"All in?"
The man in the wrinkled suit, Park, looked at Jin-woo as if the boy had just asked him to jump off a bridge. He looked at his small stack of chips—his rent money, his food money, his life.
"Kid, are you insane? If I lose this, I'm dead. Literally."
"If you don't bet, you're dead anyway," Jin-woo said, his voice devoid of sympathy. "The dealer has a Jang-ddeng (10 and 10). You have a Gwang-ddeng (3 and 8). You cannot lose. Put it in."
The authority in Jin-woo's voice was a physical weight. It was the command of a CEO who had fired thousands of people with a single signature. Park's trembling hand pushed his entire stack into the center of the table.
"Call," Park whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.
The dealer, Scar-Lip, grinned. It was a wolf's grin. "You stupid old fool. Taking advice from a high schooler? Thanks for the donation."
Scar-Lip flipped his cards. 10 and 10. A monster hand.
The table gasped. Park let out a strangled sob, his face burying in his hands. "It's over..."
"Open your eyes," Jin-woo commanded.
Park slowly looked down. The dealer was reaching for the chips.
"Flip them," Jin-woo said.
Park turned his cards over.
3 and 8. The Gwang-ddeng. The highest possible combination in the game. It beat the dealer's hand.
The dealer's hand froze mid-air. The grin fell off his face like a mask shattering.
"You..." Scar-Lip stared at the cards, then at Jin-woo. "That's impossible."
"Math isn't impossible," Jin-woo said, leaning back in his chair. "It's inevitable. Deal the next hand."
For the next twenty minutes, the basement gambling parlor descended into a strange, suffocating silence.
The only sounds were the slap of plastic cards and the sliding of chips.
Jin-woo didn't play a single card. He simply sat behind Park, acting as the brain to the man's shaking hands.
Fold.Raise.Call.Fold.
Jin-woo's commands were absolute. He didn't win every hand—that would be suspicious. He ordered Park to fold on small losses to lull the dealer into a false sense of security, then struck violently on the high-pot hands.
Park started with 800,000 won. By the tenth hand, he had 5 million. By the twentieth hand, the stack of chips in front of him was worth 40 million won (approx. $30,000 USD).
The atmosphere in the room had shifted from mockery to fear. The other players had gathered around, watching the high school student in the uniform dismantle the house with terrifying efficiency.
Scar-Lip was sweating. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, his eyes darting to the bouncers standing by the door.
"Last hand," Jin-woo said.
"What?" Park looked up, intoxicated by the adrenaline. His eyes were wide and greedy. "No! We're on a streak! Just one more round, I can feel it!"
Jin-woo stood up. He placed a hand on Park's shoulder. It wasn't a friendly gesture. His grip was hard enough to bruise.
"Greed killed the pig," Jin-woo whispered, his voice low enough that only Park could hear. "The dealer has just signaled the bouncers. If you play one more hand, you won't leave this room with money. You'll leave in a body bag."
The color drained from Park's face. The intoxication vanished, replaced by the cold reality of the underworld. He looked at Scar-Lip and saw the murderous glint in the dealer's eyes.
"I... I cash out," Park stammered, standing up quickly. "I'm done."
"Sit down," Scar-Lip growled. He slammed the deck onto the table. "Nobody leaves while they're winning. It's bad manners."
Two large men in cheap suits stepped out of the shadows, blocking the exit. The air in the room turned brittle.
Jin-woo stepped forward, placing himself between Park and the dealer. He looked absurd—a teenager in a school blazer facing down hardened gangsters. But he didn't look scared. He looked bored.
"Bad manners?" Jin-woo repeated. "Is it good manners to use a shaved deck? Or to signal your partner with a cough every time you hold a pair?"
Scar-Lip's face twisted. "You accusing me of cheating, kid? That's a death sentence."
"I'm accusing you of being sloppy," Jin-woo said calm, pointing to the ceiling. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is that if we don't walk out of here in thirty seconds with the cash, I make a phone call."
"Call who? Your mommy?" The bouncers laughed.
" The National Tax Service," Jin-woo said.
The laughter stopped.
Jin-woo pulled out his cracked phone. "The Viper Gang launders its money through a shell company called 'Blue River Logistics'. But last month, your boss missed a payment to the district chief. The police are looking for an excuse to raid this place. An anonymous tip about an illegal gambling den with minors present? They'd tear this building apart by midnight."
It was a bluff. Mostly.
Jin-woo knew about the raid because it had happened in his past life—three weeks from now. But Scar-Lip didn't know the timeline. He only knew that the "Blue River" account was a secret only the top brass should know.
Scar-Lip stared at Jin-woo. He looked at the phone. He looked at the unblinking, dead eyes of the boy who knew too much.
"Give them the money," Scar-Lip hissed through clenched teeth.
"But boss—"
"GIVE THEM THE MONEY!"
Five minutes later, they were in the alleyway. The night air felt freezing against the sweat on their skin.
Park was clutching a heavy duffel bag to his chest, hyperventilating. "We made it. We actually made it. Are you a ghost? Are you a demon?"
"I'm a businessman," Jin-woo said. He held out his hand. "My fee. 50%."
Park hesitated. He looked at the bag. Forty million won. It was enough to clear his debts and buy a new car. Greed flickered in his eyes. He was a grown man; Jin-woo was just a student. Maybe he could just run...
Jin-woo took a step forward. The shadows of the alley seemed to wrap around him.
"Mr. Park," Jin-woo said pleasantly. "I just blackmailed a gang leader inside his own base. Do you really think stealing from me is a safer option?"
Park shuddered. The thought vanished instantly. He unzipped the bag and began counting out the stacks of cash.
"Twenty million," Park said, handing over the bundles. "Here. Take it. Thank you. You saved my life."
Jin-woo shoved the cash into his school bag, right next to his textbooks. "I didn't save you. I used you. Don't gamble again. Next time, I won't be there."
He turned and walked away into the neon-lit night, leaving Park slumped against the brick wall.
[ 11:45 PM ]
Jin-woo didn't go home to his small, empty apartment. He went to a 24-hour PC Bang (Internet Cafe) three blocks away.
He paid for a private booth, locked the door, and dumped the twenty million won ($15,000) onto the desk.
It was dirty money. Untraceable. Perfect.
He logged onto a trading platform using a burner account he had set up minutes ago.
The Korean stock market was closed, but the global markets were awake. More importantly, the after-hours trading for NK Tech was still active for institutional investors.
The news of the production delay had panicked the market. The stock price was in freefall. Everyone was selling.
Jin-woo's fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard.
He didn't buy the stock. That was too slow. He bought Call Options. High-risk contracts that bet the price would skyrocket by tomorrow morning.
He leveraged the entire twenty million won.
If the stock went down further, he would lose everything. He would be broke again.
Jin-woo hit [EXECUTE ORDER].
He leaned back in the cheap gaming chair, the blue light of the monitor reflecting in his tired eyes. He opened a carton of banana milk he had bought at the counter and took a sip.
Now, he waited.
[ The Next Morning - 08:55 AM ]
Jin-woo was woken up by the sound of the PC Bang's TV.
"Breaking News! NK Tech creates shockwaves in the industry! Just moments ago, the tech giant announced a historic merger with US-based Alpha Corp. The 'production delay' rumored yesterday was actually a retooling for the new joint chip. The stock is expected to open at a record high..."
Jin-woo sat up and refreshed his screen.
The market opened.
The line on the graph didn't just go up; it went vertical.
NK Tech: +340%.
His twenty million won in leverage options exploded. The numbers on his screen ticked up so fast they blurred.
50 million. 80 million. 120 million.
He sold at the peak, cashing out before the inevitable correction.
Final Balance: 154,000,000 Won (approx. $115,000 USD).
In twelve hours, he had turned the price of a cup of coffee into a fortune.
Jin-woo stared at the number. It wasn't enough to buy a kingdom. But it was enough to buy a sword.
He transferred the funds to an offshore shell company account he named "Apex".
He stood up, put on his school blazer, and walked out of the PC Bang. The morning sun was blinding.
He had the capital. Now, he needed the Face.
He pulled out his phone and navigated to the country's most prestigious job recruitment board. He typed out a posting that would look like nonsense to 99% of people, but would be an irresistible lure to exactly one person.
[ Hiring: Director of Strategy ][ Company: Apex Investment ][ Requirement: Solve the attached case study regarding the Hostile Takeover of Bio-Gen. ]
He hit [POST].
Jin-woo looked toward the gleaming towers of Yeouido, specifically toward the university district where a certain frustrated heiress was currently trying to escape a blind date.
"Come and find me, Lee Ji-eun," he whispered.