Event Driven
The clubroom sat empty, everyone gone.
Han Jae-yi slumped in one of the abandoned chairs, staring blankly at the whiteboard.
The smell of the marker hadn't even faded yet, and there on the board one word remained, circled in huge, vivid red.
EVENT DRIVEN
Han Jae-yi let out a long sigh. Her head was buzzing.
What Seon-woo had said just moments ago kept circling through her mind.
"We're going with an event-driven strategy."
Event driven. A strategy that generated returns by pinpointing specific events that would move the stock market. She understood it in theory — it was the kind of thing printed on the first page of any investing book.
But reality was another matter. That was territory where dozens of analysts pulled all-nighters on research and supercomputers chewed through data just to get a barely acceptable win rate. And three high schoolers were supposed to pull it off?
She had objected, of course.
"Talk's cheap. That only works when your research is airtight. How are we supposed to get our hands on insider information? We're ants. By the time an article breaks, the price has already run its course and all we'll be doing is chasing our tails."
That was when it happened — the moment Kang Seon-woo smirked and picked up the marker.
"Sunbae, what do you think a stock is?"
"...Buying the value of a company, I suppose."
"Wrong. A stock is buying people."
Seon-woo wrote the word people on the board.
"Information? It matters. But information alone can't move a price. It's the people who get excited by that information who move it."
His logic was almost shockingly simple — and yet too sharp to argue with.
"Something happens. The public reacts with fear or euphoria. And when their emotion hits its peak, we press the buy button. What we eat is the gap in between."
"The gap?"
"Yes. That brief window between an event occurring and the public reacting to it. The space between the moment the news delivers the fact and the moment people open their wallets. People are dumber than you'd think, and more transparent, too. But also smarter than we give them credit for."
Seon-woo looked at the market as if it were one vast psychology laboratory.
"You say we're high schoolers with no information edge? If anything, that lets us see things more intuitively than battle-scarred veterans. Throw out all the complicated formulas and think about exactly one thing."
"Which is?"
"What people fear right now, and what they desire. Read that, and we won't wait for events — we'll make them."
We make the events.
That swaggering, almost insolent confidence. At first she'd taken it for the bluster of a rich third-generation chaebol brat — someone parroting things he'd overheard and pretending to understand them.
But the methodology Seon-woo had laid out on the board was chillingly precise.
"Sunbae, there's no such thing as an independent event in this world. Everything is connected."
Seon-woo drew a chain of squares linked together like dominoes.
"Here's an example. Say the news breaks that war has erupted in the Middle East. What do people think? 'Oil prices are going up — better buy refiners.' That's as far as it goes. First-dimension thinking. By the time the news is out, it's already too late."
"Then what?"
"We look at the next step — the inevitability. Oil rises, transport costs climb, logistics companies' margins get squeezed. Money floods into alternative energy instead. Go one layer deeper: heavier transport costs mean local production plants ramp up utilization, so their stocks benefit."
Seon-woo circled the very last box in the chain.
"While everyone else is shouting 'There it is!' at the first domino falling, we're already standing in front of the fifth and sixth dominoes — the ones nobody's looking at — mouths open, waiting. That's how we eat the time lag."
"And we can... predict all that?"
"It's not prediction. It's the logical result of thinking it through. If A happens, B follows, and B calls up C. Get that chain of causality right and you don't need information leverage at all. Perfect logic, and the results take care of themselves."
There wasn't a single crack in his logic. No exotic financial engineering, no insider information — just common sense and reasoning, used to pierce the market's blind spots. She'd proudly considered herself unmatched among high school students, but dismantling the market this way was something she'd never even imagined.
"Haah...."
Han Jae-yi looked down at the notebook spread open on her desk. Moving averages, Bollinger bands, volume analysis — the densely packed figures suddenly looked pitifully small.
"I was won over...."
She had no choice but to admit it. That guy's words carried an odd, insidious persuasiveness, and somewhere along the line she'd been pulled into his way of thinking.
It wasn't just the money. It was Seon-woo's field of vision. She coveted it.
"Kang Seon-woo...."
She tapped her notebook lightly. What was rising in her wasn't fear — it was curiosity. What exactly was this "flow of desire" he talked about? And could they really ride it?
"What on earth are you, anyway?"
Five days before the competition registration deadline.
After school, Han Jae-yi summoned me and Min-jae to the central table of the clubroom with the grim expression of a general heading into battle. She peeled a sheet of paper off the whiteboard and flung it open in front of us.
"Ta-da! Our team name."
Written on the paper, in fat marker strokes, were four syllables.
The Standard of Returns
"What do you think? Doesn't it just hit the spot?"
Han Jae-yi looked back and forth between me and Min-jae with an openly proud face. A beat of silence followed.
Min-jae's eyes darted around in flustered alarm before he forced a smile and started clapping.
"Haha... it's from The Standard of Mathematics, right? Very fitting for students. I like the meaning too."
I clicked my tongue inwardly.
Min-jae, you soft-hearted fool. Already a natural at office politics.
Applauding that tacky naming sense, of all things.
Han Jae-yi's expectant eyes turned toward me.
Should I play along too? I rested my chin on my hand and answered indifferently.
"It's fine. Very... youthful."
"...What? Youthful?"
Han Jae-yi's eyebrows twitched. I smirked and corrected myself.
"I said it's good. It's a high school competition — that kind of audacity looks great."
She seemed somewhat less than satisfied, but let it go, clearing her throat to reset the mood.
"Ahem. Anyway, the name's settled. The competition is a week out, so starting today we build the portfolio for real."
She checked her watch.
"Min-jae has academy, so we're short on time. Let's do focused one-hour meetings every day. Understood?"
"Yes, understood."
"Good."
Once the discussion turned to business, Han Jae-yi's eyes changed. The clumsy goofball from a moment ago vanished, and the face of a cold-blooded analyst emerged in its place.
"I've been thinking hard about that event-driven strategy you proposed, Seon-woo."
"......."
"It has merit. If we want returns in a short window, riding volatility is the right call. But the risk is far too big for that."
She drew one large circle and five small ones on the board.
"So here's what I came up with. Our portfolio needs a more defensive structure — a kind of hedge."
"A hedge?"
Min-jae tilted his head. I was quietly surprised. I'd expected her to steamroll my opinion and insist on blue chips. Instead, she'd absorbed my idea and put her own spin on it.
"Simply put, it's insurance. Your stock is our striker. One goal and it's a jackpot — but miss, and we get crushed."
Han Jae-yi pointed at the large circle.
"If your prediction misses and that stock craters, we're dead last, instantly. Which means the other five positions have to offset that risk."
"Offset it? How?"
"By filling them with stocks that have a low correlation to whatever you pick. Things that can hold their ground even if the whole market collapses."
She wrote ABSOLUTE STABILITY on the board.
"Look at the market right now. All this talk about the credit-card bond mess — the economy's shaky, and heaven knows when the foreign money pulls out. In conditions like these, tech and growth stocks can get wiped out in one swing."
Her analysis was spot-on. The second half of 2003 was a chaotic period: exports booming while domestic consumption froze solid.
"So the other five go strictly to defensive, recession-proof names. People don't stop eating because they're broke. They don't stop using electricity. They don't stop making phone calls."
"Ah... so things like food and beverage, telecom, power utilities?"
When Min-jae nodded as if the scales had fallen from his eyes, Han Jae-yi smiled faintly.
"Exactly. Even if the index implodes, names like Nongwon, Hanjeon Electric, and Mirae Telecom fall a lot less. If your event stock fails, these five defend the account. And if the event actually hits? These five just have to break even — and we take the crown."
I watched her with my arms crossed.
As expected... Han Jae-yi is different.
Ordinary high schoolers — no, even your typical overconfident ant investors — chase jackpots and nothing else. She, on the other hand, was calculating the worst-case scenario first.
Balance in a portfolio. The person who could anchor a shield firmly at my back while I charged onto the battlefield carrying a spear.
More tempting by the minute.
She was more than just a smart partner. If a specialist like this stayed at my side, I could swing the blade far more boldly in all the financial wars to come — because she would cover my rear.
I have to make her mine, no matter what.
I nodded with a satisfied smile.
"Perfect. In short — shore up the defense line so the striker can shoot with total peace of mind."
"That's exactly it. Well? Any complaints?"
"None. Honestly, it's reassuring."
At my praise, the tips of Han Jae-yi's ears went faintly red. She cleared her throat with exaggerated dignity and wiped the board clean.
"Let's end the briefing here. I'm going to get the teacher's sign-off and submit the registration form."
"See you later."
"And it's homework. Min-jae, Seon-woo — each of you research one stock of your own choosing by tomorrow. Especially you, Kang Seon-woo: come fully prepared on that cocky event stock of yours. Dismissed!"
Han Jae-yi grabbed the registration form and marched briskly off toward the teachers' office, and Min-jae snatched up his bag and bolted, yelling that he'd be late for his academy.
The clubroom stood empty once more.
I gazed out the window and loosened my tie.
"So now it's my turn."
Han Jae-yi had laid the board. Now it was time to bring in the main performer who would dance on it.
"Welcome, Team Leader Choi Dong-soo."
"Madam... no — Madam Chairwoman. Thank you for calling on me."
Meanwhile, Kim Ja-young had summoned Choi Dong-soo to verify the story Seon-woo had relayed to her. She'd been coming into the office for a week now, formally serving as Chief Executive.
"Shall we sit?"
Once Choi Dong-soo took his seat, Kim Ja-young studied him quietly. An impeccable posture, and a face that met her gaze head-on without flinching.
"I've been calling in a number of people to hear their views on the company."
Kim Ja-young spoke first.
"I've heard from the executives. I have a rough sense of the numbers as the creditors' committee sees them."
Choi Dong-soo's eyebrows shifted almost imperceptibly. In his experience, those two groups were usually saying very different things.
"I wanted to hear your account as well, Team Leader. You're the one in the finance team watching this company's numbers more closely than anyone."
"...It's an honor. However."
Choi Dong-soo chose his words carefully.
"I'm not sure where to begin. I don't know whether you'd like me to say everything is fine — or to give you an honest account of our situation."
The corner of Kim Ja-young's mouth lifted, ever so slightly. He was, without question, a different breed from everyone she'd met so far.
"I've heard 'everything is fine' plenty of times. I suppose that's how it's come to this."
A brief silence settled over the room. Her words carried the fatigue of a woman who had already been deceived more times than she could count.
"Do you know much about me, Team Leader?"
At that, Choi Dong-soo said nothing. By common reputation, she was a woman who had spent her entire life caring for nothing but her household. She had attended university, yes, but her major was in the fine arts — a world away from this business.
"I see you know me well, then."
"...I have only heard the assessments of people who enjoy passing along gossip. I don't actually know you at all, Chairwoman."
"Good. From this moment on, speak to me exactly as things are, without worrying about anyone's feelings. Even things you think I won't want to hear. Even things that might make me angry. I have no use for anyone who dresses up the numbers to protect the chairwoman's dignity."
Kim Ja-young looked straight at him.
"So I'm asking. What state is our company in right now? Where should I begin being afraid?"
"...Within the next year, a substantial amount of short-term borrowing and corporate bond maturities come due. The internal projections we've been holding back are worse than the figures we've published."
She couldn't grasp every nuance, but one thing struck her intuitively.
"...Is there truly no way to stop it?"
"If stopping it is all you want — there is."
"If stopping it is all?"
"Sell the crown jewels. The resort land, the stake in the trading company — start with the best assets. That buys you a year."
That was the very choice the Kim Ja-young of her past life had actually made.
"But."
Choi Dong-soo continued.
"There is no after. Under the current structure, if another wave like this one hits, there will be nothing left to put on the table. You'll have carved away every pound of flesh just holding the line, and all that remains is the shell."
Kim Ja-young, who had been listening with her eyes closed, opened them.
"Then, in your judgment...."
"Chairwoman, I run the numbers. I am not a strategist."
Choi Dong-soo shook his head.
"But on the numbers alone, simply selling the best assets to buy time is the worst possible choice. If we must sell, we sell at a premium — and beyond that, we need to find new businesses and expand tomorrow's cash flows."
"...Tomorrow's cash flows."
"That territory belongs to you, Chairwoman."
Choi Dong-soo held the rest back.
"I merely derive the optimal move from whatever I'm directed to do."
Kim Ja-young nodded slowly. There was no exaggeration in his speech, no bluff.
"Understood, Team Leader Choi Dong-soo."
Kim Ja-young reached her decision.
"Starting tomorrow, you work directly under me. Your title will be Head of the Management Planning Office."
"I— beg your pardon?"
"I need someone who can derive the optimal move from whatever I choose. And in my estimation, the right person for that job is Team Leader Choi — no. Office Director Choi."
Even at those words, Choi Dong-soo could only stare at Kim Ja-young, his face still frozen in astonishment.