Bullets Loaded

The bullets were ready. Alright, let's rack our brains hard for a bit.

Earlier, you said Shopity stock was hovering around 50,000 won per share, right? And if they snagged 5%, that's about 4 million shares. Multiply those two, and you get a rough cash value for that 5% stake. With such ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clean numbers, I'm betting everyone can do this mental math.

"Calculator ON. So, 4,024,000 times 49,892…."

…What, why? For the record, I can't do that one mentally either.

Disappointed that even this breaks the illusion? Feeling let down?

"Thinking everyone on Wall Street is a math genius is just a stereotype."

Wall Street traders and PMs only use mental math to gauge deal sizes. They're pros at simplifying numbers for approximations, but for precise calculations, they're barely better than average folks.

Just head to any trading desk—they'll pull out a calculator even for splitting the lunch bill.

Of course, even math whizzes use calculators. With millions on the line per position, who takes the blame if a mental slip costs you? Precision is non-negotiable.

Anyway, the calculator spat out 200,765,408,000. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Roughly 200 billion won.

That 5% stake in Shopity wasn't chump change.

I'm so used to big numbers it feels small, but 200 billion could buy a handful of Korean SMEs outright.

But that's personal scale. Wall Street funds swim in cash. Big activist funds manage at least 3 trillion won, up to over 80 trillion.

For ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠those giants, 200 billion is pocket change for an investment.

But let's be real—Catal wasn't in that league.

"Including the short position ratio, the money committed is way too big relative to their AUM (Assets Under Management)."

AUM is basically the total pot a fund rolls with. Not just their own money—pension funds, institutions, rich folks' cash, all pooled up. That's what PMs like my old self juggle.

"Here's a question."

What if I suddenly short-circuited my brain with a hairdryer in the bath? Or went nuts and dumped all investor money into high-risk trash? Investors would riot.

Institutions hate that reckless shit, so hedge funds cap position sizes—20%, 30%, whatever.

"But activist funds are a different beast."

They pile into single stocks to fight for control, so they get more leeway than pure hedges…

"Fuck, but there's a limit."

Catal—full name Catalyst Value Partners. AUM around 900 billion won, solid mid-tier activist fund.

Remember that insane short volume from earlier? Nearing 40%?

Convert that to cash, and it's over 1.6 trillion won just to enter.

Leverage or swaps let you bet more than your principal, sure—but this was absurd. Investors wouldn't sit for a fund dumping everything into one stock bigger than its whole portfolio. They'd all demand redemptions.

Yet Catal slipped in quietly, disguised as a standard 13D filing?

Tap, tap.

My fingers drummed the desk slowly.

"Only one answer."

Simple: if one fund can't pull it off alone, it's not alone. Collusion isn't rare on the Street.

Funds compete publicly on returns, but overlapping positions? No point fighting. Just short together, split the profits.

"Ugh… still doesn't sit right."

I pulled up a window on one monitor, checking options piled abnormally at certain strikes. Counterparties were unfamiliar names—different funds, different managers…

But fun fact: all using the same prime brokers.

"Silverman Sachs, Morgan Stanley… yep, the short cartel with conviction. Makes sense, but…"

I tilted my head. Something felt off.

"Too sloppy, isn't it?"

Put myself in Catal's shoes. Attacking Shopity? Plenty of slicker plays. Expose outright for a crash, not this suspicious nudge.

Hell, leak via a research firm.

Digging deeper into Catal's flows, something buried in footnotes and tiny tables caught my eye. Couldn't hide from me.

"Fuck, it's a TRS."

Catal's hidden play: TRS (Total Return Swap). Intimidating name, simple concept.

Example time.

I want a BBQ joint bad.

It's 1 billion won. Problem: I'm broke. Loan? Banks aren't infinite ATMs.

So I pitch the bank:

"You buy the BBQ joint."

Bank: "What's in it for us?"

"If price rises, I take the profit but pay monthly interest."

Deal sealed—that's TRS. Joint's in the bank's name on paper. Price to 1.2 billion? I pocket 200 million. Drops to 800 million? I eat the 200 million loss. Total return swap.

"But stocks have an extra perk."

Banks have shitloads of cash. Put up 100 million, they buy 1 billion in stock. 10x your returns? Boom—TRS as leverage.

"And since it's bank-owned, no 13D disclosure required."

Suddenly, Catal's scheme clicked like a movie reel. Insider tips are illegal, but whispers of Shopity trouble spread underground. Hedge funds piled on shorts.

"But get this."

Where there's winners taking cash, losers bleed. Especially with fat-cat funds swarming for the kill.

"They figured a blowup was coming."

Shorts mean borrowing stock—you gotta buy back eventually. This scale? Tiny price bounce screws you.

Catal's genius: the Trojan Horse.

Activist scum know how to think, huh?

Trojan Horse: disguised gift with poison inside. But everyone's wise now—slam the gates.

Catal flipped it: play obvious attacker to bait them.

"Gonna backstab the hedge funds."

Yeah. Catal screamed "threat" with the 13D to spook them pre-emptively. Like a vaccine—weak virus builds immunity.

"Keep the dip mild, then hammer buys at the perfect moment to pump the price."

Hedge funds were the killers; Catal planned to shank them. If shorts cover even a bit on a bounce, float's too thin—price rockets. Their own shares choke them.

What's the float?

Subtract big holders, institutions, lockups… left with just 21 million shares. Borrowed: 32 million. Float half that? Opportunity.

"Sure, if no one recalls shares at once, it might slide by…"

I leaned back, muttering.

"But fat chance. Gotta repay those borrows."

Ahh, CFD (Contract for Difference) leverage—my old pal. Come make us rich again.

Bigger capital now, bigger payout. Loaded up, buzzing with anticipation, I posted to the gallery.

Theoretical upside: infinite.

Stretching in front of my energy drink fortress, I eyed the cans piled like a castle.

This frail body's a worry, but… next two days? Dead to the world, fueled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠by caffeine and grit.