Class Reunion (3): The Luck Drain
befitting a class reunion where everyone had shelled out some cash, people gathered quickly, and the atmosphere, frozen stiff by the biting winter wind, naturally warmed up. A typical reunion would've ended with everyone hollering in a booze joint or barbecue spot, stuffing their faces and knocking back drinks. But this kind was a bit different in how it played out. First off, the popular crowd drew clear lines. The moment they stepped in, they scanned for folks on their level like radars on overdrive, then latched onto anyone they deemed worthy—like north and south poles of magnets. They'd exchange banal pleasantries neither really cared about, toss in a spoonful of old memories, and dive into the real meat: sizing up their classmates.
Those on the same wavelength lumped themselves into one big blob, rolling their eyes at other groups or loners. Spot a mark? They'd crunch the numbers in their heads like supercomputers and start laying in the damage. In that sense, I wasn't just easy prey to watch—I was delicious prey.
"Well, if it isn't Han Siwoo, the hardest face to spot in our Hanseong University Class of XX..."
"Hey, perfect timing. Grab me a plate there."
"Uh, uh-huh?"
"Not the one with the sliced cake. The dessert with that gold leaf that screams expensive as fuck. Yeah, that."
The slick-suited guy absentmindedly handed me a plate. He froze mid-sentence because the stack in front of me already topped ten.
"In an era where a single steak with edible gold foil runs about two million won, shelling out a hundred thousand for the reunion fee and chowing down like this? Pure profit. Want some?"
"Nah, I'm good..."
"Wasn't gonna give you any anyway."
I lifted the plate and shoveled the dessert down in one gulp right in front of him. Looked like the "dessert shrinkage theory" held true—the fancier and pricier the hotel, the tinier the portions. No wonder ten empty plates barely registered in my gut.
Still, I couldn't snub a classmate (name unknown) who'd dragged his ass all the way here, so I grabbed my champagne flute, brimming to the overflow, and proposed a toast. He hesitated, wondering if he should bail, then reluctantly clinked his glass lightly against mine, which was sloshing over.
"Dressed to the nines in a suit at your age, dragging yourself to a reunion during the hectic year-end rush? Must be riding high these days, huh?"
"Haha... you think?"
"To my eyes—wandering around in nothing but a long coat—everyone looks like they're killing it."
I sidled up next to him, smoothly redirecting his gaze to the crowd around us.
"Take a good scan. How do they look? Dressed sharper than for their own once-a-year birthday bashes. Me? I'm a nobody. But folks like you—fresh off a breakup with no one to ring in the new year with, or fretting over the creeping legal age limit and hunting for a partner or connections? They're everywhere."
"Yeah, kinda feels that way... wait, hold up. How the hell do you know I just broke up with my girlfriend?"
I stared silently at the sin fragment leaking from the flustered guy.
This idiot had dumped his marriage fund into a full-stack coin buy, lost nearly half, and gotten caught by his girl. No foresight, no brains to begin with, sky-high vanity—classic case of blowing savings, getting busted, and boom, dumped.
"Buddy... Lee Sang-ho, right? Thing is, this is my line of work. I'm pretty good at it."
I slipped him a business card for the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office. His eyes shifted. He had no clue what the office did, but he pegged me for some fortune-teller type.
"Can't charge a classmate, so free consult—spill it straight. Why drag yourself here after getting dumped and torching half your wedding fund?"
Lee Sang-ho glanced around, then fixed me with a different look.
"If I tell you why, what can you do for me?"
"Consult, duh. You were like me—one of those who never showed at reunions. That's why you're solo."
True enough, he was a first-timer this year, just like me.
"...Yeah, spot on. First time for me too. Heard something from the class."
"Lemme guess? Folks struggling at work heard that showing up to the Hanseong University Class of XX year-end reunion brings fortune rolling in next year—vine and all?"
"You heard it too?"
"Not heard—know. Minus a few like us, most have hit this reunion two-plus times. And it has that vibe."
No chaebol heirs second- or third-gen here. Even if I ignored my classmates, I knew that much. Middle-class stock at best, yet decked in luxury gear. Unlike desperate Sang-ho chasing new connections, their faces oozed leisure. Leisure came from money, small-scale, or power, big-scale. Hanseong University was in-Seoul solid, but no Ivy-plus league, so zero chance everyone scripted a success saga.
Not lottery winners either. So why did even the top dog like Kim Jun-gong glow with vitality and ease?
Veteran attendees—two-plus times—had their "sure thing." And that sure thing? The "fortune vine" I'd mentioned.
"Check the cliques. Not regular hangout buddies—it's that 'oh, you again' vibe from syncing up here same time, same place."
"Whoa, you study psychology on the side or what?"
"Run sales long enough, you pick up people skills whether you like it or not. Anyway, you showed despite the gloom—risking looking lesser—'cause of that rumor. Now that you're here, aren't you wondering?"
"Wondering what?"
"If it's true. And if so, how just attending makes fortune come tumbling in."
Sang-ho forgot his original play at boosting his ego through needling me, hooked on my words.
"Y-yeah, kinda curious."
I crunched on a biscuit topped with untouched premium cheese.
"People gather, their hangers-on do too. Ten folks with perfume fill a spot with a weird stench. Same with a 'reunion' of only those flashy enough—their unique auras pool."
"...?"
"Think. At our age, why show if you're slinging part-time gigs or scraping by at shit startups?"
Reservation screamed Shilla Hotel. No broke socialite crashes that without shame. Except me. Face mattered—a brutal ego hit—so they set their cutoffs, in-groups out. Only mid-level successes or better: solid mid-caps, civil servants, pros, big corps, or entrepreneurs. All thinking, "I won't look bad." Hence, the room full of winners.
People pool, auras pool. Pooled auras crystallize. That crystal? Freebie snack for someone to snag.
"Why do MLMs boom?"
"What the—?"
"Not hype. Winners cluster. 'Food here's prime'—better than rumor mills; flies swarm real feasts. More chase the wealth, drawing crowds that draw more. MLM success."
Most lose their shirts.
I threw an arm around Sang-ho, slowly surveying the hall. They played coy, oblivious, but I knew their game. My eyes saw it.
"Take you. Rumor might be bullshit, yet here you are, suited up. You're already MLM bait."
"Hey, what the fu—"
"That's why I say it. 'Cause this is me."
I waggled the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office card in his face. He finally flinched. Something off.
"Just attending nets next year's fortune? Bullshit. By that logic, overnighting at Shilla Hotel makes everyone rich. Rename it Luck Hotel."
"..."
"They scrape suckers like you for a reason. To split the loot and bury it."
"What?!"
"If attending alone made everyone thrive, it'd spread like wildfire—'come on, you too!' But you heard from one acquaintance? Means winners take, losers lose."
No one knew a healthy 20-something's lifetime earnings or luck quota. Didn't matter. Suck the aura dry, discard. Victims crash early, die young—poof, gone.
"Hundreds in our class. Epic reunion? Triple this crowd, yearly."
I eyed Sang-ho again. Thin golden threads—or smoke—seeped from him. Explained the winner-only vibe.