From Wall Street Legend to Basement Dropout
Wall Street in Han Siul Biotech terms. In the Sinosphere, it's Wall Street. Wall Street starts from the New York Stock Exchange and is packed with famous banks and financial institutions—truly the elite epicenter of American finance. A grandiose title like the heart of the global financial markets wasn't an overstatement.
And fitting that lofty reputation, the workload on Wall Street was downright murderous. 'Back when I was a newbie, I pulled 80 to 100-hour weeks as a baseline, stumbling out at 4 a.m....' But over time, you get used to it. As my years on the Street piled up, all-nighters became second nature, etched into my body like habit.
"...Fuck, I'm beat."
Even if you're accustomed, pulling three straight all-nighters isn't a walk in the park. But thinking about the vacation and bonus I'd earned made it impossible to hold back a grin amid the bone-deep exhaustion crashing over me.
"Fuck yeah, this is it."
"They told me to take all the time I need and come back when I'm ready."
My vacation was indefinite. In other words, rest up as long as I wanted and slink back when the timing felt right. I hadn't been fired—it was genuinely "whenever you're ready."
Does infamous Wall Street really hand out that much leave?
And in a way, this was risk management too.
Until now, I'd powered through on adrenaline and caffeine, but push further and your judgment clouds.
"With billions riding on one position, who the hell's gonna cover a fuck-up?"
So during leave, they'd often lock you out of email and positions entirely.
Not that any sane person would crave work after sealing a monster deal like this.
I crashed into bed with a peaceful mind and woke to morning with a smile.
My body writhed in agony, begging for more rest, but the smile held firm.
"With yesterday's haul in mind, how could I not smile through the pain?"
Yeah. This deal netted a cool $10 billion.
Over 14 trillion won in Korean cash, raked in three days flat. I wrapped the call, rode that insane dopamine high from the obscene sum, and dove back into rest.
...
"Alright, up to there was great... but..."
For some reason, I was now trapped in a moldy basement studio, not a New York luxury tower.
...And my Johnson was gone to boot.
Maybe the body swap sharpened my senses. The foul stench assaulting my nose refused to fade.
"Fuck, what the hell is this smell?"
Truth be told, my "frugal" rep was always relative.
Sure, compared to peers, I spent modestly.
But that didn't mean I lived like common folk.
I hated first class because it felt cramped—does that drive it home?
"With the cash I made."
To be fair, there weren't many places to blow money. I wasn't big on socializing, luxury watches, or cars anyway.
So for a guy used to mansions, private jets, and bespoke suits, this dumpster fire...
"Ahem."
No. Let's not trash someone else's cherished home.
Point is, I'd never slummed it like this. The indescribable musty reek, exhaust fumes, trash-strewn floor...
Compared to my past life, it was a straight plunge into the sewer.
Just yesterday, I'd been...
"Oh, right! My $10 billion!"
The more I chewed on it, the shittier it got.
Score $10 billion, then this? Even my house, jet, cars, suits—every damn asset—vanished overnight.
...Fine, say I swallow that.
"But why the fuck am I a woman?"
Losing everything wasn't enough; they stole my gender too. I teared up at the devastation.
I even checked, just in case.
Wished it was a hoarse voice thinning out or sudden chest fat, but...
Gone, crystal clear.
Small consolation: this body's face was drop-dead gorgeous.
'...But is that even a consolation?'
Obviously better to be pretty than ugly in the mirror.
But I liked looking at pretty girls, not being one.
Not like I'd achieved much as a man anyway... (Never even dated.)
Out on the street, I'd get hounded nonstop. Not that I crave stares.
Pointless now that I'm possessed anyway.
"...So what now?"
First thing after realizing the swap: search for Kim Yi-han.
Result? No such person existed here.
Asians in the US get sidelined subtly. All my traces—grinding through that discrimination—erased. Hollow as hell.
Especially stuck at rock bottom like this. What could I even do?
"Account's down to 300,000 won. How the fuck do I eat?"
Ridiculous, right? Wall Street legend fretting over scraps?
Fair thought. Top elites must seem like money printers—even Warren Buffett, George Soros, or Parker Lynch couldn't fix this.
'Can't those geniuses overcome this?'
Hell no!
Simple reason: No genius strategy works without capital.
300k won at 1,000% return? 3 million won. Barely a week's groceries, let alone a month.
Funds borrow external capital for a reason.
"At least money's the only issue."
Banker must've OD'd on stupid—lending to this body...
22-year-old dropout unemployed Seria. Fine, say they bought the Wall Street pitch.
But Street cred doesn't predict exact stock moves.
If it did, I'd be a prophet, not an investor.
Even top Wall Street funds rarely hit 60% accuracy.
'People think Wall Street pros are economic wizards who nail investments...'
Surprisingly, give the same info to a Street vet or retail joe—win rates barely differ.
Sure, long-term loss control and risk management favor pros.
But it all starts with position. Same skills? Same report from a normie is fantasy; from the Street, prophecy.
"...Starting line's fucked."
Success from the bottom? Possible.
But slower, smaller scale. Rejoining true US upper crust? Pipe dream.
...Could I, raised elite, survive the gutter?
[Stock Site.JPG]
Fuck fuck fuck fuck, lost 6 mil, my mom's gonna kill me
Should've bought a nice car with that cash, fuuuuuck
If you're done staring, fuck off, you fuck
"Kekekeke. Betting 100 mil on a US stock crash? Retard."
One thing I didn't know in my past life: the world's full of dopamine hits.
Maybe the swap cured my trading addiction.
But one certainty: lurking forums from a shitty room was weirdly fun.
"...Whoa, the room's even dirtier than when I first possessed."
When did it get this bad?
My past homes and offices were immaculate—I thought I had OCD. Nope.
Just had people cleaning. Now, numb to the stench, the place kept rotting.
...Cleaning later. Bigger issue:
[XX Bank XXXX-XXXX-XXXX]
[13,000 won]
Running out of real cash.
Culprit: delivery food.
Used to pricey, healthy eats—greasy takeout was pure drug.
Gaming dipped some too, but anyway. "Ah, reality hits."
From envied peak, I'd become a shut-in NEET.
Zero outings since possession.
Time to make money.
"Heh heh heh. Hilarious."
...Put the phone down? Last gallery scroll for this 22yo jobless loser—bear with it.
Scrolling through the gloom, one post caught my eye.
Stock up 200% in a week
Watched it—only good news popping. Not all-in would be retarded lol
Pulled loans too yy
Not wrong.
Bio stocks can 5x on a real breakout.
But my Street-honed gut screamed: structurally rotten.
I smelled the familiar stink of money—from my past life.