Invitation to the Future Technology Center
Yoon Junghyuk was the chief researcher of the IoT Systems Department at the LK Future Technology Center.
He was the sort of man who had walked the classic elite path without a single misstep. After graduating early from Seoul Science High School, he entered the Computer Science Department at KAIST—widely regarded as Korea’s finest university—as the top-ranked student, then finished his doctoral program at the mere age of twenty-four.
Afterward he spent two years as a visiting researcher at MIT, taking part in the DARR2 project under the U.S. Department of Defense. The moment he returned home, the LK Future Technology Center scouted him.
In his first year alone he registered two patents; within two years he wore the title of chief researcher. Inside the center he was already spoken of as one of the rare genius-level practitioners.
Of course he could not be compared to Kang Jinsu, the director of the LK Future Technology Center, yet he was a researcher who was doing more than well enough for himself.
That was the man who, at the request of LK Telecom Headquarters, had carved a full day out of his schedule to attend a meeting.
Having been dragged out against his will in the middle of a busy stretch, Yoon Junghyuk could hardly help feeling irritated. At first his only thought had been to finish quickly and return to the research he had left unfinished the day before. Yet as the meeting wore on, he found himself listening more and more carefully.
At the beginning and the end of that shift stood an employee named Noh Hoojin.
The man who had suddenly raised his hand and volunteered to present first calmly connected his laptop to the projector at the front of the conference room and began flipping through his materials.
“First, I believe the greatest problem with this Home AI integration project is not functional implementation, but the lack of clear responsibility between departments.”
The room fell silent in an instant. Everyone was wondering what on earth he thought he was doing. But as the slides continued to change, it became perfectly clear what he intended to say—because none of it had anything to do with marketing.
A low murmur rose from every corner.
What is he thinking right now?
“Of the feedback collected over the past three months, sixty-two percent was directly linked to actual user inconvenience, and a substantial portion of those issues arose from ambiguous zones of responsibility.”
The screen displayed statistical graphs and a summary of complaint cases.
Is he really saying this so openly?
Interest flickered in Yoon Junghyuk’s eyes.
“I saw this not as a simple technical problem, but as a failure of collaboration methods.”
The further the materials progressed, the more refined and cutting the content on the screen became. When he clearly divided each department’s role and reinterpreted the problems from a real-user perspective, several working-level staff even began to nod. Apparently they, too, had been privately dissatisfied with the current structural limits.
On the other hand, some employees—mostly superiors—openly displayed their discomfort. Noh Hoojin’s presentation had crossed far beyond the bounds of common sense.
The amusing part was that not a single thing he said was wrong.
Yoon Junghyuk himself had reviewed every previous meeting record before being dispatched here.
Well, he still nails the core.
He had been thinking the exact same problems. Yet the man went one step further.
“That concludes the structural analysis. Next are the technical recommendations.”
He summarized the existing IoT hardware communication architecture of the LK Future Technology Center in a simple diagram, then pointed out the potential bottleneck segments within that structure.
“The current protocol system uses a static priority method, yet real-use scenarios produce moments that require dynamic request distribution. In those cases I judged that certain open-source structures could actually prove more efficient.”
Huh? What did he just say?
It was a completely unexpected remark. Team Leader Jang Yujeong, seated near the front, widened her eyes into perfect circles. Yoon Junghyuk uncrossed his arms and rested both hands on the table.
The content was remarkably similar—almost identical—to the very point he had most wanted to convey by attending today’s meeting.
The Home AI system currently in use decided in advance, according to fixed rules, which data would be processed first. In actual situations, however, the importance, urgency, and traffic volume of requests constantly changed, so the priority order needed to be adjusted flexibly. Certain open-source-based architectures could dynamically regulate priority and resource allocation according to real-time conditions, delivering better performance than the existing method.
In short, it was like an emergency room that treated the most critical patients first among those who arrived.
Even more absurd was the fact that the employee currently presenting belonged to Marketing Team 3. In a certain light, what he was saying could be considered outright overreach—the very thing one had to be most careful about in cross-departmental collaboration. Yet it was also true that handling such matters flexibly produced far better results.
“Where did you see that? It’s content quite distant from your own duties.”
Yoon Junghyuk spoke for the first time. He was so curious that the question slipped out before he realized it.
Noh Hoojin fixed his gaze on him and answered.
“Code cases similar to the publicly available structure have already been uploaded to the company GitHub several times. Of course they did not match completely, but I judged the approach sufficiently predictable.”
GitHub was the web-based space where developers shared source code and collaborated. The interesting point was that understanding that content required considerable specialized knowledge. It was not something a mere marketing-team employee should have been able to grasp. If the problem had been simple enough for him to discover, other departments would already have noticed it.
Yoon Junghyuk let out a light laugh. It was not mockery; it was astonishment mixed with surprise.
“Interesting. Grasping the content couldn’t have been easy. And if you managed to figure this much out from nothing more than publicly viewable information…”
He let the sentence trail off. The words that would have followed were praise, and he hesitated for that reason. Praising Noh Hoojin right now would make everyone else from the other departments look like complete fools. Yet the man’s points had been so sharp, so intuitive, and so accurate that Yoon was certain the other employees were privately agreeing as well. As proof, the working-level staff were already taking notes with serious expressions. The team-leader level, of course, remained stone-faced.
That was the problem with companies. Formality, face, convention—those things held progress by the ankles. In that sense Noh Hoojin’s presentation was remarkably fresh. No—honestly, it was shocking.
Even after that, Noh Hoojin continued his presentation as smoothly as flowing water. He cleverly pointed out problems while simultaneously elevating the abilities and achievements of the other departments. In short, he gave the disease and then the medicine. The effect was unmistakable. People were beginning to listen to him more carefully.
He possessed a talent for captivating people.
What a truly curious person.
Yoon Junghyuk watched Noh Hoojin with an intrigued gaze.
When the meeting ended and everyone filed out of the conference room, Yoon rose from his seat a beat later. He walked slowly toward Noh Hoojin, who was packing up his laptop.
“Manager Noh Hoojin.”
“Yes, Chief Researcher Yoon Junghyuk.”
Noh Hoojin returned the greeting as naturally as if he had been waiting for it.
“I found the presentation impressive. The staff couldn’t even make a peep, could they?”
“You’re too kind.”
“But you also know how dangerous it was, right? The expertise of other departments…”
“Of course.”
Noh Hoojin cut in calmly. The manner felt as though he had anticipated everything. His eyes were perfectly clear.
“Can you handle the aftermath? Employees might raise issues.”
“If I’m wrong, I’ll have to bear it.”
Noh Hoojin met his gaze squarely as he answered. That was how certain he was.
The more Yoon looked at him, the more curiosity grew. He nodded as if acknowledging the point and continued.
“Have you ever visited the LK Future Technology Center?”
At the unexpected question Noh Hoojin tilted his head for a moment.
“I’ve never visited in person. I’ve only encountered it through materials.”
“I see. Then would you come by sometime later?”
A spark lit in Noh Hoojin’s eyes.
“Are you inviting me right now?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. Yoon Junghyuk nodded with a face free of any smile.
“Yes. Watching today, I saw that it isn’t merely sharp observation—your understanding and interpretation of technology are considerable as well. We need an external perspective for the internal tests currently underway on our side. I realized it while watching today’s presentation: that Noh Hoojin is the right person for the job.”
“I don’t possess that level of ability.”
Noh Hoojin answered with humility.
“Hahaha. I’m not trying to pressure you. Just come lightly and talk for a bit.”
He continued while carefully gauging Noh Hoojin’s reaction.
“Developers tend to fall into the illusion that they already know everything among themselves, yet there are times when you need someone who can pierce the core from an unexpected angle the way you did today. It doesn’t even have to be someone especially professional.”
Yoon Junghyuk persuaded him while giving maximum consideration to Noh Hoojin’s position. Noh Hoojin fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. He might be weighing gains and losses, or he might simply lack confidence or interest. Yet Yoon was certain of one thing: Noh Hoojin was clearly different from other people.
“Yes, I understand. I’m curious myself.”
In the end Noh Hoojin nodded and answered. The corner of Yoon Junghyuk’s mouth lifted slightly.
“Good. I’ll contact you a week in advance. Because of internal security procedures, the visit permit has to be submitted early.”
“Understood. I’ll wait.”
The two men exchanged a simple handshake. On Yoon Junghyuk’s face, subtle tension and anticipation were mixed together.
Once the morning meeting ended and the afternoon arrived, the interior of the company began to stir. Word of the meeting’s contents had spread to every department. Everywhere, the name of Manager Noh Hoojin of Marketing Team 3 started being mentioned.
The mere fact that someone from the marketing team had brought up collaboration problems and technical issues and then led the meeting was already enough to make it a hot topic. He had essentially thrown a bomb.
“Crazy, is that really true?”
“I barely managed to cover my mouth when a hollow laugh almost escaped in the conference room. He really half-killed the other teams with words.”
“Well, it’s not like he was wrong… those bad customs do need to disappear.”
“As the rumors said, he really doesn’t back down.”
“But how did the marketing team analyze all of that? They say it was GitHub materials. That’s stuff we look at and still don’t understand.”
“Right. Alien characters…”
“Rumor has it the LK Future Technology Center invited him just to show his face once?”
“No way. Do you know what kind of place the Future Technology Center is?”
Whispers never stopped anywhere in the office—conversations while brewing coffee, chats flying across the company messenger, a few employees gathered on the lounge sofas trading gossip. Some people admired him, some felt threatened, and still others openly displayed jealousy.
Especially among the working-level staff, the atmosphere was one of praise for Manager Noh Hoojin. In contrast, the team-leader level showed strong displeasure, as if their faces had been stripped bare.
By now there was truly no one left who did not know the name Noh Hoojin. And in the end, the rumor reached even the highest levels.