Irrational Consumption (2)
I'm not really the type to indulge in luxury.
...Really.
Of course, saying that as someone who jets around on a private plane does prick my conscience a bit.
But what does "luxury" even mean, anyway? Dictionary-wise, it's spending money beyond your means or more than necessary, right?
'Honestly, it's not beyond my means.'
As awkward as it is to say it myself, don't mistake my current pathetic state for who I used to be. No big secret here, so let's talk about my previous life's salary. Base pay was around a million dollars. In won, that's about 1.4 billion... hmm, closer to 1.5 billion these days? Similar to what I made off that one deal, anyway. Not as impressive as you'd think.
That's just the base pay, though.
"Base pay means jack shit to a PM-level guy anyway."
"What?"
"Nothing."
The core of Wall Street's pay structure is performance bonuses—your P&L share. That's a big difference from Korea. Rewards scale with ability, not position or age.
'Effort? That's bullshit on the Street.'
No matter how hard you grind, if your P&L is in the toilet, you're out. No dramatic movie scenes with security dragging rebels away, though. Wall Street firings come in a few flavors, the most common being a random short meeting slotted into your calendar with HR. You go in, and in under 15 minutes, you're hit with a severance offer and your walking papers.
'But no one would stick around if it was just that.'
Take my case...
'Base, retention bonus, deferred bonus, management fees—totaling around 100 million bucks a year?'
140 billion won sounds insane, but it's not. After taxes, you're left with about 70 billion (special case for me; most dodge the full hit). And the fund's private jet I always used? Around 90 billion. Annual upkeep? Another 5 billion.
'So yeah, bust your ass for that, and you can't even run a decent jet.'
...Feels like I ended up bragging. Point is, dropping cash at a department store isn't luxury for me.
"Uh, sis... is this number I'm seeing real?"
"What do you mean?"
"How the hell do clothes cost 2 million won each!"
"Hmm, that pricey, huh."
"...This isn't working. You're messing up my financial sense too! I gotta escape this place..."
I easily pinned down Seola, who was trying to bolt from the department store in real time, and called over a staff member.
"Excuse me, could you recommend some outfits that would suit my friend here?"
"Pardon? Ma'am, this is a really expensive section."
"Hmm."
"Even our cheapest items start at 1.5 million won. Maybe think it over more carefully..."
A luxury store clerk dismissing us for our shabby clothes right off the bat. Straight out of a cliché in those "irrational spending" webnovels—I'm sick of it.
Pure curiosity, but have these clerks never seen those viral videos of "arrogant staff schooled by rich customers"?
"Is that so?"
"If you're not planning to buy, our policy prohibits trying on or handling..."
The clerk kept ignoring us, even locking eyes and refusing to back down in a staring contest. Some random store drone challenging me?
...Kinda shocking.
Maybe my shut-in life post-TS had eroded all my upper-class poise. I started worrying. So I consciously hardened my expression and switched to my old clipped tone, and only then did she avert her eyes slightly.
Wall Street elites differ from other high society—they're defined by extreme restraint, not leisure or refinement.
'No smiling at good news, no tears at bad. Ever.'
Handling massive sums per position numbs you to everyday shit. Conversations stay at a flat tone and pace. That's why Street types often get mistaken for normies compared to flashy chaebol heirs.
As I pondered how to handle this, another clerk jumped in, sensing the drama.
"S-sorry about that! She's new and still learning. Do you need any specific items?"
Sure, I could call out the rude one specifically or buy through someone else. I've got the cash. A typical rich asshole might demand revenge. But movies are movies. Real elites don't brawl with staff.
"It's fine. This store doesn't suit me."
"...We're truly sorry, ma'am! I'll speak to her personally."
"Carry on."
Seola looked puzzled by my silent exit—question marks practically floating over her head.
...Adorably transparent. How does someone wear their emotions so openly? Made my poker-faced past life enviable.
"Curious?"
"Huh? Yeah, a bit..."
"Wondering why I didn't say shit to that clerk?"
"Yeah. Thought you'd give her a piece of your mind—for her own future."
How to explain? After a beat, I went with a medieval anecdote.
"In fantasy novels or media, nobles beat and whip commoners left and right, right? But IRL, that was rare. Why?"
"Hmm... why?"
"Seola, ever see anyone seriously fight a cat or dog?"
"Yeah, drunks do."
...Nailed it.
Makes sense—booze turns you feral enough to scrap with pets.
No, that's not the point.
"...Sure, drunks aside, no sane person does."
"True."
"Same vibe. A noble scrapping with peasants lacks dignity."
"...So that's us with her? Sis, we were eating one ramen pack for three meals not long ago."
"Not exactly. Just stay chill. We're the customers; the store takes the hit. No need for us to bother."
The next store had a totally different atmosphere—maybe from witnessing the scene, or my shifted vibe. Service was impeccable.
"Ma'am, your skin seems warm-toned, so beige or ivory outfits would suit you best. Mind if I pull some from those lines?"
"Please do."
Classic TS trope: protagonist agonizing through endless fittings. But that's fiction. I've endured bespoke suits over 20 million won a pop—hours for the first fitting, months of tweaks.
No way trying on a few racks fazes me.
"Need a separate fitting for your sister?"
"Let's check the fit first."
Zero knowledge of college fashion trends, but money solves most problems. Buy everything; Seola's friends can advise later.
"I'll take all the ones we tried. Mine and hers."
"...Total comes to 16.6 million won."
"Cash, one-time payment."
Not a huge dent for a provincial department store "luxury" spot. Swiped the card casually—then hit a snag.
Amount: 16,600,000 KRW
I glanced at the smartphone popup.
"Forgot about the limit."
My card's ceiling: 5 million won. Laughable against my earnings.
The clerk ventured cautiously:
"If it's okay, could we try another card?"
I shook my head.
"No, just a sec."
Pulled out my phone and tapped the temp limit request.
After a moment's thought, I punched in 100 million.
Not raking it in yet, so cap today at exactly that—no more, no less.
"Ughhh... sis, I hate you..."
Seola crawled out of the fitting room, exhausted in one of the outfits.
Quick chat with the card company, and the piddly limit ballooned. Inserted the card, signed with flair—receipts started printing.
Amount: 16,600,000 KRW
"Good to go."
"Kyaaah!!! Sis! Are you insane? What kind of money do you drop on clothes!"
Seola, drained as she was, spotted the receipts and started screaming.
I shrugged at her.
"Still tons to buy. Appliances, fancy eats... hmm, high-end cosmetics, furniture, watches, bags—yeah, gotta save a bit like you said."
"...Ughhh. *Gurgle*."
Overwhelmed with emotion, Seola passed out.
Won't stop my irrational spending, though.