A Storm in the Market

A storm was brewing in the office of the Taewoong Culture Foundation.

Creak.

"Chairman, short-selling reports targeting Leonplay are being indiscriminately distributed to the media as we speak."

An executive of the Taewoong Culture Foundation walked in and reported to Chairman Kim Dong-ho, who was sitting in a deep, tan leather executive chair.

Upon hearing the news, Kim Dong-ho let out a chuckle.

"So Kang Minwook is really going all out, is he?"

It made sense. Setting aside his personal grudge, Mayor Kang Minwook must feel like he's walking on air right now, anticipating the massive fortune he's about to rake in through short selling via CFDs.

After all, if you have a guaranteed winning hand, there's nothing easier than making money through short selling.

"Chairman, shouldn't we pull out as well?"

"Why? Does it look like a lost cause to you?"

"Yes. Honestly, I'm worried we might lose our entire 20 billion won investment if we stay in."

The executive nodded slowly. He was convinced that the current situation was completely lopsided, with Leonplay having zero chance of winning.

Watching him, Kim Dong-ho clicked his tongue.

"Tsk, tsk. Tell me, what exactly is short selling?"

"Pardon?"

"I asked you what short selling is."

Though momentarily taken aback by the sudden question, the executive calmly answered.

"Isn't it borrowing shares to sell them, and then buying them back to return them when the price drops? The profit or loss is determined by the difference."

"Exactly. The key lies in the word 'borrowing.'"

Literally, borrowing. Short selling begins with a loan. Of course, there is naked short selling—selling without even borrowing—but that is strictly prohibited in South Korea.

"Then, who is the entity lending those shares?"

"The securities firms, of course."

"You know it well. Short selling is essentially no different from buying stocks on credit."

"..."

"Do you think securities firms are charities? They only lend shares because the contractor has the creditworthiness to pay them back and the odds of winning seem certain."

"Then shouldn't we pull out even more urgently? It sounds like even the securities firms, who are incredibly sensitive to profit and loss, are betting on Leonplay's defeat."

Kim Dong-ho chuckled.

In a way, the executive's line of thinking was perfectly natural. Securities firms and short sellers were veteran gamblers. When they poured massive sums ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of money to set ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up a board, they only did so because they had a guaranteed winning hand that made them so bold.

But this time was different.

"There is no opponent easier to strike than one who has let their guard down."

"Sir?"

"Do you think retail investors are brainless fools? Do you think they'll just throw away their shares because some short sellers are trying to scare them, even though the company is perfectly fine?"

Of course, a deluge of short-selling volume accompanied by timely bad news was incredibly threatening. But stocks were different from crypto; a company's underlying value didn't just vanish into thin air because of some bad press.

If the right good news broke at the right time to reverse the sentiment, turning the tide was only a matter of time. And it would be incredibly powerful news.

"We just need to scoop up whatever they throw away in their complacency. The good news that will make this bad press look like a joke will break right on cue. And once those struggling short sellers expose their weakness?"

"Ah...!"

"Then all that's left is for the ants to tear them apart until there's not a single shred of flesh left on their bones."

Kim Dong-ho's lips curled into a smirk.

"We just need to pull up a chair to a table that's already been set."

Leonplay Stock Discussion Forum.

The stock discussion board for Leonplay was beyond chaotic—it was utterly devastated.

Out of nowhere, a bombshell in the form of a tax and accounting audit had dropped on Leonplay, which had been sailing smoothly.

At the same time, the stock price began to plummet at a terrifying speed, turning the Leonplay discussion board into a digital funeral home.

With the stock price plunging straight down from the opening bell, the only thing shareholders could do was stare at their monitors and let out deep, heavy sighs.

As time passed, the sell orders piled up on the order book at lower and lower prices, and the wails of the investors grew louder in tandem.

The only choices left for retail investors were to get locked in and pray for a rescue team, or to ride the coattails of the market manipulators.

The atmosphere had turned as hostile as it could get. To anyone looking, the situation was completely hopeless.

With no other options, retail investors were just about to execute their stop-losses with trembling hands.

It was a literal battle between spear and shield. Then, a link began to circulate in the chat, throwing the board into utter chaos once again.

The moment the massive positive news broke, the sentiment completely flipped.

Not only was an entity presumed to be Taewung absorbing all the dumped short-selling volume, but a massive 20 billion won investment had also been announced.

Retail investors, who had been looking for a chance to cut their losses, instead began aggressively buying more shares at the artificially depressed prices.

Once the momentum shifted, the short-selling reports, the large-scale tax audit, and the accounting audit that the media had been screaming about were no longer even treated as bad news.

The rebound was just as overwhelmingly powerful as the terrifying decline had been.

As soon as the Taewoong Culture Foundation's 20 billion won investment was officially disclosed, a barrage of positive news poured out as if on cue.

A massive storm began to sweep through the South Korean stock market.