Korea JoongAng Daily - Daily News from Korea

The author is an editorial writer at the JoongAng Ilbo.

Asian allies of the United States likely watched as President Donald Trump pressed a Russia-friendly proposal to end the war in Ukraine and reassured themselves that their situation would be different from that of Europe's NATO allies. The idea of "NATO without America" is no longer unfamiliar. "Asia without America," however, has remained an alien concept for U.S. allies in the region.

That confidence was not baseless. As Washington shifted strategic focus away from Europe and the Middle East toward Asia to compete with China, cooperation with allies such as Korea, Japan, Australia and the Philippines became indispensable. When Trump demanded higher defense spending, Asian allies largely interpreted it as an effort to reduce the security burden borne by U.S. forces, not as a sign of alliance abandonment on the scale feared in Europe.

Recent developments have begun to shake that assumption. After Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi spoke publicly about possible intervention in a Taiwan contingency, China responded with strong pressure on Japan. Washington's reaction, however, struck Asian allies as notably restrained. Japan, which pledged $550 billion in investment in the United States and committed to raising defense spending to 2 percent of GDP in fiscal 2025, sensed something amiss. As Chinese pressure mounted, the U.S. response appeared unusually quiet.

The situation grew more serious in December. Chinese carrier-based aircraft reportedly locked radar onto Japanese Self-Defense Forces jets. Chinese and Russian bombers conducted joint flights through the Nansei Islands, flying in a manner interpreted as a threat toward Tokyo. Japanese Defense Minister Shinjiro Koizumi quickly held a call with U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth. Yet, the Pentagon avoided explicitly citing China's threats toward Japan, instead referring vaguely to "Chinese military activities."

The White House press secretary went further, calling Japan a "great ally" while adding that President Trump maintains a good relationship with Chinese President Xi Jinping. For Tokyo, the remark was difficult to accept. Anxious to secure reassurance, Prime Minister Takaichi publicly said she would welcome an early meeting with Trump, whether in Washington or during one of his overseas trips.

These signals have fueled analysis that great power diplomacy reminiscent of the Cold War is returning, along with the risk of "great power collusion." In its recently released National Security Strategy (NSS), the Trump administration avoided the language of "great power competition" used during Trump's first term and the Biden administration. Instead, it framed U.S. policy toward China around building mutually beneficial economic relations. This marks a sharp departure from earlier strategies that emphasized resisting China's challenge.

The document appears to suggest a tacit division of spheres of influence, treating the Western Hemisphere as an American domain while implicitly acknowledging parts of Asia as within China's orbit. Hegseth reinforced that impression in recent remarks at a forum where he spoke of a U.S.-China "balance of power," a term central to describing U.S.-Soviet relations during the Cold War. The comment prompted speculation that Washington may be coming to accept a bipolar order between the United States and China. Analysts noted that compared with the first-term NSS, the latest strategy sends what they described as a more accommodating message to Beijing.

Seen through this lens, Prime Minister Takaichi's comments on Taiwan may have appeared excessive from Washington's perspective. Reports that Trump advised her in a phone call to lower her profile on Taiwan therefore remain plausible, despite official denials from Tokyo.

This shift in U.S. strategy is not a distant concern for Korea, another key Asian ally. Seoul has long worried that U.S. Forces Korea could be drawn into a Taiwan contingen...

The author is a professor of communications at Seoul National University.

In October, the Pew Research Center released the results of a global survey on public perceptions of artificial intelligence. As AI moves rapidly into everyday life and mixes promise with anxiety around the world, Korean attitudes stood out. Korea recorded the lowest share among 25 surveyed countries of respondents expressing concern about the speed of AI's spread. Overall, the findings suggest an unusually positive outlook on artificial intelligence. Koreans are quick to accept and experiment with new technologies and are highly alert to the risk of falling behind. Yet, it is worth asking whether this competitive embrace of a technology that can profoundly reshape personal identity, human relationships and even culture should be viewed as unambiguously desirable.

The experience of social media offers a useful point of reference. In the mid to late 2000s, as social media expanded alongside smartphones, it was celebrated as a liberating technology for humanity. It was said to usher in freedom of expression, democratize power and create communities that transcended geographic and social boundaries. Many believed that an ideal society, once long imagined, could finally be realized through technology. Companies such as Google and Meta staged lavish events and successfully elevated "sharing" and "openness" into unquestioned values. Before long, leaders of global IT firms were treated as visionary sages and heroes of the future.

There were warnings from scholars and critical media outlets about the shallowing of human relationships, the spread of surveillance, the erosion of reflective thinking and deepening polarization. Those voices, however, were quickly marginalized and dismissed as belated concerns. As the overlapping social problems driven by social media came fully into view, the Australian government went so far as to implement a law on Dec. 10 banning social media use by those under 16. The move drew global attention.

The rapid penetration of AI into daily life invites deeper reflection on human agency, the capacity of individuals to remain owners of their own thoughts. From the perspective of national competitiveness, it is difficult to deny the need for policy efforts to foster the AI industry and talent. No one can predict exactly how these transformations will unfold. Still, society must ask whether it will start from what technology can do and relegate humans to the remaining roles, or whether it will place human growth and values at the center and shape technology to serve them. This question should mark the starting point of media literacy. Dismissing it as a luxury in a world preoccupied with war may ultimately exact a far higher cost.

I once met students who had defected from North Korea in childhood, navigated Korea's fierce entrance exam competition and entered university. When I asked how they managed the exams, one replied that the college entrance test and essay exams were relatively easy. The hardest task, they said, was writing a personal statement. Writing about oneself felt overwhelming. In an environment where people are conditioned to align their thinking with external standards and constantly censor what they say or think, it is difficult to develop a sense of autonomous selfhood. Having a secure space to be freely oneself is also the wellspring of creativity, where unique perspectives and experiences take shape.

Media devices, such as smartphones, now hold the sum of an individual's memories, relationships and preferences. They have become part of the self, in some ways knowing us better than we know ourselves. We live in a world where private conversations can be recorded and resurface at any time, where messaging apps allow constant tracking of one another's locations and where it is hard even to grasp how our most intimate thoughts flow into massive AI systems. Once individuals hand over judgment and opinion, AI becomes ...

People Power Party (PPP) leader Jang Dong-hyeok said Tuesday that "one enemy inside is scarier than 50 outside." The remark underscored his backing of a party audit committee recommendation to suspend former Supreme Council member Kim Jong-hyuk's party membership for two years over remarks such as saying the conservative party had been "infected with a delusion virus." Jang argued that taking firm action and uniting the party mattered more than tolerating such behavior. It is worth asking whether branding a sitting local party chair as an "enemy" simply for opposing martial law is normal, or whether silencing internal criticism by force is itself a serious violation of party principles.

Recent developments suggest a troubling regression within the party. The dominant "Yoon Again" faction, which has defended martial law, has stepped up pressure on figures aligned with former party leader Han Dong-hoon, raising doubts about the party's judgment as a conservative force. The audit committee claimed Kim's remarks, including his warning that forcing everyone to speak with one voice is "fascistic," violated party rules. Critics see this as a familiar tactic of seizing on selective wording to suppress dissent.

Audit committee chair Lee Ho-seon went further by citing an Old Testament passage about an owner who fails to restrain an ox that kills people, a pointed reference widely read as aimed at Han. At the same time, Jang Ye-chan, a former youth leader identified with pro-Yoon forces, was appointed deputy director of the party-affiliated Yeouido Institute. Kim Min-soo, a Supreme Council member who has echoed arguments portraying the party as aligned with martial law, was named head of the party's public communication committee. Even within the party, voices have emerged warning that this marks the end of conservative unity.

Responsibility for this direction lies largely with Jang Dong-hyeok. As party leader, he is expected to broaden the party's appeal and lead a conservative renewal. Instead, he has failed to draw a clear line against factions that defend martial law and has been unable to manage internal criticism. Jang has spoken of redefining conservative values and even reviewing a possible party name change, but his actions have conveyed hesitation rather than resolve.

The party's ethical standing was further tested on Dec. 17 when special prosecutors sought a four-year prison sentence and a 100 million ($67,600) won forfeiture against lawmaker Kweon Seong-dong over allegations of receiving illegal political funds from the Unification Church. In such circumstances, believing that a name change alone can restore public trust reflects a shallow reading of reality.

The PPP continues to attack the Democratic Party over what it calls three "gag laws," casting itself as a defender of free expression. Yet a party that labels internal dissent as an internal enemy and responds with punishment must first ask whether it has the credibility to make that claim. A party that restricts freedom and diversity from within should reflect on whether it can still speak convincingly about democracy.

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.

This article is by Lee Jae-lim and read by an artificial voice.

SK Group has selected Doosan Group as the preferred bidder for the acquisition of a 70.6 percent stake in its semiconductor wafer subsidiary, accelerating a long-delayed divestment that could capture at least 3 trillion won ($2 billion) as part of its broader portfolio rebalancing effort.

"Detailed terms will be determined through negotiations with the preferred bidder, and the company will make a follow-up disclosure once relevant matters are finalized or within three months," SK said in an electronic filing on Wednesday. SK has been pursuing the sale since April and has held discussions with multiple private equity firms.

SK initially acquired the proposed stake of in its wafer manufacturer in 2017 from LG and financial investors for 790 billion won, in a move to vertically integrate its chip supply chain. The remaining 29.4 percent was purchased by SK Group Chairman Chey Tae-won, which was exempted from the current sale discussions.

Since last year, SK Group has been streamlining its business structure through mergers and asset disposals to reduce leverage and improve liquidity. According to government data released last year, SK had the largest number of subsidiaries among Korean conglomerates, totaling 219.

In March, SK sold an 85 percent stake in SK Specialty, its gas and chemicals affiliate, to private equity firm Hahn & Company for 2.6 trillion won. The group has also completed a series of restructures, including the merger of SK Innovation and SK E&S, the merger of SK On and SK Enmove and the divestment of environmental units by SK ecoplant.

SK siltron is the world's third-largest producer of 12-inch semiconductor wafers by market share. Markets estimate the company's valuation at more than 5 trillion won, with the transaction expected to be priced between 3 trillion and 4 trillion won.

If finalized, the deal would allow Doosan to strengthen its semiconductor business, spanning wafer production through chip testing. Doosan Tesna, acquired in 2022, specializes in non-memory semiconductor testing, while Doosan's electronics materials division manufactures copper-clad laminates used in semiconductor substrates.

Doosan began reshaping its portfolio toward machinery and heavy industry in 2007 following the acquisition of Bobcat, then a U.S.-based construction equipment maker now operating as Doosan Bobcat. After a major restructuring in 2020, the group's business is now organized around three core pillars: smart machines, clean energy and semiconductors and advanced materials.

This article is by Lee Jian and read by an artificial voice.

Korea's medical industry, which drew over 1.17 million tourists last year, is known for its speed, affordability and accessibility, with IV drips and cosmetic injections commonplace aspects of wellness culture.

From hangover cures and fatigue recovery to skin-brightening injections, many treatments are readily available at neighborhood clinics. Patients can often walk in without an appointment, receive an IV infusion and leave within an hour - typically for around 50,000 won ($34).

But the convenience that has fueled Korea's reputation as a global hub for medical treatments has also exposed regulatory blind spots. Those gaps have come under renewed scrutiny following a recent scandal involving comedian Park Na-rae that has cast a critical eye on medical practices conducted outside official medical establishments.

The 40-year-old entertainer is alleged to have received beauty-related and fatigue-recovery injections and IV drips as well as antidepressants at her home, allegedly administered by individuals known colloquially as "injection aunties."

Who are 'injection aunties'?

In director Bong Joon-ho's 2003 crime thriller "Memories of Murder," late actor Jeon Mi-seon plays a retired nurse living in 1980s Gyeonggi, just outside Seoul. She administers injections for sick neighbors at their homes while listening to local gossip, relaying what she hears to her detective lover, played by Cannes-winning actor Song Kang-ho.

Jeon's character is a classic example of individuals widely known as injection aunties. They are typically women in their 50s or 60s who have past experience as nurses or nurse's aides and illegally administer injections or medications outside medical institutions for small sums of money.

Injection aunties were relatively common in Korea during the 1970s and 1980s, when there were looser regulations on pharmaceuticals and fewer medical facilities.

While their presence has declined since the 2000s, they have not disappeared entirely, evidently.

One woman who has been mentioned in connection with Park's case acknowledged that she does not hold a medical license and said she had previously worked at a hospital. She also said that she administered medication in exchange for money without authorization, though she claimed to have stopped doing so "a long time ago."

Another injection auntie suspected of treating Park said she had graduated from a medical school in China, but authorities have been unable to verify the existence of the institution. She has since ceased posting on social media, where she previously shared her claims. Both have denied any direct involvement with Park.

Injection aunties today are found advertising their services online, including through Instagram accounts or posts on online communities.

They have also surfaced in news reports over the years. In 2017, for example, former President Park Geun-hye was found to have called an injection auntie to the Blue House. When questioned by reporters, Park said, "Because I was tired, I didn't find it appropriate to call a doctor every time I needed an injection."

One auntie was later called to court in April 2017, where she testified that she had previously worked as a nurse aide and had injected the former president with various substances for dermatological purposes. She added that after administering the injections to Park's abdomen and arm and removing the needles about an hour later, an administrative officer handed her an envelope containing 100,000 won.

In October 2020, during the Covid-19 pandemic, a cluster infection linked to so-called house call injections became a public issue as well.

Experts point to several channels through which the drugs are obtained by potentially illegal means, including rebate schemes and non-face-to-face prescriptions acquired under another person's identity.

Legal repercussions for Park?

While house calls are not strictly illegal, both the medical commun...

This article is by Cho Jung-woo and read by an artificial voice.

At 10 p.m., the lights go off at bustling private cram schools, also known as hagwon, in Seoul. At least that's supposed to be the case officially, as for years, the nightly cutoff has marked one of the capital's few formal limits on an education system that often stretches late into the night.

However, an ordinance to extend those hours until midnight is renewing questions about how far the city of Seoul should go in regulating private education, an issue of contention among policymakers, parents, students and private education providers.

For many Korean students, dependence on private education has steadily grown, driven by hopes of admission to the country's top universities, which many believe are closely tied to future employment prospects.

The government, in turn, has long sought to curb that reliance and strengthen public education, rolling out measures such as eliminating so-called killer questions from the College Scholastic Ability Test.

The latest amendment, proposed by Seoul Metropolitan Councilor Jung Ji-woong of the opposition People Power Party and initially backed by 19 other council members, a number that has since fallen to 12, has drawn nationwide attention from students, parents and civic groups alike, reopening a debate over whether longer hours would broaden learning opportunities or further entrench reliance on the private education market.

Why call for change now

Seoul's 10 p.m. curfew on private cram schools was formally introduced in 2008, after a revision to the law empowered city and provincial education offices to set their own limits on hagwon operating hours.

In the lead-up to the restriction, the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education and the city council each proposed extending operating hours beyond 10 p.m. in 2007 and again in 2008, but those plans were ultimately withdrawn amid public opposition.

In the years since, critics say enforcement has struggled to keep pace with reality.

In areas such as Daechi-dong in Gangnam District, one of Seoul's most competitive education hubs, some academies operate late-night self-study sessions that critics describe as loopholes.

According to the Seoul Metropolitan Office of Education, the number of violations for late-night instruction rose from 49 cases in 2020 to 174 in 2023.

Supporters argue that Seoul's 10 p.m. curfew is increasingly out of step with the rest of the country. While hagwon and private tutors in Seoul are restricted to operating between 5 a.m. and 10 p.m., high school students in cities such as Incheon and Busan are permitted to study until 11 p.m. In regions including South Chungcheong, South Gyeongsang, Daejeon and Ulsan, classes may run through midnight.

The pressure is particularly acute in Seoul, where both students and private education resources are heavily concentrated. According to the national statistics portal Kosis, Seoul accounted for 783,000 of the country's 5.24 million school-age children in 2024, which is about 15 percent of the total.

Critics say the proposal fails to account for how those choices play out in practice.

"People say going to hagwon is optional, but that choice doesn't really exist," said Jang Yoo-ju, a middle school student, speaking at a press conference at the National Assembly in western Seoul on Nov. 4. "When everyone else goes, you feel forced to follow. If you don't, a fear of falling behind sets in."

She then asked, "Is it normal for a society to expect teenagers to be sitting in classrooms after 10 at night?"

Private academy operators reject that argument.

The Korea Association of Private Educational Institutions claims that singling out hagwon for regulation ignores how students actually spend their nights, noting that gaming and other late-night activities remain largely unregulated. Restricting academies alone, the group says, distorts fairness rather than promoting it.

A patchwork of rules

Operating-hour limits vary widely b...

This article is by Kim Ji-ye and read by an artificial voice.

Netflix's hit cooking survival series "Culinary Class Wars" (2024-) is back with season two, and its producers promise even greater focus on the food, introducing more ingredients and dishes compared to the first one.

The first three episodes dropped on Netflix on Tuesday.

"This time, we really wanted to go all the way with the idea of letting the food lead the show," said producer Kim Eun-ji during a press conference for the show in Jongno District, central Seoul, on Wednesday. "If you watch through to the end, you'll see that far more dishes are created compared to season one."

She added that it was a result of viewer feedback from the first season, which asked for more head-to-head cooking battles. "We decided to take the cooking missions all the way. I can say with confidence that an incredible number of dishes will be created during this season."

Produced by Kim Hak-min and Kim Eun-ji, who helmed the first installment, the new season follows the original structure, in which lesser-known cooks, dubbed the Black Spoons, are pitted against top-tier chefs, dubbed the White Spoons.

There is a kick, however, with two "hidden" White Spoon chefs returning after appearing in the first season.

"When we talked about bringing back contestants for another try, we started by asking ourselves who viewers would be most curious about after season one and who they would want to see more of," producer Kim Hak-min said.

Kim Eun-ji described the duo as key figures in the opening stages of the competition, recalling their turns in front of the judges as one of the season's highlights, as the feedback determined how many Black Spoon chefs advanced to the next round.

"I still vividly remember how quiet it became when they were judged," producer Kim Eun-ji said. "No one said a word. It was so silent you could almost feel the stillness in the air."

Eight of the show's contestants attended the press event, sharing their ambitions and experiences. Venerable Sunjae, Hou Deok-juk, Son Jong-won and Jung Ho-young from the White Spoons, along with French Papa, Witch with a Wok, Brewmaster Yun and Little Tiger from the Black Spoons attended the event.

"I wanted to introduce my own distinctive take on K-Chinese cuisine that hasn't been done before," said the Black Spoon Witch with a Wok, who has been cooking Chinese cuisine for 25 years. "I also joined the show with a strong determination to break the glass ceiling in the culinary world and open up new ground as a woman."

Black Spoon French Papa shared an emotional experience watching the first three episodes with his son, who has a developmental disability.

"My son looked a bit puzzled when watching the scenes I appeared in, but more than anything, he stayed very focused. He kept smiling the whole time. But he seemed to like chef Kim Do-yun more than me," he said, adding that the show itself gave him a sense of "comfort" after struggling with whether he should continue cooking or not.

Venerable Sunjae, known for her temple cuisine, described her approach to the competition by referring to each participant as a "practitioner," adding that "all of everyday life is a form of practice."

"Just as I met so many practitioners through this program, I hope viewers will also take the time to see how they think about food and the effort put into it," the monk said.

Though it was a global hit, casting was not an easy task. For the last season, the producers revealed that chef Choi Hyun-seok had been one of the most difficult contestants to recruit. This time, it went to chef Son, according to Kim Eun-ji. Chef Son is the head chef of two one-star Michelin restaurants - Eatanic Garden and L'Amant Secret.

"Chef Son had us on edge," the producer said. "He completely turned us down the first time. But a few weeks later, we decided to take one more crazy shot and reach out again, and that shot brought him on board, which we're incredibly grateful for."

Th...

This article is by Kang Hye-ran and read by an artificial voice.

One of the most unexpected beneficiaries of Netflix's "KPop Demon Hunters," Korea's largest national museum, faces an important question: Should it make the most of the sudden boom and impose an entrance fee, or should it lie low just in case the trend dies down and a fee discourages people from coming even more?

On one hand, some argue that the National Museum of Korea's free admissions harms the sustainability of long-term management, while on the other, they cite the need to guarantee "universal access" to culture.

This debate was reignited at a seminar hosted by the Korean Museum Association recently to discuss the necessity of paid admission at national museums and ways to improve services. The discussion between those in support of a museum fee and those against continued for more than three hours.

"We must confront the structural limitations of the free admission policy that has been in place for the past 17 years and the realities of operating national and public museums," said Kim Young-ho, the honorary chair of the Korean Society of Museum Studies and a speaker at the event. "Visitors who pay for admission contribute to the preservation and development of cultural heritage."

Kook Sung-ha, a professor at Yonsei University's Graduate School of Education, pointed to Korea's declining working-age population and rapid aging, saying, "We need to improve the revenue structure of national museums, not only for the present but for future generations."

As of 2025, entrance is free for the National Museum of Korea, with the exception of certain special exhibitions. Major museums and exhibition halls in the United States and France, including the Louvre and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, charge around $25 to $30 per adult for admission.

"Even in Britain, where about 500 million pounds [$668 million] are spent annually to maintain free admission, there are growing calls for reconsideration in light of revenue generated by institutions like the Louvre in France," said Kim Hye-in, a research fellow at the Korea Culture & Tourism Institute.

Some also pointed out that the national museum needs to lead the way with entrance fees so that other smaller galleries and museums can justifiably adopt or raise admissions fees to boost maintenance budgets.

"Paid admission can support the pricing legitimacy of private museums," said Shim Jae-in, head of the Gyeonggi-do Museum Association . "Some visitors may even shift toward private museums that offer diverse and specialized exhibitions."

However, critics argue that the push for paid admission is a premature response to a "mirage of popularity" at the National Museum of Korea, and call for a longer-term view.

"There's no guarantee that K-content like Netflix's 'KPop Demon Hunters,' which helped spark the museum boom, will continue, and consumer trends change rapidly," said Lee Eun-hee, professor emeritus of consumer studies at Inha University. "Some are proposing different admission fees for Koreans and foreigners, but foreign visitors help promote our cultural heritage on social media."

Foreign visitors account for less than 4 percent of all visitors at the National Museum of Korea - far lower than at institutions such as the Louvre, where the rate is 77 percent.

Critics also said that before adopting a paid admission model, the government should first reform the financial structure of national museums. Currently, all revenue from rental fees, product sales and ticketed special exhibitions goes to the national treasury, while the entire operating cost of the museum is also covered by the state.

In the case of the National Museum of Korea, revenue last year was 1.94 billion won ($1.32 million), while expenditures totaled 232.55 billion won - a significant imbalance.

"While charging admission may be inevitable to reduce the burden on taxpayers and increase investment in preservation, digitization and research, the museum ...

This article is by Lee Jae-lim and read by an artificial voice.

[NEWS ANALYSIS]

From passing bar and medical licensing exams to solving intricate coding problems, advanced artificial intelligence has racked up a string of achievements. But when that intelligence takes the form of humanoid "butler" robots, the promise often collapses, in ways that are at times downright comical, as machines frequently struggle with tasks humans consider simple and intuitive.

Against the backdrop of disappointing performances by early household robots, Korean conglomerates such as Samsung and LG are scrambling to reassess their home-robot strategies. As a result, Samsung's rolling robot Ballie and LG's two-wheeled Q9 model, which drew significant attention at this year's CES, are expected to be absent from the upcoming CES in January 2026.

These robots bore little resemblance to what consumers now envision as a home robot: knee-high, wheeled devices that trail behind their owners, serving as monitoring companions rather than performing hands-on household labor. Using multimodal sensors, these robots roam through homes, and are able to assess indoor environments as well as control appliances.

It is now widely acknowledged that Samsung's Ballie and LG's Q9 will miss their previously promised release dates, both of which were supposed to be within this year. Neither device appeared at the IFA tech fair this September, and new timelines are still unclear.

Samsung had initially targeted a May-June launch for Ballie this year, but at IFA 2025, Yong Seok-woo, head of Samsung's Visual Display division, said the company is conducting "extensive field tests and making improvements" ahead of a rescheduled release. Meanwhile, LG's home appliance and air solution chief Ryu Jae-cheol said the company is working to evolve the Q9 into a model capable of performing physical actions.

Home is the battleground

Even beyond Korea, home robots remain a difficult product to commercialize. Just last week, 1X Technologies, a California-based robotics firm, announced that it would supply 10,000 units of its humanoid robot Neo that was originally designed for domestic use, to be converted for usage in factories for companies backed by EQT Ventures from 2026 to 2030.

Neo had initially been marketed as the first ready-to-ship consumer humanoid robot, carrying a hefty $20,000 price tag. Neo's consumer program is still ongoing, but the company is now taking a dual-track strategy for its robot in response to hurdles such as a high cost that would naturally limit wider market adoption, as well as the unpredictable nature of home environments compared to organized rows of factory lines.

"Our homes are unstructured, dynamic environments, unlike the tidy, repetitive setting of a factory floor," noted xmaquina, a robotics-focused independent outlet on analysis on home robot adoption difficulty. "No two living rooms or kitchens are exactly the same, and people use objects in endlessly varied ways. On top of this, humans in factories are way more predictable than kids in homes. This an additional complexity that makes home robotics so much more challenging than industrial robotics."

Home robots require data at an even greater scale than factory uses, as every home and task is different, the analysis explained. To be safely deployed, robots must autonomously learn to prepare for and respond to a wide range of scenarios, while also fluently interpreting human complexities such as social norms and personal preferences.

Although early previews of Neo that went viral on YouTube show a robot with a strikingly humanlike appearance. However, its movements still appear clunky and insufficiently refined to manage the complexity of everyday household tasks.

Privacy concerns also linger. Many countries lack clear regulations governing how visual data collected inside private homes by robots' onboard cameras should be stored, used or protected, leaving a significant legal gray area.

The cha...

This article is by Shin Ha-nee and read by an artificial voice.

While a Seoul court's recent ruling in favor of ADOR prompted NewJeans members to return to their estranged agency, an underlying conclusion in the decision carries its own weight: The court found that ILLIT, "despite partial similarities," did not plagiarize NewJeans.

The finding cuts to the heart of one of the most contentious points in last year's high-profile feud between ADOR and its former CEO, Min Hee-jin - whether ILLIT copied NewJeans's overall concepts, visuals and choreography.

And the debate it sparked continues to ripple through the industry, where the boundaries between inspiration, imitation and infringement remain poorly defined.

Copycat allegations a constant

In a bombshell press conference in April of last year, Min claimed that HYBE's girl group, ILLIT, copied NewJeans in aesthetics, concept, promotional methods and choreography.

"Why did you [HYBE] use our choreography?" said Min. "I asked them, and they didn't answer us. Our choreographers are so angry. It would be wrong for us not to say anything. They're ruining ILLIT, too."

Choreographers also weighed in, including NewJeans performance director Kim Eun-ju, who said in May that ILLIT's new release was "just copy and paste."

Min's accusations led to a series of legal actions, including a lawsuit against her claiming defamation and obstruction of business filed by ILLIT's agency, Belift Lab, as well as a separate court battle over the validity of exclusive contracts of NewJeans members with ADOR, which recently ended in the label's favor.

In the latest ruling, the court concluded that "despite partial similarities in concept ideation and photo shoots, they are insufficient to determine that [ILLIT] copied [NewJeans's] concept, and there is no further evidence to support such a claim."

Fan wars, however, continue to take place online. Footage of ILLIT's recent performance of "jellyous" at the Music Bank Global Festival on Saturday went viral on social media, prompting some NewJeans fans to accuse the group of once again borrowing heavily from NewJeans, citing its retro-leaning remix and vivid, brightly colored outfits. ILLIT's defenders countered that the performance had no substantive resemblance to NewJeans's concept, arguing that neither the sound nor aesthetics were ever exclusive to NewJeans to begin with - a familiar back-and-forth that has been repeated numerous times in the debate.

Such disputes are hardly new in K-pop, a genre defined by hybrid influences and a fast production cycle often likened to factory-style manufacturing.

First-gen girl group Fin.K.L. once faced plagiarism allegations over its visual elements, said to resemble Japanese girl group Morning Musume, a claim some dismissed as a reflection of prevailing fashion trends at the time.

More recently, in 2021, JYP Entertainment issued an apology after a Twice member appeared in an outfit with traditional vibes that fans said resembled Blackpink's customized outfit designs inspired by hanbok (traditional Korean outfits).

In 2022, girl group NMIXX was accused of plagiarizing boy band Ateez's pirate-themed world-building due to shared imagery centered on voyage and adventure-related design elements.

Yet these cases rarely reach definitive conclusions unless agencies yield to online backlash. Under copyright law, broad concepts - such as fashion styles or aesthetic themes - are generally considered ideas rather than protected expressions. Only concrete creative output, such as music, lyrics or album covers, qualifies for protection.

Choreography copyrights still unresolved

Meanwhile, choreography, one of the major points of contention in the ADOR-Min feud, was not directly addressed in the latest ruling, which focused on overall visual concepts. Still, choreographers who began to speak out last year continue to push for stronger recognition of their creative rights.

In late April of last year, the Korea Choreography Copyr...