The auditorium at the Busan Industry Summit hung on Park Minho's every word as he unveiled his vision of Industry 4.0. The mention of "artificial intelligence" sent a jolt through the crowd, especially among electronics industry bosses and technicians. Their eyes lit up, gears turning. AI wasn't new, but Minho's framing—tying it to internet-connected production machines—sparked a revelation.
*AI controlling factories?* The idea hit like lightning. Production equipment, often limited to repetitive tasks, relied on human workers for flexibility. But if machines could network, programmed in real-time via the internet and steered by AI, the game changed. Big data could optimize output, predict demand, and self-correct errors. Human roles would shrink—drastically.
Technicians whispered, piecing it together. Current automation was clunky, but AI-driven lines? Feasible. Industrial robots could handle material transport between machines. With enough R&D, a prototype smart factory could exist in years, not decades. The cost was steep, but the tech was close. Industry 4.0 wasn't a distant dream—it was knocking.
A chill settled over the room. Electronics experts saw the future: fully automated plants, workers sidelined. Were they on the cusp of the fourth industrial revolution, doomed to endure its early pains? Most bosses, outside tech, stared blankly, grasping only Minho's ominous tone. TV viewers, millions strong, felt unease creep in, sensing a world where jobs vanished.
Minho, unfazed by the tension, pressed on. "Artificial intelligence is evolving fast. New algorithms emerge yearly, making AI sharper, more specialized. Soon, we'll see industrial AI—systems tailored for manufacturing."
He paused, sighing. "When AI-run factories arrive, a global industrial shift will follow. Imagine: a 24/7 robot workforce versus human workers needing wages and benefits. Which do bosses pick?"
Silence fell. TV audiences froze, dread sinking in. Minho's words painted a stark future—unemployment, obsolescence. Few knew how close this was. In 2015, Korea's top phone maker, Hancom, ran its flagship line with 97 workers; by 2020, only 14, thanks to "smart factory" tech. Eighty-three jobs vanished in five years. The crowd didn't know this future, but Minho's warning stirred primal fear: *Will I be replaced?*
Sensing the unease, Minho shifted gears. "So, how do we face Industry 4.0's transformation? Unskilled labor's future is dim—smart factories need fewer hands. For ordinary people, I have three suggestions."
The room leaned in, bosses frowning, elites scribbling. Minho faced the cameras, speaking to millions. "First, learn electromechanical engineering. Industry 4.0 will cut jobs, but machines need designers, maintainers, repairers. Electromechanical skills will always have demand."
He ticked off another finger. "Second, dive into computers. IT's the core of Industry 4.0. With the internet booming, coding, AI, and tech jobs are goldmines."
"Third, consider entertainment. Movies, music, novels, games—Industry 4.0 won't touch these. As automation grows, entertainment will employ millions."
The crowd exhaled, some nodding. Minho's advice was practical, a lifeline for the anxious. Ni Kwang-soo, on the jury, clapped softly, his faith in Minho soaring. Academician Choi jotted notes, impressed. Xu Jia-Hu, Jaehan Mobile's CEO, scowled—Minho's vision outshone his low-cost phone strategy, stealing the summit's spotlight.
Big Kim of JunSeok, Korea's e-commerce giant, stood nearby, thoughtful. "Mr. Park," he called, rising. "What will life look like post-Industry 4.0?"
Kim's interest was calculated. Manufacturing shifts didn't touch JunSeok's online shopping empire. Smart factories or not, people bought goods; JunSeok thrived as a middleman. Industry 4.0 was irrelevant—only competitors like AliKor could threaten him. But consumer lifestyles? That shaped his business. *How will ordinary people live?*
Minho rubbed his chin, the *Ultimate Imitation Emperor System* feeding him glimpses of future tech trends. "The future's the big data era," he said. "Computers will dominate, their power skyrocketing. Factory machines will network first, but so will home devices. One day, one smartphone could control your entire house—lights, fridge, TV, everything."
The crowd gasped, imaginations firing. A phone as a universal remote? It sounded sci-fi, yet plausible. Ni's eyes gleamed; Choi nodded, scribbling. Xu's scowl deepened—Minho's consumer-tech talk hinted at Hansung's ambitions beyond phones. TV viewers, millions strong, leaned closer, awed. MaumNet was already buzzing: *Genius! Hansung's visionary!*
Minho's speech wasn't just a pitch—it was a movement. Hansung's Labor Edition 12—rugged, cheap, rural Korea's darling—sold 180,000 monthly, aiming for 10 million. Its walnut-smashing fame on MaumNet was no fluke; Minho's *Ultimate Imitation System* ensured its edge. Now, tying it to chips and smart factories, he'd made Hansung Korea's hope.
Xu plotted, Jaehan's low-cost phones a looming threat. Gao Yang's schemes, Yang Joon-ho's sabotage—they'd tried to bury Minho. But Ni and Choi Sang-Woo's endorsement, the crowd's roar, and MaumNet's hype lifted him. The mobile war beckoned, giants circling. Minho saw the detour—chips, AI, Industry 4. Hansung's climb was unstoppable, and Korea was his stage.
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(end of this chapter)