Chapter 63
“...You’re asking for $4 in royalties? Per Apple device sold?”
Jobs couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
Four dollars.
Even the $0.70 he had offered was already an outrageous, almost absurdly generous condition.
“...Hey, Zero. That joke went too far.”
Jobs said with a frown.
Of course, he was still genuinely grateful to Zero, but this was simply too much.
“I don’t know how anyone can ask that and keep a straight face. Search engines are supposed to be paid for.”
[......]
“And I told you I’d pay you. Even $0.70. That alone is already cutting into Apple’s margins. But $4? Do you really think that makes sense?”
Whether it was Apple, Seongsam, Motorola, or Nokia, hardware manufacturers lived and died by their margin per device. In this industry, squeezing suppliers dry to shave off a single cent from component costs was simply how things worked.
And yet this woman was asking for four dollars in royalties for a piece of software—one that, on top of that, was being given away free to her competitors.
It was insane.
“Besides, Search is already being provided for free on Android. ...Sure, I owe you a personal debt, and I’m willing to pay what we agreed on for that, but four dollars is just ridiculous!”
Jobs tried to keep his voice calm, but his agitation was loud enough to carry through the line.
Maybe that was why Zero’s voice, unlike his, sounded almost light.
[First, let me correct one thing. Search is free on Android?]
“Isn’t it? Google certainly isn’t paying you, is it?”
[Google isn’t paying me. But that doesn’t mean Google gets it for free.]
“What do you mean... oh.”
Jobs understood Zero’s point immediately.
And yet Zero kept going.
[Steve, what’s Google’s revenue model?]
“Ads.”
[Exactly. Advertising. They make money every time users type a query into the search bar, every time an ad appears in those results, and every time someone clicks on that ad.]
It was common knowledge.
[But if, on Android phones, users use my Search instead of Google’s search bar? Google loses that ad revenue. The more market share my program gains, the more Google’s sales evaporate in real time.]
“......”
[In other words, I’m practically milking the Android camp for money. I’m running my Search on Google’s OS, after all.]
Jobs let out a silent sigh.
He couldn’t argue with that.
The atmosphere at Google HQ must be pretty grim right now. On Android—the very OS they built to take down Apple—somebody else’s search engine had suddenly become a smash hit.
Right now, Google’s losses probably weren’t all that severe. Android smartphones still weren’t widespread.
But once Android phones started selling in serious numbers, Google would lose the potential search revenue it had expected to earn, all because of Search.
And that loss... in the end, it’s going to be enormous.
While Jobs was thinking, Zero said,
[So Apple shouldn’t expect anything for free from me, either. Maybe not as much as Google loses, but you should still pay something, shouldn’t you?]
Zero’s logic was clear.
Android was already paying, directly or indirectly, so Apple should pay a fair price too.
But Jobs wouldn’t back down.
“That’s Google’s problem, not Apple’s. We have Google as an alternative. I admit your Search is excellent, but if the choice is paying four dollars or sticking with Google, then Google is the better business decision.”
That was Jobs’s final line of defense.
Apple could afford to act tough, because Another Technology was the one that needed them.
But Zero shattered that defense as if she had been waiting for him to say exactly that.
[Really? Are you sure about that?]
“......”
[If I install Search only on Android, do you really think consumers will ignore the difference in internet performance? Especially when Seongsam Electronics, which uses Android, is chasing Apple so fiercely?]
Jobs’s brow furrowed.
Seongsam Electronics.
Just hearing the name of that annoying pursuer—an enemy he had to acknowledge as a master of hardware manufacturing—sent his stress levels climbing.
[As you know, the hardware specs on the Galleon are either on par with the Apple phone or ahead in some areas. And it’s cheaper.]
“...Hardware alone isn’t enough. Software matters.”
[Exactly. Which is precisely why the real problem is that the world’s best search engine would be installed only on the cheaper Galleon smartphones, not on Apple phones.]
“......”
[Let’s say people are riding buses or subways and searching for nearby restaurants on their phones. The person with an Apple phone is getting frustrated by Google’s slow loading speed and inaccurate results. But the Galleon user sitting next to them finds the perfect answer instantly through Search and brags about it to their friends.]
Even before Zero finished speaking, Jobs realized he had brought this on himself.
[What do you think people will conclude then? “The Apple phone is pretty, but internet search is way too slow and inaccurate.” Once that perception takes root, won’t the software advantage you’re talking about lose its shine too?]
Jobs rubbed his forehead.
She had hit the mark.
Right now the Apple phone was the icon of innovation, but Seongsam, a traditional hardware heavyweight, was coming after it hand in hand with Android.
And in that situation, to lose on search speed and accuracy—the very heart of user experience?
That was an intolerable weakness.
And my pride sure as hell won’t allow it.
For a perfectionist like him, nothing was more unbearable than his product looking inferior to someone else’s.
...Damn it.
He’d been convinced.
Apple needed Search.
Not just to push Google out, but as a weapon to keep competitors down.
That meant the only thing left to negotiate was price.
Still—
Even so, four dollars is out of the question. That crosses the line.
Jobs forced himself to regain his composure.
He acknowledged the need for Search.
He could even accept paying, because the company they were dealing with was a future market dominator.
And the competitors were effectively paying a steep price already, too.
But that didn’t mean the price could be absurd.
“Four dollars is absolutely out. If we pay that, we’ll have to cut costs somewhere else in the product. Use a cheap screen, slap on a sloppy finish... no, that’s not acceptable. So let me make you a very aggressive offer.”
[Go on.]
“$1.50.”
He doubled the price in one shot from seventy cents.
He figured that should be generous enough.
In the software business, a royalty of a dollar fifty per device was practically an emperor’s contract.
But then—
[$4.]
“......?”
The man was impossible to talk to.
...For some reason, it also felt like arguing with a mirror.
“A dollar fifty means fifteen million dollars a year if we sell just ten million units! We’d be making a fortune while sitting on our asses!”
[Too little.]
“...$1.70. That’s my limit. I can’t even get the board to approve more than that.”
Negotiation was supposed to have some give and take, but this felt like talking to a wall.
“...$1.90.”
[Hmm.]
Jobs spoke as if that truly were the final line.
But the voice on the other end of the line remained calm.
Still, he couldn’t quit. He needed Search.
Jobs exhaled hard. In his head, he ran through every variable he could think of.
...Fine. Two dollars.
The psychological ceiling.
Anything beyond that was truly impossible.
If he paid more, it would affect Apple’s financial structure.
Jobs squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again.
And in a solemn voice, he said, “Two dollars. That’s my limit. Really, if you ask for even one cent more, I’m done too. We’ll just keep using Google.”
He meant it.
If she still said four dollars, Jobs was ready to blow up the negotiation for real.
Of course, personally, he would still repay the debt of having his life saved—by selling stock, giving up salary, offering a board seat, whatever it took.
But he could no longer allow a reckless deal that burdened the company.
...She’s not going to say four dollars again, is she?
He was thinking that when—
[Fine. That works.]
“......?”
The answer was so quick, so bright and easy, that it caught him off guard.
The stubborn tone from moments ago was gone without a trace.
[Two dollars per device.]
“......”
[I’m glad we found a compromise both sides can be satisfied with.]
“...Both sides?”
[Yes, both sides.]
...Only you’ll be satisfied, won’t you?
Jobs went blank for a second, all the tension draining out of him at once.
Something felt off.
He had just talked the price down from four dollars to two.
That meant he had won.
Could this bastard... have set two dollars as his real target from the beginning?
If Zero had opened with two dollars, Jobs would have fought tooth and nail to bring it down to one, maybe even less.
But by throwing out the ridiculous number of four dollars, she had made two dollars feel like the reasonable price.
That was negotiation 101.
And she had used the basics masterfully.
“...You pulled the same trick with app review times before, too. You were playing me.”
[Well, I wouldn’t call it playing you.]
Zero spoke lightly, then added another line.
[I’ll have Vincent send over the contract. Take care of yourself, Steve. And one more thing.]
“And what?”
[Welcome back to the world of business, Steve.]
Click.
The call ended.
She hung up after saying what she wanted to say.
“......”
But Jobs didn’t take the Apple phone away from his ear for a long time.
“...Welcome back to the world of business.”
He rolled the words around in his mouth.
For the past few months, he had been a patient.
He had worked as a CEO, yes, but he had been a terminal case waiting for death, waiting for the doctor’s verdict.
And yet, during that phone call just now, his blood had begun to boil.
A sensation he had almost forgotten.
“That kid is something else.”
Jobs got to his feet.
His reflection in the room’s mirror was still gaunt, but his eyes were burning with a fire as fierce as they had been in his prime—no, fiercer.
Yes. I’m back.
Now it was time to grind his employees down again so he could build an even more perfect Apple.
* * *
After reaching an excellent verbal agreement with Jobs—satisfying for both sides, apparently—time passed.
Thursday arrived, the first day of midterm exams.
“All right, the test starts now. Leave only your writing tools on the desk. If you get caught cheating, it’s not an F—it’s expulsion. I won’t go easy on you.”
With the professor’s icy warning, the exam papers were handed out.
This exam was the midterm for C Language Programming and Practice.
[Question 1. Write the output of the following code. (10 points)]
This is a first-year midterm, but it is a little difficult for a first question.
[That is correct. It appears to have been set that way because this is Hankuk University’s Computer Science department.]
Even so, I wrote down the answer right away.
The first line outputs 10, 20. The second line outputs 21, 30.
Scratch, scratch. Scratch, scratch.
Maybe the first problem really was a little harder than expected, because the classroom quickly filled with the sound of mechanical pencils and sighs.
Scratch...
“Hmm...”
“Mm...”
Unlike the atmosphere in the classroom, I moved on to the next question.
* * *
When the exam was over, I left the classroom with my classmates.
“Hey, what’d you get for number one? Isn’t it 20 and 21?”
“I wrote 10 and 21.”
“Wasn’t it 20 and 21?”
“I wrote 30 and 41.”
A classmate’s words made another friend tilt his head.
“Was there a 41?”
“...Was there?”
“I don’t think so?”
“This was my first exam, and I think I already blew it.”
“The back page was really hard.”
“...There was a back page?”
The classmates spoke in tired voices mixed with sighs, then turned to me.
“Hyung, what’d you get for number one?”
“10 and 20, and then 21 and 30.”
“...You’re supposed to write it like that?”
“Yep.”
“Ah... I’m doomed.”
“Hyung, hyung. There wasn’t a 41?”
“I don’t think 41 was even one of the answer choices.”
“Damn...”
Watching their reactions, it seemed they somehow believed I was good at studying.
“I think I totally bombed that test...”
As Seo Dong-jun muttered to himself, Han Seok-hyeon, standing beside him, nudged him and asked, “Dong-jun, what happened with that girl?”
“That girl? Oh, Yeonsu?”
The corners of Seo Dong-jun’s mouth twitched in a strangely smug way, even though he’d just been complaining about the exam a second earlier.
“Well... we just added each other on Cyworld, basically?”
At that, the classmates all gasped.
“What?! Cyworld friends?!”
“Dude, no way. Seriously?”
“Wow... Seo Dong-jun really does go poking around everywhere, and he actually pulled it off.”
“Poking around, my ass. That’s a malicious thing to say. And I’ve always been completely devoted to Yeonsu.”
“Devoted my ass.”
Seeing how strongly they reacted to the word “Cyworld friends,” it seemed that, for students at this age, that status carried a lot of weight.
Being Cyworld friends isn’t just adding someone, after all.
On Cyworld, being added as a friend was basically permission to say, “I’m going to show you my private life,” and also proof that “we’re a pretty special relationship.”
It wasn’t something just anybody got.
“Doesn’t that mean you’re super close? Like, almost dating?”
“Nah, not yet. We’re not actually dating or anything...”
Seo Dong-jun smiled shyly, though from my perspective it looked more like he was showing off.
“We just, you know, held hands and went to see a movie together over the weekend... and ate together and stuff.”
“You traitor!”
“Hey! Once you’ve held hands, it’s over! What a liar!”
“He did it, he really did.”
The classmates burst into a mix of jeers and jealousy.
Seo Dong-jun basked in it, then shot me a sideways glance.
“It’s all thanks to Dohyun-hyung. Back when we went on that group date, you looked out for me and made the atmosphere good, remember? That’s when I really started talking to Yeonsu and got close to her.”
The guy thanked me with a look.
I tilted my head inwardly.
...Did I do that?
I couldn’t remember.
Group-date offers came in so often that I’d gone on a few, but what had I actually done then?
I probably just nodded along at the right times.
Still, there was no need to throw cold water on his happiness, so I gave a small laugh and shrugged.
Then the classmates swarmed me.
“Dohyun-hyung! Hook me up with a group date too!”
“Hyung, I saw you were friendly with the early-childhood education department girls last time. Can’t you introduce me to them?”
“Why do you only help Dong-jun?”
“Honestly, I’m better than Dong-jun.”
“Even if I am, you’re still... nah, never mind.”
In the middle of all that, Seo Dong-jun suddenly asked, “Come to think of it, hyung, are you not on Cyworld? I don’t think I’ve ever seen your mini-homepage.”
“I do have one. I just barely manage it. I don’t even go on much.”
“Huh? Really?”
“Uploading photos, decorating with acorns... all that stuff is a pain.”
At my answer, the classmates stared at me blankly for a moment, then nodded as if they had come to a conclusion of their own.
“So that’s what a real popular guy is like.”
“Yeah, when you’re really handsome, girls just come looking for you anyway, even if you don’t manage it.”
“Right. Hyung probably gets dozens of secret guestbook messages on the board just by sitting still.”
“It’s the kind of homepage that isn’t open to men.”
“Life really is unfair.”
“......”
They were drumming and dancing for themselves.
Then the conversation swung back to Seo Dong-jun’s crush, Yeonsu.
“Dong-jun. Then can’t I ask you to introduce me to your girlfriend’s friend?”
“I told you, she’s not my girlfriend yet. We’re not at the point where I’m introducing her friends to my friends yet.”
“What a stingy bastard. If Dohyun-hyung asked, you’d do it right away.”
The classmates kept chatting noisily as they walked, and I trailed a step behind them, mulling over their conversation.
Cyworld...
It was the symbol of social media in Korea right now.
From students to office workers, everyone wanted to get their hands on Cyworld’s currency, the little acorn, and people were staying up all night surfing through friend networks.
But I knew something they didn’t.
I knew Cyworld was going to die soon, and I knew why.
The inconvenience of having to visit someone’s homepage just to see their photos.
The closed, exclusive nature of the friend system.
The bloated platform that was completely incapable of adapting to mobile.
People just didn’t realize how inconvenient it was yet, because smartphones still weren’t that common.
But now the Galleon smartphone had started spreading, and even Apple phones were beginning to arrive. Soon people would realize just how annoying a social network was when it was hard to use on a smartphone.
And outside Korea... Facebook is already eating up the global social networking market.
But Facebook still hadn’t fully adapted to smartphones either.
And while you could upload photos to Facebook, text was still its main thing.
It didn’t fully satisfy people’s desire to show themselves.
The search engine Search is on track, and my negotiation with Jobs is done.
Then it was time for the next step.
Now that I’d seized the search market, it was time to seize social networking too.
And in my head, I already had a social network that would be an unquestionable success.
The intuitive, image-centered social network that Facebook would later fear so much it would try to buy it for a fortune—one that wasn’t built around text.
Instagram.
It looked like it was time to make that happen.
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