Chapter 13
Chapter 13
The Asset Management Team of Future Securities was gathered on the 7th floor. The entire floor was dedicated to trading teams.
The reason it was the 7th floor—and not any other—was because the chairman of the Future Group liked the number seven, believing it brought good luck.
Each team had a partitioned space.
Thanks to the partitions, anyone could easily get a sense of the neighboring team’s mood or activity.
They just didn’t bother, focused as they were on trading.
But in one corner of the 7th floor, chaos reigned.
Risk Management’s Kim Yu-seong, the most annoying presence for traders, had gone to Team 9.
Every trader on the 7th floor silently prayed for Team 9’s luck.
His presence there meant someone in Team 9 had suffered a big loss.
It probably wasn’t the interns—it had to be either Manager Choi Choong-sik or Team Leader Kim Yuri.
Secretly, everyone hoped it was Kim Yuri, the team leader, who’d run into trouble.
Like envying a cousin who bought land, highly successful employees always attracted jealousy.
She had no failures, stellar performance, and promotions too fast.
Though everyone’s eyes were on their monitors, their ears were perked toward Team 9.
“Kim Deok-su!”
“You still holding GameHub call options?”
“When did you buy them?”
“How much have you gained?”
Through the sparse calls of Kim Yu-seong, the situation became clear.
Intern Kim Deok-su had purchased GameHub stock through a mock trading account.
Everyone on the 7th floor typed furiously.
They spread the news via messenger:
Our intern bought GameHub call options. But mock trading. LOL.
Incredible. Mock trading, yet insane.
If real, he’d be retiring.
If he had entered early, at least 30x.
Everyone regretted that it was only mock trading.
10:25 PM.
I sat in front of my computer, eyes glued to the monitor.
I had no intention of leaving the office.
I was prepared to stay up all night.
Tonight, I would sell the GameHub call options at the office.
The scent helped me predict the optimal timing.
Normally, I couldn’t smell the scent unless it was the perfect moment.
But perhaps my abilities had improved, I could now sense it to some extent.
Every time the stock hit $50, then $100, the scent gradually strengthened.
It wasn’t as strong as when I first bought the stock.
From experience, the perfect sell timing carried the same intensity as the first scent.
GameHub still had room to rise.
Yesterday, the scent reached the intensity of that first moment.
I was confident today was the best time to sell.
I planned to trade quietly, using a fast, high-performance office computer.
But Kim Yu-seong ruined the plan.
News had spread that I held GameHub call options.
Some people above the team leader wanted to watch me trade.
Now, they sat behind me.
Starting with Kim Yu-seong, several team leaders and executives were peeking at a duplicated monitor inside our team, watching my screen.
It wasn’t like watching a game broadcast.
10:30 PM.
“Deok-su, good luck. Don’t be nervous.”
I felt like a professional gamer in a tournament.
Hands on the trading keyboard and mouse, eyes glued to the screen.
GameHub’s stock price fluctuated wildly.
It was a war between hedge funds and retail investors.
The hedge funds tried to push the price down, retail investors to push it up.
The stock hovered between $400, then dropped to $390, then surged to $420.
From behind, people whispered “Sell! Sell!” but I ignored them.
The scent wasn’t yet as strong as the first one.
When $420 collapsed, audible sighs of disappointment came from behind.
Then $410 collapsed in an instant.
Suddenly, aggressive buying surged.
The stock shot up explosively.
When GameHub surpassed $480, I smelled it—the first scent.
Now!
I tapped “Sell All” on my phone screen in front of me.
I wasn’t foolish enough to sell the mock account first.
This was my real money.
Then, I sold all the call options in the mock account.
Seconds later, notifications confirmed all contracts were cleared.
Done!
Next, my mock account also confirmed liquidation.
I calculated the profit in my head.
Bought at $2.50 per option.
Strike: $20]
Premium: $2.5
Sold at $485 per option.
Strike: $20
Premium: $485
Premium difference: $478.5.
Contracts: 316, 1 contract = 100 shares.
478.5 × 316 × 100 = $15,120,600
At 1,080 KRW/USD:
16,330,248,000 KRW
Sixteen billion, three hundred thirty million won??
Insane!
I couldn’t believe it.
I checked the account—exactly the same amount appeared.
16.3 billion KRW!
My head spun, hands trembled.
Lucky I was sitting; I might have collapsed standing.
Starting from the 10 million KRW Team Leader Yuri lent me, in less than a month, I’d made 16.3 billion KRW.
Even looking at it, it was unbelievable.
The scent had blown my mind; the money reinforced it.
Behind me, Team Leader Yuri’s choked voice sounded.
“Deok-su… the… the return rate… huff, huff.”
Manager Choi spoke for her:
“15,900 percent. Kim Deok-su, 15,900 percent return!”
Everyone watching was too shocked to speak.
“Ha…”
Kim Yuri, soaking in a hot bath, buried her face in her hands.
She was embarrassed at how she’d choked up seeing Deok-su’s returns.
‘Why did I do that?’
Seeing such impossible returns brought tears.
Tears she didn’t even understand.
She ran to the restroom to hide them.
The tears didn’t stop.
“This kid’s crazy…”
Depression? Menopause?
She laughed at the absurdity of her thoughts.
She thought of Deok-su’s achievements:
15,900% from this trade, 43,000% in the mock account overall.
She knew he was talented but never imagined this.
It was bitter it was only mock trading.
Deok-su had just entered the financial world—his future growth was unimaginable.
She recalled his face.
Resolute when holding, handing her coffee with a smile, calm even after huge profits.
His expression stayed with her, all the way back to the military.
The bright smile welcoming a clueless army second lieutenant.
She shook her head, clearing unnecessary memories.
‘Stay focused! Everything’s sorted.’
Then she stared into the dim space for a long while.
“Grr…”
Manager Choi, returning home, popped a 330ml beer and drank it in one go.
Deok-su’s dramatic trade had him fired up.
He grabbed another can, drank half.
Sitting on the sofa, sipping, he recalled what he had witnessed.
Intern Kim Deok-su achieved a 43,000% return.
Some might say beginner’s luck. Not him.
No beginner, however lucky, could get such returns.
This was all Deok-su’s skill:
Unshakable will
Insight piercing to the core
Cool-headed judgment despite fear and greed
The heart of a beast willing to bet boldly
“Genius… genius.”
No—this wasn’t even humanly describable.
His heart raced after a long time.
Seeing Deok-su’s trades, Choi felt envy.
Memories of his younger self, controlling hundreds of billions, moving in options and futures with animal instincts.
He wanted to go back.
But obstacles blocked him.
He feared them.
After selling the call options, I ran home.
To cool my excitement.
The cold night air and sweat restored my calm.
Inside, Mom slept on the sofa, Dad on the floor.
They were exhausted after work.
“Mom, go to your room.”
She stirred.
“Hmm? You’re back? Dinner? Didn’t eat? I’ll fix it.”
“I ate.”
“Go rest.”
After sending Mom and Dad to their rooms, I showered and sipped a cold beer.
Refreshing carbonation cooled my burning body.
I checked my phone again.
[16,330,248,000 KRW]
163 billion won.
The numbers brought back the thrill of selling the options.
For the first time, I felt the excitement and rush of trading.
I understood why people invested.
It wasn’t just money—it was the thrill of seeing your choice succeed.
My heart burned.
“Grr…”
I cooled it with beer.
I recalled Team Leader Yuri choking up over my return.
Why?
Emotion? Pride? Like parents watching their child’s first steps.
Had I been unreliable? Or something else?
It’s hard to understand a woman’s mind.
I recalled my first day meeting her, helping the clueless second lieutenant.
Old memories resurfaced.
Looking at the clock, it was late.
I needed sleep to go to work tomorrow.
I finished the rest of the beer and lay down.
Closing my eyes, I still saw myself trading.
Passion, excitement, thrill.
I realized investing was fun.
I wanted more of this pleasure.
With my scent ability, it was possible.
I imagined myself becoming a top global investor, and finally drifted toward sleep.
But sleep did not come easily.
Deok-su’s legendary returns from last night spread rapidly via SNS and internal messengers across securities firms and banks.
Most people couldn’t believe such absurd returns.
Yet leaked screenshots confirmed the numbers, and people were shocked.
Yeouido was buzzing.
If real-time searches existed among traders: Deok-su #1, 43,000% #2, GameHub #3.
Some dismissed it as mock trading.
Most were amazed at the miraculous ability of the Future Securities intern.
Of course, real money vs mock trading differs psychologically. Practice vs real game.
But the important fact: those who excel at practice excel at the real game.
President Yoo Jae-chul reported the incident to Chairman Kim Tae-sung.
It concerned Team 9, where Yuri worked.
The chairman blinked in disbelief.
“Really? That intern Deok-su in Yuri’s team?”
“Yes.”
“Hah, that kid’s something else.”
“43,000% confirmed?”
“Yes. Verified through transaction history.”
“How’s his investment style?”
“Extremely aggressive. No risk management at all.”
“No risk management? Odd kid.”
“Not suitable as a trader, I’d say.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Kim Tae-sung clicked his tongue.
“Mr. Yoo, who’s your favorite talent in the securities firm?”
“…?”
“Kind? Team player? Considerate? No. The one who makes the most money. Here, the one who makes money is king. And this kid has the potential to be king. Who knows about this now?”
“Word has spread across Yeouido.”
“Damn. They find out faster than ghosts. Other firms might try to poach him.”
“Yes.”
Kim Tae-sung wanted to immediately go to Future Securities and offer Deok-su a lifetime contract.
But he held back.
A chairman showing up for an intern’s contract would be awkward. Too high-profile could scare him.
President level was enough.
“Mr. Yoo, we can’t lose this kid. Sign him quickly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wait.”
Kim Tae-sung had a thought.
“Check if this kid even has a securities account.”
“Yes? Understood.”
Soon Yoo Jae-chul reported:
“He does.”
“Balance?”
“16.3 billion KRW.”
“Ha… ha… hahaha.”
A helpless laugh.
As expected, it was him.
Of course someone making that kind of profit wouldn’t be broke.
What to do?
At this point, he had no choice but to step in.
Kim Tae-sung pressed the intercom:
“Send a car. Now.”