The Empire's Counterattack
The Empire's Counterattack — America's ID Technology has launched the 1st ID Office Security Challenge! Anyone who breaks through ID Office's security system and correctly guesses both the password and its contents will receive a prize of ten million dollars!
With school starting in just a few days, Yoo Jae-won sat watching television with a relaxed expression. He had long since thrown out the old, tiny black-and-white set and replaced it with a large color television, making the experience far more enjoyable. The news was filled with reports about the ID Office Security Challenge. The press release had only been issued once on the first day, yet broadcasters had voluntarily created segments and aired them repeatedly at the top of the news or during key segments. He was certain that every country with a television station had covered the story at least once.
"Ten million U.S. dollars — equivalent to 6.78 billion won. Computer experts from around the world have expressed their intent to participate. Korea is no exception." The Security Challenge dominated the news cycle day after day. The prize was not one million dollars, but ten million — roughly 6.8 billion won. Even as the exchange rate continued to fall and the reported amount shrank with each broadcast, it remained an enormous sum. Thanks to the coverage, Yoo Jae-won, upon his return to Korea, faced relentless questioning from the executives at the Korean branch, particularly Choi Kang-wook.
They asked how he could offer such a massive prize and whether the program's security could truly withstand attacks from the world's top experts and hackers. Yoo Jae-won assured Choi Kang-wook that ID Office's security would never be broken. It was the AES encryption system, already proven in his previous life. AES had several versions, and when ID Office applied its highest level of encryption, it used 256-bit keys. The resulting ciphertext would require tens of thousands of years for even the most powerful supercomputers of the 21st century to crack.
Moreover, the encryption key was not a simple word or number but a 32-character string mixing uppercase and lowercase letters, numbers, special characters, and even spaces. Attempting a brute-force attack to find the key instead of decrypting the text would be impossible. Even the best personal computers available were 486 machines with a mere 20 MIPS of processing power — twenty million instructions per second. Cracking a 32-character key on such hardware would require units of time measured in trillions or even more exotic scales.
Even if research institutes with Cray supercomputers joined the fray, the outcome would be the same. While Cray machines were undeniably powerful for their era, 1989 supercomputers paled in comparison to those of the 21st century. A single modern PC equipped with a high-performance GPU would outperform them. The numbers might shift slightly, but the result remained unchanged.
"Well, any real expert would realize we have no intention of actually paying out the prize," Yoo Jae-won mused. He had originally planned to offer a hundred million dollars, knowing no one would claim it. Reality, however, forced him to scale it back. Announcing a hundred-million-dollar prize would have led many to assume ID Technology had no real intention of paying. Ten million dollars struck the right balance — substantial enough to captivate the world while remaining credible. The funds had already been deposited at Citibank, and the certificate Remington had waved during the press conference was genuine, not a copy.
Ten million dollars was both realistic and eye-wateringly large. As a result, the name ID Office appeared in the media without pause. It was global marketing at virtually no cost. By emphasizing security, Yoo Jae-won also sensed a shift in how corporations, research institutes, and governments viewed the product. The clearest sign was the sell-outs. The flagship store in San Jose had sold out on the first two days, after which sales had gradually declined — until the Security Challenge announcement on the 26th triggered another complete sell-out.
This was not limited to the San Jose flagship. Retail outlets near experts within Electronic Arts' distribution network also sold out rapidly. Countries yet to launch the product began inquiring about their release dates. Even in Korea, where ID Office officially launched on the 15th, sales had surged noticeably. While it had not sold out as dramatically as in the U.S., the increase was unmistakable. After all, anyone hoping to exploit ID Office's vulnerabilities first needed a copy. Although Aegis Shield was not applied and only a 32-digit registration number verified authenticity — making piracy trivial — many still purchased legitimate versions.
Beyond the revenue boost, what Yoo Jae-won anticipated most was the hackers' participation. The early 1990s remained the era of romantic hackers — individuals who breached networks operated by corporations, organizations, research institutes, and even governments purely for the thrill, then slipped away without taking anything. Some even left behind documents detailing the vulnerabilities they had found. In the 21st century, such behavior would have been unthinkable. Any weakness would be exploited for ransomware or DDoS attacks commissioned by rivals. Game copy-protection systems were routinely broken and shared for profit.
Things were different now. The word "hacker" carried more positive than negative connotations, referring to security experts. The term "cracker" would later emerge to distinguish malicious actors. "Sorry to those who get hooked," Yoo Jae-won thought, "but I hope plenty take the bait." It was exactly the kind of talent his understaffed operation desperately needed.
After watching the news for a while, Yoo Jae-won turned off the television once the ID Technology segment ended. No matter how many times he saw it, the coverage never grew tiresome, but he had other matters to attend to. He began gathering gift packages — souvenirs for his friends. On his return journey, he had forgotten about them and purchased only the parts and software he needed. His parents had thoughtfully prepared gifts on his behalf: cookies packed with chocolate chips and butter, difficult to find in Korea, along with character souvenirs from Disneyland. The boys would receive Mickey Mouse keychains, while the girls would get character dolls.
"I'm heading out!"
Carrying the gifts, Yoo Jae-won stepped out energetically.
"Hey, Richard!"
At the sound of his name, Richard stopped and turned. Tall stature, shoulder-length hair, a thick beard reaching his collarbone, flamboyant primary-colored clothing, and horn-rimmed glasses — these were the hallmarks of Richard. All these traits converged into one word: hippie. Though in his mid-thirties, he still clung to the style of his twenties rather than adopting a more respectable appearance.
"Daniel. What's going on?"
The friend who had called him, Daniel, was dressed similarly. Yet they were not to be underestimated. They stood within the artificial intelligence laboratory affiliated with the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, the finest engineering school in America. Both had graduated from MIT with distinction, and Richard even held a bachelor's degree from Harvard.
"Have you seen this?" Daniel held out the MIT school newspaper. The front page prominently featured the words "ID Office Security Challenge." Richard, who had been buried in code within the lab for days, was seeing the article for the first time.
"What is it?"
He took the paper and scanned it quickly, though his habit of reading every word and pondering its meaning stretched the process to over ten minutes — far longer than the five minutes it would take most people. Knowing Richard's nature, Daniel waited patiently.
"ID Technology has cooked up something interesting," Richard remarked after finishing.
"So, are you interested?"
Daniel's intention in waiting and showing him the paper was simple: to recruit teammates for the ID Office Security Challenge. Ten million dollars was large enough to assemble a team of ten. Even divided ten ways, each member would receive a million dollars — life-changing money. Richard, working in an AI lab, was a genuine computer expert. He had already surprised the world by releasing various free programs while employed there. His most famous work was Emacs, the Unix document editor, along with numerous compilers for minicomputers, mainframes, and IBM-compatible PCs. These compilers allowed code to run efficiently across platforms while delivering strong performance. Surely Richard would be interested.
"Hmm." Contrary to Daniel's expectations, Richard seemed indifferent. As a hippie who disliked being tied down, he sensed the heavy commercialism behind the Security Challenge. Though bound to the lab, his work was flexible and suited his tastes. He could still create the free software he wanted. Participating in the challenge, however, would only benefit ID Technology.
"Still, it's ten million dollars. With your skills, you could crack it easily. Wouldn't it be a waste to let some other idiots take it?"
Daniel pressed on, trying to persuade the lukewarm Richard. He was building a dream team for the challenge and had already marked Richard as the ace. No one at MIT doubted Richard's abilities.
"It's a team effort, but the prize will be distributed according to contribution. Your share will naturally be much larger, and you can use it however you like. Didn't you say you wanted to donate to Africa? If you donate the prize money from ID Technology to Africa, it will make big news. Others moved by your actions will join in."
Daniel played his final card. He himself had no interest in charity, but for the eccentric Richard, it held meaning. As long as they could claim the prize by breaking the challenge, what Richard did with his portion — burn it or scatter it in the wind — was irrelevant.
"Hmm. That is an interesting idea." Richard finally nodded. Joining a commercial event was unappealing, but putting the prize to good use as Daniel suggested was not so bad.
"All right. I'll participate."
Even Richard Stallman — the eternal hippie, chairman of the GNU Foundation at the heart of the free software movement, and the last symbol of the romantic hacker era — had declared his entry into the ID Office Security Challenge.