The Mother-in-Law's Early Morning Invitation
"Yeah, I just woke up. How's the situation? Did it go exactly as I said?"
"Young master, what the hell is this...?"
After a deep, refreshing sleep, I called my secretary, and her voice was trembling. She'd stayed up all night directing things on-site in my place, riding high on adrenaline— I could even hear her gulping down saliva to wet her parched throat from here. There was the sound of her dousing the fire in her chest with water, then:
"Yes, exactly as you instructed, young master. That stock we'd been watching... after the short-selling, it looked like it was crashing straight down, over 20 times... And with today's repayment deadline approaching, it turned into an insane day-trading war!"
"I see."
I scratched my belly indifferently, but a smile spread across my lips. The big global event I'd been eyeing, knowing the future: the GameStop saga.
On the US Nasdaq, there's a stock called GameStop. Originally a game retail specialist, but skipping the backstory, it devolved into a battlefield between retail investors (ants) and hedge funds (*fund cartels*).
A legendary clash where pissed-off retail investors took on massive hedge funds. It started with the ants banding together to pump a stock from a few bucks to nearly a hundredfold in days. Naturally, hedge funds couldn't resist that juicy candy pile. They slammed it down with huge short positions and capital. The ants' momentum crumbled instantly. With multiple funds piling on, massive short-selling and media blitzes rollercoastered the price right back to the basement. The classic ant-licking ending.
But if it had just yo-yoed and ended, it wouldn't have been the epic event it was. After the shorts, the ants rallied harder on forums, buying like mad to fight back. Hedge funds countered with fiercer psyops and capital crushes, but the ants called in options and turned it into all-out war. Yesterday's dawn decided it—the climax we'd awaited.
Hedge funds flailed to cover their shorts, but ants kept buying, defending the price. The chart must've looked like a hypertensive's heartbeat. The day the ants finally cracked open the rich pigs' wallets, rebels rising against daily slaughter. The hedge funds' surrender cost them 79 trillion won in defeat. Historic day when giants knelt to ants.
Yeah. History says the ants won. But rewind time—who's the true final victor?
'Jackpot—day-trading rice profits, pure honey ♬'
Obviously us: bought early, sold for gains, then rebought at the short-induced bottom. I'd prepped U Mi-ae for today. When shorts force the price down, buy low, sell high—money duplicates. Set stable buy/sell limits, so no mistakes.
"So, after fees, how much profit rolled in from last night's trades?"
"The stock quieted after 4 AM, so we haven't sold everything yet, but conservatively... 4 trillion. No, if we slowly offload the rest, it's like reaping 6 trillion."
4 to 6 trillion from one day's trades. Add prior profits—insane money vacuum. Knowing the future turns real cash into game coins.
But, "Good. Reload ammo fast. We'll need more soon. I'll tell you the next target later—go crash and rest today."
"Yes... But honestly, I'm more worried about you, young master."
"Why?"
"At this scale... you're really planning to clash head-on with the third miss, aren't you?"
"She got me once before." I dug in my ear, flicked it away. "Gotta properly school that face-I-haven't-seen brother-in-law and my immature sis."
"...If that's your will, I won't argue. Then, today's results at the parking lot tomorrow."
"Yeah."
Short exchange, I hang first. Wide awake now, I stretch out of the warm bed.
"Yawn~ ...Tired."
Chaebol wastrel life busier than expected. Already drowning in excess cash and firms, but with lil sis moving, gotta counter fast. Beefed up security post-threat—no more close calls. To smash that thug head-on, need bigger guns. Unscheduled future event. Opponent's a real heavyweight.
'...Still, nothing to do till I grow the cash more.'
Acquired firms handled by Hwa-ryeon like before—no rivalry, monitored, no fuckups.
"Sigh... Management's boring."
Left with awkward floaty time. Dreading work, shuffling to bathroom for fun alternatives—bzzz! Bzzz!
"!"
Phone buzzes fatefully on bed. U Mi-ae again? No—name flashes teeth-baring grin.
Perfect timing: the ripe married bitch I crave second-most, reading my mind.
"Oh, welcome. Come on in, Cha son-in-law!"
"Long time no see, mother-in-law."
She greets beaming at the door; I enter in crisp suit. Worried I dragged her early, but here before noon. Still calling each other mother-in-law and son-in-law. Habit, sure—but honestly, that ex-son-in-law vibe felt dirtier, hotter.
'Getting handsomer every time... ♥'
Once her daughter's husband. Honey-dripping eyes gaze up:
"Here. For once, inviting me home."
"Ah... really! I said come empty-handed—I'll treat you today."
"How could I? Day I see my favorite mother-in-law."
"You... really."
Months apart, yet gifts every meet to win me over. I feign protest, but thrilled. Not cash value—makes me feel younger. Unlike cold-dead husband, he cherishes; budding romance vibe, so I nag pointlessly.
"Another one... Too much for me."
Pricey box: perfume. Fat luxury logo screams no-expense-spared.
"No issue. Check the mirror, mother-in-law. Men still lining up. Age is just digits now."
"S-stop the flattery..."
"And kinda a gift for me. You prettier here? I feast eyes—win-win?"
"......♥"
Cha son-in-law... sweet talker. Unlike old guys—or modern style?—handles women right despite age. Butter-smooth lines too cheesy for others. Stuff taciturn hubby'd never say, legs torn off.
"Mm... heating's blasting—hot, huh."
"Ah... prepped food, so..."
Chat trails. Whoosh... Invited him, max heat on—overdid it. Stuffy on entry, he sheds coat, yanks tie loose.
Gulp!
Revealed: shirt hugging firm male build. Muscles curved—not like before.
'Working out... ♥'
Cha son-in-law growing reliable; now male scent too. Broader shoulders, sharper jaw. Daughter-hated old him? Gone—new man each visit.
"Mother-in-law?"
"......"
Can't stop ogling even called. Tried holding thrilled chest till meal—failing from start.
"Ch-Cha son-in-law! Hot? ...Room has casual robe."
"? Robe?"
"Suit uncomfortable indoors... Change better. I'll adjust temp, prep lunch..."
Flushed, suspicious excuse.
"Mm..."
Stammers snag suspicion. But sees my face, plays along: "Got it. Changing."
Knows my heart, obeys—irresistible.
*
"Changed."
"......"
Ears perk hearing, but no reply. Rushed event—want him discover solo.
"Mother-in-law? ...Kitchen?"
Voice nears, hot breaths heavy. Trimming greens, knife stalls. Miso bubbling beside, sweat soaks back.
"Ah! Here you—"
Finally, robed, kitchen entry. Words die at threshold. Inside: different sight.
Neck-down bare skin. Morning invite outsider—naked, just apron.
Sudden call, naked chef act. Shameless, but 'special meal' welcome.
'So embarrassing... ♥'
Drip, drip... ♥ Sweat embarrassment, but held. For his reaction.
Predator footsteps creep behind—goosebumps thrill. Savoring heart-pounding rush.