Pinch Hitter
“It might seem great at first glance that startups require a lot of initial investment capital, but there's a risk of losing management control on the flip side.”
“So, the way to stably protect the founder's management rights while still growing is through these repayable convertible preferred shares (RCPS)? That definitely avoids hostile takeovers, and from the investors' perspective, they can expect high dividend yields.”
Nami scooped up a bite of whipped cream from her waffle and waggled her empty spoon.
“DuWorld will take the lead investor role in BioAkashic's Series A funding. So, we're aiming to raise $20 million to start.”
$20 million—about 37 billion won at the current exchange rate. NyansterCall's executive director, Lee Hyun-seo, set his glasses down on the table and leisurely lowered his head to meet Nami's gaze. The bright cafe lighting illuminated her baby-soft skin even more vividly.
“Isn't that too much for a Series A?”
But Nami's curt reply came back. She knew most early Series A investments were around 5 billion won or less, so it was a valid question. Even considering the Katsuhata school's investment as angel funding, it was on the higher side.
“You don't know what you're talking about, Guild Master. These days, hot startups raise 20 or 30 billion won right from the start. And I always say invest in what you know best, right?”
“Is that so?”
NyansterCall was a fan who'd watched NoName closer than anyone.
“Even if BioAkashic crashes and burns, the skills you've shown, Guild Master—they're the real deal. No doubt about it.”
No matter how much the media hyped Nami, he always felt her abilities were underrated.
“I still can't forget the moment you saved Adella. It was like... enlightenment, I guess? My one eternal regret is missing the final scene live.”
“You must really like games.”
“Yeah, love 'em. Haven't had time lately, though—been swamped.”
“Then, one last question for you, NyansterCall?”
“Fire away.”
“Not as NyansterCall, but as Executive Director Lee Hyun-seo—are you on my side?”
Nami leaned forward, her tone dead serious.
“It's nothing major, but the interest rates, maturity dates, and other details you mentioned are way too favorable to our company. Setting aside our streaming connection, I'm curious why you decided to lead the investment.”
“Ah...”
Lee Hyun-seo was genuinely surprised inside. Money could feel like a fortune to one person or pocket change to another, even for the same amount. But Nami was assessing its value with objective precision, given her situation.
He cleared his throat lightly and laid his cards on the table.
“If you asked any other investor, you'd get the same answer. It's because we recognize the value of your company's intangible assets. Businesspeople are all merchants at heart. We do it because it turns a profit.”
“I see.”
“But me!”
Lee Hyun-seo emphasized, looking at Nami with utmost sincerity.
“I'm a businessperson too, so I won't claim to be different. But I've wanted to repay your kindness for a long time now.”
“Kindness?”
“Yes. My family were victims of the Banghwa Bridge disaster. I was lucky to survive... but I lost my loved ones overnight. I wanted to thank you personally for helping uncover the truth. Truly, thank you so much...”
The man bowed his head deeply. A long silence followed. As the middle-aged man kept his head lowered to the little girl, whispers from nearby aunties started up.
It was getting awkward just sitting there, so Nami helped NyansterCall to his feet.
“NyansterCall, my part's done here. Please work out the rest with CEO Baek Ho-chan.”
Nami seemed to deliberately avoid mentioning the Banghwa Bridge disaster.
Lee Hyun-seo caught his breath. He'd forgotten for a moment. The child before him was an 8-year-old with a heartbreaking past.
'Did I bring up something traumatic?'
Regret washed over him, but Nami reached out her small, delicate hand and grasped his scarred one from the burns.
“Executive Director, is there anything else I can help with? Raising $20 million won't be easy.”
Her positive response lit up his face.
“Really okay with that... Guild Master?”
“I didn't do much. Don't treat me like some benefactor. Forget the 'kindness' stuff—let's redefine our relationship from here. You said merchants speak with money, so I can expect solid trust going forward, right? I don't trust people easily.”
Her beaming smile held a childlike innocence. But to NyansterCall, that very innocence felt monstrous. She'd boldly severed personal ties for the company's constructive growth. A bonus: she wasn't swayed by emotions.
'Show trust with money... Not an 8-year-old—an old fox like our execs in their 50s.'
Lee Hyun-seo stared at the handshake Nami offered. He couldn't imagine how big the company would be when that tiny hand finally grew.
'Not the company. The world will change.'
“Cut the nonsense and start securing the Demon King's Horn.”
A company's proprietary magic for product launch couldn't be open-sourced like Adella. Simply put, the security principle: render specific circuit formulas invisible without variables, and encrypt all runes used. Users get a decryption key from the company to cast it. Even employees couldn't grasp the structure—security at its tightest.
The downside? If I suddenly ditched proprietary registration, the company could collapse entirely. So I got why Baek Ho-chan was tiptoeing around my moods lately.
“Don't worry. If you're that anxious, should I add RGB lights to the horn for the launch?”
“I was kidding. I'm too embarrassed. Gotta go—hanging up.”
Click.
The preliminary lineup posts at 6 PM in the Aquila Hotel lobby tonight, so I needed to check soon. The revolving door took forever. The lobby was already packed with students. Squeezing through would've flattened me.
“Want a piggyback?”
The nonchalant voice beside me—Shin Jin-ho, student council president.
“No thanks. I'll wait here a bit.”
We sat on a lobby corner sofa until the kids dispersed.
“Your outing go well? No issues?”
“Yeah... just hit a cafe up front. What trouble?”
“Caught your rehearsal interview the other day. Even the Alteer Academy council kids raved.”
“Really? What'd they say?”
“Super smart and cute.”
“Wasn't aiming for cute...”
“Can't help how you were born. Own it.”
His flat, emotionless tone—like a machine—gave me chills. Not sarcasm. What did he mean? I blinked and stared.
“A compliment.”
“Don't say that to my friends. They'll cry.”
“Huh. Vice President's the same.”
“Anyway, your face is kinda scary, President.”
“Me?”
“Didn't know?”
“Nope.”
He might be popular with peers, but sensitive types like Ma Ji-hye could find his sharp eyes intimidating. Silence again. Sitting with fellow awkward people really drove home my own social deficits. Nice folks just babied me this life. Compared to my past life, no growth—kinda depressing.
“Wanting someone to affirm your path. Cool words.”
“Huh?”
“Your interview line, Nami. You live by that?”
“Nah, big meaning. Just off-the-cuff thoughts.”
“Stick around the academy long, you see kids wandering. All dream of great mages, but not everyone's cut out.”
“Competition weeds 'em out. But wandering isn't wrong.”
“True. Society hates deviation, though. Tourney started for unity, now it's for elites. Injuries every year.”
“Sad.”
“Not saying scrap it. Sigh... I don't even know what I want anymore.”
Shin Jin-ho sighed deeply.
“Worry after winning. Not too late.”
The chattering students headed to rooms. We approached the big poster.
“Right— you're in prelims, Nami. Middle schooler's got food poisoning; parents took 'em yesterday.”
“What? Why say now?! Knew from start? Why hide?”
“Didn't ask.”
“Ugh...”
Maybe I'm more social than him. I strode to the poster. Middle 1... no. Middle 2... no.
“Middle 3?”
“For subbing Middle 3, we got nothing to say, but we'll ask teacher for backline—”
“No. Thanks, President. Real matches mean injuries happen.”
Middle 3—15? Around when Klaus betrayed me. Best time for that satisfying smack.
“Your worries come from not winning lately. Win once, you'll crave more tourneys.”