The Three-Day Promise

Went up a bit, huh?

It actually had. Roughly two days had passed, and the price had genuinely climbed. Nowhere near the four or five thousand won he'd guaranteed them within three days, of course—but at least Jisu wasn't sitting on a loss.

He opened the leading room. Almost every message was about GCS. The overwhelming majority were people asking whether they should sell now that it had gone up.

The room's admin, Wildcat, was having none of it.

He's awfully sure of himself… Does he have some kind of insider info?

If he was willing to go that far, there had to be something behind it. And if it turned out there wasn't, Jisu could always cut the leading room loose. The bait was already in the water. Letting a little more time pass wouldn't hurt.

With that, he closed the Bitstorm site. Instead of throwing money around on reckless trades, he killed the hours watching YouTube.

At last, the third morning arrived—the one Wildcat had been pounding the table over. Jisu wasn't particularly conscious of the fact. Worst case, he broke even, and honestly, he hadn't expected this to work out well in the first place.

Alright. Let's take a look.

Still half-asleep, he reached for his smartphone—that indispensable fixture of modern life—and pulled up Bitstorm to check the coin prices.

A lot of them are climbing today. Should've bought some yesterday.

He had no idea what principle governed the market, but every coin that had been sitting in the blue until yesterday was glowing red this morning. Red, on this exchange, meant they were going up. The mechanics of it still made no sense to him. All he felt was a twinge of regret that he hadn't picked anything up the day before.

He flicked his thumb and scrolled down the page.

Alright, GCS is up to five thousand eight hundred. And then… wait.

"Wait."

GCS. 5,803 won. Five thousand eight hundred and three won.

He blinked. The last digit of the price was flickering, twitching up and down without rest. By the time he'd gathered himself, the number in front of him had already become something else.

It shot up.

Jisu ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sat there stunned for a moment, then opened the leading room. The atmosphere inside was, as expected, complete pandemonium.

A few more warm, congratulatory messages rolled in. Then Wildcat spoke again.

The instant Wildcat finished, the room erupted. People were practically screaming to be let into the paid leading room. One of them even offered to send as much Equilium as Wildcat wanted—just name a wallet address.

Jisu figured he might as well sell while it was up. He put in a full sell order for everything he'd invested.

It had dipped a little in the time it took to execute, but the 50 Strength he'd put in came back as 210.

This guy might actually be onto something.

Of course, it could have been a one-off fluke, so he'd need to keep watching. Depending on how things went, joining the paid leading room wouldn't be the worst idea. Money wouldn't be a problem—not once he signed the contract. He was an SS-rank hunter now.

Once can still be a coincidence.

He held that thought close and tamped down the excitement trying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to rise in his chest. Investment was the monster that had dragged his father into the afterlife. To fight a monster like that, you needed a cold head and the wisdom to take only what you could extract—nothing more.

True to form, the leading room kept feeding out information.

Not every call was a hundred percent accurate, but the hit rate was high enough. After that first GCS call, not a single person had left the chat. Jisu couldn't say for certain, but it looked like a fair number of people were already asking to hear the paid signals.

Jisu kept following the signals himself. He took losses here and there, but looking back, the running total of what he'd gained still outweighed what he'd given back.

The thought of joining the paid room had started to cross his mind, but he didn't have the funds for it. The entry fee wasn't even that expensive—the problem was that he still hadn't received any work as a hunter, wasn't picking up part-time shifts either, and the living expenses he'd saved were steadily running dry.

I need to get that contract signed already. How long are they going to drag this out?

He was getting tired of watching the days bleed into each other when, at last, what he'd been waiting for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arrived.

Finally calling me in.

Jisu's first deployment as a hunter was drawing near.

With his first mission sitting in front of him, Jisu checked in on the leading room.

Wildcat was still feeding out information. Jisu had no way of knowing what the actual basis was—Wildcat himself insisted it was chart analysis—but most of the coins he'd flagged to rise were, in fact, rising. Jisu had been quietly, steadily growing his stats off the back of it. The mood in the room, however, was not nearly as healthy.

They'd been all smiles when he was making them money, and now a few losses later they were talking like this. It was almost impressive, how little shame they had—but it wasn't Jisu's problem to worry about. A few volunteer defenders were already on the case.

The room always ran hot and then cooled off again, but today the atmosphere was off in a way that felt different. People on opposite sides of the argument were winding each other tighter and tighter—and that was when Wildcat finally showed up.

That was when people who were either paid members or planted shills—Jisu couldn't tell which—started offering testimony.

One more timing?

Curiosity piqued, Jisu locked onto the chat.

VCS and EQC?

Even to Jisu's eyes—and he'd been checking the site constantly ever since that day, feeding his stats into coins a little at a time—VCS was a name he didn't recognize.

EQC, on the other hand, he knew exactly what that meant.

Equilium Classic?