Why Is It Like This?
The morning commute. The subway was about half-full. “……” Jun-ho was breaking into a cold sweat before the last of it had even dried. Since leaving the government-designated temporary shelter, this was his first time being surrounded by so many ‘living human beings.’ Everything felt alien and uncomfortable. His heart hammered against his ribs. He kept glancing around incessantly, clenching and unclenching his fists. The passengers, all wearing masks, paid no mind to his reaction. They were ordinary people, waking up normally, preparing for work normally, and heading to their jobs normally. But Jun-ho had seen with his own eyes how ordinary people could change. He had seen those very same ordinary people turn into demonic murderers in an instant over a single pack of instant rice or a can of food.
Jun-ho flinched at every movement, every cough from the people around him. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore and hurriedly got off at a transfer station. “Haa… Haa…” He leaned against the end of the stairs to catch his breath and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. It seemed to be post-traumatic stress disorder, PTSD. In truth, the symptoms had been rising since he left his house to head to the subway station. The people walking with masks, the pedestrians brushing past him—they all felt like threats.
“Damn it…” Jun-ho laughed self-deprecatingly and covered his face with one hand. It had been over two years since he survived among monsters in human skin, and predators even worse than those monsters. It would be stranger if his mental state were still intact. “Tsk.” But he couldn't collapse. The apocalypse would arrive in a few years. Therefore, he had to prepare his body and his mind… thoroughly, in time for that period. “Whew.” Taking a deep breath to steady his heart, Jun-ho called a taxi. He couldn't rush anything. Slowly, but surely… he would definitely succeed within the time he had left.
Quitting his job was surprisingly smooth. Since the COVID-19 pandemic, the company’s situation hadn't been great, and there had already been talk of restructuring. When Jun-ho volunteered to resign, the company only expressed a bit of regret and didn't try to hold him back strongly. “Then, Jun-ho, just leave early today, and starting tomorrow, we’ll switch you to remote work. Let’s set your resignation date for the end of next month.”
Instead of a handshake, Jun-ho bumped fists with his direct supervisor, the manager. Because of the pandemic, about half the staff were still working remotely, so there weren't many people around, which meant he didn't feel the same tension he had on the subway. They were people he knew well, anyway. Regardless, the company seemed inclined to be considerate of Jun-ho, who had been quite diligent with good performance and work attitude. “Yes. Thank you for everything. I’ll send the handover documents to your email, Manager.” “Right. You’ve worked hard, Jun-ho.”
After saying goodbye to his boss and a few colleagues, Jun-ho quickly packed his personal items and left the company, clutching the box. Back home in a taxi, Jun-ho tossed the box aside and immediately called his primary bank and several capital firms to inquire about credit loans. Perhaps because he had a high credit rating and was a third-year associate at a decent advertising agency, he was told he could get up to 30 million KRW from his primary bank, so he immediately proceeded with the loan process through their app. He also applied for additional loans from several capital firms. After spending about 30 minutes switching between his smartphone and PC, he successfully secured a total of 80 million KRW in credit loans.
Once the loan process was finished, he took photos of every corner of his house and opened a real estate app to list it for a quick sale. He set the price at 350 million KRW, 30 million lower than the market value. He didn't feel a shred of regret, thinking that missing the timing to buy Selene Coin would be a much greater loss. “Han Pro said that after he sold it at 10,000 KRW, it shot up to over 100,000 KRW within a few months.”
The current price of Selene Coin was 7,100 KRW. It had risen by a little over 100 KRW since he bought it early this morning. According to Han Yeong-jung’s story, which he had heard until his ears bled, it would trickle up to 10,000 KRW over the next month or two, and then skyrocket like crazy for three or four months after that to hit 100,000 KRW. “And he said it would crash spectacularly in the summer after fluctuating…”
If he poured in the money from the loans and the sale of his house, he figured he could earn close to 20 billion KRW by March or April, or June at the latest. “But that’s not enough.” Just as Han Yeong-jung had, Jun-ho didn't just engage in simple imagination. Imagination piled upon imagination, spreading into quite realistic and concrete plans. It was like an ordinary person grinning while planning what they would do if they won the lottery. For Jun-ho, the imagination regarding the shelter, which started with the deceased Han Yeong-jung, was a free painkiller that helped him endure reality. And to keep that painkiller from losing its effect, his imagination had to become increasingly precise.
The conclusion he reached was this: “The more, the better, but I need at least 20 billion KRW.” So, Selene Coin alone was a bit risky. That was why Jun-ho pondered ways to get more capital, and at one point, something flashed in his mind. “Ah! Right. There was that.” A name even Jun-ho, who had no interest in coins or stocks, had heard of. It was Nvidia. Jun-ho immediately searched for Nvidia’s current stock price. It was around $30. “He said this would rise to over 100,000 KRW in Korean currency by early 2024, right?”
He remembered it going up to nearly 200,000 KRW after that, but Jun-ho had to sell before the spring of 2024 arrived. June or July was too cutting it close. Anyway, he knew it well because not only his coworkers but everyone on internet communities was talking about Nvidia. If he liquidated in February or March of 2024, a simple calculation showed he could make more than triple his profit. If so, “Let’s sell the coin and bury about 3 billion KRW into Nvidia. People said it went over 100,000 KRW before spring arrived, so I’ll sell then.”
Then, after taxes and fees, he would likely have another 7 to 8 billion, maybe even 10 billion KRW more before the spring of 2024. “That money will be used to buy food and equipment that don't need to be secured immediately.” Food, in particular, didn't need to be secured early. In fact, the later you buy it, the longer the shelf life. Of course, Jun-ho had no interest in extending the shelf life by a few months or years. He intended to stock his shelter with food that could last for decades.
“Ah.” Jun-ho paused, thinking that far. Perhaps because he was thinking about food, a terrible hunger suddenly surged. Come to think of it, he hadn't eaten anything since waking up last night, other than drinking water. He had been so focused on the chaos, the tension, and planning his future tasks that he hadn't even felt hungry. Jun-ho quickly opened a delivery app. “Haa…” There wasn't just one or two things he wanted to eat. But his dilemma was brief. Couldn't he just eat everything he wanted? Choosing a Korean restaurant, Jun-ho ordered pork kimchi stew, japchae, and stir-fried spicy pork.
He had time to do other things before the food arrived, but perhaps because he felt the hunger, he could only think about food and had no desire to do anything else. As he waited for the food, swallowing his saliva, the loan amounts from the three capital firms were deposited. Jun-ho poured all that money into buying coins without delay. *Ding-dong.* As soon as he heard the doorbell, Jun-ho rushed to open the door and received the food. Placing the hot containers on the table and opening the plastic lids, the red broth of the kimchi stew appeared, and steam rose up. Jun-ho closed his eyes and savored the scent without realizing it.
“Hmm.” The smell of aged kimchi and the scent of oil rendered from pork belly hit his nose heavily. The ‘modern civilization’ he had forgotten, but missed so dearly, was also in delivery food. *Plop.* When he dipped the spoon he had prepared in advance, thick pork and tofu were scooped up. Taking a big bite, the sour and spicy broth flavor spread throughout his mouth. Jun-ho, who had devoured three spoonfuls of rice and kimchi stew in an instant, ate the japchae and stir-fried spicy pork one after another like a glutton. His chopsticks and spoon moved without rest, and in less than 10 minutes, he had emptied two bowls of rice and half of the stew, japchae, and spicy pork.
Having finished a proper, real meal in such a daze, Jun-ho leaned his back against the chair. His stomach, which had been somewhat hot from eating in a rush, finally settled. “Haa… This is good.” Jun-ho let out a long breath and sat there for a while in the air permeated with the smell of food. A pleasant sense of satiety. But the sense of alienation that followed that satiety slowly bloomed. Eating porridge made from rotten grain, cutting open cans that had been expired for over five years with nippers because they lacked openers, and chewing on raw potatoes after cutting out the rotten parts felt like a distant past. However, while his body felt satisfied and full, his heart felt hungry. He was relieved, yet anxious. This warmth felt incredibly alien.
Eventually, the stimulating sourness of the kimchi stew, the sweet and spicy fire flavor of the stir-fried pork, and the savory, slippery texture of the japchae all slowly faded away like afterimages that didn't feel real. “Whew.” Jun-ho stood up. To keep this feeling, he had to build the shelter exactly as planned. And he himself had to make his body and mind perfect to prepare for that time. “Let’s start right away.” After quickly brushing his teeth, Jun-ho changed into comfortable workout clothes and left the house.
Perhaps because it was morning before lunch, there weren't many people in the neighborhood, so the tension wasn't nearly as high as it had been during his commute. Jun-ho went to a nearby park and playground. The park, where five or six elderly residents in hiking gear were leisurely chatting or doing simple exercises, was generally quiet. Jun-ho first walked slowly along the park’s trail. 174 centimeters, 74 kilograms. A height and weight that were the very definition of average, the average of his male peers. It was better than his emaciated body during the third year of the apocalypse, but he had to turn this ordinary man’s body into that of a warrior.
It wasn't good to build excessive muscle like a gym rat. It was better to have moderate muscle, but his stamina and endurance had to be strong. In other words, the body of a fighter, like a boxer or an MMA athlete, was ideal. Since he had to start with aerobic exercise like light running, Jun-ho, who had walked around the park once, soon started to run slowly. The perimeter of the park seemed to be a little over 200 meters. ‘For a while, let’s run ten laps, just 2 kilometers.’ Excess is as bad as deficiency. He shouldn't overdo it from the start. The work of changing an ordinary office worker’s body into a warrior’s body had to be done with persistence over a long time. Thus, Jun-ho ran silently along the quiet park trail.
But it was a few minutes later. ‘It’s already the fifth lap, why is it like this?’ While running lightly, Jun-ho tilted his head inward. ‘Was my stamina okay during this period?’ He felt like he had run about 1 kilometer, but his breathing wasn't heavy at all. Bizarrely, his body felt so light, as if he had just walked around slowly for a moment.