The basement of the Social Sciences building was a place where the air always felt five degrees colder than the rest of the campus. This was the headquarters of the Economics Club—a windowless, wood-paneled lair that smelled of expensive cologne, old leather, and the quiet arrogance of sons who had never known the meaning of the word 'no.' In my past life, walking through these double oak doors had made my heart race with a desperate, pathetic need to belong. Today, I pushed them open with the cold indifference of a man entering a tomb.
At the center of the room, perched on the edge of a mahogany desk like a young king, was Park Dohyeon.
He was exactly as the nightmares remembered him. At twenty-two, he possessed a lethal charisma that felt effortless—a shock of perfectly styled hair, a designer sweater draped over his shoulders, and a smile that seemed to promise you the world while his eyes calculated how much of it he could take from you. Surrounding him was a court of sycophants, students from wealthy families who hovered in his orbit, hoping some of his "luck" would rub off on them.
When I entered, the room didn't go silent, but the energy shifted. I felt the weight of a dozen gazes—some curious, some dismissive.
"Jiwoo! My man! The legend of the lecture hall himself!" Dohyeon called out, his voice booming with a warmth that felt like a sunstroke. He hopped off the desk and strode toward me, hand outstretched.
I looked at that hand. In 2022, that hand had signed the papers that liquidated my mother's apartment. That hand had patted my shoulder while he told me the "accounting error" that sent me to prison was just a stroke of bad luck. I forced my facial muscles into a neutral, slightly shy mask—the "diligent student" persona. I took his hand. It was warm, firm, and felt like the skin of a serpent.
"I'm Dohyeon," he said, his grip lingering just a second too long, a subtle display of dominance. "I heard what you did to Professor Lee. 'Selling department store stocks before the third quarter.' Bold. Very bold. We need visionaries like you in the inner circle, Jiwoo. We're tired of people who just read the textbooks."
"I just follow the data," I said, keeping my voice soft, letting a hint of "freshman nerves" color my tone. I needed him to think I was a tool he could sharpen, not a rival he needed to crush.
Dohyeon laughed, a rich, practiced sound. He led me toward a whiteboard covered in stock tickers and complex trend lines. "Data is for accountants, Jiwoo. Wealth is created by information. See this?" He pointed to a biotech firm called 'K-Gene.' "My father's colleagues are talking. They're about to announce a breakthrough in insulin delivery. It hasn't hit the wires yet. We're putting together a mock portfolio for the University Competition, but we're also... let's say, pooling some real resources."
K-Gene. The name tasted like ash in my mouth. I remembered this. This was the first "tip" he had given me in my first life. It was a classic pump-and-dump. The "breakthrough" was a fabricated clinical trial, and Dohyeon's father was the one selling the shares to the idiots who believed the hype. In my past life, I had invested my entire savings—and lost it all.
"It looks promising," I said, leaning in to look at the chart, pretending to be fascinated. "But the debt-to-equity ratio seems a bit high for a biotech in this phase, doesn't it?"
Dohyeon's smile didn't falter, but his eyes went cold for a microsecond—the look of a predator realizing the prey had noticed the trap. "You worry too much, Jiwoo. That's why you need to be part of a team. We handle the risk; you handle the analysis. What do you say? Join my team for the competition. I'll make sure you look like a star in front of the Dean."
I looked around the room. I saw the other students—boys who would eventually become the corrupt CEOs and crooked politicians of my future. They were all watching, waiting to see if I would kneel.
"I appreciate the offer, Dohyeon," I said, straightening my back just enough to break the illusion of the shy freshman. "But I've already started my own research on a different sector. I think I'll try my luck on my own this time."
The silence that followed was different. It wasn't the silence of shock; it was the silence of a challenge being issued. Dohyeon's arm, which had been resting on my shoulder, slowly pulled away. His smile remained, but it was now a fixed, porcelain mask.
"On your own? In this market?" He chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. "Well, don't say I didn't try to help you when you're staring at a red screen in three months. The club isn't for everyone, Jiwoo. Some people are meant to lead, and some are meant to watch from the sidelines."
"We'll see who's watching," I replied, my voice a whisper of ice.
I turned and walked out, the heavy oak doors thudding shut behind me. My heart was thumping against my ribs—not with fear, but with a soaring, predatory adrenaline. I had just declined the man who destroyed me. I had looked into the eyes of my executioner and told him his service wouldn't be necessary.
As I climbed the stairs out of the basement and into the fading evening light, I pulled out my flip-phone. I didn't check the messages. I went straight to my brokerage app.
Step one: The isolation of Park Dohyeon. Step two: The annihilation of K-Gene.
I wasn't just going to win the competition. I was going to use the very trap he set for me to bankrupt the foundations of his father's wealth before the year was over. The predator thought he had met a lamb. He didn't know he had just invited the wolf into his home.