The Natural Gas War (1)

The investment strategy was finished in the small hours of the morning. Lee Jaseung closed his laptop and spoke.

"Clean up the rest and send it over. Include the risk analysis and the projected-return simulations."

"Okay…"

Seo Minjae answered in a drawn-out, half-asleep voice, yawning. He rubbed his eyes and checked the clock—past four in the morning.

"Can we go now? I've got to be at work in two hours."

But Jaseung had no intention of going home. One more matter remained—possibly more important than the natural gas futures themselves.

"There's a problem with the contract we signed."

"My contract?"

Minjae rose from his seat and pulled the agreement from a file folder.

"We both had lawyers go over it. What's the issue?"

"Legally, nothing. But a practical problem has come up."

Jaseung opened the pages and pointed to the Black membership service clauses. The core services were two:

1. Forty-eight-hour exclusive priority on every investment opportunity

2. Customized information once a month

"As you know, Black members get first access to every investment. You can't."

Minjae shrugged.

"I know. I'm the broker executing this fund."

A broker investing in a fund he himself was running? That was insider trading. The financial regulators would never let it slide. Which meant Minjae was paying the same fee without access to the core service—something Jaseung could not tolerate. It meant he was failing to deliver the full value of thirty billion won.

"I'll ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠say it again: you can't receive service number one. But me providing an incomplete service is unacceptable. So let's reinforce number two instead."

"Since you can't invest in the fund, you get the information twice."

Minjae looked at the revision with an awkward expression.

"Is this okay? You're rewriting the contract because of me."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"What if the other members object?"

"First, this isn't a privilege—it's compensation for a situation made physically impossible by financial-industry regulations. And if other members object, we give them a choice: forfeit investment rights like you and receive information twice a month, or keep the existing service as is."

Jaseung thought of the other Black member, Han Juhyeong.

"And Juhyeong won't care either way."

"That's true."

Minjae snickered. In truth, being completely shut out of the fund investments had left him uneasy. Beyond his salary and incentives, there was no other source of capital—he'd already been fretting over how to scrape together another thirty billion by next year.

"Thanks."

"You don't need to thank me. My service has to be perfect under every circumstance."

"Yeah, yeah."

Jaseung called up information he'd seen in the future. Useless to him—but quite useful to Minjae.

"There'll be a patent lawsuit between Seoseong Electronics and A-Phone. Design issues. A-Phone files first."

Minjae no longer asked how he knew. He asked the important question instead.

"When?"

"Next spring."

"Next spring… right around when the natural gas play wraps up. Four months left."

"Plenty of time. It's classified even inside Aple, so Seoseong Group's executives probably don't know yet either."

Depending on how Minjae used it, he could turn a profit on the markets, strike a deal with Seoseong Electronics—or both.

Jaseung stood.

"How you use it is up to you."

The other Black member, Han Juhyeong, came to Makers. Jaseung explained Minjae's situation and offered him the same choice.

"Want to forfeit the investments and take information twice a month instead?"

"Are you insane? Why would I give that up?!"

Juhyeong was delighted, if anything. He could use the forty-eight-hour exclusive investment window alone, without competing against Minjae. His eyes lit up as he asked:

"Anyway, what's this next play? The welcome letter when I joined said a new opportunity was coming soon."

Jaseung handed over the investment proposal he'd spent days refining.

"This one carries risk. But if it works, the returns will beat Facenote."

"I won't ask anything else. How much of your own money did you put in?"

"One hundred thirty billion."

"Okay. Then it's a sure thing."

Jaseung talked him through it with practiced ease, and once Juhyeong had heard the full explanation, he bought in completely again.

All in! Fifty billion!

Just like that, of the three-hundred-billion total raise, one hundred eighty billion was already filled.

Me at one hundred thirty. Juhyeong at fifty. Where do I raise ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the rest?

Jaseung leaked a rumor through the brokerage street.

The Facenote short. The trillion-won fund. The high-ticket memberships. Makers always sat at the center of controversy, so any new move spread fast.

"Makers is raising a new fund."

"Again? What's the play?"

"No idea. But I hear Han Juhyeong put in fifty billion."

"Fifty billion?????"

"Took a loan against Hanyeong Auto stock, apparently? Returns better than Facenote."

"…Is that even possible?"

Once the rumor took hold, people started to take notice—people who needed cash fast, and people wealthy enough to drop five billion without blinking. The intersection of those two groups was Gil Donggyu.

Eldest son of the KG Group, famous for home appliances and electronics. He went to see Han Juhyeong, a younger friend he was close with. Juhyeong greeted him warmly. Three years apart, the two of them got along without ceremony—though Juhyeong, in fairness, was on friendly terms with half the business world.

"Donggyu-hyung. Long time. You've gotten bigger since I last saw you. Those shoulders are huge."

"Been bulk-training a bit. Come on in."

Donggyu smiled and clapped Juhyeong on the back. The weight of it nearly knocked him forward.

"Ghk."

The man had always had a big frame, and now he was even larger. A suit jacket stretched taut across the shoulders only emphasized the muscle.

Every time I see him, he looks more solid.

While Juhyeong was still deep in his apprenticeship as an heir, Donggyu was all but guaranteed to inherit the KG Group within a few years—and he carried himself like it. Simply sitting on the leather sofa, he radiated the presence of a chairman.

"Juhyeong. You've worked with Jaseung twice now."

"Yeah?"

"What's your read on him?"

Juhyeong thought for a moment, then answered honestly.

"Personality-wise he's a complete bastard, and insanely expensive—but I've never regretted the money. When I hired him for the acquisition consulting, I paid him twenty billion."

Donggyu's eyebrow ticked up. That was a serious fee. He kept his face neutral.

"Twenty billion? Your own money?"

"Yeah. Came out of my personal account—couldn't even expense it. But in the end we got Yuseong Steel for three hundred billion less, so that alone more than covered it. Made a killing on Facenote too. It's like a money demon possessed him—he just keeps winning. Except…"

"Except?"

"He puts you through hell. Most people buy at the knee and sell at the shoulder, right?"

"Right."

"Lee Jaseung buys from the sole of the shoe and sells from the crown of the head."

"…"

"He wrings out every last drop. Watching that is stress like you wouldn't believe. But you're so unflappable you might be fine."

Corporate disasters, stock crashes, public scandals—no matter what hit, Gil Donggyu always kept his composure. Like the big brother of the entire business community.

When it comes to staying calm, he and Jaseung are in a league of their own.

"Why are you asking, though?"

"I need money."

The words carried weight. When the eldest son of the KG Group said he needed money, it wasn't about a shortfall in pocket cash. It meant a major plan was in motion. Juhyeong's eyes sparkled.

"Then you should do it. This time…"

"This time?"

Juhyeong caught himself and fumbled. He'd paid thirty billion for that information. He couldn't just hand it out.

"It's solid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this time too. Jaseung made a hundred fifty billion on Facenote, right? He kept only enough for operating costs and threw the rest all in."

"…That's some confidence."

"Right? You know how it is here—money is belief. That's why I put in fifty billion myself."

"Hmm. Fifty billion. That's a lot."

That was all he said. No further reaction. Donggyu glanced at his luxury sports watch.

"I should get going."

"Huh? Oh—yeah. Call me next time."

Whatever urgency was driving him, Donggyu vanished in a hurry. Moments later, through the glass, Juhyeong watched a high-end sedan pull away. He muttered after the receding car:

"Donggyu-hyung really has that masculine edge. I need to learn some of that."

But once Gil Donggyu was inside the sedan—

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud.

His thick legs were bouncing. Even the secretary glanced up through the rearview mirror. Donggyu never noticed. Every nerve was replaying the conversation with Juhyeong.

What was that? Why did Juhyeong cut himself off mid-sentence? That kid lives to talk—he'd never stop like that unless the opportunity was so good he didn't want to share it. The Facenote play doubled his money—thirty billion to sixty. Is this better than that?

"This time…" and then the dodge. The moment looped on repeat.

This time, what? It's risky, right? Really risky? Should I just not? Damn it… I need to pull four hundred billion…

Safety first. To him, investing meant buying at the thigh and selling at the navel. But he needed the money. Four hundred billion of it.

I can mobilize a hundred billion in investment capital. I need four hundred. That means I need a vehicle guaranteeing at least three hundred percent returns.

Donggyu pulled out his notebook—a list of every option he'd researched. Stocks, bonds, real estate, venture capital… He'd reviewed them all, and the conclusion was always the same. There was no safe way to make a lot of money. Every investment carried risk.

Countless fund managers had tried to reel him in. Invest with us—we'll guarantee your principal. This is a surefire tip! But there was one decisive difference between them and Lee Jaseung: Jaseung put every last won of his own money on the line. That gave an investor faith.

He wouldn't do that without conviction. No fund manager keeps a capital ratio that high. Just close my eyes and put in a hundred billion…

The moment he closed his eyes, he saw a hundred billion evaporating.

Snap.

The sound of a pen breaking made the secretary flinch. Donggyu's face was expressionless again. He asked the secretary, almost casually:

"Is something wrong?"

"Ah—no, sir."

Donggyu took his phone from his inner pocket and found Lee Jaseung's contact.

Just get the investment information. If I'm going to compare it against other options, I need to know where Jaseung is putting his money. Gather everything, then decide coldly. No wavering. Clear-headed.

He pressed call. His hand was trembling—but the voice that came out was perfectly indifferent.

"Hey, Jaseung. It's me. Got a Platinum seat open?"