Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Translation: Godtl
At the end of the month, smiles bloom on the faces of office workers.
What is an office worker's favorite day?
Payday, of course.
Prop traders are no different.
It's the day they receive compensation for their performance, so naturally, they're in high spirits.
Though it was truly harsh that they still had to come in on Saturdays.
But today was a bit different.
"Did any team even hit their performance target this time?"
"The market was a complete mess this month."
"Hitting even 5% would be lucky. I heard most teams are in the red."
Which team achieved the highest performance, and which individual trader recorded the best results—these things only become clear at month's end.
The top-performing team and individual prop trader receive generous rewards from the company.
But those rewards were only given if performance met certain thresholds.
How could the company possibly give bonuses if a team posted losses or failed to meet even the minimum monthly target?
The company's minimum monthly target was set at 5%.
The desired target range was 5-15%, but in reality, teams that hit 15% in a month were practically nonexistent.
Unless it was a bull market, achieving 15% was an incredibly tough condition.
And this month, the market ran in the exact opposite direction.
Speculation was rampant that not a single team would manage even 5%.
"Even the options department, which usually has it easy, got wrecked this time."
"Those guys barely show up to work. But this month, they were actually grinding. Must've had their backs against the wall."
"Damn. How much did they lose? They probably never expected the market to swing this wildly."
"They must've gotten a real taste of hell thanks to nickel."
"Why are we worrying about them? Our department's in the worst shape. I doubt even one team hit their target return."
So everyone had given up.
No team would achieve top performance and receive bonuses this month—that was the consensus.
"Wait, what's this?"
Then a company-wide notice popped up.
It announced the top-performing team in the prop trading department.
"There are people who made profits in this bear market?"
"They hit their performance target? No way."
The traders, unable to believe it, hurriedly checked the company homepage.
Monthly Top Team - Prop Trading Team 1
"Team 1? Hold on. Team 1 means..."
"That's Team Leader Park's team, right?"
"No way. Team Leader Park—how did he pull that off? He didn't even show any signs."
He avoided team leader dinners, claiming they caused muscle loss, and kept to himself so quietly that no one had any idea Team 1 was the only one making profits.
"Wait. Is this maybe... that thing?"
"What thing?"
"That parachute guy. He got assigned to Team Leader Park."
"Oh. You think they're favoring him?"
"Yeah. And the funny thing is, Team Leader Park made that parachute guy a senior trader. Totally fast-tracked him."
Now it made sense.
How Team Leader Park's team could stand out in this bear market.
It was a reward for the parachute—and for Team Leader Park, who had actively pushed him forward.
"They might as well just name that parachute guy the top trader this month."
"No. Seriously?"
"Huh?"
"That parachute guy actually got picked as the top trader!"
"W-what?"
What had been said as a joke had become reality.
No matter how much favoritism was at play, this was going too far.
Moreover, the selection of the monthly top team and top trader was posted as a company-wide notice visible to everyone in the prop trading department.
The intention was to motivate other traders by showcasing the best performers, encouraging them to dive into the market with renewed vigor. But this wasn't motivation—it was demoralization.
"This is too much."
"Pushing the team forward is one thing, but the top trader is evaluated based on individual performance. This is just absurd..."
The company had crossed a line.
Already on edge from the month's disastrous performance, the team leaders exchanged glances.
Their eyes conveyed the same thought.
"We need to speak up about this."
"Right. As team leaders, shouldn't we voice this on behalf of our members? What if another parachute hire comes in and wreaks havoc like this? It'll just be a vicious cycle repeating itself."
There's a saying that one shouldn't dare oppose the royal family.
But if these team leaders—classified as elites who earned their positions—banded together, they could at least voice a single complaint.
To whom?
To the department head right above them, of course.
"Looks like you all have nothing better to do. Seeing you swarm in like this."
"It's Saturday, sir."
"Then why aren't you at home? Why come to the office and crowd into my already cramped department head's office like a bunch of pests? If you're here, you should be researching. Especially you lot who tanked this month's performance."
The department head seemed to have anticipated the team leaders' arrival, his posture relaxed from the start.
"Sir, we don't have much to say about the performance, but you saw the internal notice, right? This is going too far, don't you think?"
"Too far? How so?"
"Let's be honest—Team 1's performance isn't much better than ours. And now that rookie who parachuted in and got fast-tracked to senior is the top trader? That doesn't make any sense."
Department Head Lee Tae-ho had already grasped what the team leaders were getting at.
They couldn't storm into the CEO's office themselves, so they wanted him to speak up instead.
As the department head, he'd take the bullet for them!
"Back in the day, they'd install a huge electronic board in the middle of the office, broadcasting in real time who was making the most profit. Those were the days—full of passion and excitement. Right?"
That's how securities firms used to operate.
But times have changed.
Fueling competition by displaying real-time performance only shook traders' mental fortitude, leading them to reckless investments.
"Why bring that up all of a sudden...?"
"If that system were still around, you wouldn't have had to swarm in here like this. Would've saved my time too."
"Huh?"
The department head tossed a document at the team leaders.
"I knew you'd come charging in with fire in your eyes, so I pulled this out in advance."
The team leaders skeptically flipped through the document, their brows furrowing at the abnormally high profit margins listed.
"Sir, didn't you go overboard doctoring this data?"
"You're saying he made this much profit in just five days? This is way too obvious."
These guys should know better than to spout nonsense.
Which just showed how far removed these numbers were from reality.
"Hey. Faking trading volume and profit margins is a one-way ticket to jail. You think I'd be crazy enough to do that?"
"S-so this is real?"
"No way. A 60% return in five days? That's impossible."
Turning 5 billion into 8 billion—like magic.
And it wasn't from long-term investments either.
From day one to day five, every single trade was short-term.
"Right? Doesn't make sense, does it? I still can't believe it either. I've seen all kinds of traders in my time, but never one like this."
If the department head was saying that much, the numbers had to be real.
"Wait, so he wasn't a parachute hire? Not from the royal family?"
"I don't know the exact relationship between the CEO and that rookie either. One thing's for sure—the CEO knew about his skills beforehand when he hired him."
At that meeting where even the executive director and managing director showed up, Department Head Lee Tae-ho heard it loud and clear.
That rookie was skilled.
The CEO himself had said so.
"Right. Our CEO never struck me as the type to force through parachute hires."
"But still—how the hell does someone pull off 60% in five days? And only through day trading? That's no different from seeing the future."
The scary part? Even briefly glimpsing the future wouldn't make this possible.
In day trading, where trades happen in seconds, prices rise or fall before you can even react to what you've "seen."
"Well? Any more complaints? What's our company's motto? 'Reward equals merit,' right? Same goes for this so-called parachute hire. He's getting what he's earned."
"..."
The team leaders fell silent, like bees that had tasted honey.
"So I hope none of you have any complaints about what's coming next either."
"Huh? What's going to happen?"
"You'll find out next week. Now everyone get out. While the newbie here is taking home a fat bonus, you team leaders just gonna sit around sucking your thumbs?"
They were kicked out of the department head's office with dazed expressions.
Just then, one of the team leaders muttered into the air.
"But... can't team members transfer to other teams if they want?"
"Huh?"
"!?"
The team leaders exchanged glances just like before entering the office.
Then, without hesitation, they all sprinted back to their offices.
Because the goose that lays golden eggs was currently in the department downstairs.
＊＊＊
For ordinary office workers, Saturday is a day off, but for us prop traders, there's no such thing as a holiday.
Not that the company forces us to come in.
But with so much data to organize and preparations to make, working weekends was unavoidable.
'Jin-ho. Really, truly thank you so much. Jin-ho is our team's savior, our messiah.'
'Right. Jin-ho. We'll handle the data organization tomorrow, so rest well at home, okay? Euhaha.'
'Exactly, Jin-ho. Don't overwork yourself coming in on Saturday. Rest at home. I'll compile all the weekend data separately for you.'
But yesterday, my teammates actively blocked me from coming in, insisting they'd handle the grunt work themselves.
Our team's performance, which had been scraping the bottom, had skyrocketed thanks to me, making performance bonuses possible.
So nowadays at the office, I'm practically treated like a hero.
Ding~.
Just then, my phone buzzed.
-Jin-ho, resting well?
It was none other than Assistant Manager Lee Hye-rin.
Just receiving this text already brought a smile to my face.
-Yes. But I feel guilty being the only one resting.
-Oh please. What nonsense. Jin-ho is the pillar of our team! Don't think like that and rest well. And I've already emailed today's compiled data!
-Thank you! (__)
-I should be thanking you more >-< See you Monday
Just this brief exchange already felt sweet as honey.
Our company really is the best.
Ding~.
But then another notification came.
Is it the Assistant Manager again?
I was thinking that as I picked up my phone, but this time the notification wasn't from her—it was from the bank.
The sender: Gwangun Securities.
Ah. My paycheck!
These people.
They work hard even on Saturdays, and now the paychecks arrive right on schedule even on weekends.
With a pounding heart, I opened the app.
"...?"
Then I stared at the screen like someone who'd been hit over the head with a club.
Wait. What is this.
One, ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand... hundred million?
Seeing a digit I'd rarely even encountered in games displayed in my bank account made me feel disconnected from reality.
I'd heard that senior traders receive a certain percentage of profits, and with our team's performance soaring, I'd expected a decent sum.
"But 700 million?!"
My hands trembled uncontrollably at this unprecedented amount.
Ring-ring-ring!
Then, this time instead of a notification, my phone rang.
I jumped so hard I nearly dropped it.
"Yikes. Who— Gasp. Guild Leader!"
I hastily answered the call.
"Guild Leader! No. Big bro!!"
[Yeah. Got your paycheck alright?]
"No. This isn't some system error, is it? An impossible amount just came in..."
[Well you did earn an impossible amount of profits. Seniors start at 20% profit share. Plus you were selected as top trader this time. So with bonuses, it's a bit over 700 million.]
So this is why people want to become prop traders.
[Oh right. But don't go spending that 700 million recklessly.]
"Huh? Why?"
[You've never paid comprehensive income tax, have you? Prop traders are considered freelancers—besides the 3.3% deduction, you have to pay separate comprehensive income tax in May.]
The Guild Leader burst into laughter.
Just how much are they taking?
[They'll take nearly half of it, those terrifying bastards, so keep some aside.]
"Half?! No way!"
Sometimes during games, the older guys would curse that the National Tax Service was the devil.
Turns out they were right.
[And how about we grab a meal together? Got some things to discuss.]