Korea JoongAng Daily - Daily News from Korea

Digital locks became standard in Korea through apartment living, frequent moves and a growing preference for convenience and security.

Ask a Korean when they last used a house key, and many will pause.

Some will admit they don't remember. Others will say they've never owned one.

In much of the world, a key ring is a basic tool of adulthood — one for the front door, maybe one for a bike lock or a mailbox.

In Korea, that ring has all but disappeared. Enter a code, scan a fingerprint, tap a card: the front door opens with no metal involved.

About 80 percent of Korean households use a digital door lock, compared with 40 percent in Japan, 35 percent in Europe and the Americas and 14 percent in China, according to a report by the Korea Trade-Investment Promotion Agency (Kotra).

Korea's lock industry also says the country was the first to commercialize the technology.

Experts say the reason lies in how Koreans live: mostly in large apartment complexes built to the same specifications, and in a rental market where tenants come and go often.

The keypad on almost every Korean front door traces back to a thief who used copied keys.

While working as a software engineer at Daewoo Electronics' central research lab, Ha Jae-hong read a news story about a woman in her 50s who was arrested after stealing about 500 million won ($372,000) from upscale saunas in Gangnam District, southern Seoul, using copied keys. She had used the money to send her three children abroad to study.

The story gave Ha an idea: a lock whose code changes every time it opens, so that a copied key would be worthless.

He founded a company in 1997 to build it. In 2001, it was renamed iRevo, the maker of the Gateman lock.

In 2004, the industry estimated that about 18 percent of Korean homes had a digital lock and projected that the share would reach 51.4 percent by 2006. Most newly built apartments were already installing them.

The locks were expensive at first, and older rental housing held on to keys for a while.

"Until around 2004, 2005, 2006, a lot of the studio apartments near universities still had keys," said Lee Eun-hyung, a research fellow at the Korea Research Institute for Construction Policy. "Roughly speaking, [digital locks] spread widely from the 2010s, even to ordinary houses."

Prices fell as the locks spread.

"The cheap ones got really cheap — under 100,000 won, some for just tens of thousands of won — so there's no burden in terms of price," Lee said.

Lee also pointed to the Korean temperament.

"We Koreans are a bit impatient, and [we] don't like inconvenience," Lee said. Compared with digging through a bag or pocket for a key, then sticking it in a lock and turning it, a code or a card tap is simply easier.

Even the keypad is starting to go.

Property platform Zigbang's Haven lock, released in 2025, has no number keypad at all — the company says it was the first in Korea to drop it. It opens with face recognition or a phone app, which can also issue temporary passwords.

Housing explains much of it.

Apartments made up 65.8 percent of Korea's 20.18 million homes in 2025, according to the Ministry of Data and Statistics.

"Korean apartments are a highly standardized form of housing that supplies anywhere from several hundred to several thousand units at once with set specifications," said Jung Heon-mok, a professor of anthropology at the Academy of Korean Studies who has studied Korean apartment complexes. "So once a particular fixture is adopted, it can quickly settle in as a kind of 'standard feature.'"

How firmly Koreans now expect a keypad became clear this summer.

In July, Hoban Construction opened a model home for a new apartment complex in Gimpo, Gyeonggi, where residents are scheduled to move in in 2030. A model home is a full-size show unit that Korean builders set up so buyers can see an apartment years before it is built.

Visitors found that the front doors came with a standard key lock. Complaints spread on online communities and on Blind, an...

Ukraine asked South Korea to keep the transfer of two North Korean prisoners of war secret from the start of their talks, South Korea's spy agency told lawmakers Wednesday, supporting Seoul's account in a dispute that has led it to summon Kyiv's top envoy and demand an apology.

The two governments agreed on confidentiality through "several channels," including a phone call between their foreign ministers and talks between South Korea's embassy in Kyiv and Ukraine's Foreign Ministry, the National Intelligence Service (NIS) said, according to lawmakers briefed behind closed doors.

Ukraine has not expressed regret or apologized "officially or unofficially," the agency said. Kyiv denies any such agreement.

The row pits two governments that have been on the same side since Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022.

Analysts in both countries point to a gap in expectations as the source of the dispute. Kyiv likely expected something in return for the handover, while Seoul calls it a humanitarian matter "not tied to any other precondition or issue."

The two men, identified by the surnames Ri and Baek, were among an estimated 14,000 to 15,000 troops North Korea has sent to fight for Russia since 2024.

Ukrainian forces captured them in Russia's Kursk region in January 2025, the first North Korean soldiers taken alive in the war.

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky made them public, posting their photos and interrogation video and offering to return them to North Korea in exchange for Ukrainians held by Russia. The two later said they wanted to go to South Korea, whose Constitution treats North Koreans as its citizens.

They arrived in mid-September. The NIS said it had confirmed several times that the men wanted to come to South Korea and that they had no major health problems.

Seoul said nothing until Sept. 23, when Zelensky announced the transfer at the United Nations General Assembly.

President Lee Jae Myung in an X post on Sept. 24 called the disclosure "deeply regrettable," saying Ukraine had breached a confidentiality agreement. Zelensky's office denied any agreement existed, and on Monday, Seoul summoned Ukraine's acting ambassador, Andrii Vieshkin.

Kyiv's position has narrowed: a senior Ukrainian official told the Financial Times that the foreign ministers discussed the transfer in June, but no secrecy agreement was reached at the presidential level. The NIS said it "does not know" whether the two presidents agreed.

Kwon Ki-chang, a former South Korean ambassador to Ukraine, told the Korea JoongAng Daily that understandings on a humanitarian case like this are normally reached orally, through the embassy and the host country's foreign ministry.

"Leaving a written record for a single case like this would actually be unusual," he said.

Nor could the two sides have read "confidential" differently, Kwon said. "Keeping it confidential means not informing the media and not announcing it publicly. It is a very commonsense agreement."

Ukraine asked first because publicity could hurt its prisoner exchanges with Russia and with third countries, the NIS said.

Seoul's presidential office has also said Kyiv worried about criticism at home for giving up a chance to trade the pair for Ukrainian prisoners.

Russia had offered to free thousands of Ukrainians for the pair, Ukrainian Foreign Minister Andrii Sybiha said privately during a late-June visit to Seoul, according to a diplomatic source.

"From the standpoint of Ukrainians, turning down such an offer and sending the two North Koreans to South Korea makes no sense," Kwon said. "Because of that burden, I think [Kyiv] proposed keeping it confidential."

Nataliia Butyrska, an associate senior analyst at the New Europe Center, a Kyiv-based think tank, said Russia "even delayed prisoner exchanges for six months" trying to get the men back.

"Ukrainian society has generally been understanding of the decision to transfer the prisoners of war to South Korea, as South Korea is widely view...

Back in the day, when K-pop wasn't even a term, there was a singer known by the moniker "God of Vocals."

That singer, Lee Seung-chul, was both a hitmaker and one of the country's biggest live draws. Songs like "Heeya" (1988), "Never Ending Story" (2002) and "No One Else" (2009) are still considered classics of his generation.

Forty years after his debut, he is still going strong — and still hungry to sing and connect with his fans.

To mark the milestone, Lee is launching a project series in which he teams up with younger artists on a mix of brand-new songs and remakes of his past hits. First up is a collaboration with WOODZ, who wrote the duet "Our Story" as a tribute to the 59-year-old singer.

"I've always told myself I'd rather be a working singer than a legend," Lee said at a press conference held Tuesday in Hannam-dong, central Seoul.

"I thought I would retire around my 30th anniversary, but something unimaginable is happening now. It feels overwhelming to receive a tribute song from a singer like WOODZ, and I thought to myself that I should sing even harder," Lee said, tearing up.

For WOODZ, collaborating with Lee was more than just singing a duet.

"I call him abuji," WOODZ said, using an affectionate, colloquial form of abeoji, the Korean word for father.

"He's the same age as my dad, who passed away a few years ago. My dad was a huge fan, and I grew up listening to Lee's songs and singing them with him at noraebang (Korean singing room). I think my dad would be jealous of me right now."

"Our Story" is a mid-tempo rock ballad with a message of hope and comfort.

"I imagined what it would be like at my 40th anniversary as a singer who just greeted 12th. One of the dominating feelings for me now is that if there's no listener, everything I do becomes meaningless. So I imagined that Lee would have that mindset of wanting to give back to his fans. This song contains love toward fans and consolation," WOODZ said.

Looking back on his early days, Lee recalled a very different era for Korean pop music.

When he debuted in 1986 as the lead vocalist of the Korean rock band Boohwal, it was an era of strict censorship, including broadcasting. Singing in English on TV shows was banned, and even dyeing one's hair or wearing sunglasses were restricted.

"When I see K-pop thrive now, I just think to myself that I want to be reborn," Lee said with a chuckle.

"BTS singing at the World Cup was amazing. K-pop singers now vie for the Grammys, which was unimaginable back then. Through the audition program 'The Scout,' I'm trying to live out the dream I never got to fulfill."

"The Scout" is an audition program launched early this year by Lee on a cable channel.

Lee's past 40 years haven't been without ups and downs. Notably, he underwent surgery for vocal cord nodules in 2018 and had to rest for nearly three years. At one point during recovery, he couldn't speak a single word for a month.

For a singer who wishes to stay visible and audible to his audiences, that break was frustrating. But according to Lee, that hiatus eventually brought back his voice stronger than ever.

"This is the second song I've released since the surgery. It was such a good song that I didn't have much problem singing it despite initial concern because WOODZ has such a high pitch and I thought I wouldn't make it," Lee said, adding he listened to the demo more than 500 times to mimic how WOODZ sang it.

"Now, I sing in a way that ditches Lee Seung-chul. I try to follow what the producer and the song creator want rather than insisting on my style."

Lee has his schedule packed through next year.

After performing at university festivals, the latest barometer of successful K-pop acts, he resumes on a nationwide concert tour in November, followed by a world tour next year.

"I want to be a singer people listen to and think of as naturally as they breathe, someone they hum along to like the sound of their own breath," he said.

"Let's meet again at my 50th anniversary."

"Our Stor...

Ambassador Mikael Hemniti Winther discusses his forthcoming Seoul song, Denmark's welfare model, offshore wind cooperation and Nordic cuisine.

Seoul's ambassadors are often gastronomes keen to share a taste of their home cuisine. In this series, the Korea JoongAng Daily asks the diplomatic corps to introduce our readers to their favorite restaurants representing cuisine from their homelands, while chatting about issues of interest to our Korean and global audience. — Ed.

Danish Ambassador to Korea Mikael Hemniti Winther follows a personal rule for nearly every diplomatic posting: Write a song about the host country, and if possible, shoot a music video to go with it.

The hobby dates back at least to a 2001 posting in Vietnam, where he fronted a band with a fellow diplomat and played Western music at venues across Hanoi.

"I realized slowly that you can put the two things [diplomacy and music] together, and sometimes use one trade to reinforce the other," Winther said during an interview with the Korea JoongAng Daily on Sept. 16.

Now more than a year into his term in Seoul, Winther has wrapped up recording his newest track with a Korean producer. Its working title is "Alleys of Seoul."

To most Koreans, Denmark conjures Legos, bicycles and Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales — but also one of the world's happiest countries, with a welfare model that they want to study.

Asked what Korea — already a superaged society — might take from Denmark's welfare model, Winther turned the question around. Trust, rather than high tax rates, is the real starting point, he argued, since a society accepts high taxes only once it trusts that the government will spend them fairly.

"This is one of my favorite questions," he said. "Trust in society, in my opinion, comes basically from the fact that government can be trusted. [...] We have the lowest corruption level in the world. Some of this willingness to pay taxes is connected to that."

Over lunch at Acid House, a natural wine bar serving Nordic dishes in the posh Sinsa-dong neighborhood of southern Seoul, Winther described how Copenhagen turned into a genuine culinary heavyweight. Copenhagen counted 21 Michelin-starred restaurants holding 31 stars combined in this year's Michelin Guide Nordic Countries, including three restaurants with three stars — more than any other Nordic capital.

"Danish food culture has only become interesting, honestly, in the last 30 years," he said. "We were a farming country, not very international, for many years, [...] so our food didn't develop much."

That started to change only after decades of exposure to French and Italian cuisine, and later Thai, Chinese and Japanese food, with a small but growing wave of Korean restaurants now opening in Copenhagen.

The rest of the conversation moved through the 75th anniversary of Denmark's 1950-53 Korean War hospital ship, the nation's offshore wind initiatives and why Seoul — rather than Tokyo — was chosen to host Denmark's Asian innovation hub.

Below are excerpts of the interview, edited for length and clarity.

I came from China before. Shanghai and Seoul have something in common: very hardworking, very dedicated, an extreme focus on education in families, extremely high trustworthiness.

I ride an Italian scooter around — very popular in Seoul, so I bought one too — and I'm never worried about it. I think that I could leave it with the keys in and disappear for four hours, and someone would run after me and say, "You forgot your key."

[I've also noticed that] Korean people are more direct than anyone I've met. You're almost as direct in conversation as Danish people, and we are more direct than anyone in the Nordic countries.

I have a very serious hobby: I play guitar, sing and write songs during my diplomatic missions. I slowly realized that you can put the two things together and sometimes use one trade to reinforce the other. Here in Seoul, people have said, "We don't want to hear your Shanghai song; we want to he...

Influential Time Out just named Seoul's Jongno 3-ga the "coolest neighborhood" on Earth, citing its "effortless mix of old and new" as its greatest charm.

But Jongno 3-ga is just one example of what Seoul offers to those seeking that same blend of style and grit.

Here's a list of similar — but lesser-known — neighborhoods in Seoul where you can experience an authentic local vibe, as well as a curated itinerary.

Mullae-dong first developed as a residential area for Korean laborers in 1941 during the Japanese occupation of Korea (1910-1945). In the 60s, it became an industrial town focused on manufacturing steel parts, but in the 1990s, businesses began losing ground to Chinese competitors. Many companies shuttered, and in their place flowed young artists. Throughout the 2000s, Mullae-dong made a rare successful turnaround, organically regaining its vibrancy as a youthful and artsy town whose new culture coexists with the remaining industrial leg.

Seongsu is a neighborhood that speaks for itself. A towering Dior flagship, a five-story Olive Young, not one, not two, but at least five Musinsa shops packed within a few blocks and the buttery aroma of freshly baked salt bread wafting through the streets. But this is only a depiction of the southern part of the neighborhood. The northern section, dubbed "Buk Seongsu," with buk meaning north in Korean, remains largely untouched by the rapid commercialization affecting its southern counterpart. The area, roughly north of the Seongsu Station overpass, has retained much of its industrial identity established in the 1960s. It boasts printing houses, machinery shops and car repairs still in full operation. And it is perhaps this slower, more grounded atmosphere that is increasingly drawing in locals, remote workers and trend-savvy tourists looking to avoid the usual hot spots.

Some call it drab. Others call it retro. Either way, Euljiro is too cool to care. An old industrial town, the neighborhood was an empty lot, cleared by the Japanese colonial government in the 1930s as a firebreak. It then became a refuge for displaced people after the Korean War and soon transformed into one of the city's most infamous red-light districts. As Korea industrialized through the 1960s and '70s, Euljiro evolved into a cluster for printing presses, hardware shops and metal workshops that helped propel the country's manufacturing boom. It also played a crucial role during the pro-democracy movement by producing underground materials in secret. But by the 1990s, Seoul's economy shifted south, and Euljiro declined. Only recently, artists, designers and young entrepreneurs rediscovered its gritty charm, converting workshops into cafes, bars and studios — earning the neighborhood a new nickname, "Hipjiro."

Nuha-dong, just west of Tongin Market near Gyeongbok Palace, strikes a balance between modest commerce and residential calm. Dating back to the late Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910), it is still home to around 600 residents, historic diners and national heritage sites, as well as small upscale restaurants and exceptional bakeries. The adjacent Okin-dong and Nusang-dong neighborhoods also offer boutique shopping experiences. These neighborhoods are still far from flashy, though. Some may even call them boring, and perhaps they are, especially for modern travelers with itineraries and expectations. What makes this corner of Seoul worth visiting is the reward it offers those willing to linger.

Dapsimni in eastern Seoul has long served as an area people pass through or briefly congregate in. It was never the most glamorous commercial district compared to central Seoul's Insa-dong, but perhaps for that reason, the traces of the old neighborhood remain especially pronounced. Today, the area is split in two by the wide Cheonho-daero boulevard. North of the road, the remnants of the past seem more prominent, with old villas, low-rise apartment buildings and shops that have stood for decades. South of the boulevard, rede...

With thousands of Koreans marching on downtown Seoul, an unprecedented direct warning from Tehran and mounting retaliatory pressure from U.S. President Donald Trump, Seoul is caught in an especially tight geopolitical vise.

Six months after the United States first requested naval assets to secure the Strait of Hormuz, Korea's potential contribution has become one of the most consequential — and volatile — foreign policy decisions of President Lee Jae Myung's term.

As of mid-September, the government insists no final decision has been made. However, a confluence of alliance politics, domestic opposition and economic leverage is forcing Seoul into a corner.

The pressure traces back to March, when Trump asked several allies, including Korea and Japan, to consider sending naval assets to the Strait of Hormuz as the U.S.-Iran war disrupted oil shipping.

While Tokyo's reluctance gave Seoul cover to remain noncommittal through the spring, Trump recently began singling out Korea by name.

In an Aug. 16 post on Truth Social, Trump wrote that the Korean president had turned down an offer to join the "Denuclearization of the Islamic Republic of Iran" — a rebuff he said he would remember. He cited Korea's reliance on the Strait of Hormuz for about "35 percent" of its oil as a reason he expected help, a story he repeated to reporters the following day.

Alongside the rhetoric, Washington ordered a sharp curtailment of Ulchi Freedom Shield, the annual Korea-U.S. military exercises, a move widely read in Seoul as retaliation.

By early September, Seoul shifted from stalling to active planning.

The Ministry of National Defense dispatched an inspection team to the United Arab Emirates (UAE) over the Sept. 6 weekend to assess operating conditions. The team reportedly assessed bases and logistics support in the UAE, where Korean troops are already stationed to train local forces and where the U.S.-operated Al Dhafra Air Base could serve as a staging point.

Foreign policy watchers tie the pressure to money as much as to security.

Korea's $200 billion strategic investment pledge to the United States — the centerpiece of last year's tariff deal — has stalled for roughly ten months. Washington appears to view the delay as deliberate avoidance, using the Hormuz deployment as a test case for an ally it perceives as milking security guarantees while slow-walking economic commitments.

However, the logjam may be breaking.

Industry Minister Kim Jung-kwan returned from Washington on Sunday, confirming that the two nations are "close to an agreement" on the investment structure, which is capped at $20 billion annually. Leading candidate projects reportedly include a combined-cycle gas power plant in Encina, Texas, and a massive project to build eight nuclear reactors in the United States.

Whether finalizing the deal this week will satisfy Washington — or if the Hormuz question will remain a bundled point of leverage — is likely to become clearer within days.

Iran has not taken Seoul's deliberations lightly.

Iranian Foreign Ministry spokesperson Esmaeil Baghaei posted an unusual warning in Korean on X on Sept. 7, stating that any country joining military operations in the Persian Gulf or Hormuz would face "serious consequences" and be treated as "supporting the aggressor."

Four days later, Tehran's Foreign Minister Seyyed Abbas Araghchi requested a call with his Korean counterpart, Cho Hyun. During the call, Cho reaffirmed that Korea has "not decided anything" on deployment and stressed Seoul's position that free and safe passage for all vessels must be protected.

The fact that Iran asked for the call suggests Tehran wanted Seoul's position confirmed directly at the ministerial level, moving beyond social media threats.

Park Hyun-do, a professor at the Sogang Euro-Mediterranean and Middle Eastern Institute, said that Iran would almost certainly strike back militarily even against non-combat assets.

"Whether it's a patrol aircraft or anything else, I think...

IBS laser-plasma researcher Mohammad Mirzaie discusses earning Korean citizenship through special naturalization, Korea's research strengths and his goal to train future scientists.

Today, however, Korea is much more than a place where he continues his research. It has become his home, a place where he has made his mark on the field and begun building a future with his family.

"The main reason why I chose Korea was that Korea had the world's most powerful laser at the time and was one of the top countries in this field," Mirzaie said. "It's not only because Korea has top-notch equipment."

He added, "It comes from all these hardworking researchers who are eager to contribute to Korea's research development and the country's efforts to provide them with the best environment and access to top-quality research equipment."

Having conducted research in Korea for seven years at the IBS Center for Relativistic Laser Science located on the campus of Gwangju Institute of Science and Technology, he has achieved several notable accomplishments, including the world's first laboratory demonstration of nonlinear Compton scattering in a strongly nonlinear regime using only an ultra-intense laser — an achievement that may help scientists one day use powerful lasers to replicate various astrophysical phenomena on Earth.

In recognition of his contributions to Korea's basic science, Mirzaie was approved for special naturalization as an outstanding talent in July.

Despite his achievements, Mirzaie said he still has much to do in his research career, as well as a bigger vision of helping foster the next generation of talent in Korea.

"Korea is still one of the leading countries in our field, and it's advancing even further," Mirzaie said. "However, for Korea to continue seeing this kind of advancement, it needs young, creative talent who can contribute to it.

He added that while top talent in Korea seemingly prefers medical school, one of his goals here is to contribute to "fostering the next generation of researchers" as "basic science is the foundation of everything."

"So, someday, I would like to continue my teaching career here [...], and I would be proud to be part of Korea's research development," Mirzaie said.

The Korea JoongAng Daily sat down with researcher Mirzaie to learn more about his career and naturalization journey, the challenges of building a career in Korea as an international professional and his advice for others hoping to do the same.

Q. Could you tell us more about your research in Korea and its potential applications?

A. My research focuses on laser-plasma interaction, where we use ultra-intense lasers to accelerate particles such as electrons and protons. We are developing a new type of accelerator that can accelerate particles over a much shorter distance than conventional accelerators, which can require kilometers of equipment.

Our goal is to make these accelerators smaller, more affordable and eventually commercially usable. For example, they could be used in hospitals for cancer treatment, as well as in imaging and security to inspect semiconductors or scan large trucks at customs.

As scientists, our role is to develop the technology and prove that it works, while companies can then help turn it into practical products. I want to help Korea retain its position as a global leader in this technology.

What was the most decisive factor that made you want to stay here and eventually sign up for naturalization?

The research environment was one of the biggest factors.

Korea offers a strong research environment, with good access to resources and equipment. For example, this entire facility is dedicated to our research, so we have exclusive access to top-notch equipment, which is rare.

Also, over time, I started to feel that Korea was my home. I was no longer thinking of myself as someone working in a foreign country, and I felt that becoming a Korean citizen would also be good for my career and life in Korea.

My family als...

South Korea and the United States cut short this year's Ulchi Freedom Shield (UFS) exercise on Aug. 21, six days ahead of schedule, after U.S. President Donald Trump ordered the Pentagon to substantially reduce the drills.

The second phase, built around a simulated counteroffensive against North Korea, was scrapped entirely.

South Korea's Ministry of National Defense says the cut has not affected the country's push to reclaim wartime operational control (Opcon) of its own military.

Defense Minister Ahn Gyu-back told the National Assembly on Aug. 20 that two evaluations tied to the transition — including one covering fire-support coordination — were already completed during the exercise's first phase.

The real test of that claim comes in October, when defense chiefs from both countries are expected to meet in Washington and decide whether to name a target year for the handover — a decision that will show whether Washington's read of this summer's verification actually matches Seoul's.

UFS, the allies' annual summertime command-post exercise, was originally scheduled to run 11 days, from Aug. 17 to 27.

The order came without prior coordination with Seoul. South Korea's defense and foreign ministries said during a parliamentary committee session that they learned of the decision only after it was posted.

Field training exercises involving troops and equipment on the ground were reduced from 17 to 14, and the drill's second week — the counteroffensive phase — was canceled outright, leaving only the first week's defensive-phase drills.

It is highly unusual for a joint exercise already underway, and agreed to in advance by both militaries, to be cut short mid-exercise.

Opcon refers to the authority to command South Korean and U.S. forces in the event of a war on the peninsula.

South Korea transferred this authority to the U.S.-led United Nations Command at the outset of the 1950-53 Korean War. Peacetime operational control was returned to South Korea in 1994, but wartime control has remained with the commander of the Republic of Korea-U.S. Combined Forces Command — a post currently held by a U.S. four-star general who also serves as commander of U.S. Forces Korea (USFK).

Under the plan both governments have pursued since 2014, that role would eventually pass to a South Korean four-star general, with an American serving as deputy commander, under what is envisioned as a Future Combined Forces Command.

The two allies are following what they call a "conditions-based" transition plan, built around three requirements: South Korea's military capability to lead the combined defense, an alliance-wide capacity to counter North Korean nuclear and missile threats and a stable security environment on the peninsula and in the region.

Progress on the first condition is measured through a three-stage process for the future command: Initial Operational Capability, Full Operational Capability (FOC) and Full Mission Capability (FMC). South Korea has been working through the FOC stage this year.

At the 57th Security Consultative Meeting (SCM) in Seoul last November, the two countries' defense chiefs agreed to pursue FOC verification within 2026 — the target this year's UFS was meant to help meet.

The 58th SCM is expected to take place in Washington in October, where South Korea hopes the two countries' defense ministers will approve this year's FOC results and name a target year — referred to in Korean planning documents as the "X-year" — for the Opcon transfer.

Korea's Ministry of Defense said on Aug. 19 that the joint evaluation planned for this year's UFS proceeded as scheduled despite the shortened exercise.

Defense Minister Ahn reaffirmed that position the next day at the National Assembly's defense committee, saying the shortened schedule did not affect the transition-related verification.

Others have taken a broader view.

Robert Rapson, deputy director of the Forum on Asia-Pacific Security at the National Committee on American Foreign Pol...

A body believed to be that of Jang Mi-ran, a 37-year-old woman missing from Jeju Island since May, was found on Monday on a palm tree farm in Hallim-eup — a roughly 10-minute walk from the guesthouse where she was last seen. It had been 104 days since she disappeared.

That she was found so close to where she vanished has intensified criticism that police squandered the golden time to find her alive. The officer assigned to her case falsely closed it the same day it was reported, fabricating a phone call to claim she was safe.

The case has gripped the nation not because of the circumstances of her disappearance, but because of the institutional negligence that followed.

The discovery has set off a fierce national reckoning over how police handle missing adults — arriving at a sensitive political moment, just weeks before prosecutors are stripped of their remaining investigative oversight powers, leaving police as the sole investigative authority for most crimes in Korea.

Jang, a long-term guest at a pension in Hallim-eup, Jeju City, was last seen on security camera leaving the property alone around 10:15 p.m. on May 12, wearing slippers and carrying only her phone.

Her boyfriend filed a missing-person report on May 15. Police searched near Hallim Port — about 1.5 kilometers (nearly 1 mile) from the pension — based on a reading of her phone's last known location, but called off the search after two and a half hours.

That same day, Bu, 32, a deputy inspector on the Jeju Seobu Police Station's missing persons team, filed a report stating that he had spoken with Jang by phone, confirmed she was safe and then closed the case.

Investigators later found no record of any call.

To remove her file from the police's missing persons tracking system, Bu appears to have logged it under a code reserved for traffic accident deaths.

Her phone stayed on with no further location changes or calls until it powered off, evidence police cited Wednesday in concluding that Jang most likely died in the early hours of May 13, hours after leaving the guesthouse.

Jang's cousin, in Seoul, filed a new report at Nowon Police Station on July 19 after the family lost contact for two months. An officer initially questioned why she was reporting an adult's absence at all, remarking that not finding her could be "good news," and only took the report after she pleaded, in tears, she has told reporters.

By the time the case reopened in July, most nearby security-camera footage that could have shown her route had already been automatically deleted under the standard 30-day retention rule.

Police resumed the search but did not locate her for another month.

A missing-person alert was not issued until Aug. 19, after the family had already begun publicizing her case themselves.

Jang's body was found Monday on an unlit palm farm with no security cameras, an area residents say they avoid at night.

It was significantly decomposed. Clothing matching what she wore when she left the pension, a phone and a gold bracelet were found with the remains.

Police said Wednesday that a medical examiner's preliminary finding attributes her death to hanging. The state and position of the remains, along with that finding, point to a low likelihood of foul play. No note was found at the scene. Forensic work, including on her phone, is continuing.

Her family says they are considering a state-liability lawsuit over how the case was handled.

On Tuesday, the Jeju District Court granted an arrest warrant for Bu on charges of dereliction of duty, fabricating and using false official electronic records, and obstructing official duties through deception.

Police say they first spotted irregularities in Bu's handling of the Jang case while searching for her in early August and formally opened a criminal case against him on Aug. 14.

He was put under emergency arrest on Aug. 22 and briefly secured release after a court agreed his arrest hadn't met the legal threshold for an emergency detention — his...

Once driven largely by interest in K-pop and Korean dramas, the network is expanding its role as a platform for academic, career and business exchanges.

HANGZHOU, China — In a modest but newly opened classroom in Hangzhou, China, rows of desks and whiteboards sit alongside displays of Korean culture, including colorful hanbok (traditional Korean dress) and musical instruments like janggu (double-headed drum). At the center of the room, a student listens intently as a passionate instructor introduces him to the Korean language and culture.

The classroom may be small, but the curiosity behind it reflects a much broader phenomenon: As interest in Korea spreads through popular culture, more people are seeking ways to pursue academic and career-related opportunities and build connections between Korea and their own countries.

Sheng Tianjia, a student in the pilot program at the Hangzhou King Sejong Institute ahead of its official opening, is learning Korean not only because of his interest in K-pop and dramas, but also because he sees the language as a gateway to deeper exchanges between Korea and China and to new academic and career opportunities.

"I had only had this cool image of Korea that I had seen in the media. But as I learned the Korean language and culture, I came to see broader things," Sheng told the Korea JoongAng Daily, recalling his first trial class at the institute.

"Now, I'm seeking opportunities to pursue academic opportunities in Korea through exchanges with Korean universities and to explore other possibilities for my future as I learn more deeply about Korea."

Sheng's experience offers a glimpse into a broader evolution in the way people engage with Korea.

For many learners, Korean pop culture remains the gateway. But what starts as curiosity is increasingly developing into a desire to learn Korean culture more deeply and build sustainable connections with Korea.

The first King Sejong Institute opened in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, in 2007, with 13 institutes cutting the ribbon across three countries, including China and Japan, that first year.

The early expansion reflected a relatively straightforward need: As more people encountered Korean dramas, pop music and other cultural content, they needed accessible places to learn the language and gain a deeper understanding of Korea, according to the King Sejong Institute Foundation.

Riding on this momentum was the Shanghai branch, which was launched during the second expansion of King Sejong Institutes in the early 2010s.

Officially designated as a King Sejong Institute at the Shanghai Korean Cultural Center in January 2011, the Shanghai branch has spent more than a decade combining Korean language education with cultural programs.

"The Hallyu influence from K-pop and dramas has been among the main reasons many people initially decided to learn Korean and came to our institute," Ren Wendi, the Shanghai King Sejong Institute's lead director, told the Korea JoongAng Daily.

But over time, institutes such as Shanghai have also sought to broaden learners' understanding of Korea beyond contemporary popular culture.

"On top of mainstream trends, we have also been incorporating traditional culture, such as traditional music and hanbok, as well as contemporary art and other diverse Korean cultural content into our programs for local learners," Ren said.

"Today, while cultural interest remains a major gateway, more and more students from various age groups, from teenagers to people in their 60s, come to our classes with many different motivations."

That evolution mirrors the broader growth of the King Sejong Institute network. The network had grown from the original 13 locations in 2007 to 248 sites in 85 countries by 2023, while more than 216,000 students studied at the institutes that year.

The foundation has also noted that more than half of its offline learners in 2022 were studying Korean for purposes including studying in Korea, pursuing academic opportunities or fin...