Chapter 219: The Giant Board

While I was reviewing a document sent by the Advanced Industrial Policy Division, Seong-hwan came in.

“I’m not sure if this was the right move.”

Seong-hwan sighed as he plopped down on the sofa.

“If you hadn’t sent it, MTCR or ITAR would’ve sent some kind of warning anyway.”

It was much better for the warning to come through Seong-hwan, who I could control, rather than directly from them.

“MTCR has already sent an official inquiry. ITAR was more blunt.”

ITAR, the International Traffic in Arms Regulations, had issued a strong warning that proceeding as planned would result in a complete ban on the export of U.S.-made components.

“That’s why I told you to send the ‘launch prohibition notice’ first. We needed to buy time.”

“So, what’s the plan now?”

“First, I’m thinking of disclosing the core technology of the launch vehicle.”

Seong-hwan’s eyes widened at the unexpected statement.

“Disclose the launch vehicle technology?”

“Not all of it. Only the parts that can prove it’s ‘impossible to militarize.’ For example, the closed-loop structure of the ECR module, the propellant residue recovery process, and simulation data proving the algorithm only works for satellite orbit changes.”

Seong-hwan crossed his arms.

“Will that be enough to convince MTCR?”

I shook my head.

“That alone won’t be enough to convince both MTCR and ITAR. So, I’m also planning to launch an international joint development project simultaneously.”

“Who’s the partner?”

I smiled.

“We’ll have to select those who contribute the most investment.”

“That’ll dilute our equity significantly.”

It was only natural that our equity would decrease the more investors participated.

“We’ll establish ‘Luna Link’ as a subsidiary of Dojin Frontier, with Frontier holding at least 30% of the shares.”

I wanted to hold more than 51% of the shares, but that would likely not get approval from the U.S. government.

Perhaps because of this, the worry didn’t leave Seong-hwan’s face.

“Doesn’t that mean we could lose control in the worst-case scenario?”

“Maybe. But don’t worry about it. I have a plan.”

Seong-hwan looked like he was about to ask what the plan was, but I spoke first, cutting him off.

“And finally, since ITAR’s issue is with U.S.-made components, we’ll replace all parts with Korean and Israeli supply chains.”

Any components that could be used for missiles will be supplied in pieces, and we’ll ensure each piece is certified as ‘non-military use.’

That way, even the U.S. won’t have grounds for sanctions.

And one more thing.

Just then, my phone rang.

[Caller: Gideon Ben Ari]

He was an Israeli arms dealer right in the middle of the U.S. defense lobbying network.

＊＊＊

In the reception room of Palo Alto, California, MTCR Executive Chairman Henry Brewster placed his coffee cup on the table with a subtle expression.

Sitting across from him, Elon Merkus spoke with his characteristic intense gaze.

“Henry, I have no doubt you’re working for ‘international security.’ But… do you know something dangerous is about to happen in South Korea?”

Brewster’s eyebrows twitched slightly.

“Dangerous? Are you talking about the Luna Link project Dojin Frontier is pushing?”

“Right. Those guys copied what took me ten years to achieve and caught up to me in less than three years.”

Merkus swiveled the tablet on the table.

The screen displayed the Leviathan reusable launch vehicle and the Luna Link satellite network plan side by side.

“I’ve seen this too. Either they’re bold or they have something up their sleeve—they used Asymmetric Dimethylhydrazine (UDMH) as the propellant.”

Brewster frowned, noting it was the toxic rocket fuel used in Cold War-era ICBMs.

“For the sake of global security, not just me, such a propellant shouldn’t be approved for civilian commercial projects.”

Elon Merkus’s voice was firm and powerful.

Brewster leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

“According to MTCR regulations, there’s definitely grounds to halt this. But…”

“But?”

Merkus’s eyes flashed sharply.

“That ‘but’ is news you won’t like.”

Brewster leaned against the chair’s backrest.

“Dojin has officially announced they’ll disclose their ECR catalytic reformer technology. It includes over 99% toxin removal, full recovery of residual propellant, and a closed-loop structure.”

Merkus scoffed.

“That’s just a show. You don’t actually believe that makes it impossible for military use, do you?”

As Brewster was about to respond, his phone rang.

He hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Henry Brewster here.”

[Henry, it’s me, Gideon Ben Ari.]

The voice on the other end was low but pressing.

[About the Leviathan… you’re not thinking of rejecting the approval, are you?]

Brewster’s expression hardened.

“Gideon, this is an MTCR matter. You know that…”

Ben Ari cut him off.

[I know. But Dojin has stated they’ll switch all propellant components to in-house or Israeli supply chains. So, it’s not subject to ITAR review.]

“Even so…”

Brewster’s voice was low.

“You know there are several clauses under MTCR that could still apply.”

He tapped the table, listing the points one by one.

“First, the UDMH+N₂O₄ combination itself falls under ‘Category I.’”

He cited the risks: long-term storage, immediate launch capability, and compatibility with mobile launch platforms—perfect for ICBMs.

“Second, if the payload exceeds 500kg, it automatically falls under the 300km range condition and is subject to control. As you know, Leviathan far exceeds this criterion.”

“Third, if any part of the propulsion, guidance, or fuel system has a military history, review can be halted regardless of the reason. UDMH has a long military history.”

Brewster spoke firmly.

“These three reasons alone are enough for rejection.”

Ben Ari, knowing this well, didn’t bother to deny it. But his voice was relaxed as he responded to Brewster.

[Right, Henry. That’s the ‘letter’ of the MTCR regulations. But this case can’t be stopped by the letter alone.]

“What… do you mean?”

Ben Ari chuckled.

[Dojin’s CEO, Kang Tae-joon, said they’re turning the Luna Link project into a multinational ‘international joint development project,’ not a solo endeavor.]

He also mentioned that partners in the joint development project would include the European Space Agency (ESA), the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO), the Israel Space Agency, and emerging Southeast Asian space agencies.

[They’re also planning to recruit additional investors beyond the partners I just mentioned.]

Brewster’s expression changed.

“…So, they’re trying to avoid ‘Category I’ that way?”

[More accurately, they’re eliminating any grounds for objection. There’ll be a multinational monitoring team on-site, with real-time sharing of the entire process for launch vehicles, satellites, and propellants. Plus, as you know, they’ve officially announced the disclosure of ECR technology, guaranteeing residue recovery, closed-loop structure, and an algorithm that prevents military orbit changes.]

Brewster leaned back, exhaling deeply.

“True… if they do that, the only grounds we’d have to object would be ‘security threat.’”

Ben Ari responded immediately.

[Even that ‘security threat’ frame seems to have collapsed already. Based on what Kang Tae-joon posted, the media is calling this ‘next-generation global internet infrastructure.’ If you try to block this, MTCR will be labeled as an outdated international organization stifling innovation.]

Brewster glanced at Merkus sitting across from him.

He had asked to meet Brewster to hold Dojin back, but there were no grounds to do so now.

“…Alright. We’ll let the official procedures pass. But make sure they implement international monitoring, real-time data transmission for each launch, and pre-reporting of propellant production volumes.”

[Dojin was probably prepared for that much.]

As Ben Ari was about to hang up, Brewster added one more condition.

“If they’re pushing the Luna Link project under the name of a multinational international joint development project, Dojin’s equity should not exceed 30%.”

Ben Ari couldn’t help but chuckle at the equity level that matched Kang Tae-joon’s prediction exactly.

“What’s so funny? Is it difficult? If so…”

[No, no, not at all. I’ll make sure to convey that they won’t hold more than 30% equity, as you said.]

Henry Brewster was the one taken aback by the unexpectedly quick agreement.

Even after hanging up, he couldn’t shake off his confusion.

As Brewster pondered, Merkus’s bitter voice reached his ears.

“He’s definitely a very strategic guy.”

“…What do you mean?”

“Dojin, I mean. Since they couldn’t proceed with the Luna Link project alone, they’re willing to disclose technology and share equity to push the project forward.”

“So, you’re saying they made that choice solely for the project?”

Merkus trailed off, stood up, and looked out the window.

“It’s more than that. In my view, he’s designing a massive ‘board.’ Even if there are no issues now, someday that very board might ensnare us… no, me.”