Chapter 15
Chapter 15
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Han Yura, Dirt-Poor College Student
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Inside the studio apartment after Yura left, an awkward silence hung in the air, accompanied only by the lingering scent of her shampoo.
I rubbed my throbbing lower back once and sat down at the computer, steadying my mind.
It was time for "CEO Kim" to get to work.
Instead of pulling up individual coin charts, I opened the global economic indicators calendar.
My brain, in a state of post-nut clarity, sifted through mountains of data, hunting for the most reliable "event" that could make us money.
My eyes locked onto one entry.
'US Consumer Price Index (CPI) announcement. In 15 days.'
This was the real "wave" we needed to wait for.
In my head, the market consensus of 3.4% clashed with my own inference of 3.2% based on leading indicators, painting the most probable scenario.
'A positive surprise beating market expectations.'
Based on this scenario, I devised the most precise plan to deploy our core capital of 30 million won.
It wasn't a simple all-in.
It was a dollar-cost averaging strategy, leveraging every bit of volatility in the market leading up to the CPI announcement to secure the most advantageous average entry price.
With all the analysis and calculations complete in my mind, I began moving the keyboard and mouse with orchestra-conductor precision, without a single error.
I pulled up charts for Bitcoin and Ethereum, placing limit buy orders for 10 million won each—dividing our 30 million across three support zones where Fibonacci retracements perfectly overlapped with order book walls.
It was a perfect net, accounting even for a pre-announcement fear-driven plunge.
To minimize risk, I set flawless stop-loss lines for each order.
Once all the orders were placed, I leaned back in my chair.
After the CPI release, I could already picture this position delivering 10-15% returns—3 to 4.5 million won in profit.
Our biggest asset was now riding on the safest, most rational system.
With the line cast for the massive wave, I had just one job left.
I switched screens to a 1-minute chart buzzing with countless altcoins.
The 3 million won scalping account.
Until that day came, I had to hunt for our living expenses in this jungle.
First, I opened the exchange's list of countless listed coins.
In this sea of chaos, step one was filtering out the meaningless noise. My first filter was always volume.
Coins without liquidity were no better than corpse-filled graveyards.
I sorted the list by 24-hour trading volume and wiped everything below a certain threshold from the screen.
That left me with dozens of prime "hunting grounds" based purely on volume.
Like yesterday, overall market volume was still low today.
The fear from the recent drop still gripped the market.
But it was different from yesterday.
Unlike yesterday's total corpse-fest, today I could feel faint pulses in spots across the market.
That was enough.
All I had to do was ride those tiny pulses to earn our "daily wage."
Before diving into the hunt, I etched the key rules for the day into my mind.
'First, take-profit target. No greed. The instant it hits +1.5%, cash out like a machine.'
'Second, stop-loss. Even more crucial. Set it at -0.7% the moment you enter, sharp as a knife. If my analysis is wrong, accept the small loss without hesitation and move to the next opportunity.'
This wasn't gambling.
It was a purely mathematical game: pick only high win-rate battles, take a bit more on wins, lose a bit less on losses, repeat.
Preparation complete.
I tiled multiple charts on one screen and went still like a predator waiting for prey, breath held, eyes glued to their movements.
Most coins still lay there like corpses.
But one chart stood out.
'SVT/KRW'.
While every other coin dipped or went sideways, this one alone traced a quiet, steady upward flow.
'Hmm... too clean.'
In a dead market like this, such a pretty chart was suspicious.
It could be whales painting the tape to lure in ants or the prelude to a rug pull dumping all their bags.
Before mechanical trading kicked in, I decided to dig into why SVT was flowing so nicely today—get to the essence.
Post-nut clarity excelled at spotting these traps.
First, I fired up the block explorer to analyze wallet addresses.
'Top holder distribution? Is the team's supply still unlocked and flooding the market?'
Fortunately, top wallets were mostly exchange addresses, and the team's initial supply was locked via smart contract for a set period.
No immediate risk of a massive dump.
First red flag cleared.
Next, the community.
Checked the official Telegram and Twitter.
Not filled with meaningless "to the moon!" or "wen pump?" spam.
A handful of real devs and supporters were seriously discussing the next protocol update.
Talking tech, not price.
A living community.
Finally, GitHub.
Steady. Meaningful code updates nearly every week for months.
Analysis done. Verdict reached.
'Not a pump-and-dump. A genuinely undervalued project doing real work.'
Even as the market died, a few who knew its value kept steadily buying, creating healthy flow.
I dropped all doubts and pulled up the SVT 1-minute chart again.
This was now my safest, surest hunting ground. Mouse in hand, I poured every ounce of focus into finding the first entry.
All analysis complete.
No more hesitation.
This wasn't gambling.
It was rational labor: targeting the surest prey in the highest-probability hunting ground.
I zeroed in on the SVT 1-minute chart.
Moments later, the first opportunity hit.
A short pullback ended with a bullish candle at support, long lower wick, volume ticking up faintly. Perfect entry signal.
'Click.'
No hesitation—I swept up 1 million won worth (a third of the 3 million) at market price.
Fingers moved mechanically on entry.
'Click, click.'
Pre-set sell order at +1.5% for take-profit, -0.7% for stop-loss.
Nothing left for me to do. Just trust the system and probabilities.
The chart curved upward smoothly, just as expected.
I watched impassively. No joy, no anticipation. Just confirming the data.
3 minutes 12 seconds later.
Price hit my exact +1.5% target. Position auto-closed.
💰 Realized P&L: +14,850 KRW (excluding fees) First hunt complete.
No time to check profits—I scanned for the next target.
Found another coin mirroring the pattern, repeated the process.
Buy. Take-profit (+1.5%) and stop-loss (-0.7%) orders. Result check.
💰 Realized P&L: +15,120 KRW (excluding fees) Next target.
This time, my prediction missed.
Price dumped right after entry, hitting the -0.7% stop-loss automatically.
💥 Realized P&L: -6,930 KRW (excluding fees) The blue number flashed in my account, but I felt nothing.
This wasn't failure.
Just a planned retreat to cap bigger losses.
Emotionless trading continued for an hour.
I wasn't human anymore.
I was a precision trading algorithm, striking only the highest-probability moments, stacking fixed profits and losses.
Mechanical buys and sells kept coming.
Like a rhythm game, I danced across the charts by the rules.
Entry, take-profit. Entry, stop-loss. Entry, take-profit. No emotion in my actions, just numbers piling up.
How many hours passed?
It was right then, as I focused every nerve on finding the next entry.
"...Ah."
Suddenly, the chart blurred.
And in its place floated Han Yura's firm ass, rhythmically shaking under me that morning.
With that lewd afterimage, the cold rationality dominating my brain snapped.
I snapped to.
The crystal-clear chart flows turned back into meaningless random noise.
Post-nut clarity was over.
I yanked my hand from the mouse.
Trading in this state was suicide.
I checked the transaction history.
In the last few hours, 48 trades. The 3 million seed had grown to 3,338,100 won.
Final return: +11.27%.
For our first "paycheck," it was more than generous.
I sank deep into the chair back, rolling my stiff neck.
Lunchtime long past.
Even with the success, no joy stirred.
Instead, I finally understood bone-deep why so many ants gnaw their scalping seeds away.
'It's all about psychology in the end.'
A few wins make them arrogant, breaking rules. One loss fills them with rage or fear, ruining everything.
They crumble to emotional "brain farts."
But I was different.
This morning, I was an emotionless machine.
And what created that difference? Han Yura, ultimately.
I let out a dry chuckle, muttering.
"Fuck... so the true essence of my talent isn't just 'clicking,' but pure emotionless zen?"
I stood, grabbed a ramen pack shoved in the kitchen shelf corner.
No kimchi scraps, just slurped down the fiery red broth to fill my gut.
Belly full, nothing left to do.
Still nearly two weeks till CPI.
Our "real estate" would stay quiet till then.
Today's "wage" already earned.
I flopped onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Then unease crept in.
This peaceful idleness, this "doing nothing" state—it felt like it'd drag me back to that pathetic loser Kim Cheolsu, the impulse-trading dipshit.
I grabbed my smartphone. Time to report today's results to Yura and lock in the next "shift."
[Me: Earned 338K in daily wages today.]
[Me: What's for dinner?]
Yura's reply came in under a minute.
Her interest wasn't dinner.
[Han Yura: How much of that is mine?]
[Me: You're such a real money grubber.]
[Han Yura: So how much?]
She brushed off my jab effortlessly.
I shook my head, quickly calculating her cut based on our new split.
'Total profit 338K. 60-40 split: my share ~203K, Yura's ~135K. Deduct my 10% fee on her profit: 13.5K...'
Calculation done, I typed.
[Me: Your daily wage today: 121,500 won.]
[Han Yura: That's it? Fuck it, I'd rather room-service an escort. Got creampied by you and only 120K? Wanna die?]
[Me: 11% daily return is huge, you know?]
[Han Yura: Suddenly pissing me off...]
[Me: What now? Take out today's profits? Or reinvest?]
[Han Yura: Reinvest and make more tomorrow?]
[Me: Bigger seed means higher opportunity cost. Can't guarantee the return rate.]
[Han Yura: Hmm, coins trade 24/7, right?]
[Me: Yeah.]
[Han Yura: I'll swing by after class later. Clean your dick spotless.]
Fuck, this girl was obsessed with money.
Not satisfied with today's gains, already plotting to grow the seed tonight.
[Me: Heads up, even if you spread 'em tonight, no trading.]
[Han Yura: Why?]
[Me: You insane bitch, we've been fucking multiple times a day... I'm gonna drop dead for real.]
The days since going all-in on NBLS.
My studio wasn't just mine anymore.
Our "relationship" was maintained under the bizarre banner of "impulse trading prevention," with sex multiple times a day.
When post-nut clarity wore off, anxiety hit, I'd call Yura.
She'd bitch but come over, calm me down (with her body), then leave.
Morning sex, sex, sex, sex—multiple times daily till now.
Truly on the brink of death by exhaustion, I messaged Yura a strike declaration: no more.
[Me: Seriously gonna die. Realized "death by overwork" is a real term.]
My desperate plea got zero sympathy back.
[Han Yura: Your dick's small, stamina's trash, life's a total shitshow.]
[Me: What the fuck, you crazy bitch. We did it 4-5 times a day on NBLS. That's peak virility. Anyway, need a break: once a day max for a while.]
[Han Yura: But you just said you'd fuck if I came over?]
Yura latched onto my earlier slip: if she spreads, I'd do it.
[Me: Using body and mind at once is too much. Dick-only? Sure.]
I spouted nonsense even I barely understood: "work sex" vs. "pleasure sex."
Yura saw right through me.
[Han Yura: In other words, you want full pussy denial?]
[Me: Yeah]
I admitted it pure as a clear-eyed zealot.
Her signature response: one crisp character.
[Han Yura: ㅗ]
And so our grueling day wrapped up.
I tossed the phone aside, stared at the empty ceiling, muttering.
"Fuck... my life's just getting my dick sucked, huh."