The Weight of a Billion

Choi Yura's house was a luxury villa in Nonhyeon-dong, Gangnam.

Marble floors. A glittering chandelier. The space had once been a monument to success itself. Now it was steeped in ashen terror.

"Open the damn door! We know you're in there, President Choi!"

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The front door shuddered as if it might splinter apart. Hired thugs — muscle contracted by ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the creditors.

The living room was a wreck. Shattered porcelain and torn paintings lay strewn across the floor like the aftermath of a raid. President Choi Jincheol, Yura's father, hadn't properly washed in days. He was curled into the corner of an Italian leather sofa.

"Dad... they're back..."

Yura whispered it, her face drained of all color. The terror had her too. Gone was the regal composure of the campus goddess who had once ruled the Business Administration halls draped in designer labels. All that remained was a frightened little girl.

"Yura... what are we going to do... if we can't stop them this time, it's really over..."

President Choi's voice shook. The swagger of a businessman who had once thrown around tens of billions of won had vanished, leaving only a withered old man hunted by debt.

"Those people... they're real gangsters. If we don't pay, they might actually kill us..."

He clawed at his hair and looked up at his daughter with hollow, sunken eyes. He was desperate enough to grab at any straw — desperate enough, even, to sell his own child.

"Yura... you wouldn't happen to... have any money?"

"Money? Dad, you know I don't have any. I already gave you everything I made from that part-time job last time."

"Last time... you brought ten million won. You said you borrowed it from your boyfriend, right? That guy... he drives a Benz, doesn't he? He's rich, isn't he?"

President Choi seized his daughter's hands. The fingers that gripped hers were as cold and clammy as a corpse.

"Couldn't you ask him... just one more time? You said he might even marry you. A billion won... he could do that, couldn't he? Think of it as a son-in-law helping out his father-in-law."

"A billion...?"

Yura sucked in a breath. Ten million and a billion were not even in the same universe. That was two extra zeroes. But her father's eyes were so desperately pleading, and the thunderous pounding at the front door — as if they might burst through at any second — clouded every scrap of judgment she had left.

"I'm begging you, Yura! Save your father! If we just get through this... I'll find a way to get back on my feet. Okay?"

Yura bit her lip.

Park Dohun.

His face rose in her mind. The man who drove a Mercedes S-Class. The man who swiped twenty million won at a department store like it was pocket change.

If it's him... it might be possible. He loves me. He's obsessed with my body.

"Okay... I'll talk to him."

"Really? Yes, yes! I knew I could count on my daughter! What a good girl. What a devoted daughter!"

President Choi kissed the back of her hand, tears of relief streaming down his face. Yura smiled bitterly. She had no idea what she was about to do, or what it would cost her. Just a vague, floating expectation that he would help because he was her boyfriend, because he was rich. It was the fatal, foolish naivety of a girl who had spent her entire life growing like a hothouse flower.

The next day, a lecture hall in the Business Administration Building.

I was biting back a grin so wide it threatened to split my face, phone hidden under the desk.

The market was screaming in terror. My account was cheering. Right before the crash, I had thrown everything I owned into a 50x short position. I had bet on the fall.

4.5 billion.

Assets that had been sitting at 1.5 billion had tripled in a matter of days. The Bitcoin market of 2014, with no taxes to speak of, was a goldmine built specifically for me.

I could drop out right now.

I had the sudden, vivid urge to fling my withdrawal papers in the department chair's face and sprint straight to a Gangnam club VIP room to shower in Dom Pérignon. But I had to hold back. There were still crops left to harvest at this school. Twisted revenge and a hunger for conquest that money alone could never satisfy.

Buzz.

A text. Perfect timing. Choi Yura.

I could smell it. The smell of money — no. The smell of someone about to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠beg for it. I smirked and hit send.

Thirty minutes later. A corner table at the cafe.

Yura sat in front of a melting iced Americano, chewing on the straw and nothing else. Her leg bounced under the table. The anxiety was written all over her.

"You came?"

She startled as I sat down across from her, her head snapping up.

"Oppa..."

"What did you call me for? Doesn't look like a date request. What's with that face? Did someone die?"

I asked it like I had no idea.

"Well... I have a favor to ask."

"A favor? What is it? You want another bag? I already bought you the Chanel last time."

"No... it's not that..."

Yura swallowed dryly.

"Can you... lend me some money?"

Money again. I had expected that much. What she said next blew past anything I had imagined.

"How much?"

"About... a billion won."

Clink.

I set my coffee cup down hard enough to rattle the saucer.

A billion won. She tossed out that astronomical figure as casually as if she were asking a friend to spot her ten thousand won. I had deliberately flashed my wealth, sure — but a billion won was not some stray dog's name.

"Is a billion won a joke to you? Are you out of your mind right now?"

I snapped, my expression going cold. Yura panicked, waving her hands.

"No, I'm not joking... I'm really desperate. My dad... he said if we just get through this, he'll pay it all back. I swear."

"Pay it back? How? I thought he went completely under."

"He'll start the business again... and besides, you have so much money, Oppa. You hit it big with coins, right? You made over 1.5 billion."

A hollow laugh slipped out of me at her attitude. I had known that growing up as a rich man's daughter had atrophied her sense of money, but I had not realized her grip on reality was this far gone. To her, money was a bottomless well that appeared whenever you swiped Daddy's card — or play money in a video game. A spoiled child who had never learned the value of labor, or the weight of a single won.

She needs an education.

Until now I had been training her with carrots. It was time to pick up the whip. A whip sharp and spicy enough to snap her wide awake.

"I'm not lending it to you."

I cut her off, my voice ice-cold.

"Wh...?"

Yura's eyes went round. The look of someone who had never once imagined she might be refused. After all the rolling around we had done, all the ways we had mixed our bodies, she must have convinced herself I was completely infatuated with her.

Is she naive or just stupid...

"Why...? You have so much money, Oppa. Th-that much... you could do that much, couldn't you?"

"Bullshit."

I folded my arms and slouched back in the chair at an angle.

"Do you even know how much a billion won is?"

"Well... it's a lot. But for you, Oppa..."

"Let's say an ordinary office worker works himself to the bone and saves three million won a month. That's thirty-six million a year. In ten years, three hundred and sixty million. He would have to spend thirty years not spending a single won — just breathing and saving — before he could even touch that kind of money."

I locked onto her wavering pupils.

"You're sitting here, flapping your mouth, wagging your tongue, asking me to hand over money most people couldn't save in a lifetime."

"......"

"Let's say you drop out of school right now and go work a Gangnam room salon — no, a ten-pro lounge. Even if you take clients home for the second round and pull a million won a day, that's a thousand days. Three years of spreading your legs without a single day off, minus your period, just to earn that."

The raw, humiliating math drained the color from Yura's face until it was white as paper. The shock hit her like a concussion. She had never once calculated her own body's price tag in such concrete terms.

"Oppa... that's too much... how can you say something like that to me..."

"Too much? That's reality. Know your place."

I leaned across the table toward her.

"And you and I — what are we to each other?"

"Huh...? We're... dating. We love each other..."

"Wrong. Let's be precise. You're a fake girlfriend on a boyfriend-for-hire gig. Sold for ten million won."

"Ah..."

A short gasp escaped her. She had forgotten. Forgotten that she was the one who had been bought and paid for — the one with no power. The Chanel bag, the hotel suite nights — she had let herself slip into a little fantasy.

"That's a breach of contract, Choi Yura. You overstepped."

At that cold verdict, Yura's head dropped. Despair. The terror of watching the only lifeline that could save her father snap in two. And the bone-deep shame of being forced to confront her own wretched position. Her shoulders trembled. Tears fell, drop by drop, darkening the wood grain of the table.

"I'm sorry... I— I must have been crazy... I didn't know my place... I'm sorry..."

She sobbed like a child. Completely broken.

Now we can actually have a conversation.

I cheered inwardly and casually tossed out the bait.

"However."

At that single word, Yura's head snapped up. A sliver of hope flickered in her tear-soaked eyes. The eyes of a slave begging for her master's mercy.

"I can't just sit here and watch you suffer. I do have feelings, after all."

"Oppa..."

"A billion is off the table. That's too much money, and it doesn't fit my principles."

I let the silence hang on purpose.

"......"

"I'll lend you enough to put out the fire in front of you. A hundred million should be enough to shut the creditors up, cover the interest, and buy some time."

The truth was, a hundred million or a billion barely registered as a difference at my current net worth. But solving everything in one shot would be no fun. You had to give just enough to wet the throat — that was how you made them thirstier, how you made them cling harder.

"Really...? Even a hundred million... thank you... thank you so much..."

Yura reached for my hands, overwhelmed with gratitude. I pulled them away.

"It's not free. Nothing in this world is free."

"I know... I'll do anything. Whatever you tell me to do. I mean it."

She answered in a rush. She had already sold her body and her pride for ten million won. For a hundred million, she could sell her soul. No — she had to.

"This time, we're writing a contract. A proper one."

"A contract...?"

"Yeah. A slave contract."

I pulled out my phone and showed her the notes screen I had prepared just in case a situation like this ever came up.

The terms were savage. Legal enforceability was irrelevant. This was a set of shackles forged to bind her mind.

"Want to sign? If you don't, forget it."

I asked her. Yura read through the memo with trembling eyes. The moment she agreed to this, she would no longer be a human being with dignity. She would become Park Dohun's property. She knew it instinctively. But she had no choice. An old father trembling in terror at home, and the violence of thugs about to kick down the door.

"I'll do it... I'll sign."

She nodded, as if she had already given up. Tears slid down her cheeks.

"Good. Tonight, come to my room. We'll stamp the seal. With your body."

I stood up.

"Oh, and when you come."

I leaned in until my lips nearly brushed her ear and whispered.

"Don't wear anything. Just a coat. Like last time. And..."

"......"

"Wear that dog collar I bought you on our date... no, the choker. So you don't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forget who your owner is."

Color flooded Yura's face. But she didn't refuse. She was already ready to become a slave.

The title that spilled from her lips. Now the real training could begin.

I stepped out of the cafe and looked up at the clear autumn sky.

4.5 billion won in assets. And two perfect slaves.

The world was turning beneath my feet.