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In a bustling corner of Gyeonggi Province, Park Minho stood at a crossroads. If you had a mobile phone in Korea's rural market, it was like being the first call a recruiter makes when they're hunting for workers. They'd dial you up before trekking out to someone's doorstep.
Owning a mobile phone wasn't just about staying in touch with family or friends—it was a ticket to opportunity, a chance to rake in some cash. That's why the rural market in Korea, even with its modest 50 million population, could prop up a top-tier mobile brand.
In later years, big names like Saehan Mobile would stumble, and even giants like KyungTech and Pantech would fade. But brands like Yutian, laser-focused on rural needs, thrived well into the smartphone era. If it weren't for smartphones crashing prices and flooding the countryside, Yutian might still be standing tall.
The rural market *craved* mobile phones—not flashy ones with big screens or sleek designs, but rugged, practical devices. They needed phones that were cheap, durable, drop-resistant, with strong signals, loud speakers, and batteries that lasted days. Nail those, and you'd have a hit.
Park Minho knew this was the key to cracking the rural market. But the Hansung 3rd-generation phone? No chance. Its parts were too pricey, jacking up the retail cost. There was no way it could hit the "cheap" mark rural buyers demanded.
"I can't believe I'm circling back to square one," Minho muttered with a wry chuckle.
To hit that "cheap" sweet spot, he'd have to ditch cutting-edge processors. The first-generation MediaTek MT6205 chip was the obvious pick—reliable and budget-friendly. For durability, older chips and parts were the way to go; new tech was too fresh, prone to glitches. That meant falling back on the Hansung 2 as a foundation, which left Minho shaking his head.
But even the Hansung 2 wasn't quite right. It wasn't built for the rural grind—its durability and cost were still too high for migrant workers. Minho needed to design a phone from the ground up, tailored for Korea's countryside. It had to check six boxes: cheap, durable, drop-resistant, great signal, loud audio, and long battery life.
To pull it off, Minho gave himself a week. He'd rework the Hansung 2, slap on the new Hansung mobile operating system—still nameless—and make it a rural market superstar.
Decision made, he turned to Secretary Chen Ho. "Chen, alongside hiring new staff, get more vehicles ready. We'll need them to haul equipment and salespeople to towns for events and sales. I'm designing a phone for rural migrant workers by May 5th. It's built for the countryside market, and our sales team's main job will be driving to towns to push it."
"Yes, sir," Chen Ho nodded, jotting down Minho's orders with precision.
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**Gyeonggi Province, Donglin Town, Crane County**
At the train station square in Donglin Town, a small hub with under 80,000 residents, something was brewing. Tents were popping up, catching the eyes of curious locals. Despite its size, Donglin was a hotspot for migrant workers, thanks to its train station, a gateway for folks from nearby towns heading to bigger cities.
The station drew all sorts—circus troupes, vendors hawking wool sweaters, even motivational speakers. So when outsiders started pitching a tent near the entrance, it sparked intrigue. Was it a cultural show? A fire sale? Locals were already planning to swing by after lunch to check it out.
They didn't have to wait long. In under an hour, the tent was up, and a booming voice echoed across the square: "Big news! Hansung Technology's in a bankruptcy crisis! Phones originally priced at 66,000 won—now just 29,900 won!"
The announcement blared again, rattling the crowd. "Hansung Technology's in a crisis! Phones worth 66,000 won, now only 29,900 won!"
A grizzled farmer in the crowd scoffed. "A phone for 29,900 won? That's a scam. No way a phone's that cheap."
In 2004, even the cheapest phones cost over 50,000 won. Half that price? Impossible. Did the factory workers not need to eat? "Bankruptcy crisis" sounded like a tired marketing ploy. He'd heard it all before—"Boss Kim ran off with his sister-in-law, owing 3.5 billion won!" That one stuck in his head, mostly for the sister-in-law bit.
Sure, a 29,900-won phone might exist, but it'd probably fall apart in a week. The farmer smirked, dismissing it as junk.
But then, the outsiders upped the ante. As a crowd gathered—curious but skeptical, not one person buying—a car rolled up. A young salesman grabbed one of those 29,900-won phones, held it up for all to see, and *tossed it under the car's wheel*. The crowd gasped as the vehicle rolled over it with a crunch.
Silence.
Hundreds of townsfolk and travelers stood frozen, jaws dropped. They'd just watched someone "savagely" crush a phone worth 29,900 won. Even if it was cheap, that was money! Who just *throws* a phone under a car?
"Are these guys insane?" the farmer muttered, echoing the crowd's stunned expressions. Shock and disbelief rippled through the square as they stared at the grinning salesman, wondering if he'd lost his mind.
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(end of this chapter)