Financial Real-Name System (1)
If someone asks what you do for a living, it’s only human to answer honestly.
If someone asked Gwak Ji-su what her job was, she’d introduce herself like this:
“I’m a full-time investor.”
And the answer that usually came back was:
“So, unemployed.”
What made it even more infuriating was that she couldn’t really argue with it.
“Aaaagh! My money! My blood money!”
At 3:30 p.m., the regular session closed in a catastrophic plunge. Full-time investor Gwak Ji-su slumped deep into her chair as if she’d finally accepted her fate.
“It’s over... my life is over...”
A string of filthy curses slipped from Gwak Ji-su’s mouth like she was chewing on them.
The screen was full of an almost cruel, blinding blue.
The return rate on her account, displayed in the HTS window, had already plunged past -60 percent and was currently falling straight toward bedrock as if it meant to drill down into the underground aquifer.
The panic that had gripped the market over the past few days had defied all imagination.
“This drop is definitely abnormal...”
That was why she’d thrown in everything she had—every last won she could scrape together!
The fact that the only thing she could do was keep averaging down made her want to cry.
They said the KOSPI was ruled by the whims of powerful players, but this was truly... truly too much.
She knew a prudent investor should cut losses decisively once they crossed the stop-loss line, but her hand wouldn’t move to the sell button.
At the very end, she’d even gone so far as to dabble in options.
If this turned into a total wipeout, all the blood, sweat, and tears she’d poured in would vanish into thin air, and she’d have no choice but to go back to her parents’ house and endure their constant nagging. Or maybe she’d have to beg money from that detestable older brother of hers?
Yeah, this godforsaken country.
What a waste of patriotism. A total waste.
Even when her parents sent a photo of themselves hanging a Taegukgi from the veranda of the family home while shouting long live the Emperor, Gwak Ji-su had only snorted.
The imperial family? The Emperor? As if. Weren’t they the very people who’d ruined the market in the first place?
This rotten country had even made overseas investing difficult to stop small investors from fleeing, so she’d never managed to escape in the first place—and that was the real tragedy.
While she was digging through community forums and pouring instant coffee into her mouth to settle the roiling in her stomach, a flood of new posts suddenly appeared.
At last, the thread of reason left Gwak Ji-su’s head snapped.
“This is why people with nothing in their heads but the military are useless!”
The new Emperor was no different.
Did they not care if everyone else went to the Han River, so long as they could cling to power and posture against each other?
Just what kind of meteor was he about to drop? She’d soon find out she wasn’t the only one in this country intent on taking down the Emperor—Song Hak-su couldn’t be the only one.
With her eyes bloodshot, Gwak Ji-su brought up a live broadcast in one corner of her screen.
But then—
The Emperor’s announcement shattered her expectations to pieces.
“???”
Gwak Ji-su sat there blankly for a moment after hearing the declaration.
Financial Real-Name System. Freezing nominee and anonymous accounts.
Wait. They’re freezing nominee accounts?
Then what about the enormous pools of money that had been used to short the Korean market?
To maintain a short position, you had to keep feeding it margin. If their accounts were frozen, they wouldn’t have any way to bring more money in!
There was only one answer.
Forced liquidation. The so-called short squeeze.
Short-sellers would have no choice but to buy back the shares at a mind-boggling loss, swallowing the bitter pill with tears in their eyes.
Then, in the announcement that followed, news broke one after another that a massive currency swap deal with the United States had been concluded.
It was like someone dumping a whole bucket of cold water over a currency that had been soaring out of control.
Staring at it in a daze, Gwak Ji-su suddenly came to her senses.
“Six o’clock. It’s after-hours trading.”
With trembling hands, she seized the mouse and refreshed the futures trading window.
[ KOSPI 200 Futures Index - Live Execution Price ]
The blue giant bearish candles that had blanketed the screen all at once seemed to hesitate, then began to coil upward at terrifying speed.
As the funds in the frozen nominee accounts vanished from the market, the short-sellers scrambling for a way out were all rushing to cover their positions and scooping up shares like mad.
Th-then what about her own account?
Flash—!
Gwak Ji-su’s eyes widened. The dreadful blue that had been strangling even her options account vanished in an instant.
In its place, an enormous bullish candle surged upward as if it meant to burst through the monitor. Trading volume exploded beyond anything that should have been possible in an after-hours session.
“A... Ah...”
As the capital that had been shorting the market rushed into short covering, the whole thing was exploding like a lunatic’s fireworks display.
Her once-blue account recouped its principal in an instant, then started rocketing upward on the back of the soaring call option prices—+100 percent, +200 percent, +400 percent... no, even more than that.
Watching it, Gwak Ji-su’s mouth slowly fell open.
“G-gah...”
Then she frothingly screamed:
“L-LET’S GOOOOOO!”
The cheer was loud enough to shake the officetel to its foundations.
In this moment and this moment only, Gwak Ji-su was an ardent supporter of the current administration.
* * *
There is no Financial Real-Name System in the Republic of Korea.
More precisely, there had been none until now.
It wasn’t really strange. In a country where the imperial family and the Gyeonghwa noble families took everything for themselves, what reason was there to expect transparent financial behavior? To think otherwise would be the real mistake.
Even in Japan in the original world, they had once tried to introduce a system similar to financial real-name registration, only to run into backlash and scrap the bill; it was not until after the September 11 attacks, in 2003, that they strengthened identity verification, and not until 2016 that they introduced the My Number system and effectively completed their own version of a financial real-name system.
Under those circumstances, if one were to suddenly implement a sweeping financial real-name system...
Security is everything.
Fortunately, there was no sign anyone had caught on before the announcement.
The bomb had been detonated cleanly; all that remained was to minimize the fallout and quickly settle the real-name system into place.
The TF team, which had been pretending all this time to be organized to deal with economic instability, was immediately restructured into a comprehensive real-name system response headquarters.
“At the command center, we’ve summoned all the major bank presidents in step with the real-name system announcement. We’ll issue implementation guidelines and, once we’ve collected the practical difficulties and points of confusion, move on to official interpretations and further countermeasures.”
“We’re also modifying the network so that withdrawals from pseudonymous accounts are blocked and real-name verification is applied to all deposits and withdrawals.”
It was a scene that looked, in every sense, like a military operation.
No—at least partly, it really was a military operation. After all, the troops Lee Jin controlled and the officials in charge of the computer systems had actually been dispatched to each bank and were “cooperating” with the rapid transition to real-name registration.
“So the Gyeonghwa noble families have had both hands and feet cut off.”
“Yes. However, the imperial slush funds under the palace’s management have also been caught in the real-name system. Given time, they could have been recovered, but...”
“Do you regret it?”
At Lee Jin’s question, Seo Yu-jin shook her head.
“Much of it was money diverted for the late emperor’s indulgences. From what I understand, there was also a great deal of corruption in the way it had been accumulated. If Your Majesty had ordered it recovered for use as governing funds, that might be another matter, but... I believe this is not a bad outcome.”
“If we’d tried that, we’d have been exposed for sure.”
There were a great many people in this country’s political and business circles who had come from the Gyeonghwa noble families, or from among their retainers.
Even attempting to recover the imperial slush funds in advance would have leaked their intentions to those people.
On the other hand, from the Gyeonghwa families’ point of view, wasn’t it more like: We never expected him to throw away all that money just to spring a real-name system on us and stab us in the back?
As for whether the money itself was a pity, Lee Jin would answer, “Not particularly.”
I’ve never even seen that kind of money in my life.
“Let’s reclaim everything for the treasury.”
Accounts that had not been verified under the real-name system were to be prohibited from withdrawing even a single won.
Any account that failed to convert even after the mandatory transition period would be fined ten percent of its deposits each time a set period passed, up to a maximum of ninety percent.
All of those fines would be transferred to the state treasury and used as part of the national budget.
Leaning back deeply in his chair, Lee Jin said, “Still, if we’re paying such a price, they’d better be ready to offer up their necks.”
The imperial family’s nominee wealth was greater than any other house’s.
He had thrown it away simply to bind the hands and feet of the Gyeonghwa families.
And the effect of that ambush had been more than enough.
“What about Kim A-ra?”
It wasn’t only money deposited in banks that was being bound.
Securities such as stocks were also subject to the transition to the real-name system. Which meant—
“The conglomerate chairmen have been summoned to a meeting, Your Majesty.”
Now it was Kim A-ra’s turn to move.
* * *
JD Group headquarters.
This side, too, was in a state of chaos over the sudden announcement.
“W-what on earth is going on? Financial Real-Name System?”
“All the accounts our group was managing have been locked! How are we supposed to cover the bills that are coming due right now?”
“All of you in the media affiliates, start making calls immediately.”
The president of JD Construction, effectively presiding over the meeting in Kim A-ra’s place, spoke up in a panic.
“The Chairman has declared this incident an act of tyranny by the Emperor. All media affiliates, including JD Broadcasting, are to respond at once!”
The instructions from Kim Moon were simple:
- Argue that the Emperor’s unilateral Financial Real-Name System will destroy the real economy.
- Report broadly that, if underground funds are suddenly pulled out and frozen, businesses will face a chain reaction of bankruptcies and enormous economic chaos; maximize the common people’s fear.
- Under no circumstances are they to let the policy go into effect without securing a suspension and a grace period.
In short, they were being told to drive market anxiety straight to the edge of the cliff—but—
“Stop everything you’re all doing! That’s the Chairman’s order!”
The presidents who had been staring at their phones or making calls jumped in alarm and looked toward the source of the voice.
It was the direction of Kim A-ra’s chief secretary standing by the conference room door.
“What? Chief Cheon! What the hell do you mean by that?”
“You’re telling us to do nothing when the whole place is in chaos?”
“Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.”
The voice was as elegant as ever, even amid this mess.
As the secretaries parted to either side like the Red Sea, Kim A-ra entered the conference room.
“I’m a little late. I see you all started the meeting without the Chairman.”
“W-we apologize, Chairman. The situation is just so urgent.”
Passing the line of presidents who all sprang to their feet, Kim A-ra walked by them and took the seat at the head of the table.
The president of JD Construction, who until just a moment ago had been fidgeting like a dog desperate to take a dump, spoke up.
“Chairman. We just received an emergency directive from Kim Moon.”
“I know. And?”
“...Pardon?”
After saying that, the president of JD Construction stared back at her in confusion.
“Chairman, if the real-name system freezes nominee and anonymous shares as well, it will create a fatal problem for Kim Moon’s control!”
“Exactly.”
At her answer, the president of JD Construction fell silent, as though his mouth had been stuffed with honey.
What on earth was she saying?
“How much longer are we businesspeople supposed to,”
Kim A-ra said, crossing one leg over the other,
“keep playing the role of servants to the old men in Jangdong?”