---
Kim Dae-Hyun was not poor.
Well, okay… maybe a little poor.
But it wasn't because he was lazy or hopeless.
He worked—hard.
At 19, Dae-Hyun had no real dreams, no connections, and no house he could call a home.
Why?
Because three months ago, his loving—no, scratch that—his economically toxic family had kicked him out.
> "You're grown now," his father had said.
"We need your room for storage," his mother added.
"Good luck with life, I guess," his older brother shrugged, already turning Dae-Hyun's old desk into a gaming setup.
And just like that, Dae-Hyun was out on the streets with a backpack, 13,000 won, and half a convenience store sandwich.
Now, he lived in a room so small, he had to sleep diagonally.
The walls were thin enough to hear his neighbor argue with his goldfish.
Still, Dae-Hyun was surviving—barely—working full-time at a BBQ restaurant in Gangnam.
---
Tuesday night. 10:47 p.m.
Rain drizzled as Dae-Hyun left work with the smell of grease clinging to his clothes. He held a takeout box of leftover meat—his only victory of the day.
As he crossed the street near his neighborhood, headphones in, lost in thought…
BEEP! BEEP!—SCREECH!
He turned his head too late.
BOOM.
His body slammed into the front of a speeding truck.
Time slowed. He flipped. His meat box flew like a tiny UFO.
Then—thud—he landed right in a pile of garbage.
For ten seconds, Dae-Hyun just blinked at the dark sky, half expecting his ancestors to show up and guide him into the afterlife.
But they didn't.
Instead, he heard something stranger.
> [System Initializing…]
[Congratulations. You have survived fatal trauma.]
[You are now INVINCIBLE.]
[From this second on, you will receive $1 USD per second.]
"…What?"
Dae-Hyun sat up, dazed and bruised, bits of trash sticking to his hair.
He looked around. No paramedics. No people. Just trash. And a voice in his head.
> [Current Balance: $7… $8… $9…]
"…No way."
He staggered home, ignoring his throbbing hip.
If he was hallucinating, he might as well hallucinate somewhere dry.
---
Back in his tiny room, he shut the door, took off his wet socks, and collapsed on his mat.
Then it happened.
POP.
A dollar bill floated down.
"…HUH?!"
Another.
And another.
His eyes widened. They weren't won—they were real U.S. dollars.
Crisp. Clean. Fresh off some magical printer.
"...This... this has to be a prank. Or a dream. Or... I hit my head too hard."
But the system voice continued calmly:
> [Balance: $144]
[Balance: $145]
Dae-Hyun stared as the bills gently rained from the air, piling on his floor.
"…HAHAHAHAA!"
He jumped into them like a child in autumn leaves.
"Money!! Real money!! I'm going to buy ten beds! One for each direction!"
He stuffed them in his closet, under his pillow, inside his rice cooker.
He laughed. He cried.
He rolled himself in bills and called himself the "Dollar Dragon."
---
By 3:00 a.m., his celebration soured.
The bills hadn't stopped.
His fan stopped spinning—it was suffocated.
His ramen pot was buried.
Even his toothbrush had gone missing under a blanket of green.
> [Balance: $18,943]
He sat, back pressed to the door, surrounded by money, eyes twitching.
"…What the hell do I do with this much cash?"
The air smelled like ink. His mattress had disappeared.
And all he could think was:
"If I fall asleep… tomorrow it'll be worse."
He opened the window and threw out a handful of cash.
The wind carried it off.
Some lady outside screamed, "JACKPOT!!!"
Another yelled, "Is this a social experiment?!"
Dae-Hyun shut the window immediately.
"…I need a bigger house."
---
End of Chapter 1