The Empire Strikes Back
The Empire Strikes Back. Bang!
"How could this happen!" Microsoft Chairman Bill Gates slammed his fist on the desk in fury. It was a high-end desk made of solid mahogany, and it was so sturdy that only his hand hurt. Gates had been pounding his desk multiple times this year. No wonder—nothing had gone right for him since the start of '89.
This time, the problem was the ID Office Security Challenge. For the launch of their new product, MS-DOS 4.0, they had rented a massive hotel in Las Vegas and held a grand event, pouring enormous marketing budgets into television and magazine ads. Yet the only name dominating the media was ID Technology.
The bold headlines from this morning. The $10 million figure had already been milked dry and rarely appeared anymore. But follow-up coverage kept expanding and recycling stories about ID Office. What grated most was the news that the government was seriously considering ID Office for encrypting classified documents.
To Gates, it was absurd. How could they entrust government secrets to foreign software? Alongside the MS-DOS 4.0 launch, Gates and Steve, drenched in cold water, began digging up every scrap of information on ID Technology. What they uncovered was that ID Technology was not an American company but a Korean one. The owner's age was younger than they could have imagined. But dismissing him as a mere upstart would be a grave mistake. The quality of the software released through ID Technology rivaled that of top-tier corporations. Honestly, it seemed superior even to Microsoft's own development team, built from the finest talent.
"Yoo Jae-won, was it?"
"That's right. They call him Mr. Yoo, or sometimes 'J.' It felt like looking at you ten years ago."
"Is that a compliment?"
Gates asked in response to Steve's remark. Steve shrugged instead of answering. Whether it was praise or an insult, Gates agreed with Steve. That realization triggered Gates' sensitive danger signals. The willingness to use any means necessary for profit reminded him exactly of his own younger self. The clearest proof was the Alpha Lab incident. While attempting to reverse-engineer ID Office, they had wiped out all computer data. Every subsequent attempt ended the same way—the computer's data turned to garbage. It was clear ID Office's reverse-engineering protection was designed to destroy the system. The aggressive "an eye for an eye" retaliation was every bit as ruthless as Gates himself.
That was not all. Despite their efforts to recover the corrupted data, results were minimal. Yet they had seen data in exactly the same format before—the ID Office Security Challenge. Because the prize was so large, even Gates had connected to ID Technology's FTP server to download the file. Though it was only 32KB, it had been incredibly difficult. The server seemed to be running on cheap hardware; connections kept dropping, sometimes repeatedly. When he finally opened the file after all that trouble, he was stunned. It was identical to the corrupted data from Alpha Lab.
After several days of research, they confirmed that ID Technology was using that unusual encryption technique both as a weapon to block reverse-engineering and as a shield to protect data. Turning an encryption algorithm into an offensive tool was a truly genius shift in thinking. It felt like staring at his own fearless younger self. Perhaps that was why Chairman Gates grew even angrier at ID Technology's attacks. If they had started on friendly terms, they might have become excellent business partners. Instead, their relationship had begun as a hostile one without ever meeting, and now it had reached a point of no return.
At least until now, Microsoft had been blindly taking hits. But the time for counterattack had come.
"This will teach them that doing big business in America isn't so easy. By the way, are they participating too?"
At Steve's question, Gates nodded. "That" referred to the ID Office Security Challenge.
"Of course."
It was the same algorithm that had struck them once before with the Alpha Lab incident. Gates, Steve, and their experts all acknowledged it was an extraordinary security technique. Research to crack it was already in full swing. At the same time, they were developing encryption algorithms of similar caliber. That clever kid had surely filed patents. They couldn't copy it outright, but they could study the algorithm to raise Microsoft's own security standards and the quality of future products.
Gates and Steve were confident no organization had studied that devilish algorithm more thoroughly than they had. So they agreed to enter the ID Office Security Challenge and flatten Yoo Jae-won's nose. They would claim the $10 million prize, punch holes in ID Office's security, and simultaneously promote Microsoft's security capabilities. Little did either of them realize they were walking straight into an antlion pit.
Mid-September arrived. The world burned with the heat of challengers tackling the ID Office Security Challenge, but Korea enjoyed cool autumn weather. Only at midday did a hint of summer's sweltering heat linger. Mornings and evenings now carried a refreshing breeze. The sky had deepened into a rich blue—the same deep, clear sky that would vanish in the 21st century. Last year, work had kept him too busy to enjoy it, but lately, gazing at the sky brought him joy. Cosmos flowers bloomed along the roadsides, adding to the autumn charm.
Early September had been frantic, but now there was finally room to breathe. The biggest reason for the earlier chaos was, of course, the Security Challenge. The $10 million prize had instantly captured the attention of Koreans. Everyone knew ID Technology was Yoo Jae-won's company. Naturally, many were shocked at how much money he must have made. Korean media came knocking again.
"As a small company challenging America, we planned an impactful event to showcase our product's performance—the Security Challenge. We're confident enough in our security technology to put up $10 million. Even if someone cracks it and we have to pay out, we won't regret it. We'll earn trust as a company that keeps its promises. That money will simply be reinvested in America. Besides, ID Technology will gain talent worth $10 million, won't we?"
He had given the interview under heavy pressure. Humility was fine, but America valued confidence first. His words would spread there too, so he had shown maximum confidence. He hadn't invited reporters to his home. The interview was held at the Seoul branch office, with stacks of ID Office packages piled high in the background. Thanks to that, sales of the new ID Office product exploded. After all, you needed ID Office to even attempt the Security Challenge. Of course, the number of pirated copies far exceeded legitimate sales—several times, even dozens of times more—since Aegis Shield had not been applied. The only thing proving authenticity was the registration number on the card inside the package. It was a strategic decision to seize market share from existing office software. Once Word files became IDW and spreadsheet files became IDS across the market, the short-term losses would be repaid many times over.
Meanwhile, not a single one of the countless hackers who had boasted they would crack it in three or four days had succeeded. What gained popularity instead was the Security Challenge bulletin board. A massive computer now occupied an empty space in the Silicon Valley office. They had urgently purchased an IBM mainframe suited for large-scale data processing and turned it into a server. Though it cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, its performance was undeniable. Even with thousands of simultaneous users, it remained stable. The software running was not an internet server but a private BBS. Given the era's communication standards, a private BBS was far more accessible than the internet. The connection numbers proved it. They had secured plenty of lines in anticipation of heavy traffic, yet users flooded in so quickly that a waiting queue became necessary.
Registration was free, and anyone could become a member by simply creating an ID and password. Once connected, only one board appeared: the ID Office Security Challenge bulletin board. It had no particularly special features. What set it apart from services like CompuServe was the recommendation system. Posts were automatically sorted by daily and weekly recommendations. They had considered adding a comment feature but decided it was still too early. Even so, people flocked to ID Technology's private BBS and posted. Countless users claimed to have cracked the password and uploaded keys and document contents. None of them were correct. They had simply posted random nonsense to draw attention.
That did not mean the board was filled only with nonsense. Some reckless hackers had attempted reverse-engineering despite knowing it would turn their data to garbage, and through them, several important algorithms from ID Office were extracted. This also brought out many white-hat hackers who helped improve and optimize the algorithms. In an era when even chat rooms on PC communication services rarely saw harsh language, there were some pointless posts but no malicious ones. With dedicated moderators enforcing rules strictly, the board began to self-regulate. The recommendation system shone here. Someone had compiled the established rules into a post that received the highest recommendations and stayed pinned at the top.
Over a thousand users were connected at any given time. During peak evening hours, the number exceeded several thousand. Membership grew rapidly, surpassing 300,000 and still climbing steadily. If these numbers held until the internet era arrived, it would become Yoo Jae-won's secret weapon. The bulletin board's value went beyond future preparation. When Yoo Jae-won later reviewed the members who had joined, his jaw dropped at the sheer number of heavy hitters. Richard Stallman of the Free Software Foundation was there. Linus Torvalds was there. Most posted under IDs rather than real names, but Yoo Jae-won's Memory Palace contained the handles of famous hackers, so identification was no issue.
Among those who hid their identities to participate were Kevin Mitnick, who roamed the FBI's networks like his own home, and Steve Wozniak. Even James Web, chief engineer at Electronic Arts—ID Technology's distributor—had an ID. Though the same handle could belong to different people, the posts from the famous handles Yoo Jae-won recognized were all high-level. The Silicon Valley office was compiling a list of all these IDs. They represented talented individuals with both skill and ethics, so once the competition ended, ID Technology planned to recruit as many as possible.
Nearly a month had passed since the Security Challenge began, yet the excitement showed no signs of cooling. ID Technology was no different. Despite drawing global attention with a massive event, they had not neglected their core mission of software development. Development of ID Office 2.0 had already begun. Then came good news from their affiliate, ID Software. Development of Wolfenstein, the massive title that would dominate the fall PC game market, was finally complete.
"This time, I won't miss the jackpot with business calculations," Trip Hawkins, connected via international call, said excitedly. Upon receiving the finished Wolfenstein, Hawkins immediately started playing. From the moment he grabbed the keyboard, he stayed glued to the computer except for bathroom breaks. He even ate in front of the screen without rest, and thanks to that, he saw the ending the same day. The immersive pull of battling Nazi soldiers and grotesque bio-weapons crafted by Nazi scientists inside three-dimensional dungeons, with blood and gore flying, was tremendous. It was not just action. The puzzles utilizing the in-game terrain were also excellent. Even when sudden puzzles proved slightly difficult, the satisfaction upon solving them was immense. The spark of another jackpot lit up in Hawkins' mind once more. This time, he resolved to make a bold bet based on that feeling.
"One million copies! We'll prepare a first printing of one million units."
"Excellent," Yoo Jae-won replied, though the number was not entirely satisfying. The 386 had spread far faster than in the original timeline, and the adoption rate of the 486 had also changed. Especially after Glide X's massive success, VGA cards with over 1MB of RAM had proliferated quickly. In other words, far more high-end systems capable of enjoying Wolfenstein at 100% capacity existed than before. Judging by market capacity, a larger first printing seemed feasible, but he had to consider Hawkins' position. Keyboard Warrior had been 500,000 copies, and for ID Office, 1 million had already been a bold gamble for Hawkins, who had been reluctant to distribute. Wolfenstein's package price was set at $40, with the same 5:5 revenue split. All distribution and marketing costs were Electronic Arts' responsibility.
Given the scale of the first printing, preparation took time. While working hard on the packaging, they used the media to announce Wolfenstein's release. Advertising to build hype followed. After the Security Challenge came Wolfenstein. ID Technology's ability to dominate headlines was truly extraordinary. Success seemed certain, and they were simply waiting for launch day when something unexpected happened first—and it was not good news.
Yoo Jae-won, upon hearing the news, instructed Ellen, the head of the legal team, to respond. Money was no object—assemble a lavish team of lawyers to counter Microsoft's lawsuit. Yet the speed at which the American judge wielded the gavel exceeded Yoo Jae-won's expectations.