A Regressor's Guide to Debit Cards (2)

"Who the hell is this guy?"

"Who?"

"Looks like a sharp-eyed little cockroach just crawled onto the board."

"…Think our intel leaked?"

"No. The plan is airtight."

Wall Street's main drag.

A spacious unit on the fifty-fifth floor of a high-rise office tower. A white man in his late thirties scowled at the bank of monitors. Behind him, a handsome blond man licked his lips as he studied the same screens.

The big players had flooded into crypto. Unlike the old days of retail traders, Wall Street and the world's financial machines were pouring in. They had strong-armed governments into creating a playground for dirty money. Even Swiss accounts were no longer safe. That was why coins were climbing the preference ladder—melding with humanity's darkest hungers and settling in as the perfect shadow finance.

Among the real players, the game had already been more or less agreed upon.

Then an unexpected Korean stepped onto the main board.

At first they ignored him. But the bastard moved smarter than expected. It felt like he understood the mechanics of stablecoins and had forced his way in. His coin rocketed as high as eighty dollars a unit. He bought Bitcoin through side channels and even built himself a safety net.

The financial groups immediately painted a target on his back. Through indiscriminate short-selling they stabbed him with sword and spear. The very organizations that had promised to back him flipped. With every piece already set, the trap sprang. In a matter of days the moon collapsed. The four-hundred-billion-dollar valuation that had soared was carved up and quietly digested among the cooperating syndicates.

"The world's wide, and there are plenty of sharp, blessed bastards out there."

"Yeah. Have to give them that."

Quite a few private traders had sniffed out the attack and jumped into the short themselves. Those were the ones kissed by the gods.

"Shall we shake the next board, then?"

"What's the price?"

"One thousand dollars is the limit."

"Heh. A lot of people are going to die."

"You have to shear them if you want to fly far."

One of the leading forces steering the crypto board prepared a fresh game aimed at the next prey.

"Leftover capital?"

"Raw material prices have climbed too high. Equities are going to crash harder."

"Good."

Wall Street's financial powers never tolerated money standing still. They reorganized their direction and began setting the board. Moving in perfect unison, they had no idea that a single enormous, camouflaged king ant had already hitchhiked onto the very next game they had poured their hearts into.

Vrrrooooom.

The heavy exhaust note of an eight-cylinder engine thrummed through his entire body. The moment he touched the pedal the chassis leapt forward. His body was shoved deep into the seat just like in a supercar.

The cabin thundered with sound. Lyrics packed with raw message sank into his ears and stayed there.

Friday, eleven in the morning. Olympic Boulevard, well past rush hour, was nearly empty. A rough Hangang wind shoved through the crack of the open window.

"This is the stuff."

He savored the freedom of his own car. The comfort of a full-size SUV was on another level from ordinary sedans.

"Money is love."

The sticker price was one thing, but because of his age the first insurance premium alone had come out to seven million won. He had expected it and paid without flinching. The balance in the account still barely showed a dent. Today he planned to experience what a real flex felt like.

He took the right at the fork and drove straight down the open road until—

Screeech.

"Welcome."

Apgujeong Hyundai Luxury Department Store. The moment the vehicle stopped, the waiting valet approached. When he opened the door and stepped out, the neatly suited attendant held it and gave a short bow.

"Take care of it."

"Yes, sir! Enjoy your shopping."

He handed over the key as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In the past he could never have imagined this. He had begrudged even a few thousand won and never once dreamed of valet parking.

He walked into the department store. A Friday morning inside was quiet. His footsteps echoed as he passed through the imposing main entrance. He had been here a few times before—to buy cosmetics for an ex-girlfriend's birthday. Never once for himself. Today's visit was entirely for him.

"Start from the first floor and take it slow."

Money was a strange thing. It let you handle every situation with ease. When his account had been running on fumes, the stares of department-store staff had felt crushing. Sales associates were uncanny at reading a customer's level—a sixth sense honed by years of dealing with people.

"May I help you with anything, sir?"

First-floor accessories and fashion goods. A pair of sneakers that jumped out at him stopped his feet. Ivory base with a soft tan pattern printed across them. Clean and understated.

"Size 280, please."

"Of course. One moment."

The price tag? Why look at that here?

"Please try them on."

The saleswoman set the shoes down neatly in a gentle voice. He slid his feet in.

"…!!"

They were insanely comfortable. Luxury wasn't just empty packaging. The fit was completely different from anything he had worn before.

"I'll take these."

"I'll prepare them."

"I'm wearing them out."

"I'll ring you up right away."

Shopping began as smoothly as water flowing. He walked a few steps in the tagless sneakers. They had laces, but the knot style meant he didn't have to fuss with them.

"And the shoes you came in with…?"

"Throw them away."

"Understood."

Zero attachment to the old pair. Then the real shopping kicked off.

"I'll take this."

"Shall I wrap it?"

"No. I'm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠using it right away."

He also snagged a deep-gray Hermès men's bifold wallet. They said a wallet was the source that drew wealth.

"The box and warranty…"

"Don't need them."

"Yes, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sir."

No returns, no resale. If he needed something again he would simply buy it. He didn't care if people treated it like nouveau-riche flash.

Shoes and wallet purchased, he moved to the second floor. Just swapping the shoes had changed his entire presence. He was wearing jeans his mother had bought him with a big heart. Being tall meant he wore most ready-to-wear well. The shirt he had thrown on was clean and ordinary, the way he usually dressed. With luxury sneakers underneath, the whole vibe suddenly came alive.

A person's first impression decided a great deal. The one real lesson he had learned properly at Cheonghwa High was this: every first impression was fixed by the level of what you were wearing. That was why he had driven straight to the department store the moment he bought the car.

He rode the escalator up to the second floor.

"There it is."

His target was the watch boutique. The same luxury watch that the unpleasant Go Dongyeol from his past life had treasured.

"Welcome, sir."

Women in black two-piece suits bowed with smiling faces. Their eyes had already flicked over him once, fast and professional.

"Show me the leather watches."

"The leather line is over here."

They guided him to a spotless glass display case. One watch immediately seized his gaze. It hit him at first sight.

"I'll take that one."

"Pardon?"

No questions about the model or the price—just "I'll buy it." The saleswoman looked genuinely startled.

"Charge it in full, cash price."

It felt like buying hotteok from a street stall. Why drag out words when you were buying something you needed? Today's debit card was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠going to do a lot of heavy lifting. The limit was simply whatever sat in the account.

"I'll process the payment right away."

"Can I put it on now?"

"Of course."

Shopping continued without a single hitch. He fastened the watch to his wrist at once. Pink gold and a silver face against black leather—elegant. Only then did the price tag catch his eye. Non-sale item: exactly 43.9 million won.

"It suits you beautifully."

A fresh, bright smile bloomed on the saleswoman's face. A customer who casually dropped more than forty million on a single high-end watch in one go. Veterans of the luxury floor could gauge a client's wealth with that kind of experience.

In a world where substance was measured by what was visible—

"The warranty and case…"

"Keep them for me. I'll be buying a few more in a couple of days."

"Yes? Yes!! We'll hold them."

The moment he mentioned additional purchases, her face lit up. Sales staff were paid base salary plus commission. He had just cleared a volume that would normally take months to sell.

His feet turned toward the fourth floor—the floor for golf and men's apparel.

"Unnie! Who was that guy?"

"A rookie actor? A model?"

"Doesn't feel like it. Looking at him, he's definitely fourth- or fifth-generation chaebol."

"Oh my god… Did you see? He bought it without even checking the tag."

The women who had worked the watch floor for a long time were buzzing with excitement. The customer who had consumed a high-ticket piece in a blink ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and vanished had set the entire floor on fire. Luxury watch sales rarely moved more than a few units a day. Being in Apgujeong helped, but even the upper class of Korea did not buy luxury watches every single day. You couldn't drop tens of millions on a watch daily. The busiest season was wedding season, when people bought bridal and groom watches as gifts.

"You saw him, right? Seriously handsome."

"He had that refined air, didn't he?"

"Exactly. Smells like old money."

Handsome actors and models drifted through the luxury floors often enough. But the presence of the customer who had just left crushed them all.

"Should we call the VIP team?"

"Obviously. He's clearly going to clear a hundred million in annual spend."

Customers who spent over a hundred million a year were managed as VIP. He hadn't hit the threshold yet, but anyone who paid forty-plus million in one lump sum was a potential VIP by any standard. Ordinary customers carefully collected the case and warranty—they would need them if they ever had to resell. The man who had just left had casually asked them to store everything as if it were nothing.

"Unnie, what card did he use?"

"The card?"

"Can a credit card even clear forty million in one shot?"

"Ah! Right… Debit. It was a debit card."

"Debit? He actually paid for that watch with a debit card??"