I'll Try Spending It First

Ten billion won had appeared.

Shin Lee-hyun found out at a convenience store.

He was ringing up two triangle kimbap and a carton of milk when he checked his account balance, and the number looked wrong.

He remembered exactly how much had been there until yesterday. Rent and card payments had gone out, leaving just enough to scrape by until the next payday. Except now there were extra digits stacked up in front of it.

Lee-hyun counted the digits again, starting from the ones place.

"Would you like a bag?"

A hundred thousand. A million. Ten million.

"Sir?"

"Oh, sorry. A bag, please."

The payment terminal chimed the moment he tapped his card. Lee-hyun took his bag and stepped outside, then planted himself next to the automatic door. He pulled the screen down and brought it back up — the balance was unchanged, minus only what he'd just spent at the convenience store.

He tapped the deposit history.

"PRIME?"

Was there a client company by that name? Even if there were, it had no reason to send him ten billion won. This was the personal account of a marketing assistant manager at a small-to-midsize firm — a man who, just last week, had called the same client three separate times trying to collect a three-million-won advertising fee.

Lee-hyun looked up the bank's customer service number. He was a split second from hitting the call button when a blue window floated up above his smartphone.

He closed the banking app. The window stayed.

He flipped the phone over. The window was still there. Only after shoving the phone into his pocket entirely did Lee-hyun realize it wasn't appearing on the screen at all.

"……What is this?"

A customer coming out behind him walked straight through the middle of the blue window. Lee-hyun's eyes darted between the man and the window, and he edged a little closer to the wall.

Squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again changed nothing. Sure, he'd worked overtime last night, but he wasn't tired enough to be seeing things. And the money stamped into his bank account needed explaining, too.

New lines appeared beneath the window.

Spend five billion won?

Lee-hyun looked down at the bag in his hand. Inside were two triangle kimbap, chosen because they were a hundred won cheaper than the tuna mayo ones.

"You could at least ease me into it."

In that moment, the remaining time dropped by fifty-eight seconds.

Even back home, the banking app was the first thing Lee-hyun ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠opened. He checked his balance over one of the triangle kimbap, then tried sending ten thousand won to another account. The deposit notification came through instantly.

He called customer service as well, asking whether there was any problem with his transactions given the huge sum that had come in. After verifying his identity, the agent replied that no payment holds or transaction restrictions were currently showing on the account.

The window before his eyes, meanwhile, was still nagging him to spend the money.

Thirty minutes had already gone by.

Lee-hyun powered up his battered old laptop and typed ten billion won deposited by mistake into the search bar. He stared at the words for a moment, deleted them, and opened a car sales site from his bookmarks instead.

It was where he browsed now and then after working overtime. He'd look at a few photos of a car, check the price, tap around to see what the installments on a used one would run, and close the tab. That was the routine.

The red Ferrari he'd stared at more than any other was still listed.

He enlarged the photo. His eyes traced the car from its low-slung front end back to the rear wheels — and then he tapped the dealership's phone number.

"Hello, I'm calling about the red Ferrari listed on your site. Is it still available?"

It was.

Lee-hyun glanced once at the timer hanging in midair.

"Could I come ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠see it now?"

In person, the car sat far lower than it had in the photos.

Lee-hyun made a slow circle around it. The showroom lights stretched in long reflections across the smooth body. He leaned in for a closer look, hands held firmly behind his back the whole time.

A staff member opened the driver's door for him.

"Feel free to have a seat."

Lowering himself inside, he felt the seat brace his thighs and back, firm and supportive. It smelled of leather. Lee-hyun gripped the wheel and gazed out through the windshield.

He remembered peering into this showroom through a bus window, wondering what people who bought cars like this did for a living.

"How does it feel?"

"It's nice."

He didn't want to take his hands off the wheel.

The staff member began with the car's history. It was a consignment sale, already registered domestically; the purchase price was 870 million won, with transfer costs and insurance handled separately.

When the explanation was over, Lee-hyun climbed out of the car.

"I'll take it."

"You'd like to proceed with this vehicle?"

"Yes."

"We do have other vehicles in a similar price range worth comparing. I'd be happy to show you those as well."

Lee-hyun shook his head.

"I came here for that one."

He'd kept it bookmarked for three years. He hadn't bought it because he had no money — not because he was curious about other cars.

Sitting across from the staff member, they went over the car's condition and the delivery terms. Even if he paid today, he would receive the car only after the ownership transfer and a final inspection were complete.

"How long will that take?"

"I'll confirm the schedule and get back to you. We'll have everything ready as quickly as we can."

"I'd appreciate that."

He handed over his ID and wrote his name on the contract. He'd entered the account number he'd been given and was typing in the transfer amount when his palms went damp.

870 million won.

Just as he wondered whether the transfer limit alone would stop him, a small notification appeared.

Lee-hyun checked the recipient and the amount one more time. Only after counting the zeros, one by one, did he press send.

The screen looked exactly like the one he saw whenever he sent his rent. He caught himself calculating how many years of rent the money he'd just sent would cover, and made himself stop.

Having confirmed the deposit, the staff member rose from his seat.

"Thank you for your purchase. I'll contact you personally about the delivery schedule."

"Great. I'm looking forward to it."

Lee-hyun moved to stand up as well, then sat right back down. The strength had drained out of his knees.

"Shall I bring you more water?"

"Ah — yes. Thank you."

He sipped the water and looked over the contract. His own name sat in the buyer field. He looked at the car, then back at his name.

Lee-hyun took out his phone.

"Mind if I take some photos?"

"Of course. It's your car, sir."

At that, Lee-hyun couldn't hold back a laugh.

The moment he got in the taxi, he opened his photo gallery. Front view, side profile, even the driver's seat — he'd taken twenty pictures of a single car.

He picked out the best shot to send to a friend, then stopped. The swearing would come first, he figured. After that, the question of what money he'd bought it with — and from there, he'd have nothing to say.

For now he just saved the photos and checked the timer.

He still had to spend at least 4.13 billion won more.

He could always buy five more cars at the same price. But he had no idea where he'd park even one. In his one-room building, eight households split three parking spaces; on the nights he got off late, he'd barely managed to squeeze his bicycle in.

Lee-hyun searched high-end residential listings.

He moved to tap lowest price first, then shifted his finger. Today, it was highest first.

After scrolling past a few, he found the remaining units in a newly completed building. A top-floor duplex with a spacious terrace. He skimmed past the living room photos, checked all the way down to the underground parking garage, and made the call.

"I'm calling about a listing I saw. Could I come view the unit now?"

"This is the last remaining unit, on the top floor."

Sales Director Oh Min-ah opened the front door. Lee-hyun took off his shoes and followed her in. The hallway alone was longer than the distance from his own front door to his bed.

He stepped into the living room, and there was the Han River.

Lee-hyun walked past the director to the window. At his place, opening the window meant a view of the AC units on the building across the way; here, the view stretched unbroken to the far side of the river. The cars below looked tiny.

"The kitchen is through here, and the bedrooms and a second bathroom are upstairs."

Only when Lee-hyun finally turned around did the director add:

"The furnishings you see are for staging. With a few exceptions, they'll be removed."

"Ah, so I'd have to buy furniture separately?"

"Yes. I'll provide a list of the items that are included."

Lee-hyun toured the apartment as she explained, opening the door of every room they passed. Somewhere along the way, he began wondering what he was supposed to fill all this with. Even the smallest room, with just a bed and a desk in it, would feel roomier than the one-room he lived in now.

"How many cars can I park here?"

"Four spaces are assigned exclusively to the unit."

"Four?"

"Yes."

Four spaces meant never again circling the block twice just because he'd come home late.

Back in the living room, Lee-hyun looked at the dining table beside the kitchen. Even with the chairs pulled out, there was a long stretch of space left behind them. In his current room, eating a meal meant clearing the laptop off the desk first.

Here, he could leave his dishes in the sink after dinner and go sleep in a room where nobody would see them.

"I like it."

"The purchase price is 4.5 billion won. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The payment schedule can be adjusted through consultation."

"I'm planning to buy it outright, no loan."

The director looked up from her tablet.

"If the paperwork checks out, can I pay the full amount today?"

"You mean full payment today?"

"Yes."

The director set down her tablet.

"I'll confirm with the person in charge. Let me walk you through the contract terms first, and I'll have everything prepared so we can proceed today if at all possible."

After that, it took quite a while.

They verified the contracting party and the registry documents, and he sat through a legal officer's explanations. So many of the terms were new to him that he had to interrupt and ask, again and again.

"Sorry — do I need to apply for this separately?"

"We'll guide you through that part. You only need to prepare the documents listed here."

The timer shrinking at the edge of his vision kept catching his eye. Lee-hyun pushed the window to the corner of his sight and bent his head over the contract. Urgent was urgent — but he still had to know what, exactly, he was signing his name to.

He checked every page down to the last and signed. By the time he had wired 4.5 billion won to the account under the development company's name, the timer had a little over forty minutes left.

"Haaah…"

He slumped back against the seat, and the director poured him a glass of water.

"Thank you for your hard work, sir. I'll confirm the interior preparation schedule and contact you with your move-in date."

Lee-hyun took a sip of water and opened the notes app on his phone. After the walkthrough of the ownership transfer and the tax guidance, the list he'd jotted down had grown fairly long.

He still had to take delivery of the car, and he had to move. If the furniture was being taken out, he'd need to start by picking a bed.

While the director organized the paperwork, Lee-hyun casually snapped one more photo of the living room.

That night, Lee-hyun returned to his one-room anyway.

The Ferrari was still at the dealership, and he hadn't received the keys to the new place yet. When he flipped on the light, the half-eaten triangle kimbap on his desk caught his eye.

Lee-hyun tossed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it in the trash and opened a delivery app.

He tapped the sushi place he always browsed. It was the kind of place where he'd get hungry looking at it, glance at the prices, and scroll right past. But today he added soup to the set and ordered on the spot.

When the food arrived, he shoved the laptop aside to make room. He put on a Nuteube video and lifted the lid off the sushi — and before taking a single bite, felt the urge to look at the car photos again.

He popped a piece of sushi into his mouth and swiped through the pictures. After the red Ferrari came the wide living room. He tilted his phone this way and that, and laughed to himself.

"I really bought it."

Remembering a notification he'd missed during the signing, he opened the system window.

Lee-hyun's chopsticks stopped halfway to the sushi.

It refilled the money he spent?

He read the two lines over and over. It meant that the car and the apartment he'd bought today would stay his — and that tomorrow, he could spend another ten billion won.

The wall clock read 11:58.

Lee-hyun set down his chopsticks and opened the banking app. The balance still sat in the 4.6-billion range, the charges for the car and the apartment still there in the history.

It took two refreshes before he confirmed that it was still only 11:59.

Someone was chattering away on the laptop, but none of it reached him. Lee-hyun waited for the time at the top of his phone to change.

00:00

He checked the screen again.

Lee-hyun stared at the screen, mouth open.

Exactly ten billion won.

He opened his photo gallery — the pictures of the car and the apartment were still there, and the contract lay beside him, too. He picked up the contract, set it back down, and opened the banking app once more.

The balance hadn't changed.

Buying the Ferrari, he'd wondered whether he should really be spending money like that. After buying the apartment too, he'd even run a quick calculation on whether what remained could last him a lifetime.

There was no need.

Even if he burned through all ten billion tomorrow, it would be refilled the day after.

"……Where am I supposed to spend all of this?"

A new window appeared.

"A livestream?"

Lee-hyun turned to his laptop. In the video he'd left running, a streamer was showing off newly bought equipment.

Lee-hyun opened his photo gallery. It was crammed full of pictures of the car and the apartment.

And there wasn't a single person to show them to.