Chicken and Egg
The shareholders of Baekjezen.
With Pexigon's clinical failure, they had taken losses of at least sixty percent.
No—the losses were still snowballing.
People were already saying that cutting their losses early had been the wise move.
"Save Baekjezen!"
"Save it! Save it!"
"Spare the retail investors' lives!"
"Spare them! Spare them!"
How could anyone not boil with rage?
It was only natural that the investors would gather and stage a protest. And yet—
Ugh. Swine.
Ironically, the protest had nothing to do with Baekjezen itself. The venue was the front of the Korea Exchange.
Countless investors thronged the demonstration. With that much chaos, the news vans had rolled in too.
"The fallout from Baekjezen's clinical failure has ignited investor fury. The plaza in front of the Korea Exchange is currently packed wall-to-wall with retail investors pleading to block the company's delisting."
The clinical failure was fatal. This wasn't a problem that ended with shattered expectations alone.
It was an existential crisis for the company. A tech-special listing firm that failed to generate revenue within five years got ejected from the market.
And there were other problems.
That Pexigon was going to fail—there was no way management hadn't known. They would have been more terrified than anyone.
They had cashed out their stock options in advance. While the share price was still drawing a steep upward curve, they had raced each other to dump their holdings.
Insider trading allegations would follow. And if those were proven, delisting could become a genuine reality.
"Retail investors are all going to die! If this gets delisted, tens of thousands of small shareholders will be crying blood!"
"There should be severe disciplinary action against the executives under insider-trading suspicion, shouldn't there?"
"Good heavens, what a terrible thing to say! Our CEO Mun Tae-hwan would never do such a thing!"
"???"
The positions flipped. In a surreal spectacle, the shareholders themselves began shielding the reeking, rotten executives.
It's the same when you lend money.
With small sums, the lender holds the power. Once the amount grows large enough, the dynamic reverses—the borrower becomes the one in control. Because you might never get the money back.
If Baekjezen were brought to justice, the retail investors would be left penniless.
"So that's why they were protesting."
"Ah, the protest. The shareholders must be going through a lot."
"They're idiots."
"……."
A bitterly funny reality. Nobody ever taught them.
That was exactly why he had come back on air—to say it.
The world is results-oriented.
Warn them about the risks all you want; nobody listens. Not while the stock is going up.
"But there are rumors that you bought Baekjezen yourself, Sonik-jwa? Apologies if that's not the case."
"It's true."
"Oh—then you must share some common ground with the other retail investors!"
"I don't."
Greed. Plenty of people believed they could keep it under control. The fact that they couldn't—
Touch gambling or stocks once, and you find out.
You get a clear look at how shallow your own bottom really is. In that sense, it might even be worth trying once.
"I didn't invest because I believed in Pexigon."
"Then what aspect of the company did you invest based on?"
"Let me be perfectly clear: I had zero intention of betting on whether this company's clinical trial would succeed. The profit window the CEO and his cultists inflated before the results dropped—after that, whatever happens is none of my business."
Until you've ruined yourself completely, that kind of talk can feel cold. From the perspective of someone who already has—
But what are you gonna do about it?
Their lives were already wrecked. From here on, things would only get worse. Just like the people in the gambling dens at Kangwon Land.
No amount of advice could rehabilitate them. Not unless they found the will to change on their own.
"Still, you should offer a little something positive…… shouldn't you?"
"Hmm."
"There really are investors who got stuck holding the bag, and if you could, please?"
A hundred remedies would still be useless. Even if Pexigon had passed Phase 3, it wouldn't have fixed them. That was why you were told not to start in the first place.
Well.
Even so, he had to say the proper things. An economics broadcast was still a business that needed viewership.
The host shot him a pleading look. Be too uncooperative and word would get around the industry.
Ring ring~♪
They moved on to the scheduled segment: counseling viewers who had gotten trapped in Baekjezen.
"Hello. I've, uh, gotten stuck in Baekjezen a bit……."
"That must be so hard for you~ Don't you worry—our expert will give you a thorough consultation!"
If it had been a simple stock tip segment, he wouldn't have bothered. But lately Baekjezen had—
Spilled over into a full-blown social problem.
A patriot coin. Masses of people had poured money in without a shred of research, convinced it was a genuine world-class venture.
"If you're not going to cut your losses, just pretend the money was never yours. At least that way you'll sleep better."
"It really wasn't my money, that's the thing……."
He was already on the broadcast. Play the mysterious sage too hard and people would decide he had nothing useful to offer.
Even a dogshit stock like this has ways you can trade it.
Retail investors weren't the only ones stuck. The institutions needed to unload their own holdings too. And for that?
Retail had to come in and take those shares off their hands.
"There has been one interesting development recently."
"Oh? What's that?"
"This whole mess is at high risk of escalating into litigation, and Park & Kang Law Firm has accepted a contract with Baekjezen."
"A law firm? All of a sudden?"
In the process, the stock would thrash up and down. To endure that volatility, you needed faith—
At minimum, the belief that this company wouldn't get delisted.
There was a useful catalyst. Insider trading allegations would inevitably drag the company into legal warfare. Which side would win?
No definitive answer could be given at this stage. But—
You could roughly gauge the probability. The most useful yardstick for that was whether a famous law firm had taken the case.
Of course, it was only a probability. Even Park & Kang didn't win a hundred percent of the time.
But it still generates expectation.
Expectation. The engine that moved biotech stocks. Even in a situation like this, the thought of what if took hold.
"That said, you absolutely must not think this will get you back to break-even."
"Where do you see Baekjezen headed from here?"
"To put it in a bit of industry slang—they've opened the All-Under-Heaven Single-Strike Free-for-All."
What if Pexigon somehow revived? Wouldn't the short sellers panic and scramble into a short covering rally?
That psychology propped up the downside. When the drop had been excessive, you could take a shot at bottom-fishing.
Not that it changes the long-term destiny of a slow grind lower.
The company's fundamental value hadn't changed. Only the people trapped inside it were spinning fantasies.
"Ultimately, unless Pexigon comes back from the dead, there will be no miraculous rebound in the share price—so while there's still some liquidity left in biotech, get out as fast as you can."
Which made it an even harder stock to trade. From the outside looking in, it glittered with possibility. Nail the top and get out clean—wouldn't that be a sweet little score?
Biotech stocks and gambling really did look alike.
May.
For university students, it was an especially critical season. Midterms were over. And festival season was rolling in.
Bang!
For Gyo-iku-sang, it mattered even more.
Last year, he had suffered humiliation at Hankuk University.
A mere student, making a fool of me?
He had come out for a broadcast shoot. In good spirits, more generous than usual in his evaluations—accounting for the students' level, of course.
He never imagined that student would leave the back of his head stinging.
"I will most certainly visit the Hankuk University festival this time."
"You really don't have to……."
"I shall teach the students what true gastronomy is."
"Okay, but why?"
It had been unthinkable. Because of that incident, he had even started slipping in the rankings on his own show.
Barbarians who can't even taste food properly!
The reason: basement-dwelling keyboard warriors who had completely misread the broadcast content and run their mouths online.
"Ahem! Ahem! First of all, my honor is at stake."
"Of course that's number one."
"And if I don't go, the viewer boards will start talking behind my back."
"That's true enough."
But he was not a man who would collapse from something like that. His standing in the restaurant industry remained solid.
It had taken a few hits recently—from that incident, and from that eyesore named Cheon Jong-won.
To be outdone by some rootless fellow who merely ran food stalls—a gourmet's pride would weep.
He would set things right this time. He would burn into their minds exactly what a gourmet looked like when he meant business.
"Then we'll set the filming location as Hankuk University."
"Understood."
"If you repeat the same mistake…… I won't be able to cover for you this time either."
"I'll keep that firmly in mind. Heh heh."
Kim Yeon-cheol, a PD at OBS Broadcasting. He had a problem he wanted resolved as well.
He had taken on Gyo-iku-sang because of sponsor company interests, but—
He really was popular back in the day.
If they could successfully wrap the Hankuk University broadcast? He might reclaim his former stature. It could be a major boost for the show. They might even land several new sponsorship deals.
Gyo-iku-sang consulted for a number of restaurant chains. That was why Yeon-cheol had agreed to take him on in the first place.