The stage in New York was bathed in cool blue light. The CEO of K-Motors America stepped aside, and the silk sheet was pulled back.
A collective gasp rippled through the Javits Center in Manhattan. And half a world away, in a smoky PC Bang in Eunpyeong-gu, Kang Min-jun exhaled a breath he felt he had been holding for a month.
There it was. The K5.
In Min-jun's previous timeline, this car was a legend. It was the machine that single-handedly erased the stigma of "cheap Korean crap" from the global automotive consciousness.
It was low, wide, and aggressive. It didn't look like a taxi; it looked like a predator. The signature "Tiger Nose" grille—Peter Schreyer’s masterpiece—snarled at the camera. It looked like an Audi that had learned martial arts.
"That's a K-Motors car?" The student in the booth next to Min-jun muttered, glancing at Min-jun's screen. "Bullshit. That looks like a jagged import."
Min-jun smiled. "It's domestic. And it's going to eat the market."
He checked the comments on the automotive forums (BobaeDream, TestDrive). “Is this real?” “Finally, a Korean car that doesn't look like a potato.” “Shut up and take my money.”
Sentiment was shifting. The "Korea Discount"—the chronic undervaluation of Korean assets—was about to meet the "Design Premium."
April 5, 2010. Monday Morning.
The market reaction was violent.
K-Motors (000270): 23,900 KRW (+4.8%) at the open.
By lunch, it broke 24,500 KRW.
By Wednesday, it shattered the psychological resistance of 25,000 KRW.
The foreign investment banks issued new reports. Goldman Sachs: "Strong Buy. Target Price Raised to 35,000 KRW." JP Morgan: "A Paradigm Shift in Valuation."
Grandpa Byung-ho was vibrating. Literally vibrating. Every evening, when Min-jun came home, the old man would be waiting with the bank book, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
"Min-jun-ah! It's 26,000 won! We made... we made 2 million won! Let's sell. Let's sell now!"
"Not yet," Min-jun said, eating his dinner calmly.
"Why not? It's gone up so much! What if it crashes again like the Cheonan incident?"
"The Cheonan incident was fear," Min-jun explained, picking at a piece of kimchi. "This is fundamental growth. The car hasn't even hit the showrooms yet. The pre-order numbers come out next week. If we sell now, we leave money on the table."
"You are greedy," Byung-ho muttered, pacing the small room. "Greed kills the ant."
"Greed is bad," Min-jun agreed. "But conviction is good. Sit down, Grandpa. We ride the wave until it breaks."
May 2010. The Rally.
The wave didn't break; it swelled.
April turned to May. The cherry blossoms fell, and the humidity rose. Min-jun aced his mid-term exams without studying, his mind entirely occupied by the stochastic oscillators on his mental chart.
K-Motors Price Action: May 1: 27,500 KRW. May 15: 29,200 KRW. May 28: 30,500 KRW.
The account balance crossed 18,000,000 KRW.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Min-jun’s father, still oblivious, complained about the rising cost of LPG gas for his taxi. Min-jun watched his father’s back—slumped, tired, defeated by the macroeconomy—and felt a strange disconnect.
I could pay off his credit card debt right now, Min-jun thought. But not yet. That’s a Band-Aid. I need to perform surgery.
To perform surgery, he needed more than 18 million. He needed hundreds of millions.
June 15, 2010.
Min-jun sat in the computer lab at school. The air conditioning was broken, and the room was stifling.
He pulled up the chart.
K-Motors: 32,150 KRW.
The stock had gone parabolic. It was a vertical line. But Min-jun saw the cracks.
RSI (Relative Strength Index): 82. (Overbought). Bollinger Bands: The price was piercing the upper band significantly. Volume: Starting to decrease on the up-days. Divergence.
The "smart money" was starting to distribute. They were selling their shares to the late-comers—the retail investors who had just read about the car in the newspapers and were chasing the hype.
Min-jun remembered the golden rule of Yeouido: Buy the rumor, sell the news. Or in this case, Buy the fear, sell the euphoria.
"Time to get off the bus," Min-jun whispered.
He didn't call Grandpa. He had the authority.
He opened the HTS. Sell Order. Quantity: ALL (607 Shares). Order Type: Market.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second. It was a beautiful stock. It had saved him. But falling in love with a stock was the quickest way to bankruptcy.
Click.
[Order Executed. Sold 607 Shares at 32,100 KRW.]
Total Proceeds: 19,484,700 KRW. (Minus taxes and fees: ~19,420,000 KRW).
Min-jun leaned back in the plastic chair. He closed his eyes. He started with 10.5 million. He added 3 million. Total Input: 13.5 million. Total Output: 19.4 million. Net Profit: ~5.9 Million KRW.
In three months, he had generated a 43% return. In 2010, the average bank interest rate was 4%. He had beaten the bank by ten years in three months.
7:30 PM. The Living Room.
Min-jun placed the updated bank book on the table. Grandpa Byung-ho picked it up. He put on his reading glasses. He squinted at the dot-matrix printing.
Balance: 19,421,500 KRW.
Byung-ho stared at the number. He took off his glasses. He wiped them on his shirt. He put them back on.
"Is this... is this real money?" Byung-ho asked, his voice trembling. "I can go to the bank and take this out?"
"Yes," Min-jun said. "It's settled cash."
"Six million won..." Byung-ho whispered. "That's... that's six months of labor. And you made it sitting in a PC room."
"We made it," Min-jun corrected. "Now, the contract."
Min-jun pulled out the crumpled piece of paper they had signed in March. Upside: 70% to Min-jun, 30% to Byung-ho.
"Total Profit is 5,900,000 won," Min-jun calculated quickly. "Your share (30%) is 1,770,000 won. Plus your principal of 13.5 million." "My share (70%) is 4,130,000 won."
Min-jun looked at his grandfather. "You have your tuition money back. And your dental money. Plus almost 2 million won in profit. You can get the gold teeth now."
Byung-ho looked at the ledger, then at Min-jun. The old man’s eyes were wet. It wasn't greed. It was relief. The crushing weight of poverty, the fear of the future, had lifted just an inch.
"Keep it," Byung-ho said abruptly.
"What?"
"My share of the profit. Keep it." Byung-ho pushed the bank book toward Min-jun. "You said you wanted to fix everything. 4 million won isn't enough to fix everything. Take my share. Re-invest it."
Min-jun looked at the old man. "Grandpa, that's your money."
"I'm an old man. I eat rice and smoke cheap tobacco. I don't need gold teeth. But you..." Byung-ho looked at Min-jun with a newfound respect, the way a soldier looks at a general. "You have a war to fight. I don't know who you're fighting, but I can see it in your eyes. Take the ammo."
Min-jun felt a lump in his throat. In his past life, he had made billions for the Chairman, and the Chairman had thrown him a pittance while looking at him with contempt. Here, his grandfather was giving him everything he had, simply because he believed.
"I'll take it," Min-jun said, his voice thick. "But this isn't a gift. It's reinvestment. Series B funding."
"Whatever you call it," Byung-ho grunted, standing up to hide his emotion. "Just don't lose it. Or I really will break your legs."
Min-jun looked at the balance. ~19.4 Million KRW.
He had capital. Now, he needed a lottery ticket.
He looked at the calendar on the wall. June 2010.
A strange, niche internet phenomenon was happening in the deep corners of the web. Something called "Bitcoin" v0.3 was being mined by geeks in basements.
Min-jun smiled. The stock market was a battlefield he knew. But what came next? That was a gold rush.
[TRANSACTION LOG]
-
Date: June 15, 2010
-
Account: Kang Byung-ho
-
Asset: K-Motors (000270.KS)
-
Action: SELL ALL (Liquidation)
-
Exit Price: 32,100 KRW
-
Quantity: 607 Shares
-
Total Revenue: 19,484,700 KRW
-
Net Profit: +5,921,500 KRW (+43.8%)
-
Account Balance: 19,421,500 KRW (Cash)
-
Status: ALL CASH. Waiting for deployment.