Chapter 103
Chapter 103
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: Whatever Turns Me On
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Making money—no, copying money—is simple.
It's the Post-Nut Clarity trading method, bordering on precognition.
The win rate easily tops 90%.
The real problem comes after that.
How do you spend that cash so everyone in the neighborhood is buzzing about how fucking worth it was?
Wearing a luxury suit on TV, droning on about market trends like some dignified pundit.
Or getting immortalized on the Forbes cover with some cringey title like "Paju Sage."
I coolly ditched that whole "[Investment King]" persona.
To begin with, being an investor everyone reveres is bullshit.
That world's full of scum who grind their conscience in a blender—unless you're Han Yura's type, you're just a mark getting called a sucker.
Even that old-timer I once idolized pulls every ass-kissing stunt in the book just to shave off a few bucks in taxes.
Hypocrisy makes me sick.
So my "commute" is as far from that fake shit as it gets.
When I swung open the door to the president-slash-trading room on the second floor of my "headquarters,"
I looked less like a Forbes cover and more like a local PC bang deadbeat.
A stretched-out band tee I'd slept in last night, gray sweatpants with holes at the knees.
Mismatched cartoon slippers on my feet.
This is the getup for the "chairman" rolling hundreds of billions.
Luxury suits? Why squeeze into that stiff crap?
The losers coming to beg for my money will bow their heads anyway.
My "desk" is pure chaos.
The three main monitors show the stock market, overseas futures, and that new "used container ship listings" site I stumbled on yesterday.
The sub monitor next to it has an auto-farming game chugging along on its own,
And in one corner of the desk, half-eaten instant noodle cups roll around with the wine bottle Chaewon and I polished off last night.
I flopped into my chair, feet kicked up on the desk with a thud.
Clicked the mouse a few times.
Mechanically buying the stock I'd picked out in Post-Nut Clarity last night.
In under a minute, the annual salary of an average middle-class Korean family got "copied" into my account.
I yawned hugely, staring blankly at the climbing numbers on the screen.
Respect? Honor?
All bullshit.
I have no plans to turn into a hypocrite. Nor do I wanna end up like Han Yura.
I'm just a rich retard pondering what'll be the most fun with all this shit.
"Hey, Secretary Choi. What do you think of [Trade King] Kim Cheolsu? Wouldn't that be fucking awesome?"
As soon as I finished, the noise under the desk stopped.
Moments later, something wet peeled away with a slick sound, and Choi Yang slithered out from under the desk.
She casually wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her face perfectly cool and detached, giving zero hint of what she'd been up to.
"Sounds retarded."
"Yeah? Fair enough."
Her insult bounced right off me, and I tossed out the next idea without missing a beat.
"How about [Enter King] Kim Cheolsu then? Choi Yang, wanna give idols another shot? I could back you all the way."
".........."
Instead of answering, she just stared at me.
In that brief silence, her eyes flickered with a messy swirl of contempt, resignation, and faint lingering regret for the dream she'd once chased.
Then she wiped it all away, back to stone-faced blankness.
This bitch is leveling up her "glare of disdain" skill by the day, huh?
Han Yura mini edition?
I didn't bother responding, just tilted my head and reached out to lightly press her crown.
A silent command: no need to say more, get back to it.
She stiffened like she might resist for a second, then got the hint and slithered out of sight again.
The desk below buzzed back to life.
The soft tongue caressing my dick felt good again, but my eyes stayed glued to the sub monitor.
Inside, my game character was auto-hunting monsters and picking up loot on its own.
All I did was log in now and then to clear trash items and sell 'em.
Making money, gaming—it's all turned into this.
Boring-ass auto mode.
That monotonous peace got shattered by the sharp click of high heels echoing down the hall, followed by the door flying open with a bang.
Han Yura.
Tablet PC in hand, probably displaying the bonkers plans for [Virility King] Kim Cheolsu that Choi Yang had reported up the chain from my recent orders.
She was peak "career woman."
Navy slacks hugging her body perfectly, silk blouse, hair pulled back in a flawless bun without a strand out of place.
Just her entrance sliced through the stale air in the room.
Her world was order, efficiency, and charisma.
And mine was...
"Haa... Chairman. Fuck, is this an office?"
I didn't even glance away from the monitor, just flicked the mouse and sniped back.
"Don't come at me first thing in the morning. Why're you here? Not off babying the Bluesky Games trio?"
My words froze her face solid.
Her grip tightened on the tablet, knuckles going white.
'She needs the money, but don't poke the artist's soul!!!'
The Bluesky Games trio, ruled by nerd vibes in their brains.
Han Yura's face—aging a year daily from cleaning up my messes—now screamed "pissed off."
Her perfect career woman mask shattered to bits.
"...Fuck, you little shit... This is all your fault! You started with that '100 billion!!!' bullshit, and now those assholes act like goddamn geniuses. What am I supposed to do about it?!"
Her voice cracked with rage.
I'd been staring at the monitor the whole time, but now I slowly turned to face her.
With the most innocent, clueless look, I shrugged.
"Who said what? I was ready to fold... You said you'd handle it."
Those last words were the knockout punch.
Her erupting fury deflated in an instant, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion and helplessness.
She muttered to herself in a hollow voice.
"Ah, fuck... Should I just kill it?"
I sank deeper into my chair, gazing at her with the kindest, most merciful expression.
"Yeah, quitting's easier. Vice President Han Yura."
Dropping her exact title like that was the cruelest jab in the moment.
Her lips quivered faintly.
Like grasping at the last straw, she looked at me with pleading eyes.
"But... you said this one's a sure money-maker."
I laughed.
Yeah, that's it.
The reason she puts up with all this stress. The irresistible prophecy I'd handed her.
"Of course. Has my Post-Nut Clarity ever been wrong?"
She wore a tangled mess of hope and despair.
Giving up the argument, she grumbled in resignation about the spilled milk that was Bluesky Games.
"Haa... Fuck, if you hadn't started with that 100 billion crap, I could've chipped away at it for pennies... You're so fucking irresponsible."
"What can ya do~?"
I clicked my tongue, replying extra obnoxiously on purpose.
Stroked Choi Yang's hair as she got busy again under the desk, then grinned at Yura.
"But seriously, why're you here? Pussy itching first thing in the morning?"
My crude sexual harassment barely registered; she just shook her head like it wasn't worth responding to.
Forcing down her earlier anger, she got to the point.
"Oh, right... What the hell is this?"
"What's what?"
I glanced at the tablet screen she shoved in my face,
And there was the first slide of a PPT titled [Kim Cheolsu Virility King Project Budget], written in some super serious Gothic font.
"Oh, that?"
Stroking my chin like I was briefing a major business matter, I said,
"Lately my stamina's been lacking... Feels like my dick won't get up."
"..........Fuck."
Her curse was just the opener.
Trembling as she held the tablet, she swiped to the budget page.
Seeing the numbers there snapped her reason clean in half.
"You wanna get fucked up starting New Year's, Chairman? Just pop some Viagra! Fuck, company money on boosting your dick stamina? What... how much? 500 billion?! Are you insane, for real!!!!"
Her near-scream didn't faze me a bit.
Instead, I tsked at her like she was pathetic and calmly started schooling her.
"Hey, hey, think about it. What's our company's most valuable asset? Me, right? More precisely, the dick that produces Post-Nut Clarity! Right?"
"......."
My bullshit logic left her speechless for a sec. I pressed on without mercy.
"You saying 500 billion's too much for our company's 'treasure'? Sure, it's big money. Can't spend it right now in our situation. But check the PPT—it says it's a super long-term project over the next five years, yeah?"
Clutching the tablet, she pressed her temple hard with a shaking hand.
Her face shifted past anger to deep self-loathing at being stuck arguing this nonsense she couldn't refute.
".......Hoo. Fine, you're not wrong. As much as it sucks... your dick? Fucking vital. I admit it."
Her white flag at last. I grinned in satisfaction.
But she wasn't done fighting.
Jabbing a finger at a specific line on the screen, she dug in sharp.
"But... fuck, why 'size enlargement' and 'pearl implants'?"
"Uh... well... that's..."
Stumped for a second. But I quickly cooked up a genius excuse.
"It's for employee welfare, in its own way."
"......Welfare?"
A flash of "did I hear that right?" crossed her face. Staring her dead in the eyes, I whispered slyly,
"Yeah. Doesn't just thinking about getting impaled on a huge dick loaded with pearls make your womb throb like crazy?"
My blatant stare and dirty words drained the color from her face.
"Haa, fuck... You're better off with that 'success sickness' you had... Hoo... Fuck... Whatever, why talk to a retard?"
Sounding like she'd given up on everything, she turned to leave.
Her shoulders weren't shaking with rage anymore.
Just sunk in utter fatigue. I called her back quick.
"Hey, Yura. Hold up."
"…What now? Spit it out."
Voice dripping with irritation.
But she couldn't ignore my gesture, trudging over like metal drawn to a magnet.
Standing right by my chair, her gaze dropped down.
Met Choi Yang's eyes mid-task under the desk, locking for a split second in the air.
What emotion flashed between those two women in that instant?
No clue.
Yura looked back at me with cold, emotionless eyes.
"You really do it all."
I just shrugged.
One hand unbuckled her slacks, the other grabbed a Sharpie from the drawer.
Lifted her blouse a bit, revealing her pale, smooth lower belly.
Faint traces of the past, half-faded.
Over that barely-there writing, I scrawled a fresh "brand" with practiced strokes.
[Kim Cheolsu's. Touch and Die]
The click of the cap snapping shut, and I grinned wide in satisfaction.
Yura's voice, fully surrendered to the world, drifted over.
"Gotta do this every time I head out?"
"Yeah. How can I trust a slut who gets wet just looking at dick?"
"......You bastard."
Her curse carried no anger now—just bitter resignation.