Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Translation: Godtl
Like all securities firms, Gwangun Securities was extremely sensitive to risk management.
Securities firms only evaluate profitability as a long-term goal—they never expect high returns in the short term.
After all, trying to do so in the stock market was no different from gambling, and being greedy could instead lead to massive losses.
That's why they always take a mathematical approach, investing only where they can extract money with the least risk and the most stability.
So when prop traders, like now, lose their heads and hemorrhage money, the risk managers watching them immediately put a stop to it.
"Looks like everyone's in chaos today. Absolute chaos."
A continuous bear market.
There were those making money through short selling, but even that was ultimately a game of wits.
A bear market didn't mean prices kept falling in a straight line—they fluctuated up and down, repeatedly testing the lower limits.
Because of this, some traders misjudged the situation and lost money.
After suspending trades for a few prop traders, it didn't take long for the phone to ring.
[Manager Kim. Did you just block my trade?]
"Yeah. Manager Yoo's losses are at 4% right now. Of course I had to stop it per regulations."
[What the— I've been day trading for years. Veterans like us get leeway up to 5%!]
"I've been watching the charts too. Just call it a day for now. Cool your head."
[Hey! You little—]
Manager Kim Sang-geon hung up without waiting to hear the rest.
After that, calls poured in from other traders whose trades had been halted.
[Manager, can't you give me just a little more? Just 1%—I swear I can recover it!]
[Manager Kim, cut me some slack. If I don't make money today, what am I supposed to live on this month?!]
It was like watching gamblers who had run out of chips.
He understood their circumstances.
Prop traders were in a position similar to freelancers.
They contracted with the company as individuals, taking a percentage of their profits.
That was why some of them even made billions in annual income.
But what if they didn't make a profit? Or worse, ended up in the red?
The structure was such that a portion of their losses would be deducted from their next incentives.
Securities firms were cold.
And they were even more ruthless when it came to risk management.
Even if this person had only lost 3% right now, given more time, they might have turned a profit.
But statistically speaking, they usually lost even more.
Because their judgment was already clouded, leading to poor trades.
That was why, the moment a prop trader exceeded their preset loss limit, their trades were immediately suspended.
"I don't have a choice. I have to do my job."
If a risk manager failed to monitor properly and allowed deeper losses, it would come back to bite Manager Kim Sang-geon too.
In the form of a tsunami called performance reviews.
"Huh?"
While diligently doing his job as usual today, Manager Kim's eyes widened at an alarm going off like crazy on one side of his screen.
"What the hell is this?"
There was a madman throwing a whopping 5 billion won into a single stock without any risk management.
And wasn't he buying and selling in a matter of seconds?
"There's a lunatic here."
Day trading?
Fine.
Prop traders made trades every few seconds.
But there was no one insane enough to day trade with 100% of their capital—let alone dumping it all into a single stock instead of diversifying.
"But this guy..."
Before that bastard could blow all 5 billion won, Manager Kim tried to suspend his trades.
But he hesitated when he saw the name of the mad trader.
"Jeong Jin-ho. That guy from last time?"
The rookie senior trader who had defied risk management, invested in just three stocks, and was the only one to post high returns.
Back then, they'd said he got lucky with his profits, and when Manager Kim went to warn him not to do it again, Team Leader Park had blocked him.
Team Leader Park had told him to ask his own team leader if he was curious why.
But he'd forgotten to ask the team leader, busy with other work.
"..."
Just as he was about to press the suspension button, Manager Kim felt an odd tension and instead approached where the team leader was.
"Uh, Team Leader."
"Hm? What is it?"
"Someone's day trading with 100% of their capital on a single stock right now."
"Oh? Must be a newly listed stock. As long as risk management is in place, it's fine, isn't it?"
"Yes. But they're not doing any risk management at all—just dumping and withdrawing 5 billion won over and over."
At that, Seong Il-gu, the team leader of the Risk Management Team, slammed his desk and shouted.
"Is that guy insane? Why the hell hasn't he been stopped yet!?"
"Yes. I was about to do just that, but they said he's a new hire who just joined. Do you happen to know him, Team Leader?"
"What? A new hire?"
It wasn't like new hires joining the securities firm were rare—there were plenty.
But if the one causing this massive incident right now was not only a new hire but also a senior trader...
Team Leader Seong's face, which had been twisted in anger, turned cold.
"By any chance, is that trader's name Jeong Jin-ho?"
"Yes, that's correct. Last time, he bought three stocks without any risk management, so I tried to give him a warning, but Team Leader Park stopped me. He said if I was really curious, I should ask you directly."
"..."
Manager Kim cautiously studied the team leader's expression.
He looked deeply troubled.
"Just leave him be."
"Huh? Even though he's playing around with 5 billion won like that?"
"Yeah. It'll be better for both you and me."
What the hell did that even mean?
Normally, he was the type to raise hell, demanding all monitors be unplugged immediately.
"That trader... he's someone planted from above."
"Ah. Don't tell me...!"
"It's exactly what you're thinking."
Royal family!
Only then did Manager Kim understand why Team Leader Park had said what he did.
"Team Leader Park seems to be leaving him alone because he doesn't know what to do either. If even his own team leader isn't touching him, and we mess up by interfering, who do you think's gonna get screwed? Us. You get what I'm saying?"
"But if he ends up losing all that money, won't the Risk Management Team be held accountable?"
"Let's hope not. What else can we do? You really think we should force a trading halt? You think you can handle the fallout?"
"No..."
"Just pretend you didn't see it. Our Manager Kim here works hard. Wouldn't want your career going down the drain, would we?"
At the team leader's words, Manager Kim quietly returned to his seat.
His heart pounded for no reason.
If he had pressed the trading halt without even consulting the team leader...
"Ugh. Just thinking about it is terrifying."
The only thing worrying him now was how much of that 5 billion this heaven-sent new hire would lose today. If he lost it all and then pinned the blame on the Risk Management Team for not stopping him in time, that would be a real mess.
Despite trying not to pay attention, his eyes kept drifting back to Jeong Jin-ho's trading window.
"Am I seeing things wrong?"
But then, something unbelievable happened.
"Wh-what's with this profit rate?"
With such reckless investments, the profit rate should obviously be in the negative.
Yet, Jeong Jin-ho's capital was moving in the exact opposite direction.
With every repeated buy and sell.
His profit margin kept climbing higher and higher.
＊＊＊
"Ah—"
1 PM.
There were still hours left until the market closed, but I had already thrown in the towel.
I couldn't take it anymore and let go.
"Ugh..."
I let out a small groan.
My eyes were so strained I could barely keep them open, and my head spun like an overloaded engine, throbbing with intense pain.
"So even this has its limits."
Today was a first.
Using my ability back-to-back like this, clicking the mouse like my fingers were about to break...
In the end, I learned today that even this ability could overload.
"Looks like the stock prices are still moving hard, though."
This thing must've been overworked too—after burning out white-hot, it stopped sending me any more signals.
On top of that, just looking at the screen made my head spin, so I closed my eyes.
'What was the profit rate again?'
I'd been clicking the buy and sell buttons like a man possessed, so I hadn't checked how much I'd earned—or lost.
I'd just been clicking mindlessly.
'I'll check later.'
Right now, even looking at my phone screen seemed impossible, so I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and rested.
＊＊＊
When a company grows to a certain size, it stabilizes.
It becomes resilient enough that it won't collapse easily.
But securities firms were different.
Even now, overseas securities firms several times the size of Gwangun Securities were collapsing left and right due to poor risk management—it happened all the time.
To cushion such shocks, Korea had implemented various financial regulations.
But that doesn't mean we can let our guard down.
Our domestic securities firms have also made critical mistakes in risk management, suffering massive losses on numerous occasions.
Goryeo Securities, Daehan Securities, the KIKO crisis—just to name a few.
Some firms vanished into history, while those that survived only did so thanks to emergency government bailouts keeping them afloat.
Yet, in the securities business, investor trust is everything. Once a firm loses its reputation, it can never rise again.
"What kind of damn paperwork is this massive?"
He could've just ordered his secretary or staff to summarize it for him.
But what if they missed something crucial, leading him to make a fatal misjudgment?
Precisely because such catastrophic errors must never happen, CEO Hwang Dae-un refused to skip even a single line, no matter how lengthy the document.
"And the FOMC meeting is coming up—we need to prepare thoroughly."
The U.S. Federal Reserve's monetary policy meetings are held eight times a year.
Every decision made there sends ripples across global financial markets.
"Somehow, becoming CEO just made me even busier."
His shoulders were starting to ache. Maybe he should take a short break.
"Ah, right. How's our Jin-ho doing?"
Yesterday was his first day as a prop trader—he must've been completely overwhelmed.
Especially since the market's been in a continuous downtrend.
He must've lost money by now.
"For rookie seniors, we usually allocate just 1 billion won in capital. So he probably lost around 5% of that?"
Thanks to the risk manager, losses are cut off before they spiral out of control.
Meaning Jin-ho's losses over two days would be around 50 million won.
Well, that's nothing to fuss over.
Consider it tuition for life lessons.
He was that fond of the kid.
So, just how much did he lose?
"Wh—what the hell?"
Curious, CEO Hwang checked Jeong Jin-ho's capital balance.
But the numbers defied all expectations.
"Why is it 6 billion?!"
Not 1 billion—6 billion. A sixfold increase.
Clearly, the higher-ups had taken into account Jin-ho's "parachute" status and not only boosted his capital but also kept the risk manager from interfering.
"Oh, you fools."
Jin-ho, clueless as he was, must've just traded as instructed.
Now, just how much had he lost?
If he'd known this would happen, he should've summoned the responsible parties right away and—
"Wait."
But as he scrutinized the trading window, something felt off.
Initial capital: 1 billion won.
Then, a staggering 10% return.
Prompting the team leader to authorize a capital increase, adding another 4 billion.
And today's return—
"20%?!"
CEO Hwang had once been a prop trader himself.
Back then, trades were made over the phone, yet even then—just as now—day traders who could pull off 20% in a single day were nearly nonexistent.
No. In fact, CEO Hwang had never seen it before.
Especially in Korea, where daily price limits are capped at 15%.
Even in the U.S., where no such restrictions exist, no prop trader makes 20% from day trading.
Both there and here, risk management is ironclad, preventing reckless investments—but more than that, a 20% daily return is practically divine territory.
And yet, Jeong Jin-ho—
This insane kid had relentlessly traded a single stock, somehow squeezing out an impossible 20% return.
And he'd done it by pouring all 5 billion won of his capital into it.
"This has to be a system error."
There's no other way numbers like this could exist.
"What? There's really no issue? You're absolutely sure?"
But no matter how many times he called IT to verify, the answer never changed.
That rookie guild member had just etched his name into Gwangun Securities' history.
"..."
He'd taken the kid in as a goodwill gesture—a cheerful, kind-hearted guild member just trying to land a job, someone who lightened the mood and made everyone smile.
Even when Jin-ho became a senior trader, Hwang had planned to console him warmly if he lost money, showing the dignified generosity of a guild leader.
But in just two days as a senior, Jin-ho had set an all-time record: a 20% daily return.
Just luck?
No. This wasn't something luck could explain.
The trading volume alone proved it.
He'd meticulously stacked profits through repeated buying and selling, bit by bit, until this return became possible. And then, at 1 PM, he suddenly stopped buying—right before the stock plummeted into the abyss.
"He knew."
When it would rise—and when it would crash.
But is that even possible?
Really?
"..."
Staring blankly at the screen, CEO Hwang suddenly snapped back to reality.
"Now's not the time for this."
He immediately grabbed the phone.
"Secretary Jang. Have all personnel responsible for Senior Trader Jeong Jin-ho—no, wait—Senior TraderJeong Jin-horeport to my office immediately."