It All Starts in a Garage
It all starts in a garage. That's what they say about every IT company.
"So what exactly do you mean by 'we found a club room'?"
"Remember the arcade we visited during our offline meetup in December two years ago?"
"Yeah, what about it?"
"The owner's son is the one who helped plan the routes and secure the location for our meetup. He mentioned they're bringing in several computers next door."
As I listened, it started to click.
"So my brother heard about it, asked if we could use the space, and they reached an agreement—he'd cover the costs while we get to use five of the machines."
"Where on earth would sunbae get that kind of money? The expenses aren't exactly small."
"He saved it up from tutoring jobs. We probably should've just collected club dues instead."
"My head is spinning... Let's go take a look. Eun-ji, I'll be right back."
"This is the place."
The arcade we'd visited during the meetup, just a short walk from Seoul Station. Right next door, a small building was in the middle of interior renovations.
"Ah, you've arrived. And this must be... Foxy-nim?"
"It's been a while, Yu-seop-nim."
Han Yu-seop. During the meetup he'd stood beside Kim Mu-sik, radiating an overwhelming aura of social mastery while directing people and guiding the flow. The first time I saw him, I genuinely wondered if he was the true power behind the scenes. Anyone looking at those squinty eyes and that perpetual sly grin would assume he was the hidden mastermind a hundred times out of a hundred. Of course, once I learned he was Kim Mu-sik's best friend and was genuinely just trying to help, I dropped the suspicion.
"I didn't get the full story from Jeong-jun sunbae. Could you explain what's going on?"
"Ah, while talking business with Mu-sik last time, we decided to bring in dozens of computers and charge based on usage time. We realized people sometimes need machines for office work and such, and a busy area like this seemed like it would do well."
Wait... wasn't this exactly what a PC bang was?
"How do you handle the billing?"
"We'll assign numbers to each seat, have customers write their start time in a logbook, and settle up when they leave. I'm honestly worried about whether the accounting will be accurate... but with the arcade dying, we have to try something. If it doesn't work out, the computers should hold their value well enough to sell."
This was too risky. Proper billing was unlikely to happen, and semiconductor performance inflation would soon begin. Moore's Law would kick in and send the value of these machines plummeting. Of course PC bangs in this era wouldn't completely fail and force them to sell the computers, but still...
"Let's go with a prepaid system instead. Customers pay for the exact amount of time they want."
"I considered that too. I even thought about installing coin slots like in the arcade, but it seemed impractical. Connecting everything to a central computer at the counter for time management was another idea, but the machines couldn't handle it, and anyone with even basic knowledge could easily manipulate the time. So I scrapped it."
I had a rough idea of how to solve this, but it would require some investment.
"Would you be interested in investing about 600,000 won with us? I'll solve everything perfectly."
Even without games, PC bangs were emerging naturally.
"Look, I know this isn't the first time you've pulled something like this, sis, but please at least explain before you start a whole project..."
"Jeong-a. The world usually works out if you just push forward."
"Even though I'm a faster-born, there's only three months' difference between us. Why do you talk like you've already lived an entire life?"
She was right—Coding Wizard! Of course Jeong-a hadn't meant it that way, but the occasional geezer-like comments slipping out made me slightly uneasy. I hadn't been like this in my original world, so why now?
"So what's the plan?"
"With 600,000 won, I'll buy a server and build a complete management system around it. Left as-is, we'll get ripped off massively."
"Similar structure to that version control system we made before?"
"Exactly. One central server with multiple computers branching out from it like a tree. But there are a couple differences this time."
"...Such as?"
"First is security. The central server needs to control the computers through access permissions, but we have to prevent the individual machines from reverse-controlling the server and tampering with the system."
"Ah, because the version control system let you freely add or remove files..."
"Precisely. And second, we're changing the server's operating system."
"...Excuse me? There's something besides Windows? You said MAC has no future."
"Linux."
"The one you stayed up for days making? What is it that you'd go that far for..."
It might not look like much now, but in the original timeline Linux would eventually power eighty percent of all servers. Since it had appeared even earlier here, its market share might grow even larger than in my original history.
"This sister has a plan for everything."
"Hmm..."
After spending quite a while coding the server software by myself, we began testing the moment the server arrived. Coming from Windows' flashy graphical interface to Linux's black prompt window with nothing but blinking text felt like culture shock.
"Jeong-jun, try logging in for me."
"Yes, yes."
When the ID and password were entered, the system immediately encrypted them and sent the data to the central server. The central server verified the credentials, recorded who had logged in, at which station, and when, then sent a signal back to the computer confirming successful login.
"It logged in!"
The computer received the signal, completed the login process, and the screen lock released.
It was a classic PC bang login system.
"We did it!"
"Finally!"
Since testing had taken an entire week, the success felt especially sweet.
"How are the computer resources?"
"No noticeable difference. It's only handling timing and error checking."
"I'll set the remaining time to one minute. Watch if it shuts down properly."
"...It's off."
Afterward, the computer would receive information from the central server about how much time remained. When that time expired, it would exchange data with the server, determine the session was over, log the user out, and lock the screen again.
"But if you can change the time so freely, isn't that a problem?"
"I can do it because it's me. It requires the highest administrator authentication key and has safety mechanisms. In practice, the only thing the counter can do is add time to accounts."
"Then... is everything finished?"
"Yes. You can open the store now."
"Thank you. Truly, thank you so much... I can't even imagine what would've happened if we hadn't met during that offline meetup."
"Oh, it really wasn't that much."
"Look at you saying that with your mouth practically reaching your ears. I-seo, you really can't lie."
"It's only natural. Coding a bit reduced our expenses. Money has always brought out honesty in people."
By creating this system, we managed to cut the usage fee in half. Thanks to that, Kim Jeong-jun even cried tears of joy in front of me and bowed deeply, saying he'd saved a fortune.
Incidentally, staring at the arcade next door had given me an idea.
Originally I'd planned to create rhythm games for computers. Given the slow response times and clunky environment, I'd intended to follow the pseudo-rhythm game format—like Muse Dash—with only three judgment levels (MISS, GOOD, PERFECT) and just two vertical lanes.
But what if we installed rhythm games in the arcade instead?
The reason arcades were losing popularity wasn't just because child-targeted content was being seen as kidult culture for adults. The existing games were fundamentally easy to tire of and simply not fun.
What if we started by porting Tetris—the representative king of arcades—for arcade hardware? Could we revive the entire industry?
It definitely wasn't because I got bored with nothing to do whenever I took breaks in the arcade due to headaches. Absolutely not.
The idea had come to me while building the server and PC bang system, so I hadn't been able to act on it then. But now that the PC bang system was complete, and I felt confident I could breeze through midterms as easily as eating cake, there was only one thing a bored me could choose to do.
First, I headed to Yongsan.
I coaxed Kim Jeong-jun—who had a solid build—by promising to help with his studies if he just gave me a little time, then dragged him along to negotiate with the Yongsan vendors. The memory of his mouth hanging open at the entrance to the "Yongsan Dungeon," protesting that this was why I'd called him, still made me smile. The one who got tricked was at fault. I had done nothing wrong.
Anyway, we acquired decent boards, button components, and even bought the latest displays sold separately. It was such a reasonable purchase that Kim Jeong-jun and the other club members who'd heard about it could only stick their tongues out in disbelief.
The first thing we created was an arcade port of Tetris. We installed two coin slots so two players could play simultaneously on one cabinet. After getting permission from the creator of the 2P Tetris we'd used in the competition, we copied the code and enabled head-to-head matches.
We promoted it on Mytel.
Whether because Yu-seop had more recognition than expected, so many people showed up that we canceled our backup plan of having Kim Mu-sik and me promote it ourselves.
Naturally, those who couldn't play Tetris began experiencing the other arcade games next door and the brand-new concept of a PC bang in the neighboring building.
Sales shot up like crazy, and the worries Yu-seop had expressed when we first met became a running joke.
Yu-seop must have been incredibly moved. He cried hard enough to mop the floor with his tears and performed a full ceremonial kowtow before me.
He even offered to waive all our computer usage fees and let us use the place freely, but it felt too burdensome so we declined. Getting used to free access here would make us lazy in no time—I could feel it. In my original timeline, I'd seen how quickly a development team's diligence dropped once their environment became too comfortable.
Above all, we needed proper justification. We had to open the era of selling games for money while maintaining the principle that we weren't simply living off the land. We couldn't keep distributing games for free forever.
While everything was sailing smoothly, an unexpected visitor came looking for us.