Rebirth in Southeast Asia

The financial manager looked a little surprised. "Facebook? Harvard students? What kind of investment is this, Marlon? Some kind of social media?"

"Exactly," I confirmed. "This will revolutionize communication in the future. I want us to get in as angel investors from the very beginning."

Angel investors are individuals or companies who provide initial capital to very young startups, usually in exchange for equity. This is a high-risk investment, but with the potential for massive returns if the startup succeeds. And I knew exactly that Facebook would be a huge success.

"I want us to be part of their initial funding," I explained. "Just do whatever it takes, offer a competitive price, but make sure we get in."

I had a clear vision in my mind: if successful, this investment would become the largest stake I might ever own in the future. Its value would surpass even my shares in military or commodity companies. This was the key to solidifying my position as a major player in the tech era.

I knew that finding an unknown startup at a large campus like Harvard and convincing its founders to accept investment from a 'foreign' angel investor wouldn't be easy. But I had faith in my trust fund team's capabilities. They had proven themselves countless times. This was a bold step, leaping far into the future, and I was ready to take the risk.

Governor's Cup Taekwondo

Amidst all that business hustle, I didn't forget my world as a teenager. When I was in my first year of junior high, there was an important announcement at school: there would be a Governor's Cup competition for Taekwondo! Of course, I was enthusiastic.

My school decided to send representatives, and because my skills were already above average (with a black belt first dan at that age, who wouldn't be impressed?), I joined in representing the school. I would compete alongside older students from 8th and 9th grade who were also skilled.

Our training was intensive. I was often asked to be a sparring partner for my seniors or help them refine their techniques. Even though I had mastered many things, every training session and competition was an opportunity to sharpen myself, test my mental fortitude, and stay humble. I wanted to prove that the years of discipline and training I'd put in were paying off, not just in business, but also on the Taekwondo mat. This was a different arena, but it equally required strategy and determination. I was ready for this challenge.

The long-awaited Governor's Cup Taekwondo competition finally arrived. This prestigious event was held at Universitas Pendidikan Indonesia (UPI), one of the largest and most famous campuses in Bandung. The atmosphere there was vibrant, filled with the spirit of young athletes and the cheers of supporters.

I went to the competition venue along with my school friends who were also representing the Taekwondo extracurricular. We traveled as a group, guided by teachers and coaches. The journey from school to the UPI Campus was exciting, full of laughter and talks about match strategies. What surprised and pleased me was that my school gang friends were also allowed to skip school to come and support me! They arrived in their characteristic style, some in slightly modified school uniforms, others in cool casual wear.

Their presence gave me a special boost of morale. They weren't just playmates, but loyal supporters too. They sat in the spectator stands, occasionally shouting my name or our school's name with burning enthusiasm.

Besides my peers, there was one presence that made me a little nervous but also very happy: Hana. She was my close female friend at school, and she was an 9th-grade senior. I remember clearly that in my previous life, Hana was one of the most beautiful women I still remembered. Her face was graceful, her smile captivating, and she always seemed calm. Seeing her sitting in the stands, wearing a school t-shirt and smiling at me, doubled my spirits. Her presence felt like a good luck charm.

When it was my turn to compete, my heart pounded. I stepped onto the mat, bowed, and got ready. My opponent looked strong, but I knew I had trained incredibly hard. All the years of physical training I had diligently pursued, combined with unwavering mental discipline, were now paying off.

I went through match after match. I used the techniques I had mastered, combining speed, strength, and strategy. I saw proud expressions on my coach's face, enthusiastic cheers from my school friends, and Hana's sweet smile. All of it gave me extra energy.

Finally, after several intense rounds, I reached the final. And there, with firm determination, I fought with everything I had. The final whistle blew. The referee raised my hand high. I did it! I won a gold medal at the Governor's Cup!

The exhaustion immediately vanished, replaced by euphoria. I ran to my coach and friends, hugging them one by one. Joyful shouts filled the arena. I saw Hana smiling broadly, giving me a thumbs-up. For me, this gold medal wasn't just an award, but also proof that discipline and hard work would never betray the outcome. It also became a sweet memory of my junior high years, where I not only did business but also achieved real-world accomplishments.

Time passed without me noticing. After winning the gold medal at the Governor's Cup, school continued as usual. I was now in my second year of junior high (8th grade). Life at school remained the same, with challenges and friendships I tried to keep positive.

However, there was one change that I felt in my heart. Hana had graduated from our junior high. She continued her education at a private high school in Bandung. With the difference in schools, our connection was severed. There were no more daily interactions, no more shy smiles in the hallway. I didn't see her as often, let alone meet her.

In my previous life, I might have been very sad. Losing contact with my first 'puppy love' could have been a big blow for a teenager my age. But this time was different. I had already lived to be 30. I knew very well that relationships come and go. Some arrive, some leave. Some stay forever, some only pass through briefly. So, I didn't need to take it too seriously. The joy of having been close to her was enough. I still held sweet memories of Hana, but I knew life had to go on.

In this second year (8th grade), I was still active in the Taekwondo extracurricular. I continued to train diligently, and my skills became more refined. I even passed the selection to participate in the Porda (Regional Sports Week) representing Bandung City. This was a bigger and more prestigious event, at the city level. I was very enthusiastic and eager to bring honor to Bandung.

The Porda competition went smoothly, and I managed to show my best performance. After a tough competition with other athletes from across the city, I once again won a gold medal! A sense of pride and emotion enveloped me again. I imagined this was the first step towards a higher level, perhaps national training (Pelatnas) as often rumored.

However, my happiness didn't last long. A few weeks after Porda, it was time for the athletes to receive their bonus money. I remembered clearly that in my previous life, I had only heard whispers about this issue but had never experienced it myself. Now, I personally felt what I usually heard: the athletes' bonus money was corrupted by the Porda officials.

I and several other athletes were called to collect our bonuses. The amount of bonus we were supposed to receive was quite substantial, as promised. But what I received was far below expectations.

"Sir," I asked one of the Porda officials distributing the money, trying to stay calm but with a clear tone of dissatisfaction. "Why is my bonus this much? It was said that for a gold medal, the amount would be so-and-so." I mentioned the amount it should have been.

The official, a middle-aged man with a stern face, looked at me cynically. "This is what you get, kid. You don't need to ask too many questions. That includes deductions for operational costs, training, and administration."

"But Sir, operational deductions should have been budgeted separately. This is bonus money, the athletes' right," I argued. I knew that in the future, the issue of corrupted athlete bonuses was an open secret.

"You're just a kid and already complaining so much!" the official snapped, his voice rising. "Do you think it's easy to manage all of you? If you don't like it, fine. But remember, if you keep this up, don't expect to enter national training or participate in higher-level competitions. We decide who can and cannot!"

The threat was clear: if I protested, my sports career would be over. Hearing that threat, a surge of anger swelled within me. However, I immediately took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I had seen this repeatedly in the future, corruption deeply entrenched in various lines of government and organizations.

From that moment on, I decided one important thing: I would retire from any involvement with the government regarding sports or anything else. I no longer wanted to deal with such a corrupt and nepotistic system. This gold medal was my personal achievement, not for them.

I had a bigger goal: to build a clean and professional "Sundawani business empire" that could provide real benefits without getting caught in a dirty cycle like this. That gold medal became a valuable lesson about how difficult it was to clean up a rotten system and how important it was to build one's own strength outside their control.

After the incident of the corrupted Porda bonus, I couldn't stay silent. I knew this was an opportunity to use the power we possessed. That night, I told my father everything.

"Dad," I said, my voice still filled with annoyance. "My Porda gold medal bonus was corrupted. They cut a lot from it, and when I protested, they even threatened not to put me in national training."

My father listened carefully, his usually calm face now flushed with anger. "What?! How dare they! What's his name?"

I mentioned the name of the official I met. My father clenched his fists. "This cannot be tolerated, Marlon. They've stolen the athletes' rights, and it's not just yours!"

I knew Dad cared deeply about justice, especially with his background in the media world. His anger was a natural reaction.

The Power of Media Speaks

The next day, my father sprang into action. He used the media power of Grandpa's, which was now partly managed by him and my uncles. The daily newspaper Grandpa founded, which had a wide reach in Bandung and West Java, became the battlefield.

Investigative reports began to surface. Big headlines adorned the front pages: "Porda Athletes' Bonuses Disappear, Officials Suspected of Corruption!" or "For the Sake of Corruption, Athletes' Futures Are Jeopardized!"

"Dad deployed our best journalists, son," my father told me one morning, his eyes full of vigor. "They're searching for evidence, interviewing other athletes who've experienced similar issues, and uncovering all the unclear fund allocations."

The conflict intensified. The Porda officials, of course, didn't accept it. They tried to deny it, even threatening to sue our media. But Dad wasn't intimidated. He had all the data, including information I had whispered to him about a larger corruption scheme.

"They tried to cover it up, even calling it slander," Dad recounted. "But our evidence was strong. Other athletes were also brave enough to testify after seeing us take the lead."

Public pressure grew. Article after article kept coming out, revealing disgusting details of the corruption. Finally, the pressure from the community and local government became unbearable. The corrupt officials were removed from their positions. Not only that, they were also heavily condemned by all segments of society. Their names were tarnished, and some were even further investigated by the authorities.

Retiring from a Rotten System

Seeing the results of my father's struggle, I felt a little satisfied. The corruption had been exposed, and the perpetrators received their just desserts. However, deep down, I knew this was just the tip of the iceberg.

"Even so, Dad," I said to him after everything had calmed down, "I'm sure that even if the officials are removed, the system will remain corrupt. Maybe new people will come in, but the pattern of corruption could easily repeat. This is a bigger problem than just a few individuals."

My father nodded, understanding my concerns. He knew that cleaning up the system would require far more time and commitment.

"That's why, Dad," I reiterated my resolve, "I've decided to retire from sports activities related to the government."

My father looked at me. "Are you sure, son? You have great potential."

"I'm sure, Dad," I answered firmly. "I don't want my talent to be exploited by greedy people. I'll keep training, keep myself fit, but not to chase medals whose bonuses will later be stolen. I have a greater purpose, which I can build with my own hands, without having to depend on a rotten system."

And so it was. After the sensational corruption scandal in Bandung, my life returned to the path I had planned. I continued to focus on my education and the development of Sundawani business. Unbeknownst to me, time kept turning, and suddenly, the year 2006 arrived. I was getting older, and my visions were becoming clearer.

The year 2006 was full of emotional turmoil for me, between the grief of Grandpa's passing and the anger over the Porda corruption. However, amidst all that, the big opportunity I had been waiting for finally came. That morning, the phone from my Singapore trust fund manager rang.

"Marlon, big news!" the manager's voice sounded incredibly enthusiastic. "Google contacted us. They're interested in acquiring YouTube."

I smiled faintly. This was it! I knew this moment would come. YouTube, the video-sharing platform I had started in 2001, was now well-known internationally as a video-sharing website. Its growth had been incredibly rapid, far exceeding many people's expectations at the time.

"I agree to sell it," I said without hesitation. There was no reason to hold onto YouTube alone. Google had the infrastructure, reach, and financial power to develop YouTube to the next level.

"But," I continued, "I have a condition. Besides money, I'm also asking for Google shares."

My trust fund manager paused for a moment. The request for shares was an unusual strategy for a sale. Typically, companies want to receive full cash.

"They've offered a fantastic figure, Marlon," the manager said. "Reportedly, Google is ready to pour about 1 billion USD into YouTube. That's a very large sum for a company that's only been around for just over a year."

I knew from my previous life that Google actually acquired YouTube in October 2006 for about 1.65 billion USD in stock. But in this world of mine, I aimed to be an angel investor from the beginning, so my position might be slightly different. The 1 billion USD figure was already remarkable.

"No problem," I replied casually. "I'm not just looking at cash, but also long-term potential. I want a part of Google's future itself. Offer them 1 billion USD and 1% of Google's shares for all the YouTube shares we own."

The trust fund manager was surprised. "1% of Google shares? That's a very ambitious figure, Marlon. Google's valuation is very high."

"Just try it," I said. "Explain to them that YouTube is an invaluable future asset. Its usage is massive, and its advertising potential is huge. Without YouTube, Google will fall far behind in the online video market. This is the best investment they can get."

Negotiations between my trust fund team and Google were quite tough but eventually bore fruit. Google, who was very eager to dominate the online video market after the failure of their own video platform, Google Video, finally agreed to my offer.

In that same year, specifically at the end of 2006, the deal was officially reached. YouTube was no longer mine. My ownership of YouTube was officially exchanged for a cash sum of 1 billion USD and, more importantly to me, 1% of Google shares!

This was a huge victory for me. At such a young age, I had successfully executed one of the biggest strategic sales in the technology world. The 1 billion USD would become a massive capital to expand the Sundawani business empire. And owning 1% of Google shares? That was a golden ticket to the pinnacle of global economic power. I knew this investment would multiply my wealth many times over in the future, far exceeding the initial value of YouTube itself.

The news of YouTube's sale to Google for a fantastic amount made me eager to share it with my father. I returned home with a wide smile, looking for Dad, who might be reading the newspaper or busy with his office matters.

"Dad!" I called enthusiastically as I found him in his study.

My father turned, "What is it, Marlon? You look very cheerful."

"I have big news, Dad!" I said, unable to contain my excitement. "YouTube, that video company I invested in, has been acquired by Google!"

My father frowned. "Acquired? For how much?"

"One billion US Dollars, Dad! And one percent of Google shares!" I exclaimed, trying to keep my voice from shouting too loudly.

My father was silent. His expression showed incredible shock. Even though our family was already very wealthy from Grandpa's inheritance and my previous investments, 1 billion USD was still an astonishing sum. His face turned pale, then he smiled faintly, as if disbelieving.

"One billion dollars... That's a very, very lot of money, son," he whispered, as if trying to process the number. "You're truly incredible, Marlon."

Even though I was now a 'young billionaire' thanks to my investments, my father remained humble. He still worked at the media company my grandfather founded, as an employee there. Not because he needed the money, but out of his love for the media world and to continue Grandpa's legacy. For him, it was a form of dedication and loyalty.

"Well, Dad," I said, returning to the business topic. "With this money, I have big plans for Sundawani."

I explained my plans to Dad. "I've told the trust fund team to add a large sum of money to our existing property companies in Indonesia. Specifically, to realize the projects we've prepared."

My father looked at me with sparkling eyes. He knew I always had big ideas.

"I plan to build two large complexes, Dad," I said, full of enthusiasm. "The first, a Creative Space complex, and the second, a Sport Space."

"Each of these complexes will be built on land we've already purchased, covering 30 hectares," I explained. "So, a total of 60 hectares will be developed."