By 1994, the digital gold rush was in full swing, and FM Angel Investments was at its very forefront. The initial seed investments in future giants like Amazon and eBay, along with a portfolio of other strategically chosen startups, were beginning to yield staggering returns. The financial fortress built with Swiss and Cayman Island accounts was swelling with torrents of capital, flowing steadily and discreetly into Future Mind Co. However, as the passive income became a predictable, almost mundane, reality, Min-jun's personal focus began to shift from merely investing to actively creating. He was an architect, not just a financier, and it was time to build.
Min-jun knew that true power, the kind that reshaped industries and defined eras, lay in owning the foundational technologies. His Chronos Compression Algorithm was a brilliant start, but his most revolutionary insight, gleaned from countless hours of future data, was an algorithm for information retrieval – a search engine far superior to anything conceived in 1994. It was the key to unlocking the vast, unstructured data of the burgeoning internet, a technology that would become indispensable. He designated this secret internal initiative within Future Mind Co. with a fitting codename: "Prometheus." Like the mythical titan who brought fire to humanity, Min-jun intended to bring the light of organized knowledge to the digital age.
To bring the Prometheus Project to life, Min-jun needed minds capable of understanding and implementing his advanced theoretical frameworks. He couldn't risk exposing the Omni-7, nor could he afford to involve individuals who might be swayed by ambition or short-sightedness. He needed brilliance, dedication, and a certain degree of reclusiveness.
Utilizing the Omni-7's access to 2030's future internet, Min-jun scoured archived academic papers, obscure research forums, and even future news articles detailing the early careers of prominent computer scientists. He identified a handful of brilliant but currently unrecognized South Korean computer science graduates. These individuals, in 1994, were either struggling to find challenging work, toiling in obscurity, or about to embark on less impactful career paths. They possessed the raw intellect and unconventional thinking required, but lacked the opportunity or resources to realize their full potential.
Mr. Park, acting on Min-jun's precise profiles, extended highly attractive offers to these select individuals. They were invited to join Future Mind Co.'s newly established "Advanced Research Division." The allure was irresistible: a mysterious but clearly well-funded company offering cutting-edge research opportunities.
Upon joining, these engineers were astonished by the resources at their disposal. Min-jun, through Mr. Park, had quietly secured and equipped a dedicated lab with state-of-the-art technology, roughly five years ahead of the curve for 1994. This included advanced workstations, high-speed networking equipment, and specialized testing hardware, all discreetly imported via Future Mind Co.'s international channels, its provenance expertly masked.
Beyond the hardware, the working conditions were unprecedented. They were offered enormous salaries, far exceeding industry standards, and a level of complete creative freedom that was unheard of in the hierarchical corporate culture of 1990s Korea. There was only one exception to this freedom: they must dedicate their brilliance to solving the foundational problem given to them by the "Chairman."
Mr. Park, playing his role as the enigmatic liaison, convened the team. He presented Min-jun's meticulously prepared white paper on the search algorithm. Unlike the compressed version for the patent office, this was a deeper, more detailed exposition of the theoretical vision behind the search engine, outlining its revolutionary approach to indexing, ranking, and information retrieval.
"This," Mr. Park announced, holding up the document, "is the theoretical vision of our reclusive chairman. He believes this algorithm will fundamentally change how humanity accesses information. Your task, gentlemen, is to bring this vision to life."
The engineers took the document, initially with curiosity, then with rapidly dawning awe. As they delved into the mathematical constructs, the logical frameworks, and the conceptual innovations outlined in the white paper, their skepticism vanished, replaced by profound admiration. The sheer genius and elegance of the algorithm were unlike anything they had ever encountered in their academic or professional lives. It was far beyond contemporary thinking, a leap in computational theory that felt decades ahead.
They were not envious; they were inspired. To be part of such a groundbreaking project, to have the resources and the freedom to actualize such a visionary concept, was every computer scientist's dream. Their discussions buzzed with excitement, their minds ignited by the challenge. They were eager to dive into the work, driven by the intellectual pursuit itself, eager to prove worthy of the "Chairman's" seemingly boundless faith and genius.
The engineers quickly encountered formidable technical hurdles inherent in translating such an advanced theoretical framework into practical code using 1990s infrastructure. However, whenever they hit a seemingly insurmountable wall, an encrypted email would arrive, meticulously routed through Mr. Park's secure server. The emails contained "insights" – precise solutions, elegant workarounds, or subtle conceptual adjustments – that always proved to be correct and revolutionary.
These anonymous "guidance emails," always signed simply "The Chairman," were Min-jun's hand, invisibly shaping the project. He utilized the Omni-7's future knowledge to anticipate and solve problems before the engineers fully understood them, providing just enough information to keep them moving forward without revealing the impossible source. The team came to revere their unseen mentor, attributing his timely interventions to his unparalleled, almost supernatural, intellect.
In this state-of-the-art lab, under the brilliant but unseen direction of a thirteen-year-old boy, the future of information access was being meticulously crafted. The Architect's Workshop hummed with quiet, focused energy, building a cornerstone of Min-jun's empire that would eventually touch every corner of the digital world.