The Empty Seat

The next day, at lunchtime.

The clamor of students hurrying toward the cafeteria filled the hallway, and I moved against that tide of bodies. My destination, of course, was the third floor of the annex building — the Stock Investment Research Club.

She'll be there, right?

I didn't even need to check. The sliding door rasped open, and the whir of aging computer fans greeted my ears. Just as expected. Han Jae-yi sat hunched over her monitor, head bowed, as if the screen were about to swallow her whole.

"Knew it."

I murmured it under my breath and approached, but she didn't register my footsteps at all. Mouse clicks rang out briskly — no, irritably, one after another. The screen was crowded with dense charts and an order book.

"Hm. Paper trading, I see."

"GAH!"

The moment my voice reached her, Han Jae-yi jolted violently and shoved her chair backward. With an ear-splitting screech, she clutched her chest and glared at me.

"God, you scared me! What are you, a ghost? Make some noise when you walk, will you?"

"I knocked. You just didn't hear it, senior. Your concentration was impressive."

"...I didn't hear anything."

She cleared her throat and smoothed down her disheveled bangs.

"It's lunchtime — why aren't you eating? First- and second-years get their cafeteria slots early, you know."

"I ate before coming. Shouldn't you be having lunch too? A senior needs to manage her stamina for the college entrance exam."

"Is it that late already...?"

Only then did Han Jae-yi glance at the clock on the wall and smack her lips.

"I didn't even notice I was hungry. Eh, skipping one meal won't kill me."

She said it dismissively, then turned back to the monitor, where red and blue candlesticks were dancing across the screen.

"You paper trade a lot?"

"Yeah, every day." She scrolled down with her mouse and answered flatly. "Every single trading day. Can't afford to lose the feel for it."

"Why aren't you trading for real, then? If you're doing this, you must have a brokerage account."

Her hand on the mouse stopped dead.

"Well, that's..."

Han Jae-yi let the words trail off. She kept staring at the monitor, unable to turn her head toward me. In that short silence, I regretted the question.

I shouldn't have asked.

A memory from my past life flashed by — an interview with an economics weekly from the days when she was riding high.

Han Jae-yi's family was poor. For her now, stocks weren't a way to grow money — they were a matter of survival, where losing even a single won was unthinkable. Of course she couldn't bring herself to leap into live trading, and so here she was, settling for imaginary numbers on a monitor.

"...I'm just not ready yet."

The answer she finally offered was closer to an excuse than anything. The atmosphere had grown heavy, and I hurried to change the subject.

"The college entrance exam is coming up soon, isn't it? Shouldn't you be studying?"

At that, Han Jae-yi narrowed her eyes and shot me a sidelong glance.

"Hey, why are you talking like some middle-aged ahjussi? You think the CSAT ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is the only studying that counts?"

"A student's duty is to study."

"This is studying. Building my résumé."

She jerked her chin toward the monitor.

"These days, if you want to get into a good university, you need something written on your student record. If you're aiming for econ or business school, a trophy from a competition like this is practically mandatory. What choice do I have if I want even one more line on my application?"

Stocks as a résumé builder... really?

"You know how adults look at it. Tell them a high schooler is trading stocks and they put on their judgment goggles right away — assume you've fallen into gambling."

I wasn't wrong. This was the era when the wounds of the IT bubble burst had yet to heal, when stocks were widely seen as a fast track to ruining your family. Even the teachers at school, I'd heard, didn't look kindly on this club.

"...Can't argue with that."

Han Jae-yi didn't deny it either. She knew those piercing stares better than anyone.

"Still, it beats having nothing. And the senior who founded this club got into Yonhui University's business school. Word is she pushed her way in with a paper-trading competition trophy too. There's precedent, so it's worth a shot."

"That I'll grant."

I turned my head and pointed at an A4 sheet carelessly taped to one wall of the clubroom.

"So are you entering that competition, senior?" I asked brightly, deliberately pointing my finger at the poster. Han Jae-yi's gaze followed my fingertip to the wall.

"Huh? Ah..."

She shook her head with a bitter expression.

"We can't enter."

"Why not? If a brokerage is hosting it, the prize money has to be decent."

"Read the fine print. Team entry required. Three members minimum."

She let out a long ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sigh.

"I've entered the small competitions before, dragging along kids who didn't even want to do it. But you know how things are right now..."

Yeah. A mess. The club, I mean.

"The only ones with any drive are me and Min-jae. If we enter a competition that big, we'll just fail again. And Min-jae might lose interest in the club for good..."

"You've got me, don't you?"

I cut in, as casually as I could.

"...What?"

"Me. If you count me, that makes exactly three."

Han Jae-yi stared at me like I'd lost my mind.

"You, Seon-woo? What could you possibly know after one single day in this club?"

"I know things."

"You know stocks?"

"Sure do. I own a few Sunjin Group shares, after all."

At my joke, Han Jae-yi let out an incredulous snort.

"No, not— not those stocks. I'm talking about trading. Reading charts, tearing apart financial statements, timing your buys and sells. You think that's a game?"

"Which is exactly why I'm saying I do know trading."

I gave a casual shrug.

Twenty years in my past life. How many hostile M&A attacks had I fended off during that hellish stretch? I'd fought hand-to-hand battles with stock manipulation rings to defend my control rights. Stocks? I knew them to the point of nausea.

And on top of that, I was from the future. I couldn't remember exactly which stocks soared in this era, but seeing a news article and thinking, ah, that one was good back then — that much I could do, plenty.

"I can handle all the fundamentals. Consider me worth at least one full member, so don't worry."

"One look at that confidence and I believe you're really a chaebol brat."

She clearly didn't believe a word of it, so I drove the nail in.

"We're entering. I need that money."

I tapped the bottom of the poster on the wall with my fingertip.

"Three million won for first place. Split three ways, that's a million each. And a computer as a bonus prize. Let's win that thing and replace these junk machines. The fan noise is so loud I can barely concentrate."

"...Hey."

Han Jae-yi opened her mouth, looking utterly flabbergasted.

"You're short on money? The Sunjin Group heir wants to enter a competition because he can't scrape together one measly million won?"

No, I have money. But if I do something in this club, it becomes the alibi for everything I'm about to do.

"I don't have it. Rich people don't exactly walk around with cash stuffed in their pockets, you know."

I answered brazenly and looked her straight in the eye. Honestly, it wasn't even a lie — my account held nothing beyond allowance-level funds.

"And... don't you need it too, senior?"

"I..."

Her lips wavered. For a girl who couldn't trade with real money because of poverty, a million won in scholarship wasn't just money. It was seed capital — the stake money she'd dreamed of having.

"Ah, let's just enter first. If we lose, we lose."

This paper trade mattered. It was my chance to show Han Jae-yi my ability, to secure the justification for claiming her future — and to earn the standing to keep investing in stocks from here on out. Everything was riding on it.

"Mm... then I'll talk it over with Min-jae."

"Great. Consider it decided, then. See you after school."

With that, I called it settled and left the clubroom, heading back to my classroom.

After school.

The moment homeroom ended, the three of us gathered in the clubroom again. Sitting in a circle in the cramped classroom, it felt almost like a war council. Han Jae-yi crossed her arms and looked at Min-jae.

"Min-jae, don't you have academy today?"

"Ah, it starts at six, but... I can be a bit late today. Or skip it once, honestly."

"A second-year getting cocky, huh. Won't your mom chew you out?"

"It's fine. If you and Seon-woo are doing this, I can't be the only one sitting out."

As Min-jae declared this with grim determination, Han Jae-yi shook her head like there was no stopping us. Her gaze drifted naturally over to me.

"An hour should be plenty."

I answered before anyone could prod me. The two of them eyed me doubtfully, but I jerked my chin toward the whiteboard.

"Go ahead. Explain."

At my urging, Han Jae-yi let out a deep sigh. She wore the expression of a big sister reluctantly humoring her childish younger siblings. She picked up a board marker and stepped up to the board.

"Alright. Then I'll explain. Listen up."

Squeak, squeak.

She began writing on the whiteboard.

"The competition is the 15th Mirae Securities Cup National High School Paper-Trading Championship. It's the most recognized major event in the youth paper-trading scene. Place in this one, and you've got one hefty line for your student record."

Han Jae-yi wrote the number 10,000,000 won in large strokes.

"The basic rules are simple. Each participating team gets ten million won in virtual seed money. You trade stocks with it for one month, and the team with the highest final return wins."

"What about the stock prices?"

"They track real market prices exactly. Think of it as moving in perfect sync with the actual market."

She tapped the whiteboard and looked back and forth between us.

"We're really doing this, right? If this is a joke to either of you, quit now."

Min-jae nodded hard.

"If you and Seon-woo are in, I'm in no matter what."

"...Your attitude, at least, is good."

Han Jae-yi's gaze landed on me again. I shrugged.

"I told you at lunch. I need the money."

"Haah..."

She sighed again at my hopeless display — but she didn't look unhappy about it. Compared to the days she'd spent agonizing alone, a clubroom this lively, even like this, couldn't be a bad thing for her.

"Fine. I'll submit the registration. We'll pick a team name later."

"What about strategy?"

At my question, the light in Han Jae-yi's eyes turned serious.

"The window is exactly one month, September 1st through the 30th. Short. Most kids who enter these things charge in swinging for the fences — day trading. Chasing surging stocks and hot themes, ending up in the top ranks if they're lucky, or wiping out if they're not."

She drew a single graph on the whiteboard: a gently rising curve, climbing toward the upper right.

"But we're going to do it differently. I don't touch volatile junk stocks. I'll build the portfolio strictly around performance-backed blue chips. The goal isn't a flashy jackpot — it's trades that don't lose. Defend risk below minus five percent, and beat the market return by just a little. That's the strategy."

I crossed my arms and nodded. In a short-term competition, taking gains mattered, but so did refusing to lose them. She'd done a lot of paper trading, and it showed — she clearly had her methodology down cold.

As expected.

So this was where her style had crystallized. She was someone who understood the value of money. Han Jae-yi saw stocks not as gambling but as a disciplined instrument of capital growth. Thanks to that instinct, she'd later move tens of trillions of won and survive without going under.

A good style.

But.

Not for now.

It was a one-month sprint of a competition. With thousands of competitors. Pure defensive safety could never take first place. To win, you needed to make the kind of mad, audacious plays that others would point at and call insanity.

And that was a reckless bravado only someone who knew the future could afford.

"I approve of all of it. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Your style is impressive, senior."

"...Huh?"

Han Jae-yi must have expected me to push back, because surprise flickered across her face.

"Risk management. It's the foundation of investing. I've got a lot to learn from you."

"Wha— okay, so you do know some things."

"Then how many positions were you planning for the portfolio?"

"Hmm... diversification is the principle, so about five?"

I pretended to think for a moment, then spoke.

"Let's make it six, then."

"Six? Well, adding one more isn't a problem, but—"

"In exchange, give me that extra slot."

Han Jae-yi's hand froze.

"What did you say?"

"I'm asking you to leave one slot, no matter what happens, where I buy what I want to buy and sell what I want to sell."

Her brow knitted hard.

"Hey, Kang Seon-woo. Our team strategy is stability. What makes you think I'd trust you to pick anything? You drag in some garbage junk stock and the whole portfolio goes down the drain."

"It won't. If anything, that one stock will outearn the other five combined."

"Ha. Unbelievable."

Han Jae-yi set down the board marker, exasperated.

"You need to give me a reason I can actually accept. You think you ask for a seat out of nowhere and I'll just say 'Yes, of course, young master'?"

A fair reaction. I needed to be persuasive — why, instead of a stable blue chip, it had to be the exact stock I chose.

I rose from my seat and walked slowly to the whiteboard.

"Fair enough. Let me explain."