Chapter 109
Chapter 109
Translation: Godtl
Is short selling with 700 trillion won even possible?
Truthfully, taking a short position with 700 trillion won wasn't all that difficult.
Just think of Whiterock.
The global markets are already handling their astronomical investment capital, which amounts to a staggering quadrillion won, aren't they?
Depending on the nature of their funds, they take long positions as well as short positions.
Hundreds of trillions of won have already been poured into short positions.
How is something like this possible?
It's possible because they don't concentrate their funds in a single market—they distribute their investments across the world.
In other words, just like them, we'd have to take short positions across global stock markets to absorb that much money.
"Isn't the daily trading volume across global markets already in the thousands of trillions? Of course, expecting the markets to suddenly absorb that much money in a single day would be difficult."
Naturally, we wouldn't dump 700 trillion won all at once.
We'd have to spend months carefully building our short positions to avoid shocking the markets.
"But for a single entity to take a 700 trillion won short position—that would be unprecedented in history."
It is possible to spread 700 trillion won across global markets and take short positions.
But for a single entity to deliberately take such an enormous short position would be completely unprecedented.
Because the markets can't handle it?
No. Because the risk of failure is far too great.
That's the difference between major asset management firms that hold astronomical sums in short positions for hedging purposes—and us.
They take short positions as a hedge.
We're pouring our entire fortune into this purely to make money.
"Three months. That's our calculation."
Three months—the time needed to liquidate all our assets and simultaneously build our positions.
"Three months, if we move as quickly as possible. This way, we can minimize the shock to the markets."
Our team's analysis was precise.
Given three months, the National Pension Service could establish positions across global markets.
"Of course, three months is also our target estimate. The chairman hasn't yet told us which markets we should take positions in."
I handed the documents I'd prepared to the chairman.
"This is...?"
"The portfolio you requested."
The chairman's eyes gleamed as he eagerly took the documents and scanned them.
"S&P 500 SPY 15%, QQQ 10%, 10% from AAL to CCL, VIX futures 5%, Euro Stoxx 50 10%, 5% in Germany's DAX..."
Before long, Chairman Choi removed his glasses.
"This is far more detailed than I expected. The U.S., France, Germany, Eurozone bank stocks, and so on."
"Yes. Singapore, Hong Kong, and Japan are also included."
"Surprisingly, our own country isn't on the list?"
"If we were to profit from shorting Korean markets, public sentiment would turn volatile."
At my words, the chairman let out a soft chuckle.
He looked thoroughly satisfied.
"We've also blended in appropriate ratios—emerging market ETFs, energy-related short positions, REIT ETFs, IYR, VNQ, and so on."
"Yes. It's incredibly meticulous, with a wide variety of assets. I can breathe a little easier now. We won't have to worry about specific stocks at all. Since we'll be splitting and distributing the funds continuously, we shouldn't have to worry too much about market shocks either."
The National Pension Service would be extremely busy over the next three months.
They'd have to liquidate their own assets while simultaneously building positions.
Especially since this wasn't about focusing on a single market—they'd have to borrow shares evenly across global markets for short selling, making even three months a very tight deadline.
"But we have to do it. We've already burned our bridges."
"...Is everything alright internally? There must be strong opposition."
"Yes. In fact, the directors tried to stop me by requesting government intervention."
"Are you sure it's okay?"
"It's fine. It'll take longer than they think to remove me from the chairman's seat. Besides, the work is already well underway. Even if someone replaces me now, it's too late to turn back."
In other words, the brakes had already been pulled out.
"And even if we do make substantial profits from this, someone will have to take responsibility for it. It's the people's money, isn't it? We're using it for speculation, so naturally, we must ensure such a precedent never happens again by imposing appropriate penalties."
"..."
"But I have no intention of making Gwangun shoulder that responsibility. After all, Gwangun merely provided advice—the decisions and execution were mine alone. When this is all over, I'll bear the full burden myself."
If the National Pension Service makes a significant profit from this operation, the internal response would be applause.
But externally, that wouldn't be possible.
Setting aside the ethical concerns of profiting from short selling, the biggest issue was gambling with the people's money.
"I'm also at an age where retirement isn't far off. As a professional, I've achieved everything there is to achieve. So even if I resign in disgrace, I won't have regrets. If this can save future generations, that's all that matters."
Chairman Choi's eyes burned with resolve.
Even though he knew exactly how his own story would end.
"I don't dare say anything more."
"All that matters is that this succeeds. Frankly, I still don't understand it myself. Every dataset I pull shows the global financial markets gleaming with golden prospects. And yet, Chairman Jeong proposed this massive operation to me."
Despite that, he had staked his fate on my side.
"What on earth could happen to cause such a widespread market downturn? At this scale, it would mean nearly every market crashes simultaneously..."
As I paused, turning over how to explain this in my head—
Chairman Choi studied my face quietly.
"My apologies for asking something unnecessary. Isn't Gwangun the kind of place that creates something from nothing? I won't pry further. Ah, but Gwangun doesn't have an asset management division yet, does it? If you're truly confident this will succeed, you should establish one now. After this, the National Pension's funds will likely be entrusted to them."
With a faint smile, Chairman Choi sipped his tea.
How should I put it?
He looked almost... enlightened.
Knowing full well he'd be vilified whether this succeeded or failed, he had thrown himself into this for the sake of future generations.
And on top of that, he was steadfastly determined to shoulder all the blame himself before walking away.
"...!"
Then—a sudden jolt ran through my fingertips, and something new flickered into view.
Chairman Choi, now glowing a vivid blue.
It was just like the phenomenon I'd seen during employee interviews.
Did that mean...?
'Do we even have an advisory position open?'
He still seemed too young to retire.
＊＊＊
AstraZenon was never meant to be dominated by a single individual—it was a company led collectively by all its shareholders.
Until the Conqueror who brought Britain to its knees claimed it as spoils of war.
From that moment, chaos reigned.
This conqueror absorbed European pharmaceutical firms one after another through mergers, throwing the entire operational system into disarray.
"But it's strange, isn't it? Most companies would take months—no, sometimes years—just to stabilize after their systems collapse. Here? It didn't even take days."
Luke Wayne, CEO of AstraZenon, had been certain the company was finished when Gwangun invaded without warning, flipped everything upside down, and forced reckless mergers.
Yet, oddly enough...
The company was running smoother than ever.
"You could call it the power of restructuring. I don't know who's calling the shots at Gwangun, but they've dissected every last detail—not just our company, but every firm merged with us."
The key was restructuring.
Restructuring usually implies indiscriminate layoffs, but not here.
They allocated personnel where truly needed, boldly cut redundancies, and in the process, resolved long-festering issues within AstraZenon itself.
That's why it was terrifying.
Just how long had Gwangun been watching Astrazennon from the shadows?
Otherwise, they wouldn't have been able to prune the rotten branches and plant new ones the moment they took over the company.
It meant they had been meticulously preparing to devour this company for a long time.
"All of that is fine. The problem is the profit margins, isn't it? They're pouring money recklessly into areas that are far too stringent. What on earth is Gwangun thinking?"
After acquiring shares, Gwangun injected additional investment funds through a rights offering.
At the time, everyone assumed it was simply to increase their own stake.
But they funneled all that investment into a single technology: mRNA.
To be precise, it was divided into three technologies.
The technology to synthesize and inject antigens with mRNA.
Nanoparticle delivery technology.
Technology to suppress excessive immune responses.
If these three technologies were pushed to their limits and integrated, it would be possible to create a stable vaccine in a remarkably short time.
"But isn't it terribly inefficient to pour funds exclusively into this while ignoring everything else? mRNA technology still needs a lot of development, doesn't it?"
That was the strange part.
If developed properly, this technology would undoubtedly be beneficial—it could even solve things like genetic diseases.
But if the goal was pursuing the company's profits, there were far more urgent matters.
Yet Gwangun was dumping investment funds solely into this one area.
"And they're not even developing it methodically with the distant future in mind. It's like they're being chased by something······."
"On top of that, they're not even pressuring us for profits."
"Are we really just supposed to sit here and do nothing? Right now is when we should be developing and producing additional drugs, given that our blockbuster drug patents are expiring."
No one could make sense of Gwangun's intentions.
They had heard it was a place that pursued maximized profits.
But running a company like this—was it even allowed?
"For now, let's just follow orders from above as best we can. This company is no longer driven by multiple shareholders. Well, for us, it's comfortable and nice—no performance pressure, just doing what we're told."
"That may be true, but if the company collapses because of this······."
They wondered if it was really okay to just laze around and collect paychecks.
But beneath that lay a creeping fear—that if they did nothing, the company might vanish entirely.
It was inevitable. After all, even Astrazennon, that impregnable fortress, had been taken over by Gwangun.
"So even if it's just among ourselves, we need to put our heads together and figure out how to advance the company. Even if all the investment is concentrated in mRNA, we can still utilize the funds we currently have to······."
"CEO."
Just then, an employee hurried into the conference room and handed something over.
"What's this?"
"A document from the WHO."
"What? The WHO?"
"Yes. And it's not just us—they're delivering this document to every pharmaceutical company right now."
Then—
"!?"
Martin's face twisted in shock as he read the document.
＊＊＊
The financial markets were peaceful.
Hadn't there been so many incidents until now?
Especially after the typhoon called Gwangun swept through the financial markets multiple times, peace had finally arrived.
The shipping industry, forcibly dismantled by the EU, continued to grow. Though shaken by the financial crisis that hit Singapore, it soon stabilized.
Singapore itself had suffered heavy damage, but they were proudly boasting that this incident had allowed them to establish even stronger roots.
Japan, too, had been trampled by Gwangun and seemed like it wouldn't recover for a long time—yet somehow, it fired off a signal flare of revival and began a full-fledged transformation.
That's what a typhoon does.
After sweeping through, new flowers bloom in its wake.
"But······ this is too unsettling."
It made sense that Gwangun had gone quiet.
After being forced to hand over companies to the EU, they must have realized they couldn't afford to run wild anymore. So if they were lying low on purpose, that was understandable, but······.
"But why is it the Korean National Pension Service that's involved?"
That was the real issue.
What exactly was the National Pension Service?
In terms of pension funds alone, it ranked third largest in the world.
And they'd been showing suspicious movements for several months now.
"They're liquidating all their bonds—supposedly the safest assets—unloading their equity holdings, and even their real estate? And on top of that, they're using that money to take short positions?"
"Yes. The process has been so gradual that we didn't notice anything until recently."
"Just how much are they betting?"
"That's the problem. Judging by the commotion at securities firms in other countries, it seems the National Pension Service is spreading money across nearly every market—America, Europe, Asia, without distinction."
"Wait. Are you seriously suggesting... they're deploying their entire operating capital? And through short selling?"
"Only someone completely insane would do such a thing. No, not even the craziest person would attempt that."
Right. Common sense dictated as much.
The funds managed by the National Pension Service weren't small change.
Moreover, that wasn't even their own money—it belonged to the nation's citizens.
Using even a portion of it for speculative short selling would be problematic enough, but the idea that they'd taken short positions worldwide with their entire portfolio was absurd.
"Still, it's undeniably strange. Over several months, they've meticulously unwound their positions without causing market shocks while simultaneously building short positions. We can't determine the exact scale, but... could they really have gone all in?"
"Didn't you just hear what he said? Even a madman wouldn't do that. Losing just 1% would mean billions of dollars vanishing into thin air."
"Yes. Ironically, people said the same things whenever Gwangun made its moves."
"..."
And both the National Pension Service and Gwangun were tied to the same nation.
Could Gwangun's current silence mean they were orchestrating something else behind the scenes?
Using the National Pension Service as a smokescreen?
"Find out what Gwangun is up to right now."
"Ah, yes. But Director, we've received one rather peculiar report."
"What is it?"
"Remember the pneumonia outbreak in Wuhan a few months ago...?"
"Wuhan?"
Reynolds tilted his head.
The name sounded vaguely familiar.
"Where is that?"
"China. At the time, it didn't seem significant, but it appears to be spreading quite severely now. WHO must have sensed something unusual—they've been circulating official requests to all pharmaceutical companies for a month, urging them to research the virus and develop a vaccine."
"How bad is it?"
"They might soon declare a Public Health Emergency of International Concern."
"...Is that serious?"
"If the situation doesn't improve after such a declaration, the next step would be a pandemic. A declaration of global outbreak."
Reynolds furrowed his brow.
"So what, some plague-like disease is spreading?"
"Yes. The difference being, its transmission rate is higher than the Black Death's—thanks to how people travel worldwide these days."
Something felt off about this.
"But WHO hasn't declared an emergency yet. Things might improve quickly."
"And if they don't? If a real pandemic breaks out as you say, what happens then?"
"That's difficult to predict precisely. But a pandemic means borders shutting down everywhere, and if that happens..."
Reynolds, having already done the math, finished the thought.
"A depression. The largest in history."
If all trade ceased and movement between nations stopped, what could possibly follow?
A financial crisis.
Everyone would panic at this unprecedented event, dumping all their holdings.
The resulting financial crisis could surpass even the 2008 subprime mortgage collapse.
"Then Director, what about Gwangun and the pension fund?"
Gwangun had wound down its shipping business and acquired pharmaceutical companies.
Meanwhile, the National Pension Service was inexplicably liquidating all assets to take massive short positions.
What could this possibly signify?
"Don't tell me...!"