Chapter 122: MIRAGE
A few days later, at Dojin Soft.
I entered the office, and Han Yu-ju was waiting for me.
“Did you check the materials?”
“Yes, I checked them, and the security team has also partially analyzed the SDK sample from A-ple.”
“How was it?”
Han Yu-ju explained while showing me some materials on her laptop.
“For now, it seemed neatly packaged. The technical documentation was concise, and the structure was developer-friendly. But… it was too clean.”
“Too clean?”
It meant they couldn’t find any anomalies.
“We can’t confirm what they’re hiding right now, but they’ll soon reveal their claws.”
I smiled and nodded.
“To prepare for that, we need to sharpen our claws even more than them.”
Han Yu-ju adjusted her posture.
She felt it too.
This fight wouldn’t be a short-term battle but a long-term one.
However, if this goes well,
we might be able to completely secure control of the mobile platform, breaking through the closed ecosystem of jOS.
“Nops will definitely want to subordinate Lunar to jOS.”
While maintaining jOS’s closed policy,
they plan to impose restrictions on Lunar to hinder its growth.
They cleverly packaged it under the name of a compatibility framework.
Han Yu-ju also easily grasped A-ple’s intentions.
“UX compatibility framework. It sounds good, but in the end, they want to define our Lunar as a subordinate platform of jOS. They’ll also try to make our app distribution channels dependent on their guidelines.”
If we naively accepted their claim that getting jOS certification would easily grant us access to the North American and European markets, we might end up shedding tears of blood.
“It may seem like cooperation now, but someday they’ll try to place their own ‘control module’ on top of the Lunar we created.”
I tapped the table with my fingers for a moment.
“To avoid that, we just need to grow faster than jOS.”
“How?”
I moved to the whiteboard and started writing down my thoughts.
Tap, tap, tap.
As the black, red, and blue markers filled the whiteboard,
Han Yu-ju’s face showed surprise.
Soon, I stopped writing and began explaining what was on the whiteboard.
“Until now, we’ve only focused on creating the OS. Lunar’s structure, APIs, frameworks, kernel… and so on. But they didn’t stop there; they built an App Store on top of jOS and then linked it to a content ecosystem and community.”
I pointed to the four large circles I had drawn on the whiteboard.
Each circle had a word clearly written inside:
[OS], [Store], [Service], [Community]
Han Yu-ju nodded as she looked at what I said and what was written on the whiteboard.
“Indeed, jOS wasn’t just about device operation; it was designed to encompass the entire user ecosystem.”
I created Lunar by referencing the completed jOS and Android from before the regression.
But Steve Nops created this ecosystem solely based on his own thoughts, without any references.
Though we’re competitors, this showed why he was called a legend.
Anyway, I pointed to the second circle this time.
[Store]
“We also need to create a dedicated Lunar App Store. An ecosystem where only apps suitable for Lunar, like KTalk, Ani-pung, and Pang Pang, are gathered. And we’ll directly review the apps uploaded there and share revenue with developers.”
Han Yu-ju’s eyes sparkled.
“A-ple will be most uncomfortable with us opening our own App Store.”
“That’s for sure.”
One of Nops’s grand plans
was to integrate the App Stores of jOS and Lunar to maximize their profits.
I pointed to the [Service] item again.
“Services need to be more aggressive. Even including KTalk, Ani-pung, and Pang Pang, there aren’t many right now, but we need to bundle everything from mail, calendar, streaming, games, to cloud storage, so users can live entirely within the Lunar ecosystem without any issues.”
Han Yu-ju looked worried.
“It sounds like you’re talking about a completely self-sufficient ecosystem. Is that even… possible?”
“We have to make it possible.”
I drew another circle on top of the fourth circle, [Community], on the whiteboard.
“Community isn’t just about SNS. It needs to be a structure where developers, users, and content creators can actively interact within the Lunar ecosystem.”
In the Dojin Soft development meeting room.
“Let’s go with the codename Lunar Nova for the next version of Lunar.”
The team members looked up at my words.
“All API structures will remain open-source, as before. Instead, we’ll create an independent SDK that only works on the dedicated Lunar App Store and embed Lunar-exclusive features into this SDK.”
The intention was to ensure compatibility but deliver true performance only in the Lunar environment.
Han Yu-ju added a comment.
“So, contrary to jOS’s expectations, we’re going to exploit their weaknesses?”
I nodded lightly.
“And the UX compatibility framework Nops mentioned? We’ll create an even higher level of compatibility than what they requested.”
“Huh?”
“Instead of following jOS’s standards, we’ll set our own. We’ll change the structure so that only devices meeting our criteria can run on jOS.”
I decided to call this the ‘reverse compatibility framework.’
Han Yu-ju, who was listening, exclaimed.
“Wow… if we do that, we can truly turn the tables on A-ple.”
“The key to this is making Nops think we’re following behind him.”
But the path I’m about to take will be one they’ve never walked before.
…
…
That night.
Spring rain quietly scattered outside the window of the top floor of Dojin Industries.
On the desk lay an unopened laptop.
And next to it was a printed document of an email Nops had sent a few hours earlier.
One clause at the bottom of the document caught my attention.
“Lunar OS must include at least three modules according to the A-ple UX certification framework and must prioritize jOS compatibility when making future SDK changes.”
I read the clause over and over again for a long time without saying a word.
The last sentence on the printed document.
“…must prioritize jOS compatibility when making future SDK changes.”
No matter how many times I read it, the interpretation was the same.
“This… means they want us to design our OS according to their SDK.”
Nops’s intentions became even clearer.
On the surface, it seemed like cooperation, but in reality, it was a poisonous clause that eroded Lunar’s freedom.
“They want to forcibly transplant their UX modules into the system I developed.”
Though it’s unlikely,
if this goes through, Lunar would no longer be mine.
The technology would exist, but control would be in their hands.
I placed the printed document on the table.
‘Nops… he’s even more cunning than I thought.’
Suddenly, something came to mind, and I opened the desk drawer.
Deep inside was a hard-cover notebook.
On the cover was a sentence I had written half-jokingly, half-seriously:
[Midas: Pre-War Notes]
Midas: Records Before the War.
It was a personal document filled with notes and ideas I had jotted down whenever I had time right after the regression.
I immediately opened the first page of the notebook.
After flipping through a few pages, I selected one line and read it quietly.
[A platform is not a system but a belief.]
The next day, in the Dojin Soft meeting room, I wrote a new sentence on the whiteboard.
[Project MIRAGE: Lunar Shadow API Framework]
“What’s this?”
Han Yu-ju looked at me curiously.
“What Nops wants is control over Lunar, but with MIRAGE, I plan to only show them the surface.”
The meeting room was quiet as I continued my explanation.
“This framework will appear to perfectly implement the UX compatibility Nops requested, but in reality, the actual API calls will only operate through an independent structure we designed internally.”
“So, we’ll provide full compatibility with jOS, but we’ll retain actual control?”
As expected of Han Yu-ju, she immediately grasped my intentions.
“Right. Nops will think Lunar is subordinate to them, but we’ll make them fall into the illusion of MIRAGE instead.”
Of course, to do that, we absolutely couldn’t let A-ple discover the real design structure.
MIRAGE was the Lunar reflected in the mirror we sent to A-ple.
At A-ple’s headquarters in Cupertino.
Nops was quietly reading a report on Lunar.
It stated that Lunar had quickly responded to the SDK specifications he had sent.
Marcus Sheldon, A-ple’s Chief Software Architect (CSA), approached Nops.
“Do you think Dojin will move as we expect?”
Nops, putting down the report, replied calmly.
“From what I’ve heard, Dojin Tech mainly deals with camera modules, and they’ve only been making mobile devices for less than a year. A company like that couldn’t possibly have experience with platforms.”
Sheldon nodded but had a peculiar expression.
“But… there’s something strange.”
“Strange?”
Sheldon displayed a few log graphs for Nops.
They visualized Lunar’s SDK response times, API usage rates, and UX module call paths for each device.
“The paths Lunar uses to call jOS UX modules perfectly match our design. However…”
Sheldon pointed to one side of the screen.
“Here, the API responses are cut off within 1 millisecond. It’s as if the responses themselves are pre-rendered.”
“Are they using pre-set response values?”
Nops raised one eyebrow.
“It’s not certain. But it seems like they’re waiting for the requests we expect and only sending out pre-prepared responses.”
Nops watched the graphs for a while and then turned his gaze away as if it were nothing.
“In the end, they’re just imitating us.”
Sheldon scrolled through the screen and said,
“Even so, I still find it strange. The design is too straightforward. Even the exception handling is identical to the examples we distributed.”
“Sheldon, they’ve only been making smartphones for less than a year. Do you think they can grasp the ecosystem we’ve prepared for years in one go?”
“That’s true, but…”
Nops stood up and patted Sheldon’s shoulder reassuringly.
“The name Mirage says it all. It’s an illusion. On the surface, it seems to follow our ecosystem, but in the end, it’s just a shadow we created.”
Sheldon didn’t respond further,
but his gaze remained fixed on the screen.