As nations across the globe accelerate their pursuit of dominance in the deep technology revolution—spanning transformative fields such as artificial intelligence, semiconductor design, advanced robotics, and quantum computing—innovation itself has emerged as the most valuable currency of global power. In this race for technological supremacy, creativity and speed are now as critical to influence as natural resources once were. Yet this competitive intensity carries profound consequences for modern workplaces. Organizations, driven by the imperative to outpace international rivals, often translate the pressure to innovate into grueling workloads and increasingly demanding corporate cultures. Here lies a persistent dilemma: companies cannot afford to loosen their pace when challengers abroad continue to push boundaries with relentless determination.
When I first encountered reports about the proliferation of China’s infamous “996” culture—an abbreviation for the grueling schedule of working from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., six days a week, amounting to an exhausting 72-hour workweek—spreading beyond Chinese borders and seeping into Silicon Valley, I was compelled to reflect on how differently nations interpret the meaning of productivity. This comparison raised an intriguing question about how varying approaches to work, regulation, and human capital shape innovation in the global technology sector. Living and working in South Korea added further resonance to this inquiry, since the country’s own approach to balancing productivity and labor welfare has long stood at the heart of its economic debates.
In South Korea today, the law defines a standard workweek of forty hours, with an allowance for an additional twelve hours of overtime. This extra time must typically be compensated at no less than one and a half times the ordinary hourly rate, creating a clear incentive for companies to respect the limits. The system also introduces accountability: firms that violate the regulations expose themselves to serious consequences, including financial penalties, criminal prosecution of executives, and potential civil liability. In 2018, the government formally introduced the much-discussed 52-hour workweek policy, applying initially to large corporations employing over 300 people and to public institutions. Over subsequent years, the measure was gradually expanded, ultimately reaching full nationwide enforcement on January 1, 2025.
In an effort to respond to evolving economic needs, the government launched a temporary special program earlier this year that extended the permitted working hours under controlled conditions. Through this initiative, employees could legally surpass the normal 52-hour limit—with both explicit worker consent and government authorization—to a maximum of 64 hours per week. For high-stakes deep tech industries such as semiconductor manufacturing, the authorization period was further broadened from three months to six, allowing longer project cycles within one approval. However, according to local newspaper analyses, few companies appear to have taken full advantage of the opportunity. Looking ahead, policy directions suggest that these exceptional provisions will be rolled back. Regulators intend to tighten enforcement and reconsider the breadth of permissible exemptions, even as some legislators argue that the existing system already achieves a workable equilibrium between labor protection and economic vitality.
To better understand how these limits influence business realities, TechCrunch sought perspectives from venture capitalists and startup founders deeply immersed in South Korea’s technology ecosystem. Yongkwan Lee, chief executive officer of the venture capital firm Bluepoint Partners, explained that the 52-hour regulation significantly complicates investment calculations for deep tech sectors. In fields such as semiconductors, artificial intelligence, or quantum computing—domains where global competition is extraordinarily fierce—success often depends on teams enduring long, intensive development cycles during pivotal phases of growth. Bluepoint’s investments generally target the earliest stages of company formation, well before a product is market-ready or the underlying technology fully proven. In these conditions, time is a decisive variable. According to Lee, imposing rigid hour restrictions can, at least in principle, slow progress toward key technical or commercial milestones.
Survey data reinforces this dynamic: local studies indicate that more than seventy percent of employees at South Korean startups would agree to work an additional 52 hours per week if they received commensurate compensation. This willingness underscores both the ambition and the high personal commitment that have powered South Korea’s remarkable rise as a technology leader.
Bohyung Kim, chief technology officer of LeMong—a South Korean startup supported by LG Uplus and providing agentic AI solutions to more than thirteen thousand small and medium-sized enterprises in the food and beverage sector—offered a similar but more personal perspective. According to Kim, while the 52-hour rule was originally designed to protect workers from exploitative conditions, for technology professionals it can at times feel less like a safeguard and more like a constraint that interrupts the creative process. Engineering work, Kim argued, rarely fits neatly within time-based boundaries. Rather than executing routine tasks, engineers pursue solutions to complex, often unpredictable problems requiring deep concentration. Inspiration rarely obeys the clock. When a breakthrough occurs and momentum briefly aligns, the ability to follow ideas without interruption can determine whether an innovation reaches completion or fades away. Any system that forces closure precisely when creativity peaks risks undermining efficiency instead of promoting it.
Kim stressed that intensity and flexibility both have their place. Short bursts of concentrated effort are indispensable near deadlines or when refining crucial algorithms. However, legal rigidity can obstruct such spurts of productivity, especially in research-oriented roles where output is not measured merely in hours. Kim was careful to differentiate between engineering specializations: production engineers in manufacturing environments directly link their productivity to time spent at the workstation and require careful scheduling for safety and equity, whereas research and development teams depend more on insight and experimentation. For production roles, adequate rest and fair overtime pay remain essential safeguards.
When the discussion turned to workplace flexibility, Huiyong Lee, co-founder of LeMong, suggested that a more pragmatic system might measure limits over a longer averaging period rather than enforcing a strict weekly maximum. In deep tech firms, project intensity fluctuates dramatically—weeks of concentrated innovation are commonly followed by calmer intervals once prototypes stabilize. For instance, in the period leading up to a product’s formal release, engineers might need to devote sixty hours weekly, while subsequent maintenance stages might require only forty. A model that averages these variations over a month could preserve compliance and sustain optimal productivity. Lee further argued for regulatory distinctions between industries: deep tech ventures, R&D-heavy organizations, and smaller startups with fewer than twenty employees operate under unique constraints and thus merit greater flexibility.
Kim also pointed out that a clear relationship exists between performance and total working hours, though not necessarily because of managerial pressure. High achievers typically volunteer their time willingly, viewing extended effort as an investment in mastery and professional growth. These individuals, Kim emphasized, are often motivated not by overtime bonuses but by meritocratic rewards—recognition of technical excellence, opportunities for advancement, profit-sharing, or equity participation. In knowledge-intensive industries such as IT or advanced R&D, flexible scheduling driven by market logic rather than bureaucratic uniformity may better align incentives with results.
Another Seoul-based venture capitalist echoed a more moderate sentiment, asserting that, for now, the 52-hour restriction rarely deters investment. Monitoring adherence to the rule remains challenging, and most early-stage companies do not maintain stringent time-tracking systems. He added that, as of the present, firms are not obliged to periodically submit official documentation verifying compliance. Nevertheless, in disputes where an employee files a complaint, lacking detailed records could expose companies to regulatory scrutiny. In practice, however, he noted that most deep tech and R&D professionals are highly self-directed and disciplined, making such conflicts relatively uncommon.
This investor contrasted the relative autonomy of the tech sector with industries that rely heavily on manual or low-wage labor, such as logistics, delivery services, or manufacturing. In these fields, workers’ incomes hover closer to the minimum wage, and overtime costs can quickly escalate under a 52-hour limit. For these businesses, regulatory compliance means both steeper payroll expenses and reduced flexibility. The consequences include narrowed profit margins, difficulty maintaining economies of scale, and increased pressure to automate or relocate operations.
To situate South Korea’s policy in the global context, it helps to compare how other major technology centers define and enforce working-hour expectations. In much of Europe—specifically Germany, the United Kingdom, and France—standard workweeks tend to range between thirty-three and forty-eight hours, reflecting strong labor protections coupled with cultural emphasis on leisure and family time. Australia and Canada maintain middle-ground norms of thirty-eight and forty hours, respectively, combining mandatory overtime pay with a degree of workplace flexibility. In the United States, federal standards under the Fair Labor Standards Act establish a forty-hour baseline, with time-and-a-half pay for overtime and no absolute upper limit—though certain jurisdictions, such as California, require double-time compensation under defined circumstances. Meanwhile, China’s formal schedule mirrors that of Western countries at forty hours, yet in practice many firms operate under informal norms like 996, with legally prescribed overtime varying by day type: 150 percent of base pay on weekdays, double pay on weekends, and triple pay on public holidays. Japan enforces a similar forty-hour norm but caps allowable overtime at forty-five hours monthly and 370 hours annually, imposing penalties on violators. Singapore stands slightly apart, allowing forty-four regular hours plus a maximum of seventy-two overtime hours monthly—equating to roughly sixty-two hours weekly when averaged—with pay multipliers structured much like those in China.
Within this broad international spectrum, South Korea’s 52-hour limit occupies an intermediate position: more stringent than the laissez-faire systems of the U.S. or Singapore, yet more permissive than the highly labor-protective frameworks of continental Europe. For South Korea’s deep tech entrepreneurs, however, the debate transcends pure numbers. The essential question is whether a rigid temporal framework can coexist with the inherently uneven, iterative rhythms of research and innovation. In such environments, productivity depends as much on creative spontaneity and team cohesion as on time invested. The challenge, therefore, is not simply determining how many hours people work, but designing modern labor systems flexible enough to nurture breakthroughs while still safeguarding human well-being.
Sourse: https://techcrunch.com/2025/10/22/as-chinas-996-culture-spreads-south-koreas-tech-sector-grapples-with-52-hour-limit/
