Cafe Power Thief Seria
I've been pulling all-nighters these past few days and I'm fucking exhausted.
Shopity's done, so I lay down to rest, and boom—fateful encounter with a goddamn roach from the ceiling.
Ceiling roach, couldn't even catch the bastard, just stared it down like crazy until it vanished midway.
Fled out for now, heading to Grandfather's house, but I don't think I can go back home. What the fuck do I do?
"Well, thanks to that guy, I bolted out in a hurry..."
All I had in my bag was just the laptop, phone, and energy drinks.
If you're asking if I really had so little stuff at home, well, that's not entirely true.
The latest spec'd-out PC, sub-monitors for charts, gaming gear, expensive booze...
Hold up.
Listing it out like this, it kinda feels like some shut-in hikikomori vibe.
"...Nah, no way."
In the end, what defines a person is their income.
What do people use to label someone a hikikomori anyway?
It's usually for those bums who don't earn shit and hole up in their rooms, right?
So the latter fits, but not the former—that's me, the exception.
And hey, there's cool terms like retail trader or full-time investor, so why not use those?
"Ugh, anyway, I rushed out without grabbing any clothes."
Of course, I did hesitate for a sec after the initial terror—maybe grab some outfits?
But once I started wondering where the hell that thing had crawled around in my place...
Couldn't even touch the doorknob after that.
Stuff can wait—hire movers later. For now, off to Grandfather's.
"Went all the way to the department store to buy clothes and ended up just throwing on a hoodie."
All those fancy new buys, left lonely and unworn back home.
But I shook my head quick.
"Clothes are just superficial bullshit anyway."
Sure, dressing sharp is part of projecting competence.
Self-control aside, it builds trust—key in deals.
But here's the thing.
Wall Street folks don't walk into a meeting, glance at your suit, and think,
'Ah, this guy's got his shit together, let's hand over the capital!'
"It's the substance over the packaging that matters."
Clothes don't guarantee results or profits.
They're just a ticket to get your foot in the door, nothing more, nothing less.
So why do Wall Street types drop fortunes on threads? Simple.
"It's worth the spend."
When first impressions are worth hundreds of millions or billions, why not?
But this ain't Wall Street, and I'm a solo investor.
Not big on schmoozing anyway.
Risk management skills? Please, I've climbed to PM—talking it up just hurts my jaw.
"So overall..."
Clothes are superficial as fuck for me.
Unless my stack grows enough to meet execs direct.
Then I can ditch the gaze of others, go full no-corset... Wait.
'Saying this in a woman's body makes it sound like no joke.'
...Ahem. If anyone overheard, they'd think UFC, not WWE.
Shit slips out natural now—gallery's pickled my brain good.
"Taxi?"
Anyway, concluded clothes don't matter for me. Hood up, hopped in the cab.
Bag's heavy, sure, but...
Why taxi? Simple—people's stares creeped me out.
'More like, I've never gotten stares like this before.'
Being judged by eyes? Daily life since my past life.
'Wall Street's all instinctual sizing-up.'
Tie knot to shoe shine...
Gauges how to treat ya.
Asians get extra scrutiny there—good or bad.
So I'm used to stares.
[Hey, you're so pretty, mind giving me your number?]
'...Urk.'
Even for me, guy's confession was a shock.
Logically, no biggie—just shooting his shot at a hot girl.
But from my side? Traumatic horror show.
'That sleazy voice still gives me chills.'
Seola was right there too.
Me lugging bags on bus or subway alone? They'd swarm.
Plus, too bumpy anyway.
Cabs got their own pains though.
"World's rough these days—don't wander alone, miss."
"Thanks for the concern."
"Got a daughter your age."
"I see."
"Smart kid—wish she'd been born rich instead of to a loser dad like me."
"Eh, rich families aren't always happy, poor ones not always miserable."
Not a lie.
Poor ain't always unhappy.
Just easier to be happy with cash.
Look at Seola and me.
Chatted lightly, vowed to myself.
'Gotta get a car and driver ASAP.'
Sure, I'll hole up 350+ days a year.
Don't need wheels urgent...
But someday, deals on the move.
High-end ride and sharp driver? Must-have for market response.
"Here ya go. Careful getting out~."
"Yep. Paying now."
Finally escaped the ordeal, grabbed bags, hopped out.
Stretched wide—energy surged back.
"Yawwn. Gonna crash hard and catch up on sleep."
That sole thought dragged my tired ass forward.
Following phone GPS real-time, then—problem.
Crash.
"Ah."
Staring at the shattered phone, a hollow groan escaped.
Past life hands were bigger? Or fatigue?
Months post-possession, probably the latter.
One fact: phone's toast, no doubt.
'Exhausted as fuck, now this.'
No response to pokes.
Scooped the cold corpse.
"Haa."
Sighed, spotted a cafe, headed in.
"Welcome."
"Americano, please."
Grabbed drink, sat, pulled laptop.
Opened messenger to ping Seola for help—
Ding!
"...Huh?"
That short headline? Clocked it instantly.
Before a second passed, plugging in charger, chugging energy drink.
Why the frenzy? Multiple Bidders.
Multiple acquirers.
Above Street Consensus.
Higher bids than market expected.
'Hurry, hurry!'
News out? Stock's pumping already.
Sorry cafe owner...
Cafe Power Thief Seria, deploying!