The Real Casino
Kangwon Land caps its bets at a maximum of one hundred to three hundred thousand won a hand.
Which is why the money doesn't move the way you'd expect.
From the house's point of view, that is.
Overseas casinos let you throw down tens of millions—hundreds of millions—like it's pocket change.
This is the only gambling den the nation has ever sanctioned.
And for that privilege it lives under every kind of ironclad regulation.
[Graph of the last six months completely tanking.jpg]
That is exactly why the stock has been bleeding out.
The government has been clamping down hard since 2018.
"You'd like to enter the VIP room? Do you have a membership card?"
"I don't."
"Then I'm afraid you can't come in. Haha."
"I'm becoming a VIP. Starting today."
"Excuse me?"
The dealer who had escorted me over suddenly looked like she had bitten into something foul.
To walk into the VIP room, you first had to be a VIP.
Back in the day, dropping thirty million won was enough to walk right in.
The new rules had changed everything.
They now cherry-picked their guests in the most literal sense of the word VIP.
And the bar was set brutally high.
Conglomerate executives, owners of mid-sized firms—at the bare minimum you needed a professional title that carried weight.
"Occupation?"
"College student."
"Pfft! Assets?"
"Eleven billion."
"?!"
In the end it all came down to money.
This casino—no, this gambling den—drew the bulk of its revenue from the VIPs.
A dealer like her wasn't even supposed to make eye contact with someone like me.
Once she finally grasped the situation, her tone flipped to pure deference.
At the very least, she decided she could not afford to make a bad impression.
"Might you be the son of someone who runs a company…?"
"I don't need any of that. It's my money."
"You said you were a student, heh heh. We do have identity verification procedures, you see."
That was the world they lived in.
Dealers existed solely to coddle the egos of VIPs.
People come here to spend money and feel good about it.
No one dared to ruffle feathers.
Showing them exactly who I was turned out to be simple.
1. Proof of a socially recognized status or position
2. Documentation of income, or proof of operating a company with annual revenue of at least five billion won
3. Verifiable bank balance or other evidence of substantial wealth
All I had to do was open my account.
The VIP room staffer's eyes went perfectly round the moment she saw the size of what I was packing.
Even in a place that sees plenty of rich people,
staring at ten billion won in liquid cash is rare.
People who actually possess that kind of money are almost as rare.
"Wow… do you work at a securities firm, by any chance?"
"I'm a student."
"Did you make it through investing? Crypto, maybe?"
"I moonlight as an analyst as well."
"I apologize for the rudeness!"
They only acted stiff because they spent their days dealing with VIPs.
Surround yourself with self-important people long enough and you start to believe you're one of them.
In front of the real thing, heads bow of their own accord.
More and more staff began stealing glances my way.
"Could you be Sonik-jwa?"
"You know me?"
"Ah, well… your voice sounded familiar. If I'm wrong, please forgive me."
"Ahhh—so it finally slipped out!"
Someone had caught on.
Anyone who traded stocks seriously was bound to recognize the name eventually.
I never went out of my way to hide it.
Still, being a student meant I couldn't exactly advertise it either.
Only a place like this VIP lounge made it possible.
The room was full of people.
Every single one of them had been carefully screened.
Look closely and you could spot corporate titans and famous celebrities you normally only saw on the news.
Whatever happened inside these walls never leaked into the outside world.
That was precisely why they paid such enormous sums to be here.
"You're an analyst?"
"Just a business card, really."
"Ah… so you're someone well-known."
"Let's just go play some games."
"Ah."
The dealer's hips.
Even through the tailored suit I could feel the soft give of her flesh.
A little sexual harassment is tolerated here too.
Of course you still needed consent.
But once they understood exactly who I was…
"We'll begin the game. I won't go easy on you."
"Sure. Let's have some fun."
She would work hard just to earn her popcorn money.
The actual flow of the game, however, was a separate matter.
I came here intending to lose from the start.
Nothing is more idiotic than walking into a casino thinking you're going to walk out richer.
Stocks are an entirely different animal.
"Banker."
"A five-percent commission will be deducted. Is that acceptable?"
"As if I wouldn't know."
Call it a gambling den all you want—stocks can still be beaten with skill.
Gambling is structured so the house always takes its cut.
Even if baccarat has a relatively high return rate…
Simply put, it's an even-odd game.
The customer bets on either Player or Banker and collects if they guess right.
Fifty-fifty odds.
After the commission, the real return rate sits at 97.5 percent.
High compared to slot machines, sure.
"Ugh, I lost. Happy taking my money?"
"I hold no personal feelings, sir."
"This time I'll only bet about the size of your paycheck~."
In the end it was still a game played by people.
At the next table a lavishly dressed middle-aged woman was running baccarat.
Even that kind of power-tripping is allowed in this space.
Capitalism.
Its purest, most extreme form lived right here in the casino.
The customer was king without the slightest exaggeration.
"Hohoho! I just made your entire monthly salary in one hand. Jealous? Are you jealous? Too bad. Living like a beggar is just your lot in life."
"Shall we proceed with the next bet?"
"This time I'll only put down half your paycheck~."
As long as the money kept flowing.
But that did not mean such behavior was actually acceptable.
People like her were the ones least able to control their emotions.
Gambling was a game of pure psychology.
"Excuse me, madam."
"What, got a problem? You little street rat?"
"Not at all. We occasionally invite special guests to the VVIP room."
"There's something like that?"
A senior dealer appeared and whispered the sweet temptation into her ear.
The vanity-stuffed woman swallowed it whole.
Straight into hell, that is.
The VIP room was not the end of the line.
A VVIP room existed as well.
Real VVIPs never wanted to go there.
"Banker again."
"Placing the bet."
"Mmm~ the flow's good today."
It was used to dispose of problem customers.
Once the dealers in the glittering room got the atmosphere rolling…
Skinning one person clean was nothing.
That was why making enemies of the dealers never paid off.
Gambling was psychological warfare.
And they were the ones who could tilt that psychology.
You should never assume you yourself are rational.
True gamblers never take fights with bad odds.
"Why is my luck so good?"
"You must be carrying excellent energy, sir."
"I don't know. I tend to think people with real luck don't make money gambling."
And they know how to keep their emotions on a leash.
Anyone who gets arrogant just because they made a little cash never lasts long.
After roughly an hour of baccarat—fifty hands at one to three hundred thousand a pop—I was up about three million won.
"Here. Tip."
"You really don't have to give this much…"
"If I walk out of a place like this with money, my luck turns rotten."
I stuffed the entire winnings straight into tips.
My personal rule: no matter how large the sum, money won in a casino never leaves with me.
Whether you believe in superstition or not…
It was a jinx.
Once a person starts looking for excuses, there is no bottom to it, so better to cut the possibility off at the root.
It also bought better service.
Overseas casinos poured the absolute best treatment on their VIPs.
"You lost again?"
"Whoa, that guy's in deep trouble…"
"At this rate I wonder if we'll ever see him on TV again."
Kangwon Land was different.
That was why serious players rarely came to Korean casinos.
But Koreans had never experienced anything else.
So they fell for the temptation easily.
A young woman was playing roulette.
If baccarat was simple even-odd, roulette let you stack colors and numbers and chase higher multipliers.
"Rattle-rattle-rattle~!"
Which made it far more addictive.
The so-called life-changing home-run reverse was possible…
"Ah… ah… ahhh…"
…but the path to going completely broke was even shorter.
Even a casual glance showed a face cornered and desperate.
She must have been chasing one last big hit.
The break-even delusion.
The very thing that drags gamblers into the swamp.
Apparently it had been money she absolutely needed to recover.
"Miss, how much did you lose?"
"It's… quite a lot…"
"That much?!"
"Oof~ that's serious. Want the big brothers here to help you out a little?"
But that last spin had been her final seed money.
Sweet-talking middle-aged men closed in on the girl drowning in despair.
Common enough scene.
Men were hardly the only ones ruined by gambling.
Plenty of women ended up as wrecks too.
And among them, a young woman.
They even had a nickname for it—"Kangwon Land broke girls"—women who sold their bodies cheap just to scrape together another gambling stake.
"The big brothers here are Ra-hee fans, you know."
"R-really?"
"We've watched every single one of your appearances~ How about it? We could pull ten million won right here on the spot."
That was what happened once gambling took hold.
And those sweet uncles were actively fanning the flames.
Toward a girl young enough to be their daughter.
I understood the impulse.
She was beautiful, after all.
And not just beautiful—famous.
Baek Ra-hee.
An actress whose face had been popping up constantly in recent dramas and films; even I remembered her.
Why she was here, I had no idea.
But if things continued like this she would almost certainly fall for the uncles' coaxing.
"How much do you need?"
"Huh?"
"Who the hell are you, punk!"
"This little shit, interrupting while adults are talking—"
"Why don't you clear out. You bums."
I shoved my way into the circle of middle-aged men.
A small scuffle broke out.
They started rattling off who they were and what they did for a living.
I couldn't care less.
They volunteered information no one had asked for.
From the sound of it they ran some small businesses somewhere.
Tap. Tap!
Businesses I could buy out without breaking a sweat.
I casually opened my account and showed them.
At first they denied reality and got angry.
"This is the VIP room. You think you could even walk in here if it was a lie?"
"Y-you…"
"Call a staff member and ask. Or I could always have them phone your fathers."
""!!""
They grasped the situation in an instant.
Kangwon Land's VIP screening was ruthless.
A little extra bluffing and their tails dropped between their legs.
A young guy with this kind of money? They'll automatically assume chaebol heir.
Even the staff had made that mistake.
The insides of these old-school uncles' heads were even easier to picture.
At best they were mid-sized company owners.
If this really was the son of a major conglomerate, one wrong look and they were finished.
"Are you all right?"
"Y-yes…"
"So how much do you need?"
"Huh?"
"How much would it take for you to give me a precious memory as a gift?"
I used the thin, transparent world those adults lived in.
From the position of someone who understood it far better than they did.