Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: Portrait and Mourning
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The air inside the quiet car was heavy. Neither Yura in the passenger seat nor Chaewon in the back said a word.
If Haneuli had been with us, the three of us would have smiled at her vibrant energy filling our mouths with life...
But given the nature of the place we were headed, we couldn't bring Haneuli along.
Following the navigation, we parked in the spacious lot of a building in Ilsan.
The lot was filled with cars of every make and model.
From morning on, so many people had come to mourn someone's passing.
Inside the building, different sorrows were unfolding all at once.
Each funeral hall held its own stories and pains, but we were only there for one.
A 21-year-old college student who lost his life to Helios Coin.
We hadn't expected the consequences of our actions to take such a concrete form.
Stepping out of the car, I let out a deep sigh.
The oppressive atmosphere unique to a funeral home hung over the parking lot already.
If someone held me directly responsible...
Well?
Honestly, what we did wasn't illegal.
Even calling it opinion manipulation—it was just posting a few things online, not spreading false info.
It was a legitimate investment strategy exploiting market psychology.
That student chose to invest in Helios Coin himself.
No one forced him, and everyone knows investing comes with risks.
In a zero-sum game, someone loses and someone wins—that's just how it is.
But...
Still, something felt off.
Even if it was legally fine, what about morally?
What if that 21-year-old got swept up in the hype we created and made a reckless investment?
No.
That's just sentimental thinking.
Emotions are poison in the world of investing.
So why did my steps feel so heavy?
We didn't hold a knife to his throat and force him to buy this coin.
Pouring his parents' tuition money into some vague internet rumor was entirely on him.
Honestly,
I couldn't understand why a kid with parents footing his college tuition would jump off a building over this.
From my perspective, growing up in an orphanage, it was even more baffling.
A guy raised with parents who send him to college, pay tuition, and give him pocket money—suicides over an investment flop?
I survived on instant ramen in a 200-square-foot studio without giving up.
Chaewon got pregnant at 17, raised the kid alone, and kept pushing forward.
Yura endured school bullies without breaking.
We survived far more desperate situations.
But that guy?
With solid parental backing, he ends it all over one failed trade.
It came down to mental strength.
The limit of those who never truly knew despair.
Coldly speaking, it wasn't our fault.
Even so, guilt gnawed at me for what happened on the stage I set.
The old me would have called this feeling a "luxury," but I still stuffed a thick condolence envelope into the offering box.
Ten million won for a 21-year-old college kid I'd never met.
Unimaginable back when I was boiling ramen in that tiny studio.
I'd scrimped on 1,000-won ramen packs then; now I was spending ten million to soothe my guilt.
Irony at its finest.
With money comes the luxury of such "decadent" emotions.
Back then, survival trumped everything—guilt was a luxury I couldn't afford.
But now? With 13.8 billion in assets, ten million was just the cost of easing my conscience.
As I slipped the envelope into the box, I thought,
This money couldn't bring that young man back, but it might lighten my heart a little.
Of course, I knew this was just self-satisfaction.
The three of us dealt with our guilt in totally different ways.
I bowed awkwardly.
Yura placed a single chrysanthemum.
Chaewon knelt demurely and prayed to the Virgin Mary for a long time.
Growing up in an orphanage, I'd never had proper religious training.
So I just bent at the waist clumsily in front of the portrait, not even knowing how to bow right.
Yura was composed.
Placing that one flower quietly, she showed no emotional waves.
It seemed like her way of paying respects.
Chaewon was different.
Kneeling with hands clasped, her soft prayers felt genuine.
Having gone to church, she clearly knew exactly what to do.
Same guilt, expressed through our different upbringings and beliefs.
Watching them, I suddenly wondered if we really were a team.
As we each tried to shake off the guilt and leave the hall, we got caught.
A middle-aged woman in mourning clothes grabbed us and sat us at a table laid with white plastic for easy cleanup.
"You all were Cheolmin's friends?"
After a moment's hesitation, I spoke for the group.
"Just acquaintances. We met by chance..."
I mixed rice into the beef stew and polished it off, not leaving a drop.
I vaguely recalled hearing that eating heartily at a bereaved home is polite.
Whether true or not, I wasn't sure.
But that middle-aged woman—
Probably Cheolmin's mom—seemed to find a bit of comfort watching me finish, so I forced it down.
Orphanage life hadn't taught me funeral etiquette.
But at least I could finish my food.
Yura and Chaewon quietly ate theirs too.
No one spoke.
Hearing the name "Cheolmin" made it hit home even harder.
Not just a "21-year-old college student," but a real person named Cheolmin.
Slipping out to the smoking area, the three of us stood facing each other and lit up.
I had my strong 6mg, Yura her menthol. As she lit hers, Chaewon held out her hand to me.
"You quit smoking."
After moving to Paju, Chaewon had quit too...
Makes sense—she's the softest-hearted among us.
I handed her one wordlessly. She took a long drag, exhaled white smoke, then wobbled, dizzy.
Chaewon, who quit for Haneuli, reaching for a cigarette now—meant the situation shook her that much.
None of us spoke.
We just stood there dazed, puffing smoke.
Normally, I'd joke, "Hey Chaewon, worried about Haneuli smelling smoke?" But not today.
The funeral home's gloom mixed with our weird guilt, stifling us.
I watched the smoke dissipate in the cold air.
"So, what now?"
I stubbed mine out answering Yura.
"What do you mean? Grind out a shit-ton of cash. Life's a live battlefield anyway."
Chaewon murmured low.
"Still, I hope nothing like this happens again."
Yura flicked ash irritably at Chaewon's words.
"Then what? Quit? No way."
Irritation laced Yura's tone.
She felt complicated too but hated admitting it.
Our reactions varied.
I wanted to push forward practically,
Chaewon felt the moral weight,
Yura denied it all.
But deep down, we all knew.
We couldn't undo what was done.
And we had to keep going down this path.
Just more cautiously, more responsibly.
"Let's get in the car first. Not the place for this..."
I said, glancing around the funeral home.
The car interior sweltered from late summer heat.
Blasting the AC to push out the hot air, I started driving and tossed out casually,
"Remember us always bitching in my room without AC?"
Just to lighten the mood. Yura in the passenger seat shook her head.
"That was three months ago—think I'm an amoeba? Post-nut clarity over?"
"Yeah."
"Fucking ridiculous..."
"But Cheolsu, didn't you say we gotta meet someone for the corp setup?"
Glimpsing Chaewon in the rearview, I smirked.
Enough guilt. Time to charge ahead.
For that...
"Yeah, so decide."
Yura and Chaewon both shot me "What?" looks.
But they probably guessed what I meant.
With the corp setup meeting looming, we needed post-nut clarity.
"Who's giving it?"
"...Fuck, no. Not in the mood. Chaewon, you do it."
"Me too, not today..."
I expected Yura's refusal.
Straight from the funeral, no mood. Same for Chaewon.
But we had the lawyer and accountant meeting soon—no clarity, no clear decisions.
"Come on, meeting's now."
Gripping the wheel, I couldn't hide my frustration.
I offered a compromise.
"Meeting's under an hour. Handjob only. Deal?"
Yura sighed deeply, staring out the window.
"Ugh... Fine. Just make it quick."
Chaewon added softly from behind.
"Really quick. Gotta pick up Haneuli."
The car's vibe was easing back to normal.
Not fully, but we could move forward.
A handjob would secure enough post-nut clarity for the basics in an hour.
Not perfect, but workable.
Issue was... where. Yura voiced it.
"Where, though? In the car?"
"Tint's not dark enough—everyone'd see."
"Can't go home round-trip. Clarity'd wear off."
"Got a way. Don't worry."
"A way?"
I grinned at Yura on Chaewon's question.
"Yura, nostalgia trip—bathroom handjob like old times."
She stared, incredulous.
"Kim Cheolsu. Same as back then? We got money now..."
"Money changes what? Bathroom's dirty? We did it before."
Memories of that rundown academy bathroom sneak-fest flooded back.
6평 studio days, when shit was truly bleak.
"Fuck it. Whatever. I'll do it."
"Nah, full sex is too much today?"
She narrowed her eyes at my refusal.
"You just want a bathroom handjob from us—it's obvious."
"Guilty, but meeting time—motel's pushing it."
"Bullshit, you smirking fuck. Who'd believe you?"
"Dumbass Han Yura?"
Bickering with Yura, the guilt-heavy air turned back to our usual selves.
Chaewon giggled from the back.
"You two... fighting even now."
Yura's lips twitched up, back to her prickly face.
"What? Feeling better?"
I asked Chaewon via rearview.
"Yeah, watching you bicker snaps me out of it."
Yeah, this is us.
Insulting and grumbling, but sticking together.
We could shake off the funeral heaviness now.