Operation

Operation?

Operation.

The act of illicit stock manipulators attempting large-scale price manipulation purely for capital gains.

There's even a movie about it.

The story of protagonist Kang Hyun-soo joining an operation crew, scoring one massive haul, and walking away. It earns high marks for its detail and realism—a masterpiece anyone who considers themselves an investor absolutely must watch.

But to ordinary people, it can feel a little awkward.

"Senior!"

The crazy chick who'd been haunting my place nonstop lately showed up again.

"I'm in the middle of accumulation."

"No, I just watched that movie…"

"Yeah. Now that you've finally figured out what those operators you've been so curious about actually are, go boil some jjapagetti. Once morning accumulation's done, we're eating."

"Ugh."

Her overflowing academic zeal was fine. But the answer waiting at the end of that curiosity wasn't always a satisfying resolution of wonder.

Morning's about done, I guess.

Operation stocks. That was the name for equities currently under an active operation. The "Ssangburals" I'd traded right after regressing had been one of them too. Operators took special care of them and steered the price at will. Right now I had my eye on another suspicious name and was quietly accumulating.

"Jjapagetti's ready!"

"Yeah. Only on Sundays am I not the chef."

"Chef or whatever—just answer me. The movie was weird, okay?"

That entire ecosystem of the Korean stock market. It might not land for Sora, who'd only just thrown herself into equities. Or rather—what even were stocks that she'd go this far?

What even are stocks that she can only manage this much?

You could flip the question that way. It was a strange film whose impression flipped a full 180 degrees before and after you actually traded.

"Hey, why'd you boil it this soft!"

"I followed the package—five minutes."

"You've never eaten tear-soaked instant noodles, so of course you make mistakes like this."

"I don't think I'll ever have to eat them in my life."

Just like jjapagetti. The way you eat it changes a solid seventy degrees before and after military service.

Rattle!

Secret weapon. I pulled out the Momoya chili oil. Half a spoon was enough to transform the entire flavor of jjapagetti.

"Behold the magic that turns jjapagetti into chili jjajang."

"What's chili jjajang?"

"What, you don't even know chili jjajang? What do you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even know?"

"I don't. Where can I try it?"

"The military."

"Got it?"

You got to enjoy the nostalgia at the same time. It was jjapagetti mixed with chili oil you could only get at the PX.

Slurp~!

That was why I'd added the Momoya. But Momoya also mixed garlic flakes in with the chili paste.

This jjapagetti ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is chasing that taste romanticized by memory…!

The flavor image that painted the memory of chili jjajang eaten after night duty. Jjapagetti beyond that.

"Just one bite."

"He who does not trade shall not eat."

"Aw, why. So stingy!"

"You eat with your own profits."

"Ugh."

When you buy a meal with your own profits, an investor grows.

You realize the value of money. It is the most realistic way to understand how a capitalist society actually turns.

"If you're done eating, tell me already."

"The movie?"

"Yeah. No matter how I think about it, it's too…"

"Yeah. I underestimated it."

"Didn't you overestimate it?"

"?"

"?"

Reality. Textbooks only ever taught a just society, so the moment you actually faced reality the disconnect hit hard.

Uncomfortable, huh.

Our proud Korean companies wouldn't do that, right? Are securities firms scammers who fleece retail investors?

"Securities firms just dump retail trading records everywhere?"

"Everyday stuff."

"And the Financial Supervisory Service has all these connections…"

"Snitches? Nah. Usually the higher-ups move."

Sora had every right to look bewildered. In the movie the operators even colluded with securities firms and the FSS.

Isn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that obvious?

Securities firms. The FSS. Pension funds. They were all places that stabbed retail investors in the back. You didn't even need to reach the operators—their main daily work was popping retail accounts one by one for sport.

"No… they openly manipulate prices like that and it's fine? Stock manipulation and insider trading are clearly illegal!"

"If you don't get caught and do it well, it isn't illegal. Don't you know the Intermediate Ninja Exam?"

The Intermediate Ninja Exam. An episode from the manga Naruto. You had to solve ridiculously hard problems.

But it turned out cheating was allowed.

There were various other rules, but the conclusion was simple: if you didn't get caught, cheating was fine. The same principle applied cleanly to the Korean stock market. Legal regulations existed, of course, but—

"They're all places that make money fleecing retail without getting caught. There's nowhere for retail to trust."

"But still, still…"

"Especially never believe a word from a securities firm. They're the most vicious bastards of all."

"My dad works at a securities firm."

"…"

The Osung Securities ghost-stock incident. The MH Investment Securities trading-record leak. Plenty of other real cases. Operation was called a masterpiece because its historical accuracy went beyond excellent into perfect. It reflected reality one hundred percent.

Her father knows that too.

That was why he didn't want his daughter setting foot in the securities world. A place that treated people like consumables.

"Yeah. Your father is the final boss of evil. Exciting development."

"You fucking bastard."

"Just kidding. If he was scouted from Wall Street he probably does advisory work, so none of the stuff I just mentioned applies."

"That'd be a relief…"

Of course this was limited to Korea. In the United States the SEC investigated with a scalpel and slammed astronomical fines.

Korea still hasn't revised the laws.

Remnants of developing-country days. Even if you got caught doing something dirty, the fine was pitifully small compared to the scale of the crime.

"Anyway, I need to accumulate, so if your curiosity's satisfied, get out."

"The shock is too big."

"As big as your chest."

"…"

"Bigger than that?"

A story that had almost nothing to do with ordinary people. Just learn the lesson not to trust securities firms.

The annoying big-chested girl was off in her own world. I decided to sink back into my work.

Operation came out in 2009.

A lot had changed since then. And I knew the latest trends on the Street. No—among the operators. Times had moved on; they no longer used those old-fashioned tactics.

They use programs.

In the movie, Kang Hyun-soo spotted the operators' scheme because it showed on the chart. When humans did it, it left fingerprints.

But machines could create a more natural flow. They automatically defended against buyers as well.

When a retail investor buys like this…

The order book shifted. The stock that had been oscillating up and down absolutely refused to break a certain range.

The 542-won level—exactly +2 from my 540-won purchase. Break-even including commissions.

The program is set so it never gives retail the price they want.

If the stock couldn't break that range, the buyer grew anxious. Lower and they took losses. Of course there were stubborn ones. If I just hold this, it feels like it'll go up later, right?

The buyer held. Other retail seemed to be coming in? Then the program dumped volume and drove the price down.

Cruder than a human doing it by hand, sure.

But a program could run multiple operations at once. No need for expensive talent. Quantity filled the gaps in detail. If one name's flow got blocked, as long as the others worked it was fine. In the end the anxious party was always retail. They stamped their feet and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠finally cut losses with tears in their eyes. The program simply repeated the cycle and kept stacking inventory. Then, all at once—

They plan to pump it in one shot.

Omega Information & Communication was a name I'd been watching for the past few days. The chart flow looked decent. There was also "material"—the reason the stock should rise. Lately the telecom sector had been noisy with technological advances.

Commercialization was still a long way off. But the government was paying attention, and given the market's habit of pricing the future, it was enough to move.

The problem is timing.

The large-caps had already reacted. Among the small-caps, something was definitely going to shoot. Omega Information & Communication could be one of them. I had confirmed the operators were accumulating.

So when? My situation wasn't good enough to wait forever.

First of all, I'm broke.

Stock profits scale with seed money. And that seed was far too small—1.5 million won. Even when day-trading profits came in, living expenses leaked them right back out.

There was still a trading method you could use even without money—if the opponent was a program.

Current programs aren't perfect.

They couldn't handle high-difficulty work. Grasp the pattern and you could stab the weak points.

I kept buying one share at a time. The program, following its settings, kept pushing the price lower. I rotated three accounts so the program would think buyers were flooding in. I'd been working it slowly over three days. A stock that had sat in the 700s had now crashed into the 500s. The operators' average cost, by my calculation, was around 520. If it went any lower they would have no choice but to react.

Alright. The guy in charge should be finishing lunch any minute.

Humans still had to eat. Especially when a program was handling the trading so comfortably. As predators of the market they would have been enjoying the leisure. In that window I had eaten jjapagetti—to make full use of lunch hour. Time to straighten the spines of those relaxed operator hyungs.

Burp~!

Kim Min-gu, deputy manager at Crown Capital, was walking back to the office with a satisfied look. He had just finished a course meal for lunch—at a high-end restaurant that ran 100,000 won a head.

How much money do I move in a single day?

The operation he was running lately was going smoothly. Success would mean a massive incentive—enough to eat course meals three times a day. But life hadn't always been this comfortable.

The program changed my quality of life.

Barely five years ago he had been glued to the monitors all day. Prices could explode at any moment. Times had changed. Run the program and it traded on its own. He only needed to tweak it now and then. Convenient.

Ding!

Multiple operations ran simultaneously. All he had to do was gut the ones that had fattened up nicely.

No—fuck, why is the stock price like this?!

An operation stock he had carefully nurtured for three months. Omega Information & Communication's price was acting weird.