The FBI's Request
Yoo Jae-won, having successfully concluded the Empire's Counterattack opening ceremony, led the guests who had stayed until the very end to a nearby restaurant. Many of the VIPs who had traveled from afar or were burdened with pressing business had already departed, but those who had come from nearby Silicon Valley had no urgent matters to attend to. The VIP invitations had explicitly promised a meal, so those who remained had agreed to dine. Perhaps because they were in the same industry, Yoo Jae-won felt far more at ease than he had with Mayor Agnos. Over dinner, they naturally discussed IT-related technical topics—computer technology, programming, and the like. Those who had initially judged him by his youthful appearance could no longer deny his expertise once they saw him hold his own in specialized discussions about programming and hardware design, answering questions and posing his own. Their attitudes toward him shifted noticeably as a result.
English has no formal honorifics. While respect can be conveyed, it is not expressed through the explicit polite endings or honorific particles common in Korean. Instead, it shows in tone and gesture. “No matter how well you optimize a program, there’s no substitute for hardware-level improvements.”
“Of course. We learned that lesson the hard way with this project. That’s why we’ve been working day and night to implement anisotropic filtering in our new products. We couldn’t have done it without ID Technology’s support. Looking back, it was an insane undertaking.”
The sales director from Cirrus Logic responded warmly to Jae-won’s remark. His tone made it clear he now regarded Jae-won as an equal in technical ability. “Haha, but at least you got to put the Glide X certification logo on your products.”
“Honestly, I was skeptical at first. I wondered how much difference a single logo could make to sales. But the results were staggering. If our summer lineup hadn’t received certification, it would have been a disaster.”
The Cirrus Logic executive shook his head in amazement. In the retail components market, the presence or absence of the Glide X compatibility mark was decisive. Products bearing the mark sold far better than those without it. Yet the mark was not granted lightly. Companies did not simply pay ID Technology for certification; they had to implement key Glide X technologies—such as anisotropic filtering—directly in hardware.
“After anisotropic filtering, what other new technologies are you considering, Mr. Yoo? Preferably something related to processing units.”
This time it was the AMD vice president who spoke. “Of course,” Jae-won replied, the word “Sure!” coming naturally to his lips. Anisotropic filtering was merely the foundation for the future of Glide X. As computing advanced, games would undergo a seismic shift from 2D to 3D. “From now on, 3D will dominate gaming. It will begin with Wolfenstein. Unlike earlier games that relied solely on integer operations, 3D games require floating-point arithmetic as well.”
The explanation was straightforward. Anisotropic filtering worked by generating intermediate values between pixels to smooth jagged edges. Such values rarely fell neatly on integers; calculations had to extend into decimal places to produce natural results. Floating-point units were therefore far more complex—and expensive—than integer units. In earlier days, coprocessor chips had been sold separately to keep costs down. “Intel’s 486 at least integrated the floating-point unit and allowed it to operate simultaneously with the integer unit. That was fortunate.”
The reverse was true for 386 and earlier processors: they could not perform floating-point operations while running integer calculations, and vice versa. It was like having two vending machines in front of a house suddenly filled with hungry guests. The orders were evenly split between the machines, yet the 386-era CPUs could only use one at a time, waiting for each transaction to complete before moving to the next. Many budget models without dedicated floating-point chips had to perform those calculations on the main unit as well. The 486, by contrast, had the coprocessor built in and could handle both tasks concurrently—several times faster than its predecessor.
“The future chip I envision places multiple processing units on a single die, allowing them to operate in parallel. Throughput per clock cycle will increase dramatically, enabling smooth rendering of complex, high-fidelity 3D scenes.”
What Jae-won described was superscalar architecture. “The same principle applies to VGA units. Offloading graphics processing—such as anisotropic filtering—to dedicated graphics hardware frees the CPU and accelerates the entire system. Graphics data is also well suited to parallel processing.”
The listeners nodded in agreement. “Interesting. We’ll need to study it further, but your reasoning holds up. Still, if parallel operations increase that much, programming will become considerably more complex.”
The Cirrus Logic executive raised the practical concern. His company’s success with Keyboard Warrior had stemmed from solid fundamentals, not luck. “That’s true. We’re already working on that issue. I expect we’ll be able to demonstrate a solution through the next major update of the Glide X library.”
Parallel processing was a field Jae-won had mastered in his previous life. Neural networks for artificial intelligence were built on parallel architectures; no single processor could handle the enormous computational loads required. “In any case, it’s impressive. We’re struggling just to keep up, yet ID Technology is already preparing the next version.”
“Heh, it’s not quite that simple. While we’re developing ID Office, ID Software handles Glide X. With help from everyone here, we can shorten the timeline—and the benefits will reach far more people.”
Setting the correct vision for the future was extraordinarily difficult. A single misstep could waste irreplaceable time and capital. In this regard, Jae-won possessed an overwhelming advantage: he had personally witnessed the trajectory of computer technology through 2040, and during his preparation for regression he had stored every relevant technical detail in his Memory Palace—including the superscalar logic designs for x86-compatible CPUs.
The people gathered here maintained close ties with ID Technology, yet none enjoyed the depth of collaboration that would allow free exchange of cutting-edge technology. According to intelligence gathered by Remington’s team, several firms were already moving quietly to develop their own libraries in response to Glide X’s commercial success. Some of those companies were even represented at this very table. Once they confirmed that Glide X’s next version would deliver substantially more powerful technology—and saw it implemented—they would have far less incentive to look elsewhere.
To an outsider, the dinner would have seemed oppressively technical, devoid of casual conversation. Yet every guest shared a background in computer engineering, and they were so absorbed in the discussion that time slipped by unnoticed.
“Mr. President.”
Remington’s voice pulled Jae-won back to reality. “Yes?”
After hearing the whispered message, Jae-won’s eyes widened. Maintaining a composed expression, he excused himself from the table, assuring his guests he would return shortly. “The FBI? Really?”
Remington had informed him that two FBI officials were waiting to speak with him. Jae-won had never broken any American laws, yet the news was startling. “Yes, sir. I verified their credentials thoroughly. They are legitimate FBI agents.”
Two of them. Shortly after Jae-won and the VIPs had left the flagship store for the restaurant, the pair had arrived. “Walter Skinner and Anna Morales,” Remington reported. A man in his forties and a woman in her thirties. They wore ordinary business suits rather than the emblazoned jackets seen in movies; had they appeared in full raid gear, the store’s customers would have panicked.
Remington’s tone remained strictly professional. Jae-won understood why without needing an explanation. During his time as an LAPD detective, Remington had clashed with the FBI on several occasions and had always come away frustrated—an old refrain from his previous life. He had escorted the agents to the store’s back office, offered them coffee, and then come to fetch Jae-won.
When Jae-won entered the office, the two agents were seated with cups of Americano. They rose as he and Remington entered. “Hello. I’m Yoo Jae-won.”
Their expressions were priceless—the same look of surprise he had seen on Art Agnos an hour earlier, and on countless others meeting him for the first time. Few people his age conducted business at his level, and he had long since grown accustomed to managing their bewilderment.
“You said you needed my help? Please keep it brief. I have important guests waiting.”
A direct approach usually resolved such situations quickly. “Understood. Over the past six months in Los Angeles, seven homeless individuals have been murdered. We’ve classified the deaths as serial killings, developed a profile, and identified a suspect who is currently in custody. While examining his alibi and evidence, we encountered an obstacle.”
Walter Skinner spoke in a flat, emotionless tone—neither cold nor warm. He offered no further details; his pride would not allow him to admit the FBI lacked the capability. Anna Morales continued in his place. “It concerns your company’s Keyboard Warrior software.”
Jae-won’s eyes widened. Why was Keyboard Warrior suddenly relevant? Anna addressed Remington rather than Jae-won. “Keyboard Warrior includes a diary function that can be password-protected. We’ve confirmed the suspect has been writing daily entries in it since last December. Our cryptographers are attempting to break the encryption, but they’ve concluded it cannot be done before the suspect’s detention period expires.”
“Since your company developed the software, we assume you know how to unlock it. We would appreciate your cooperation.”
Once Anna finished, Skinner added his own request—still directed at Remington. Jae-won’s presence had not yet fully registered with them. Meanwhile, Jae-won’s mind raced. He had expected government requests for assistance eventually, but not this soon—and certainly not involving Keyboard Warrior. He had assumed any such approach would concern the far more secure ID Office 3.0. Yet the FBI could not even crack Keyboard Warrior’s encryption. Given the gravity of the case, this was no trivial matter. He would need to recalculate his assumptions carefully.