Nobody Believes Me

"Listen, everyone. I used to be a guy."

I told them the truth.

"I think this happened because I committed fraud in my past life."

I told a story of reincarnation in front of twelve thousand viewers, and not a single one of them believed me.

"That's a virtual model. I'm actually a fat girl."

That one was a genuine lie.

The face reflected in my monitor was a beauty I would have told any lie to date, back when I was still my past-life self. Hiding that real appearance behind a virtual avatar — a Panttegi, as people call it — and speaking as a so-called "VTuber" wasn't exactly the full truth either, but still...

The viewers packed into my room didn't care whether I was a VTuber or anything else. There were two reasons they bothered to show up at this hour — six in the morning, hours before the market even opened — just to watch me.

"No no no, please don't. I'm not the kind of person who takes money to read the future."

"No no no, it's not insufficient, it's just... did you drop a zero? That's a thousand-won punch, not a ten-thousand-won punch."

One group was the people who actually liked my stream.

"Sorry for talking about the viewers mid-broadcast, but... why does everyone pile in at this hour?"

Stream-watchers prowling for a dopamine hit made up one type. Why did they like my broadcast?

Because it filled their dopamine tanks. I'd get into the specifics of how later.

The other group was the floating audience.

It wasn't like some community had hyped me up, and it wasn't corporate streamers ending their broadcasts and wandering over. Honestly, how many of the twelve thousand could that even account for? Barely an hour ago, when I'd been grinding a dig-to-a-thousand-meters underground game, the viewer count hadn't been twelve thousand — it'd been two thousand.

A stream that pulled in ten thousand floaters. At dawn, hours before the market opened. It sounded completely abnormal... and yet that was exactly what had happened.

Chart floaters. Full-time traders with a stream open on one side of the screen and a stock chart on the other.

"Let me be absolutely clear — this is not a stock-reading room...."

Every day, right before I ended the stream, something would start to appear to me.

After roughly nine hours of streaming, right around the time people started heading out for their early morning shifts, something would begin to come into view.

"...Hold on."

Right in front of my eyes. Something was visible.

Even though my eyes were open, my vision darkened, and red text flashed past — like a news ticker running along the bottom of a screen.

The letters streaked by in blood-red, as if they were a warning.

"...I think I can see it."

The chat started scrolling at breakneck speed, but I had no room to read it. The subtitles flowing underneath weren't just one — they were many. A feast of text that swallowed the entire screen in an instant. In a vision that had gone thick and black, countless red letters glittered.

"...Uh."

My vision brightened. Everything that had flashed before my eyes was gone.

"......Give me a second for some water."

I tried to wet a throat that felt scorched. The tumbler beside me was already empty. Go get more water? There was no time for that. I'd only said I wanted a drink because I needed a moment — I hadn't actually wanted water.

"Everyone."

I took a deep breath and slowly opened my mouth.

"When the market opens, dump everything. Looks like today's a crash."

I told them the truth. I recited the future I could see, exactly as it was. But—

"No, please just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠believe me. The semiconductor supply chain is—"

It had begun. The price of telling the truth.

The karma of my past life.

Disbelief.

I had spoken the truth, and not a single person believed me.

"...Cassandra is laying a curse on all of you. I told you the truth."

The curse hanging over me. A punishment from heaven, maybe, for all the scams I'd pulled in my past life. I had been reborn as a twenty-year-old beauty who could rival any celebrity — and in exchange, I had received a curse.

"KOSPI is going to collapse today."

I was speaking the truth and being ignored for it.

"I can see the gates slamming shut the second it opens."

What had Cassandra's life been like?

Cassandra, princess of Troy. Apollo had gifted her the power of prophecy. But she refused the god's advances, and in return she received a terrible curse.

Under the god's curse, her words reached no one. And she watched her homeland of Troy fall.

One wooden horse. That horse would destroy Troy. But no one listened. They dismissed her as a madwoman spouting nonsense, or as a bearer of ill omens. And Troy fell.

A woman who knew the truth and could save no one — treated as a lunatic. The person who now carried that curse.

Me.

"Is the Han River water warm today? Why does nobody believe a word I say?"

"No, that part is actually true."

Nobody believed it. Whether it was because the speaker was me, or because some perception filter was broken, or because the curse operated as a law of the world itself —

"No, for real. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠You're all going to get wrecked, your stocks!!"

Chat exploded. Donations poured in like "even mockery is a long position" — every kind of ridicule imaginable. Every so often someone would drop a wall of text, hauling in analyses from every financial paper they could find, and dump counterarguments by the dozen.

"The semiconductor supply chain is going to seize up, so Seongwoo Electronics and Hyn Micro look like they're about to crash?"

...It wasn't even just regular chat. Long-form donation bombs were raining down nonstop.

"The won-dollar exchange rate is going to climb way higher than it is now?"

What was this guy even saying. Even I — a liberal-arts major who scored a 3 on the social-studies economics section of the college entrance exam — could tell that was nonsense.

"Ugh...."

The problem was that I wasn't actually a business major either, and I didn't have time to rebut every single one of these.

"...A Black Monday is going to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hit, and the panic selling is going to keep cascading?"

Fundamentals, my ass, you weeb. Some guy who wanted to talk sales trends and investment plans was sitting in my stream trying to get a fortune reading from the Oracle?

"...Ha."

I bit back the words. Tick, tick. Market open was approaching, and not a single person would listen long enough to be persuaded.

"Do whatever the hell you want."

I moved my hand to End Stream.

"KOSPI's hitting ten thousand today, you bastards!"

"You bastards."

If you made money off someone's prophecy, the least you could do was leave a tip on your way out.