2. Swindling to Multiply the Money

'Status window.'

A clear view of a person's abilities laid out at a glance. The stats are pathetically dismal.

Born with a silver spoon, yet his reputation and stats are utter trash. The one saving grace is his charm, but even that's just thanks to his innate good looks. And that charm goes to waste because of his infamous "beyond redemption" reputation.

Even with the whole world handed to him on a platter, he managed to fuck it all up this badly. Impressive, really.

'But sex addiction...? No red-blooded man doesn't have that.'

He brushed off that particular gripe as bullshit and cleared his mind of idle thoughts. The original owner had ruined everything himself, but now that he was in charge, even this power was his. Plus, an enormous force capable of shaking the world had naturally embedded itself in his brain.

"We're entering the company parking lot reserved for the young master soon."

"Got it."

He dismissed the status window at her words. Time to meet the company's hotshot elite executives.

An emergency summons. The conference room reserved for top executives only.

-…….

-…….

-…….

In the hushed space, men ranging from their forties to sixties sat sternly. The looks they shot at him in the head seat screamed one thing:

This little shit's throwing another tantrum.

What a pain in the ass.

Only shows up when it suits him?

That was the vibe. This was his first time calling a meeting, but apparently the original trash lord—master provocateur that he was—liked to drag them in for power trips and his usual bullshit.

'Yeah, even the setup the staff arranged tells the story.'

A crystal ashtray plunked right in front of him, like they expected him to light up mid-meeting. It irked him, so he casually nudged it aside with the back of his hand and kicked things off.

"Th... thank you all for gathering so promptly despite the emergency call."

-……?

Murmurs rippled through at the unfamiliar opening. He pressed on with a solemn tone.

"I've called you here to share the new company goals I've set and make major revisions to our strategic objectives. Simple stuff, right?"

He cleared his throat dramatically.

"First off, my long-term vision: reuniting the splintered Hwaryeong Group into one."

-Pardon?

"Exactly what I said. Listen up."

Puzzled faces all around at the pie-in-the-sky talk.

"And with that unified Hwaryeong, reclaim the top spot in the business world! Fulfilling my father—the former chairman Cha Seong-taek's—legacy. That's my biggest goal."

-?!

-Top in the industry...?

-Pfft...!

Laughter erupted here, just like with his mom when she first heard it. Everyone was sneering.

-Ahem!

-Uh...

-...You're serious.

This maniac's finally lost it, they whispered. Even these social pros couldn't fully mask it—plenty covered their mouths, pretending to cough.

Unable to stomach it, the nearest guy raised his hand, shot to his feet.

"President, just to check... are you up to date on the company's financial statements?"

Testing him. He smirked.

"Nope?"

"Then what about Hwaryeong Group's ownership structure, or our card company's strategy—"

"Cut it. Like I'd know that shit."

Sat the guy right back down. Don't expect much from the trash lord—nip it in the bud. The man's face, stuffed like a steamed bun, screamed resentment, barely holding back a sigh in front of the boss.

No need for the status window—he could see the protest on their faces. Working under this guy was demoralizing; they were only sticking it out for family.

"But I'm pretty damn clued in on the company I run."

-...Pardon?

A female staffer stepped in at his cue, distributing the files he'd brought. They pored over them.

"I've been secretly building a securities firm on the side. Impressed?"

-President, what is this...?

-Whoa, wait...!

-These numbers are for real—?

-One quarter's net profit up 522%?!

-What the hell!?

His pet subsidiary. He'd dumped his own cash, ordered them to scoop stocks on command, ready to dump at his word. The magical numbers had them reeling, wigs nearly flying off. Insane operating profits for a small firm. Pump in 10 billion won, get 55.2 billion pure profit. 100 billion becomes 522 billion. Magic.

But he'd shown them only percentages. No specifics on capital invested—kept that intel locked.

"These figures... are they accurate?"

Wary, like suspecting cooked books.

"You think I'd drag the company's pillars here to fuck around?"

"Still, these numbers..."

"Believe what you want—they're real. Took two months of grinding."

All pure stock day-trading profits. Simple reason: October 22, 2020. Four years back. COVID chaos from China, volatile stocks, rate swings—prime shitstorm. He'd possessed this chaebol body and rewound time. One day flipping channels, next hurled back here.

Confidence from knowing the future. Making bank was child's play—lying down eating rice cakes. Korea's scammer-infested stock market had fleeced him ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before; he'd vented that rage with memory-fueled day trades.

"Alright, now my presentation."

-!

Click.

Next step: siphoned company funds plus personal investments to hoard cash. Future man's golden tips! Max out company funds and credit => Leverage ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into Bitcoin hard => We all get rich!

-…….

Jaws dropped at the projector beam's shitty, handmade PowerPoint abomination.

'Yeah, from your view, it's absurd.'

But dead serious—this was the plan. Hippocampus memory: stocks about to surge soon. Coins? Lightning bolt. At least two massive pumps early next year, etched in memory. He'd missed them before.

"Simple, right? You get it. Besides Bitcoin, there are stocks to hoard—I'll detail those later. Deadline: end of year. Maximize capital now."

Presentation over. Clear, crisp directive to his staff.

'...No applause for this perfect plan?'

Should've been clapping by now. Showed results, laid out the money-duplication blueprint—silence.

"President!"

Instead, a bellow. A 60-something exec couldn't hold back, taking point.

"Blindly scraping cash for investments? Bitcoin, of all things!"

"? What's wrong with coins?"

Pure curiosity. He thumped his chest in frustration.

"We're a card company! Service industry! Suddenly dumping huge sums into—"

"Ha... what's our card company's quarterly profit?"

"...Eh!?"

Cut the long tongue short. The old exec froze at the ambush, pondering.

"Uh, revenue around 480 billion... operating profit 92 billion, net about 70 billion estimated..."

"Not bad, right?"

"Exactly! So why risk a well-running company—"

"But fucking hell, how long to catch up at that snail pace?"

"!"

Snapped in irritation, channeling the trash lord's no-filter vibe. The rebel exec faltered.

"Told you the goal upfront. Got handed the weakest affiliate—think you elites can crawl past fatter-bellied rivals like ants?"

"Well..."

"Got any noble ideas to scale this bitch besides this big swing?"

-…….

Long road ahead. Not here to debate one by one. Just a means to bulk up the company. They were salarymen anyway. Company tanks? They pack bags. But he—who'd aggressively secured shares for the trash lord's reign—would be more fucked.

'Not time for arguments—this is the money-dupe glitch.'

He had the answers; copying was easy. From his view, they were the frustrating ones.

Whoosh!

The defiant exec popped up again, like a daisy. Channeling Admiral Yi, dead serious.

"Even so, Bitcoin doesn't fit our brand!"

"Ha..."

Hero in his eyes. To him? Won Gyun sinking the fleet.

"Group's already plummeted post-Dad—brand my ass? Wingless freefall?"

"……."

"Speak. Company makes bank = good company, no?"

"B-but! No guarantee dusty Bitcoin moons."

"Explanation change your mind? Already showed profits. Trust my eye."

Tap. Tap.

Slaps the file. Rebel scans it again, cognitive dissonance hitting—face like needing the john but hating the walk. Prejudice against trash Cha Do-yeon? Or impossible for the heir? Yanks his tie loose.

"No! Even if it's your company, I can't tolerate more recklessness! Better quit than watch a lifelong company die on my watch!"

Jackpot. Grins wide.

"Then get the fuck out, asshole."

"……………Pardon?"

Much obliged. No need for insubordinate parts leeching company cash.

"Hey, meeting's dragging—toss him."

"Wh-wha...?"

Security waiting outside hauls him. Two black-suited guys grab arms, drag the flailing geezer. Last wail: "President, please reconsider!!!"

Won Gyun's screams? In one ear, out the other.

'Sigh... Mortals can't grasp the phoenix's will.'

Not clueless to the reaction. Post-hype, Bitcoin was "scam" trash back then. He didn't buy blockchain bullshit either—just facts: it moons. Paper's paper; good money, bad money? Same. Lapping up heaven's honey, that's all.

"Sorted. Anyway, merging my pumped subsidiary into for investments. Oh, keeping the card biz alive—juice cash flow, keep working as is."

-…….

Wrap-up. Faint ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠applause trickled. Funereal vibes, though—distrust in the owner, clocking in till collapse.

Results first, always. Future proves it.

'Rep in the gutter—subsid's feats won't rehab it.'

Steve Jobs-level ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠PPT done, he rolled his stiff neck counterclockwise, picked a random exec.

"Bitcoin price now?"

"Pardon? Oh! Uh..."

Fumbles phone, checks.

"Real-time: 14.52 million won..."

"……Fucking dirt cheap. Squeeze cash, sweep it up."

Fire sale? Future man who'd seen 100 million peaks drooled.