Chapter 25: So You Know About That

Early that morning, Junho called Dawoo Computing, gave them a rough explanation of his business idea, and set up a visit for that afternoon.

He said they could discuss the details in person, but the moment he mentioned that he wanted to install an AI computing system and also commission them to handle proxy purchasing for the related hardware and software, the person on the other end couldn’t hide the excitement in their voice.

After finishing lunch at home, Junho headed straight for Pangyo.

Dawoo Computing’s headquarters was located in the dense cluster of IT venture companies known as Pangyo Techno Valley.

Traffic wasn’t bad, so he got there in an hour, and around two in the afternoon, Junho sat down for a meeting with Dawoo Computing’s CEO, Hwang Sejun.

***

“A pension and a campground... is that what you mean?”

“Yes.”

At Junho’s answer, Hwang Sejun looked mildly troubled.

He had left a major corporation and started his company two years ago, and since founding it, this was the first client of this type he had ever dealt with.

If the young “boss” sitting in front of him—the one who had called that morning—hadn’t casually thrown around projected costs in the hundreds of millions, there would have been no reason for him to handle this personally.

“So... are you talking about things like automated lighting or a reservation system? Including setting up a website?”

“I don’t need a reservation system or a website. It’s for VIP use only.”

“Excuse me? Then...”

Looking at Hwang Sejun, who clearly didn’t understand, Junho calmly continued his explanation.

“Access control, internal environment control, monitoring storage conditions for food ingredients and logistics. A wired and wireless communication system covering the property itself and the surrounding area.”

“...!”

“A solar power generation system of at least 140 kilowatts as the main source, along with an energy management system based on a hybrid ESS battery setup of at least 500 kilowatts. And environmental management and crop-growth control systems for five greenhouses the VIPs will operate as a hobby. Various warehouses, including refrigerated and ultra-low-temperature freezer storage. On top of that, lodgings, a medical room, parking facilities, and so on.”

Meeting Hwang Sejun’s gaze as the man’s eyes and mouth slowly widened with every word, Junho said,

“The entire structure will be designed so that human handling is minimized, and the AI computing system manages everything in an integrated way. That includes setting up the servers, obviously. Can you do it?”

“...!!!”

Hwang Sejun’s mouth, already hanging open, stretched even wider into a long curve.

“Oh, absolutely! Of course we can. That’s exactly our company’s specialty.”

Even with a rough estimate, the project looked like it could bring in hundreds of millions—no, over a billion won in revenue. Hwang Sejun immediately got anxious.

Dawoo Computing presented itself as an AI-related startup, but thanks to the economic slump caused by the COVID pandemic, it had half turned into an SI company.

To put it one way, it was AI on the outside, SI on the inside—research for appearances, outsourced work as the real business.

The company was surviving on short-term contract revenue from things like making websites for small and midsize businesses, installing systems, and handling maintenance.

In a situation like this, a large client covering both AI computing systems and SI work was incredibly hard to come by.

To be honest, this was the first one since the company had been founded.

“Just leave it to us. Dawoo Computing may be a little small, but we have some of the best engineers in the industry.”

“Yes. That’s what I’ve heard for now as well. But...”

At Junho’s words, Hwang Sejun’s smiling face froze exactly as it was.

“But” meant the flow of the conversation was about to change.

“I heard a fair amount through someone I know a few steps removed, but to be honest, I haven’t personally verified your company’s technical capabilities.”

“Ah...”

Hwang Sejun tried to say something, but Junho spoke first.

“So, Mr. Hwang. Would it be possible for me to see your technical research institute in person? The work I just described will ultimately be handled by the employees there, won’t it? I’d like to meet them directly and talk things over today. Would that be possible?”

“Ah... well, see...”

“If I like what I see, I’ll sign the contract today and transfer ten percent as a deposit immediately. The estimate isn’t finalized, so I can’t be exact, but I imagine the deposit alone would be over one hundred million won.”

“I’ll personally take you there. Just give me one moment.”

Hwang Sejun’s hesitation lasted only an instant.

After asking Junho for his understanding, he grabbed his phone and hurried out of the CEO’s office.

“He’s calling Yoon Youngsu.”

Left alone, Junho muttered to himself.

Yoon Youngsu was someone he had briefly seen during the apocalypse before the regression.

And if Hwang Sejun was the company’s CEO, then of course he would know what kind of person Yoon Youngsu was.

Which meant that, with an important client about to show up, he would definitely be calling to warn Yoon Youngsu to watch himself.

Not to say anything weird in front of the client.

What kind of weird things?

Yoon Youngsu was what people commonly called an otaku.

And not just that—he was an extremely severe, terminal-level otaku.

“He was already that bad during the apocalypse... I can’t even imagine what he’s like now.”

Just as Junho muttered that, Hwang Sejun returned after what couldn’t have been more than a twenty-second phone call.

“Then shall we head over now? While a car is being prepared, perhaps you could have a cup of tea in the café downstairs in this building—”

“I just had coffee. And there’s no need to make things complicated by moving two cars, is there? Let’s take mine.”

“Ah...”

It was obvious Hwang Sejun was trying to buy time—whether to keep warning people or maybe even force a quick deep-cleaning—so Junho flatly rejected the suggestion and got to his feet.

“Yes, then shall we go?”

Together with Hwang Sejun, who was definitely smiling but somehow still looked awkward and uneasy, Junho left the office.

***

Dawoo Computing’s technical research institute was located in Songpa, Seoul, about thirty minutes away by car from headquarters.

During the drive, Junho talked at length with Hwang Sejun and was able to get a clearer sense of Dawoo Computing’s real condition—something that had been hard to figure out through website searches alone.

Hwang Sejun did his best to promote and dress up his company, but he couldn’t hide how impatient he had become after more than two years of pandemic-driven recession.

Because of that, Junho became certain his guess had been right.

Dawoo Computing’s situation wasn’t very good, and if he provided exactly what the company needed, Hwang Sejun would definitely respond favorably.

In other words, if he could just persuade Yoon Youngsu himself, things would probably go smoothly.

He felt a little bad for Hwang Sejun, who clearly wanted to grow Dawoo Computing into a company specialized in AI development and research, but the world was going to end in two years anyway.

He didn’t know what would become of Hwang Sejun after that, but Yoon Youngsu—the one Junho wanted to recruit—would survive stubbornly to the very end.

If Hwang Sejun got major revenue for the company right now, and Yoon Youngsu got a much better environment to survive in afterward—

Wasn’t that a win-win for everyone in the end?

That was how Junho justified it to himself.

“You can park over there. The parking lot’s a little narrow, right? Ha ha...”

Hwang Sejun seemed faintly embarrassed by the research institute, which was inside a four-story commercial building tucked into a narrow alley.

But Junho thought that, for an IT startup, what mattered more than the location or the exterior of the building was the simple fact that they operated a separate research institute at all. That alone showed sincerity about technical development.

“It’s fine. You use the whole floor, right?”

“Yes. The research institute is on the third floor, and part of the fourth floor is used as housing for the engineers. As you probably know, in this line of work, pulling all-nighters is basically routine. Ah, they should’ve taken this down, really...”

Peeling a flyer off the glass door at the building entrance, Hwang Sejun laughed awkwardly.

“All right, please come up.”

After climbing the stairs, Hwang Sejun stopped in front of a fire door with a sign reading Dawoo Computing Technical Research Institute Co., Ltd. and pressed the doorbell.

Ding-dong, ding-dong.

A few seconds after the chime rang, the door opened.

“Hyung—no, boss, you’re here?”

The one who greeted them was a young man in horn-rimmed glasses, about as tall as Junho had been before his body changed, but so thin he looked like he didn’t even weigh sixty kilograms.

‘Yoon Youngsu!’

Junho felt a thrill run through him.

He had thought there was a high chance Yoon Youngsu worked at Dawoo Computing, but actually seeing him in person made the feeling hit differently.

And on top of that, there was one clear difference between him and people Junho had met during the pre-regression apocalypse, like Baek Hail or Lee Dongcheol.

‘He looks almost exactly the same as back then.’

Maybe it was because he had always been so incredibly skinny, but aside from the softly wavy hair, he didn’t look all that different from how Junho remembered him during the apocalypse.

Could a person really stay that unchanged over the course of several years?

Yes.

Because Yoon Youngsu had an absurd baby face.

He was probably around twenty-five or twenty-six right now, but you could have believed he had just barely graduated high school.

That face stayed almost the same for years, and with how thin he was, plus his pale, clean-cut features, he had exactly the kind of appearance and aura people in movies or dramas would call nerdy.

But what did it matter?

“Team Lead Yoon, why don’t you open the windows and air the place out?”

“But then it’ll get cold... ah, yes, sir.”

Junho couldn’t see Hwang Sejun’s face since he was following behind him, but he could guess the expression easily enough.

He had probably mouthed a curse at Yoon Youngsu.

While the oblivious Yoon Youngsu hurriedly opened the windows, Hwang Sejun turned back to Junho with an awkward smile.

“My apologies. Our development team lead is practically the only one stationed here full-time, so it’s a little messy.”

It was obvious they had cleaned in a rush, but the lab couldn’t be called tidy even as a polite lie.

Honestly, it was a little overwhelming.

But Junho had experienced, however briefly, what kind of person Yoon Youngsu was during the apocalypse, so he shook his head.

“It’s fine. Spaces used by IT professionals are all like this. I’m sure they’re busy doing research.”

“Thank you for °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° understanding. Ah, please, have a seat over here.”

When Junho sat down on the small sofa, Hwang Sejun seemed a little reluctant to sit right beside him, so he dragged over an office chair and sat facing him instead.

“Team Lead Yoon. That’s enough. Come over here.”

“Yeees.”

The CEO had called him, and somehow even the way he walked over was that leisurely.

“Please introduce yourself. This is the client who came to commission our company.”

“Hello. Nice to meet you. I’m Yoon Youngsu, head of R&D at Dawoo Computing.”

Yoon Youngsu bowed politely to Junho in greeting, then smiled brightly and added,

“But I don’t handle website production or SI work, though? You really didn’t need to come all the way here.”

“Ah...”

Hwang Sejun let out a groan without thinking in front of the client, then jerked in alarm and was just about to say something when Junho spoke first.

“I do need SI, but I’m not building a website. I’m planning to construct a fully autonomous residential site powered by solar energy.”

“Oh...?”

“It’s similar in form to a pension or a weekend farm, but it’ll be used by VIPs. Starting with power management, it’ll integrate and control all major infrastructure—living quarters, greenhouses, warehouses, water and sewage, medical facilities. That includes security, quarantine, and wired and wireless communications as well. And if something comes up along the way that seems necessary, more could be added...”

Looking at Yoon Youngsu, whose expression was growing more and more interested, Junho drove in the final nail.

“I don’t know if you’re familiar with a game called Eternal Galaxy, but there’s an AI in it called Akina. It’s the AI that centrally manages the Galactic Federation’s battleships, and what I want is—”

“Akina!? You play Eternal Galaxy?”

Not content with interrupting the client, Yoon Youngsu blurted it out in a voice full of excitement.

Feigning surprise, Junho said,

“Huh? Eternal Galaxy isn’t very well known in Korea, so most people don’t know it. So you know about that.”

“Of course I do!”

Yoon Youngsu...

He was an otaku who had spent years obsessively fangirling over Akina, the female AI from Eternal Galaxy, a space-themed grand-strategy RPG that had started as an indie game and been released through crowdfunding, with only a few hundred Korean players in total.