The Fox Hunt

The living room of the hotel suite.

Yura and Jisoo sat on the sofa in white bathrobes, waiting for the next command.

I stood at the window, looking down over the nightscape of Seoul, and let myself sink into thought.

A name flickered through my mind.

Shin Nara.

The twenty-seven-year-old TA in the business department office.

On the surface, she was the department's idol — an angel. Puppy-soft eyes, a face that never stopped smiling, the kind unnie who always had time to listen to a student's troubles. But that was a mask, calculated down to the last eyelash, and once you saw through it the thing underneath made your skin crawl.

Memories of my past life cut through me.

I had been painfully naive then, and she was the demon who sucked that naivety out of me down to the marrow.

"Dohun, could I see you for a minute?"

One late night she called me into the TA office and made her pitch in a low voice. The professor had left the grading of a required major course entirely in her hands, she said. Slip her a little "handling fee" and she would bump me from a B-plus to an A-plus.

I refused. I didn't have the money, and I didn't have the spine to cheat like that either.

Her whole manner flipped. She was terrified I would tell the other students what she had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠offered.

"I'm sorry, Dohun. I must have been out of my mind. Things have been so hard with my mom's hospital bills, I just..."

She stood there in front of me with fat, theatrical tears rolling down her cheeks. Then she dragged me to a bar near campus, saying we should have a drink. Watching her cry as she poured out her miserable family history, I stupidly let my heart go soft. I took every glass she pushed on me in the name of comfort, and eventually the film ran out.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a motel room I didn't recognize. Nobody was beside me.

At first I thought she had been decent about it — that she had brought a wasted classmate somewhere safe. That afternoon, a photograph landed on my phone and dropped my life straight into hell.

In the picture I was sprawled naked across the bed, not a thread on me, and next to me was Shin Nara in her underwear, pretending to cry. The angle was exquisite. Anyone who saw it would have sworn they were looking at the aftermath of a rape.

Blackmail.

I had passed out drunk like a corpse, and she was framing me as a rapist. For weeks I lived inside a vice of terror and stress. I even started looking into loan sharks, convinced I had to scrape together a settlement somehow.

Then one day, she vanished. She stopped showing up to work without a word, and every number went dead. Later the rumor mill said she had killed herself.

She had been pooling the money she bled out of students with every loan she could get her hands on and throwing it all into Bitcoin futures. She went long in a crashing market, caught the collapse full in the face, and got liquidated. Buried under the debt, she ended her miserable life on a Han River bridge.

When I heard, the first thing I felt was satisfaction. Then the emptiness rolled in. The villainess who had tormented me so thoroughly had been destroyed not by my hand, but by a coin chart — and that fact made my blood boil.

"Hoo..."

I let out a long stream of cigarette smoke and came back to the present.

This life was different.

Shin Nara was still prowling the hunting grounds of campus, sucking the lifeblood out of students, playing the cunning fox. She hadn't even bothered to hide the greedy fangs behind that innocent face.

Meanwhile, the Bitcoin market on the monitor was vomiting red, the crash still tearing downward. A slaughterhouse of panic-selling from terrified retail traders. This was the moment — the exact window when a gambler's delusional hope circuit burns hottest.

It's fallen enough.

This is the bottom.

This is where the technical bounce comes in.

The very instant she became convinced it was the floor and scraped together her soul to go long, the chart would fake a bounce — then punch straight through the basement and bury itself in the earth's core. The scream of someone getting thoroughly fucked and force-liquidated. That exquisite moment of ruin was entering its countdown.

I'll send you off properly. My way, this time.

I turned around. Yura and Jisoo were watching me, sweeping their wet hair back from their faces.

"Like I said earlier, you two have a job to do."

"What ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is it, Oppa?"

Yura asked, her eyes bright.

"Shin Nara, the TA. You know her?"

"Oh, that fox bitch? Walking pile of fake innocence."

Yura's face twisted. They say a woman always knows another woman. Yura had hated Shin Nara for a long time.

"She's my next target."

"The TA? Why?"

Jisoo looked puzzled.

"Did you know she's been doctoring students' grades and shaking them down for money?"

"For real?"

"It's true. I confirmed it. There's more than one or two victims."

I mixed a lie into the truth to sell the conviction.

"Jisoo. You're student council president. Time to play champion of justice a little."

"Yeah."

"Look into it quietly. Find out which kids paid her to fix their grades. I need evidence."

"Evidence..."

"Bank records would be best. If you can't get those, at least record the students' testimonies. You can do that. You've got the clout and the credentials that come with being president."

Jisoo thought for a moment, then nodded. It wasn't a sense of justice that moved her. It was because the order had come from her master.

"And Yura."

"Yes, Oppa."

"You approach her."

"Approach her and do what?"

"Flash your money. Until she's sick of smelling it."

I smirked.

"Everyone knows your family's rich. Let it slip that you've been making a nice pile off Bitcoin lately. And..."

I stepped in close to her.

"Make her ask you for a loan."

"Money?"

"Right now that woman's eyes are spinning over coins. You just give off the scent and she'll come running like a maniac."

Yura's face scrunched in confusion.

"Oppa, aren't you trying to ruin her? So why would I lend her money? That's helping her."

"You're not lending her money."

I said it cold.

There is no crueler revenge than putting cash in a desperate gambler's hands. She would take that money and go long, and she would fall into a deeper, darker hole than before. And that debt would become the noose tightening around her throat.

"Tell people you've been running a few hundred million. Go around bragging about your returns."

"Got it. I'm confident with that kind of act. I may not be a theater major, but I'm good at it."

Yura smiled, sure of herself. When it came to playing the campus's reigning material girl, nobody alive could touch her.

"There's a condition, though."

"What?"

"Don't just hand it over. Make her suffer for it. Until she's on her knees begging you to lend it. Until she's grabbing your pant leg and clinging."

I stroked Yura's chin, gentle as anything.

"The way you were made to."

Something shifted in Yura's eyes. The knowledge that she could take out what had been done to her on another woman — and on that insufferable TA, no less — sent a sadistic thrill through her.

"This is going to be fun... I'll crush her thoroughly. Just watch."

A wicked, beautiful smile curved across her mouth.

"Good. The operation starts tomorrow."

I sat down between them and slung an arm around each pair of shoulders.

"If you pull it off, I'll give you a reward."

"A reward? What is it?"

Jisoo asked, a quiet hunger already in her eyes.

"That's a secret. Just do the job right first. I'll decide once I see the results."

I shoved both women onto the bed. Their bathrobes came undone across the plush mattress, and white skin spilled into the light.

"Alright. Briefing's over... time for the afterparty, yeah? Let's loosen up a little."

That night the hotel suite filled once more with animal breathing and filthy moans that would not stop. But my head was already packed with the hunt laid out for tomorrow.

Ten in the morning.

A corner of the business department admin office, a dedicated desk screened off by a partition. This was my own little kingdom, a place no one's eyes ever reached — and a secret gambling den.

I propped my chin in my hand and stared holes through my smartphone screen.

"Hell yes. That's what I'm talking about. My instincts never miss."

The corners of my mouth curled up in a greasy little smile all on their own.

The blood-drying crash of the last few days. While the retail traders screamed and wailed like they were at a funeral, I had quietly, boldly gone short. That call had been right. The number in my account was multiplying like cells splitting, swelling bigger by the day.

Seventy-two million won.

Blood money. A fortune I would never touch in a lifetime of just breathing if I relied on the pitiful salary I earned kissing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up to dinosaur professors and cleaning up after stupid students.

But it wasn't enough. Not even close.

Money... money is everything. With money, nobody can look down on me.

I muttered it at the chart.

The smell of poverty I had been drowning in since I was a child. Being ignored because I had nothing. Having to sell smiles to men and debase myself because I had nothing. Those hideous memories. I had sworn I would never live like that again. I would rake in money by any means necessary and live so loudly people called me a Gangnam madam, just to shove it in their faces.

The pocket change I skimmed from doctoring students' grades? Snack money. Pocket lint. The real game was here, on this coin board.

Now. Right now.

My eyes flashed like a predator's as I watched the chart. It had bottomed. A double ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bottom, and every indicator was screaming a powerful bounce signal in unison. Now it was time to go long. Get in here and I was looking at ten times minimum — hell, with the right leverage, I could a hundred-x this. A chance to flip my entire life.

But there was a fatal problem. My seed money was too small. Pitiful. Even ten times seventy-two million was only seven hundred and twenty. Could I even cover the deposit on a Gangnam apartment with that? Not a chance. I needed at least a few hundred million for a real reversal.

Money... I need bigger money. I don't have the ammo.

I chewed my nails, bouncing my leg with a restless, gnawing anxiety. I had already taken out every loan I could find. There was nowhere left to borrow. My credit rating was scraping the floor.

That was when it happened.

The admin office door burst open and a noisy commotion spilled in from the hallway. Class must have let out.

"Hey, Choi Yura! Are you serious? You made four hundred million off Bitcoin?"

A familiar voice. Choi Yura. The goddess of the business department, a walking luxury boutique, that insufferable golden spoon.

I poked my head out and peeked through the blinds. Yura was surrounded by her friends like a queen bee. A glittering designer watch flashed on her slender wrist, and a quilted Chanel bag hung from her shoulder. Her friends craned their necks toward the latest smartphone in her hand and gasped.

"Whoa... that's insane... it's really four hundred million?"

"I'm so jealous... give me some of that info... Yura, please?"

"Sorry. It's a secret. This is seriously premium information. I can't just tell anyone."

Yura lifted her nose and smiled, every inch the princess. The number she had said — four hundred million — drove into my brain like an arrow.

That Yura's family was rich was an open secret everyone on campus already knew. The money she was moving would be in a different league entirely, a different dimension from the pocket change retail traders played with. What if I could move that money? No — what if I could get my hands on that "premium information"?

My heart hammered. Like finding an oasis in the desert. No. Like a hyena spotting prey. Instinct stirred in my gut.

Yura was giving off the smell of money right now. A thick, sweet, irresistible scent of it.

That's it. That's my seed money.

I looked in the mirror and hurriedly put myself together. Wiped off the smeared lipstick, reapplied tint, undid one more blouse button. I put on the mask of kind Nara-unnie — innocent and sweet-looking, leaking just a hint of sex. With this mask, every man fell for it. Why would a woman be any different?

Yura had split from her friends and was clicking down the hallway alone. I timed it and stepped out of the admin office.

"Yura?"

I called out in a deliberately brighter, higher voice. She stopped and turned.

"Oh? Unnie?"

"It's been a while. Class over? You look even prettier today."

"Yeah. I was just about to leave."

Yura answered like she could not be less interested. On any other day that would have pissed me off. Not today. Today she was a walking four-hundred-million-won wallet.

"Hey, Yura. Do you have a minute?"

I came in as warmly as I could, and as quietly as I could.

"Why?"

"No reason, just... I have something to give you. And I can pass you a tip about scholarships while we're at it. Want to grab a quick coffee? Unnie'll treat you to something good."

I lightly took her arm. Inescapable, but not heavy enough to spook her. Skinship was the fastest way to knock a wall down. I had reeled in more than a few sucker male students with this exact move.

Yura stared at me. That look was strange. Wariness? Or... mockery? Then she beamed and nodded.

"Sure. I was bored anyway. If unnie's buying, why not."

"Great! Let's go to that cafe in front of campus. Somewhere quiet. We've got a few things to talk about, just us."

Inside, I was cheering. She took the bait. A trophy catch. Now I just had to cook her a little, and that four-hundred-million-won account — or at least a piece of it — would flow into my coin wallet. And with that money, I would hit the grand-slam home run that flipped my life.

Just wait, Choi Yura. I'll use your money to move into Gangnam. I'll pay you generous interest.

I linked arms with her and headed for the cafe. The shampoo scent from her hair stabbed straight into my nose. It was not a fragrant floral note. It was the raw, intoxicating smell of money.