while steel, textile, and semiconductor firms that consumed large amounts of energy saw their share prices surge. Once the ESPO Pipeline reached China or South Korea, the energy cost—the largest component of their expenses—would drop sharply. When the pipeline was completed, the price of natural gas supplied to South Korea would fall to one-tenth of its current level, fundamentally reshaping the East Asian energy market. Completion was still far off, and South Korea would need to coordinate with North Korea. Even so, the current conditions were far better than in the past. Before the regression, the eastern terminus of the ESPO Pipeline had been Vladivostok. Now Busan was emerging as the leading candidate. Comparing the geography of Busan and Vladivostok, Busan held a decisive advantage. Of course, routing a hazardous pipeline through a major city like Busan would be problematic, so Ulsan or Pohang were more realistic options. Yoo Jae-won was not the only one thinking along these lines. Anyone with an interest in economics could reach the same conclusion. That was why stock prices moved and land values fluctuated. What set Yoo Jae-won apart from others was that he was not merely receiving important information—he was the one creating it. From the moment Tiffany began contacting Russia about the ESPO Pipeline, Yoo Jae-won had offered his advice without reservation.
“As expected of President Vincent.”
He naturally shared such information with Vincent Greenhill of ID Investment. Using the intelligence obtained through Yoo Jae-won, Vincent adjusted ID Investment’s stock portfolios in South Korea and China. As a result, the firm fully benefited from the market rally triggered by Chevron’s acquisition of the Russian pipeline stake. No specific instructions had been given about which stocks to sell or buy. Vincent had spent his entire life investing, and ID Investment’s consistent success continued to attract top Wall Street talent. These elite professionals constructed the optimal portfolio, and money was pouring in. The stock market might appear fair, but in reality it was profoundly unequal. Nevertheless, many South Koreans who did not even invest directly still shared in the gains. Half of ID Investment’s capital came from Yoo Jae-won’s personal funds, while the other half came from investors who had opened accounts. Although few held their positions for over a decade like Yoo Jae-won, even short-term investors in ID Investment’s funds could expect returns exceeding 10 percent. Anyone in South Korea with investable capital had joined, so the benefits of the rising stock market were distributed broadly.
“Now it’s my turn.”
Moreover, there was plenty of fuel to stoke this rally. And Yoo Jae-won himself had prepared that fuel.
A few days after the pipeline investment news broke, another seismic shift hit the nuclear power sector. To those unfamiliar with the details, the announcement seemed to come out of nowhere. To people who saw no connection between nuclear power and IT, it looked like another reckless octopus-style expansion by ID Group. Yet public opinion reversed within a single day.
Follow-up reports revealed the successful development of the thorium reactor.
Articles explaining what a thorium reactor was, along with predictions about the coming upheaval in nuclear power, began flooding the media. True to ID Group’s control over the internet and major outlets, once the story broke, media worldwide became saturated with thorium reactor coverage. The thorium reactor itself represented a leap beyond conventional nuclear plants, so the news would have been sensational even without ID Group’s support. With ID Group deliberately amplifying the story, the impact reached an entirely different dimension.
“Do we really need to make such a fuss?”
Even Director Andrey, who disliked commotion, voiced his concern. Responding to the flood of interview and press requests had pushed actual research completely to the back burner. The situation was so severe that even the usually outgoing Team Leader Clark eventually said he wanted to return to the laboratory.
Yoo Jae-won asked for their understanding. There was a specific reason he needed to create such a spectacle.
“It can’t be helped. If we want our news to reach that dictator hiding behind the Iron Curtain, we have to go this far.”
The ESPO Pipeline, the Irkutsk oil field, the thorium reactor, and North Korea’s oil development—executing the grand plan Yoo Jae-won envisioned required a decisive first step. The sincerity of ID Group’s commitment to the thorium reactor business had to be conveyed. Only then would North Korea seriously review the Westinghouse thorium reactor business proposal that would soon reach them. If approval followed, a permanent peace framework could be established in East Asia, long regarded as the world’s next powder keg after the Middle East. Before the regression, ambitious politicians had repeatedly challenged this goal only to be crushed by reality’s high walls. That was why concepts like “East Asia balancer” were treated like unicorns—everyone knew they were desirable, yet they remained mythical creatures that could never exist in reality.
This time would be different. Yoo Jae-won sensed a higher probability of success than ever before. Had it not been for the principal’s dying words warning him against arrogance, he might have declared victory outright. But this time, the feeling was genuinely good.