Xu Hua's sharp critique of triple play hit its mark, exposing its Achilles' heel with surgical precision.
"As expected of the mobile industry's titan," Mr. Lee, LenKor's CEO, said with a nod, impressed by Xu Hua's insight.
Xu Hua, ever the diplomat, deflected the praise with a smile. "Hardly. I'm sure you, Boss Lee, could spot triple play's flaws just as easily. You're the expert in internet and computer tech, after all. I'm just a humble phone maker."
Mr. Lee chuckled, charmed by Xu Hua's modesty. "Ha, you're too kind."
"Triple play's really that tough to pull off?" Park Minho murmured to himself.
He knew the hurdles. The biggest wasn't equipment—Korea had the talent to build triple play gear. No, the real roadblock was the tug-of-war between the three network giants: telecom, cable, and internet. Their interests clashed, making integration a nightmare.
But in 2004, triple play wasn't as daunting as it'd become later. Now was prime time to push it—internet speeds were crawling, stifling digital growth. By 2008, speeds would hit 2MB, fast enough for videos, dulling the urgency for integration. As backbone networks grew, speeds would climb, and triple play's appeal would fade.
Right now, though, Korea's 512KB-1MB speeds sparked public outcry for upgrades. Triple play could jump that to 4MB-8MB, delivering 2014-level performance a decade early. It was the cheapest, fastest way to supercharge Korea's internet and industries. The era demanded it.
"If we can produce affordable triple play equipment, the higher-ups might push hard for it," Minho mused, his tone questioning but confident. He trusted the government's resolve to drive progress.
The three networks' squabbles were a hurdle, but a single directive from above could settle it. Like siblings bickering, a parent's word could end the fight. The real challenge was cost-effective equipment.
Internet switches were pricey—hundreds of thousands to tens of millions of won per unit. Low sales volume kept chip and component prices sky-high. A low-cost triple play solution hinged on mass-producing affordable chips, but that was no small feat. Chip development had plagued Korea for years; it wasn't a quick fix.
Minho sighed, realizing Hansung couldn't tackle this now. Even if it could, Hansung's small scale couldn't handle the massive investment or reap the rewards. "Focus on phones first," he muttered. Hansung needed to cement its mobile market share before chasing new ventures.
Spreading too thin—diving into telecom now—would stretch resources to breaking. One misstep, and Hansung could collapse. Triple play wasn't his fight yet. The government would need months to vet the idea anyway, debating feasibility and navigating corporate politics. No rush.
"The real issue is how to make a bigger splash here," Minho said softly.
His triple play pitch had turned heads, but it wasn't enough. The summit's end proved it—no one approached him to network. To most, he was a lucky upstart, maybe parroting someone else's idea. Hansung's name barely registered.
"I need to seize every chance to speak and nail the final speech," he resolved.
The summit's closing session was a free-for-all where industry leaders shared their visions for Korea and the world. Media would amplify the best speeches, reaching millions. It was the ultimate platform to elevate Hansung's profile and make its phones a national name.
Minho's triple play moment was a start, but the speech was his shot at true fame. With the *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System* powering his phones and his foresight into tech trends, he had the tools. Xu Hua's dismissal, Yang's envy, the crowd's indifference—they'd all see. Hansung wasn't a fluke. It was a force, and Minho was ready to prove it.
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(end of this chapter)