The South Korean business world is bracing itself for a landmark court decision that could reshape the power structure of one of the country’s most prominent gaming empires. On September 9, 2026, at 2 p.m. in the Seoul Family Court, the first-instance ruling will be handed down in the divorce and asset division case between Kwon Hyuk-bin, founder and Chief Visionary Officer (CVO) of Smilegate, and his spouse, Ms. Lee. The outcome, nearly four years in the making since Ms. Lee filed suit in November 2022, is expected to have ripple effects far beyond the couple’s private life, potentially altering the very foundation of Smilegate’s corporate governance.
At the heart of the legal battle is the astronomical value of Smilegate Holdings, the unlisted holding company Kwon controls entirely. According to court-appointed appraisers, the company’s worth has been pegged at anywhere from 4.9 trillion won to a staggering 8.016 trillion won—numbers that have drawn comparisons to other high-profile divorce cases in Korea’s business elite, such as the ongoing saga between SK Group chairman Chey Tae-won and art center director Noh So-young. But unlike conglomerates built on inherited wealth, Smilegate is a self-made success story, founded by Kwon and, as Lee argues, with her pivotal involvement.
The key question before the court is twofold: Will the divorce itself be recognized, and if so, how much of Smilegate’s value should be shared? Lee is seeking half of Kwon’s stake in Smilegate Holdings, which could theoretically amount to over 4 trillion won at the highest valuation. The scale is unprecedented—the largest seen in a Korean divorce case to date. As Money Today reports, “the amount at stake is more than four times the 944 billion won awarded in the recent Chey-Noh case, and that number itself is still being contested.”
The drama began in 2022 when Lee initiated divorce proceedings, citing irreconcilable differences after more than two decades of marriage. Smilegate was founded in 2002, a year after the couple wed, and has since become a powerhouse in the gaming sector, known for global hits like Crossfire, Lost Ark, and Epic Seven. Lee’s legal team contends that she played a crucial role in the company’s early days, claiming she held a 30% stake, served as CEO and registered director, and contributed to initial funding and household management—enabling Kwon to focus on building the business. “Lee’s side argues that she was a co-founder and that her efforts were essential to Smilegate’s growth,” Dailian notes.
Kwon, however, disputes this narrative. In court, his representatives have insisted that Lee “did not contribute actual capital at the time of establishment and was not a co-founder.” They assert that “according to employee testimony, Lee never reported to the office nor had a workspace,” a point that has become a major sticking point in the proceedings. The court must now weigh the validity and extent of Lee’s contributions—both tangible and intangible—against Kwon’s claims of sole entrepreneurship.
The outcome of this debate will largely determine the scale of the eventual asset split. Recent Korean court precedents have leaned toward recognizing significant spousal contributions in self-made businesses, especially in long-term marriages. For example, the court awarded Noh So-young a 33% share of Chey Tae-won’s assets, acknowledging both her direct and indirect support. Legal experts interviewed by Business Post suggest that “if Lee’s managerial involvement is recognized, the division could approach 50%,” a scenario that would truly upend the current ownership structure.
But the legal wrangling doesn’t stop at the question of ‘how much.’ The method of division is equally contentious, with major implications for Smilegate’s future. Lee is demanding half of Kwon’s shares in Smilegate Holdings, which would instantly make her the second-largest shareholder and potentially give her significant influence over company decisions. Under Korean commercial law, a stake of just 3% is enough to call shareholder meetings and propose agenda items, while 33.4% confers veto power over special resolutions. If the court awards Lee shares directly, Kwon’s 100% control would be broken, and Smilegate’s famously stable, founder-driven governance could be thrown into flux.
Historically, Korean courts have preferred to grant the shares to the managing party and order a cash settlement for the spouse, in order to avoid destabilizing companies and triggering messy shareholder disputes. This was the approach taken in the Chey Tae-won case, where the court ordered the entire 1.38 trillion won settlement to be paid in cash. But as Dailian points out, the Supreme Court recently ruled that in cases where most of the assets are in unlisted shares, and a cash payout would create undue hardship for the owner, courts should consider a mix of cash and in-kind (share) settlements. With Kwon’s wealth almost entirely tied up in Smilegate Holdings—an unlisted company with no outside investors—he may face a severe liquidity crunch if ordered to pay several trillion won at once. This could force him to sell shares to third parties, further altering the company’s ownership landscape.
Even if the court opts for a hybrid solution, the impact on Smilegate’s governance could be profound. A direct share transfer would give Lee new powers as a major shareholder, possibly opening the door to boardroom battles or new strategic directions. A forced sale of shares to raise cash could introduce outside investors for the first time, ending Smilegate’s era of founder-led independence. As Money Today observes, “the court’s decision will not only affect the couple’s finances but could set a precedent for how spousal contributions are judged in future divorce cases among startup founders and entrepreneurs.”
For now, the only certainty is uncertainty. The September 9 decision is just the first step in what could be a protracted legal saga. Both sides are expected to appeal if the outcome is not in their favor, meaning that the final settlement—and any resulting changes to Smilegate’s structure—could be years away. Yet the stakes are clear: the fate of a multi-billion-dollar gaming giant, the definition of spousal contribution in the modern Korean economy, and the future of founder-led companies are all hanging in the balance.
As the court date approaches, industry insiders, legal experts, and ordinary Koreans alike are watching with keen interest. The verdict could rewrite the rules for business, marriage, and ownership in one of Asia’s most dynamic economies.