A Madman's Report
If the Research Center was the rear echelon—the place where support was marshaled and strategy drawn up—then the Trading Division was the front line. The war zone itself.
Every morning, the traders there took the operational directives handed down from headquarters, formulated their battle plans, and readied themselves to fire off money.
So what happened on weekends, when the markets were closed?
The same thing, as it turned out. A market holiday did not mean this was a profession that let you rest easy on your days off.
"The Research Center is pushing automobiles and secondary batteries this time. What about the other houses?"
"Pretty much the same everywhere. Come Monday, the money's going to pour into those two sectors."
The legendary investors always said the same thing: don't trade short-term. Judge a company's true worth and hold for the long haul!
But to a securities firm trader, long-term investing was tantamount to high treason. These were people who executed hundreds of buys and sells per person in a single day, after all.
Ordinary people ended up doing long-term investing by accident, married to a losing position. Traders, on the other hand, would sooner cut their losses at a painful price than ever touch a long-term hold—instead, they'd redeploy that sunk loss even more aggressively somewhere else to win it back.
Which was why they scrutinized every report the Research Center uploaded, day after day, with a hawk's eye. They had to know where the money would flow today, because that was what fattened their incentive pay.
"Wait, what is this?"
But there was one thing in this morning's batch that made those hawk eyes narrow into frowns.
"A Semiconductor Super Cycle? Deputy Im, you see this too? Did the Research Center upload the wrong file?"
"Ah, yeah, I saw it. The content's thin—it reads like filler they slapped together, so I'm guessing somebody over there uploaded it by mistake."
"Right? So it's not just me. What kind of lunatic is already running his mouth about a semiconductor super cycle?"
Everyone here knew that semiconductors would enter a boom eventually. But not now. It was at least six months out.
And the Research Center was not in the business of writing reports with a long-horizon view. There were departments that did that, sure—but as a rule, this was a place that predicted events within the next one to three months. To these people, a semiconductor super cycle was nothing but a fever dream.
"Call the Research Center first. Tell them they uploaded the wrong file. Do you have any idea how hard other houses and clients are going to laugh at us over this?"
"Yes, sir. On it right away."
Now and then, a subordinate's slip-up sent the wrong file up the pipeline. A report out of the Research Center was the face of the firm itself, and anything mistaken had to be corrected immediately—brand value was not something you let get dented.
"By the way, Mr. Director."
"Not Director out here—Chairman, my boy."
"……Mr. Chairman. Do securities firm employees really work through the weekend?"
"Usually, yes. Some shops give the whole weekend off, but trouble doesn't check the calendar before it breaks out. Sometimes there's standby duty, and even when there isn't, plenty of people come in to work anyway."
I nodded slowly, then murmured to the chairman as if confiding a secret. "Then shouldn't I be coming in too, instead of just tagging along on your hikes?"
"Hey now. Who do you think you are, a full-time employee? Weekend shifts for an intern? What do you take us, Daeseong, for a bunch of street thugs?"
"Oh."
In a nutshell: I was an intern, still of no use to anyone, so there was no need for me to clock in on weekends. No wonder the senior associate had been moping the other day, grumbling that she'd have to come in again this weekend.
"Suho, my boy. You'll keep showing up, won't you?"
"I did say last time I might have to stop once I land a job, remember?"
They hadn't shown it much on the surface, but it seemed the older fellows here had been quietly stung by the news that I might quit the hiking club for a new job.
"Job or no job, I'll keep climbing with you all."
"Heh heh. Good. Fresh air, good exercise—what's not to love about this place?"
"We were scared half to death when you said you might quit, you know. If the job hunt gets rough, say the word. We'll chip in and send you an allowance."
There was a reason I'd stayed in this club as long as I had. Sure, I climbed to find room to breathe—but more than that, these people were simply warm-hearted. The older members grumbled and bickered among themselves now and then, but a bowl of makgeolli smoothed it all over, and their fussing over the youngest member genuinely moved me.
"So make sure you stay on our youngest's good side. Can't have this fellow getting homesick for the office and suddenly vanishing on us."
"We always treat him well, sir. It's the chairman who's the problem."
"That's right. Working the poor kid to the bone every single week."
"Wh-what?"
And so today's members, having climbed exactly as far as they meant to, exchanged their goodbyes and dispersed. I was just about to head home myself when the chairman caught my arm.
"Suho. Everything going all right at the office?"
"Ah, yes, sir. I go in grateful every single day."
"You can be honest with me. Nobody giving you a hard time? Nothing like that?"
"Nothing at all. Everyone's been wonderful. I'm learning so much thanks to them."
"Really, nothing?"
For an instant, one face flashed through my mind.
Utterly beautiful, but sharp as a blade, with an aura that was no joke—our team leader. It wasn't exactly bullying. But no matter how I looked at it, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been marked.
"Word around the way is that the Research Operations Team leader there is a hell of a talent. Making team leader at that age? She must have claws."
"I have a great deal to learn from her, that's for sure."
"Hmm. Is that so? Then good. If anyone gives you hell, tell me. I'll go set them straight myself."
"Goodness, sir, there's really no need."
Anyone else, and I'd have taken it as a joke. But knowing our chairman's bulldozer temperament, I half-believed he really would bulldoze the entire operations team.
Still—I hadn't gotten marked just because I skipped the weekend while everyone else worked, right?
Over the weekend, Cheon Doa had come into the office as she always did and reviewed the reports. But concentrating proved impossible.
"Team Leader, another department is calling in about the report you uploaded the other day……."
"About the semiconductor piece?"
"Ah—yes."
"They're a bit late, aren't they."
"I'm sorry?"
"The other departments worked us over pretty thoroughly all weekend. If that one's only getting around to objecting now that it's Monday, they must have been out having fun."
The Semiconductor Super Cycle report. That single report had tormented Cheon Doa all weekend long.
Did someone upload this by mistake? Did they seriously label this a report? The criticisms had come pouring in from every direction.
"After they wouldn't give us the time of day before. I have no idea why they're suddenly so interested."
Traders were supposed to invest according to the reports the Research Center produced, but in practice, they often didn't. Plenty traded on their own gut. And even when a trade succeeded because of a center report, they never gave the credit back.
If it went well, it was their genius. If it went badly, it was the Research Center's fault. That was usually how it worked.
"Tell them I uploaded it in my right mind, so they can stop worrying."
Truthfully, looking back, she hadn't been in her right mind at all. All weekend, Cheon Doa had stewed in bitter regret over just how crazy a stunt she'd pulled, agonizing a hundred more times over whether she should pull the report down even now.
But yanking a report she'd uploaded with such bravado, just because of the backlash, felt wrong somehow. And there was another thought nagging at her: having already resolved to give him a chance, didn't she owe it to him to believe, just this once, all the way through?
"I wanted to ask him over the weekend what on earth was going through his head when he picked this."
Kang Suho hadn't come to work that weekend. It wasn't simply because he was an intern.
It was a special directive from no less than Director Geum Gaho himself: the intern was to be given no weekend shifts whatsoever, despite not even being a full-time employee.
"That's right. A precious young master has no business slaving away on a weekend like the rest of us."
People of his caliber had their own social circles to attend on weekends, obligations of every sort. Once she started thinking that way, the distance between them felt suddenly vast. Now and then the office caught glimpses of Kang Suho's behavior that seemed pure eager-intern—but then she'd remember who he was, and her senses would come flooding back.
"Team Leader, the Center Director is asking for you."
So it had come, as it was always going to come.
He'd said nothing all weekend. With his retirement looming, he seemed content to coast—but apparently this was the one thing he couldn't let slide.
"You called for me, Director?"
"Hey! Team Leader Cheon!"
There it was. The moment she stepped into the director's office, the thunderbolt fell.
"What is the meaning of this!"
What excuse was there to make? She had no intention of hiding behind an intern. Whatever else happened, the final call to upload had been hers.
"Director, about that—"
"You rascal. I'd thought your instincts were long dead, but they're alive and well after all, hm?"
"……I'm sorry, what?"
Cheon Doa tilted her head, baffled. She had braced for a scolding—but the director's reaction was something else entirely.
"I only got the briefing myself, late as usual. Out of nowhere, you upload a Semiconductor Super Cycle report. Half the departments in the building went into meltdown over it, I hear?"
It seemed an excessive fuss, but Cheon Doa listened in silence.
"Well, it looks like you've pulled off quite the masterstroke this time."
"I… did?"
"Word's about to break everywhere, so I'll say it now—the big IT players, Blueweb, Aurora, the lot of them, have just declared a server war. They've finally figured out that whoever holds the most data centers and servers wins, period. So what happens next?"
"They'll need a staggering amount of semiconductors."
"And after that?"
"Every chipmaker in the world has been cutting production, so supply will fall desperately short—and if that fire spreads……"
"The semiconductor super cycle begins!"
In that instant, Cheon Doa felt a chill race down her spine—cold beyond mere gooseflesh.
"How on earth did you know? I only figured it out just now, reading the intel that came in."
She couldn't have said. All she knew was that events were unfolding exactly as the parachute intern had somehow blessed them.
"Though the actual contents of that report are nowhere near the current situation, are they?"
"I know. I know it was filler. Frankly, on substance alone, it's a fantasy novel. But you know how this works—content doesn't matter in this business. Only results do. We predicted the super cycle before every competitor did, and that's what people will see."
He was right. Nobody examined the process or picked through the fine print. The only question was who called it first. That was the entire scorecard.
"I've lost count of how much we've heard lately about Daeseong Research lagging behind the other houses. Well, Team Leader Cheon, you got one done this time. No wonder you became the youngest team leader in the shop's history, eh?"
"Ah…… yes, sir."
"And I'm in a wonderful mood because of it. Nothing in this world feels better than your call landing while everyone else is laughing at you. Oh—and it's going to get busy from today. The institutions will be flooding us with inquiries. You may end up leading the meetings yourself, Team Leader."
A good report drew clients in—and institutional money was the best client there was. Institutions invested in the hundreds of billions, and when they entrusted their funds, commissions came pouring in after them. That was why securities firms poured resources into their research centers: those revenues could never be ignored.
And in this moment, Daeseong Securities was the one and only firm that had a report on file predicting the whole affair. The institutions had no choice but to come running, mouths watering.
"……"
But none of that registered in Cheon Doa's head. Walking from the director's office back toward the bullpen, she was half in a daze.
Am I dreaming?
How was this possible? Not once—three times now. Could this really be called coincidence?
No. This was no accident. Twice might be dressed up as chance, but three times meant intent.
But how—how on earth?
How could he alone nail what no one else in the world had foreseen?
"Team Leader."
At the familiar voice, Cheon Doa spun around in place, startled out of her skin.
"The meeting prep is finished. Shall I give you the materials now?"
There he stood, Kang Suho, wearing a smile of perfect composure.