It happened right after I got promoted to private first class.
Our unit was in the middle of a live-fire training drill—mortar shelling under the watch of the division commander.
Boom! Boom!
Shells blasted out of the launchers and lit up the sky, trailing smoke like angry comets. They landed perfectly on target.
Sergeant Do Hyun, the unit's most experienced gunner, loaded another KM188 mortar round with a smooth, practiced motion.
Then—it happened.
A hologram flashed right in front of my eyes.
I froze.
What the hell is this?
It hovered there, flickering faintly, warning me. It was like a translucent alert box floating in space.
I didn't have time to think.
"Down!" I shouted, throwing myself to the ground.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rang out—not from the target zone, but from the launcher itself.
Screams followed.
"Ahh!"
"My leg! My f*ing leg!**"
The mortar had backfired. The shell exploded inside the barrel.
Sergeant Do Hyun was hit by flying shrapnel. He collapsed instantly.
One soldier died on the spot. Another was rushed away with critical injuries.
Me? I had some temporary hearing loss but no physical injuries. I was hospitalized for a month, but I survived because of that one split-second decision.
I never told my mom what happened. Didn't want her worrying.
But I did tell Taejin.
He showed up at the military hospital the next day, visibly shaken.
"Why didn't you say anything back then?"
"Would you have believed me?"
"...Fair."
He had tinnitus for a while after that, which made me wonder if maybe I was overthinking the whole thing. So I buried it.
But during our conversation about ByteReserve Coin the other night... it came back. The feeling. The warning. The hologram.
"So it was a hologram again?" Taejin asked.
"Yeah."
If I hadn't dropped to the ground the first time, I'd probably be dead. So when I saw that alert saying 'Pinnacle Vault Bankruptcy', I didn't hesitate. I told him to sell immediately.
"It still sounds insane."
"Whether it makes sense or not, it saved you."
He nodded slowly.
"...If I'd waited a few hours, I'd be wiped out."
Which meant, technically, I was his savior.
"Some kind of superpower?"
That thought had crossed my mind more than once. But no, this wasn't comic book stuff. Just... something like ultra-sharp instinct, maybe?
"There are stories of people skipping flights because they had a bad feeling—and the plane crashes," I said.
"Still…"
Taejin rubbed his neck, then leaned in a little.
"Should you really be telling me this?"
"Who else would believe me?"
When I'd told a military doctor about the vision, he just said my memory had been scrambled by trauma and handed me pills. No one else saw it. No one else could.
This thing—whatever it was—only appeared to me.
"Millions of people online claim they have superpowers," I added. "YouTube's full of them. No one listens."
Taejin nodded.
"Alright. I won't tell a soul."
For a guy who runs his mouth all day, he's actually good at keeping secrets when it matters.
I glanced at him.
"So... how much did you end up getting?"
"See for yourself."
He turned the computer screen toward me.
[12,387,000]
It didn't look like much until I realized it wasn't won.
"Wait—dollars?"
"Yep."
I blinked.
"That's over ₩16 billion."
"Tax-free. Mostly."
"Where is this account based?"
"You ever heard of Dela Island?"
"No. Should I have?"
"It's a tiny U.S. territory in the eastern Caribbean. Sugarcane, palm trees, twenty-thousand people, and zero corporate tax."
Apparently, after Taejin recovered his encryption key, he ran into a wall of tax problems. Depending on how BRC was classified—currency or commodity—the government could take a massive chunk.
So his sister, who's sharper than she looks, helped him set up a paper corporation.
"OTK Corporation," he said. "Registered in Dela."
"Let me guess: OTK stands for 'Otaku Taejin Kingdom'?"
"No, smartass. It's just 'Oh Taejin Company.'"
Technically, it's not illegal. Big-name companies do it all the time. Nplay, Gubble, you name it—they all route profits through tax havens.
It's legal. Just... sketchy.
But if I were in his shoes, I'd do the same.
I stared at the screen again.
It was a number I couldn't even wrap my head around.
Taejin grinned.
"Guess all that's left is early retirement, huh?"
"You already live like you're retired."
I leaned back in the chair, then suddenly straightened.
"Wait a second... didn't you sell my character back then too?"
Taejin blinked. Then smacked his forehead.
"Oh crap. You're right! You sold mine for like ten thousand won, and yours too."
At the time, it was nothing. Just another joke. We never thought BRC would go anywhere.
Then the coin skyrocketed. And when Taejin lost access to his wallet, we nearly choked each other out.
But I remembered the math.
Of his 11,000 BRC, 1,000 belonged to me.
That's about 9.1%, which means ₩1.44 billion.
I held out my hand.
"Pay up."
He froze for a second, then sighed.
"I—I'll transfer it. I swear."
One day after discharge, and I was already up ₩1.44 billion.
The next morning, I went to the bank.
Slipped my card into the ATM and punched in my PIN.
[₩500,000,000]
"Hell yes."
I pumped my fist. Seeing it in your account hits different.
I'd saved maybe three million won in my whole life through tutoring and stingy budgeting. Now, I had half a billion in the bank—and more coming.
The full ₩1.44 billion wasn't safe to bring in all at once. Gifts are taxable. Especially when crossing borders. If the government sniffed out too much movement from Dela to Korea, they'd slap me with a tax bill the size of a truck.
Taejin handled that with his paper company.
I couldn't wait.
I needed cash I could use now.
So I started with ₩500 million and would figure out the rest later.
I withdrew ₩1 million as a test.
Whirr. Whirr.
The ATM spat out twenty crisp ₩50,000 bills.
Balance: ₩499,000,000
I stared.
This was real.
My life just changed.
Outside, the sun hit my face hard. Even the winter air felt warmer.
Was it the weather?
No. My body hadn't changed. But my life had.
I passed a storefront window and caught my reflection.
Stretched-out tee. Washed-out jeans. Puffer jacket from two years ago.
Vintage if you're being generous. Beggar-core if you're honest.
The scent of poverty was stitched into every seam.
"I need new clothes."
Mom was probably at work by now—at Core Luxe Mall, Gangnam's upscale department store.
Time to treat myself.
And time to see Mom's face when I tell her:"Your son's not broke anymore."