Investment Education

My sister had always been incredibly responsible.

She was the type who took ownership of anything she committed to, no matter what happened.

Is that why? She absolutely hated passing her responsibilities off to others...

But as family, I knew the truth. My sister actually had a free-spirited personality, and when we were kids, she'd suppressed it for my sake.

"...Yeah, so now that she has some financial breathing room, she can finally let that side of her run wild."

Still, isn't this a bit much?

She'd messaged me just yesterday saying she was heading to our family home. But for some reason, she still hadn't arrived—or even checked in.

The drive from her place should only take about three hours. Even if she got lost, it wouldn't drag on this long.

Was it because of her pretty face? An irrational wave of anxiety hit me.

"Grandfather, has sis arrived yet?"

"Not yet."

"Please let me know the second she shows up."

"Got it. If she still doesn't pick up, maybe file a police report."

I called Grandfather again, but the answer was the same. His calm tone only amplified my worry.

...Sigh. She's never even dated, but that damn pretty face just makes me worry more.

The old saying "no news is good news" didn't hold up in this era of instant communication. Or maybe it was because of that last incident. I'd seen her in a really rough state without any warning.

I shook off the crime stories I'd glimpsed on the news.

She probably forgot something at home, went back for it, and that's why she's late. She'll call soon enough.

Plausible excuses floated through my mind. But none had any real backing.

And baseless optimism doesn't reassure—it just slowly eats away at you.

"...Sis wouldn't do that."

No matter how free-spirited she was, she never took promises lightly. She wasn't the type to ghost without a word.

My thoughts spiraled darker.

She didn't get kidnapped because of her looks, did she? Or since she's got money now, maybe she was wearing expensive clothes and got mugged...? There've been those random stabbing cases lately...

I couldn't hold back the rising panic anymore and was about to file a missing person report when a memory hit me. She posted on that stock community before, right? Her username was... My100BillionDollarsBack?

And sure enough, at the top of the gallery I'd checked on a whim:

"...."

This woman, seriously.

Looks like tasting success too early sent her mental age into reverse. Her message was all sunshine and innocence.

Of course, I didn't reply.

"Let's see what you have to say for yourself when you get back."

"Um...?"

"Yaaawn. Yeah?"

"...You didn't seriously mean 50 Americanos as in 50 cups over 100 hours, two hours each, right?"

"Didn't you know?"

"Whaaat?!"

The boss lady's eyes went wide as I shot back matter-of-factly.

"Even so, four straight days of extra shifts is too much...!"

The timid boss from moments ago was gone; now her voice rang with confidence. Fair enough—if someone forced me to pull all-nighters for four days, I'd refuse no matter the pay.

Though maybe that's because I don't obsess over money. If they offered a full year's salary instead? Plenty would sign up.

"That's why I said I'd pay you big time."

"...True."

"Heh. Still up for that idea?"

"What idea...?"

"Lending me the place in exchange for cash. The offer stands."

"...."

Her agonized expression was visible even from afar. Impressive.

That's a normal reaction.

No one loves their job that much without weighing options. Especially when money could let you focus even harder? It won't buy dreams, but it sure greases the wheels.

"...I'm good. I said no to the money."

"Music to my ears."

"But I have a question... mind if I ask?"

She slipped back into timid mode. I nodded.

"What do you do that keeps you glued here for four days straight without a break...?"

"Hm..."

"Ah! If it's personal, no worries! Just curious."

"Nah. Wanna see?"

I tapped my laptop lightly.

Alerts for filled trades flashed amid the blinking order books and charts. She tilted her head at the numbers beneath the chaos.

"Um... what're these numbers?"

"The amount of money."

"Ah... huh?"

"That's the volume moving through here. It's a retail-heavy exchange, so not huge amounts."

"Uh, yeah."

Hard to believe, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right? From the perspective of someone who's earned every bill through sweat, this makes no sense.

A few clicks online, and it's 1 million, 10 million, 100 million won... Scale up to funds, and it's trillions.

"That's... all of it?"

Her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠voice trembled faintly.

I nodded without looking away from the screen.

"Yeah. That line that just passed? About 300 million."

"...."

"And the trade log below... 4 billion in the last 5 seconds."

Her jaw hung slack. The cafe's vibe sank into an awkward hush.

After some hesitation, she spoke up.

"So you're...?"

"Making a bit, luckily. Not a ton."

"How much...?"

I paused.

Someone who loves their job more than money? Rare, but I'd seen it before. Reporters chasing truth on foot. Doctors conquering blood phobias to save lives.

Even they flipped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out at my returns.

...Am I dopamine-corrupting her right now?

Logically, I should brag.

The more followers, even small ones, the better for me.

Plus, as a local cafe owner, she'd spread the word. Rumors fuel Ponzi schemes and investments alike.

Yeah, rationally...

"...Just more than before."

I skipped the details. Why? Even I couldn't explain. My face went blank for a second.

"I grind all day for... pocket change..."

Her self-deprecating mutter snapped me back. I chuckled.

"Comparing like that doesn't mean much."

"Huh...?"

"We're playing different games, you and I."

Investment vs. labor. They share the endgame of money, but that's it. Totally different structures.

"You trade time for cash, right?"

"Y-yeah?"

"I trade risk for it."

"...Risk?"

"Yep."

Starting a business has risks, sure. But post-launch, it's steady: fixed costs out, profits in monthly.

Investing? Not so much.

"To make real money investing, you gotta go big. Sometimes risky spots too."

"...."

"You could lose everything. Maybe more."

"Then that's...?"

"On me."

I cut it firm.

"No one forced me. My choice."

No helping it. That's investing's core. I happen to love it, but still.

"Hm, so high risk, high reward?"

"No, no, that's not—"

"Wild. You can make or lose fortunes online."

"...Don't you love making coffee?"

"Exactly! If I nail investing, better gear. The best gear...!"

...A lunatic who slams 10x leverage with her life savings preaching risk? Pointless.

"Bad luck, and you downgrade to crap gear."

"Nah. If I tank completely, my parents bail me out! They won't let their daughter live like a bum, right?"

"But your parents..."

"It's fine. They've got money."

"Then why run a place like this?"

"They kept calling barista dreams trashy, told me to get out if I wouldn't quit. So I grabbed cash and bolted."

...Guess I misjudged her. Not a shred of timidity left—pure brazen confidence now.

She kept going shamelessly.

"See? Zero downside for me. Debt? Mom and Dad cover it!"

"Does that actually work...?"

Yeah, she's nuts too.

But... I didn't hate it.

As I stroked my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠chin slowly—

Ding!

"Mind if I get your name?"

"M-me?"

"Yeah."

"Choi Seo-yoon. Call me Seo-yoon."

"Cool. Seo-yoon?"

"Yes?"

"Then let me teach you properly. What investing really is."

Skip the jargon: the binding offer we'd all been waiting for had finally dropped.

From who?

Tier-1 Pharma.

The top dog in the industry. Cash + CVR meant payout now, plus bonuses if it succeeds.

Trade volume exploded; I jumped in fast.

How much would it surge? Velmira Biopharma was hovering around 10,000 won.

But the offer priced it at 20,000 per share.

Double the floor, minimum.

"Haaaah..."