The screens in the war room were flashing red, but this time, it wasn't a crypto crash. It was a diplomatic rupture.
[BREAKING] Japan restricts exports of high-tech materials to South Korea. Target: Fluorinated Polyimide, Photoresists, Hydrogen Fluoride.
These were the blood and oxygen of the Korean semiconductor industry. Without them, Samsung and SK Hynix couldn't make chips.
"It's a siege," Hong Ye-eun said, reading the report from her father's newspaper. "Shinzo Abe is trying to strangle our tech sector. The KOSPI is down 2%."
Kang Min-jun stood by the window, looking calm amidst the panic. "He's trying to strangle us," Min-jun agreed. "But he forgot that strangulation triggers a survival instinct."
He turned to the trading desk. "Ye-eun. What happens when the supply of a critical resource is cut off?"
"Prices go up?"
"And the demand shifts to the substitute."
Min-jun pulled up a list of tickers. Soulbrain. Dongjin Semichem. Monami.
"For decades, Samsung bought Japanese chemicals because they were 1% better. Now, they don't have a choice. They have to buy Korean. The government will pour billions into 'Localization'. These mediocre chemical companies are about to become national champions."
"You want to buy chemical stocks?"
"I want to buy Patriotism," Min-jun corrected. "Buy Soulbrain. Buy Dongjin. And buy Monami—the stationery company. People will stop buying Jetstream pens and buy Monami just to prove a point."
"Allocating 10 Billion KRW," Ye-eun typed the order. "But Min-jun, this hurts the economy long-term. If Samsung stops..."
"Samsung won't stop. They will adapt. But do you know who won't adapt?"
Min-jun brought up a corporate structure chart on the main screen. Daegwang Retail.
Underneath it was a subsidiary: Daegwang Fashion. And underneath that: "O-Style" (Joint Venture with a Japanese Fast Fashion Giant).
"O-Style," Min-jun pointed. "It's the Uniqlo of Daegwang. It generates 30% of their retail operating profit. They just opened a massive flagship store in Myeongdong."
"The public loves cheap Japanese clothes," Ye-eun shrugged.
"Not anymore," Min-jun smiled coldly. "The sentiment is shifting. It's not just a trade dispute. It's an emotional war. If we light the match, the 'No Japan' movement will burn O-Style to the ground."
July 10, 2019. Hanseong Ilbo Newsroom.
The editorial meeting was tense. Hong Sung-il sat at the head of the table. He looked at the draft headline Min-jun had suggested via Ye-eun.
[EDITORIAL] While Korea Bleeds, Daegwang Sells Japanese Clothes. Is Chairman Jin funding the trade war against us?
"This is incendiary," the Editor-in-Chief warned. "We are accusing a Chaebol of being anti-national. Daegwang will sue for libel."
"It's not libel if it's a question," Ye-eun said from the back of the room. "And look at the SNS trends. #NoJapan is the number one hashtag. The public is looking for a target. If we give them Daegwang, we ride the wave of public anger. Our subscription numbers will soar."
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Sung-il looked at the draft. He remembered Hyuk-jae threatening his ad revenue years ago. Revenge, he realized, was best served wrapped in a flag.
"Print it," Sung-il ordered. "Put it on the front page."
July 15, 2019. Myeongdong. O-Style Flagship Store.
Jin Hyuk-jae stood in his office overlooking the street. He was holding a glass of scotch, his hand trembling.
Below, a crowd had gathered. They weren't shoppers. They were protestors. "BOYCOTT JAPAN! BOYCOTT DAEGWANG!" "JIN HYUK-JAE IS A TRAITOR!"
The store was empty. Not a single customer dared to cross the picket line. Delivery trucks were refusing to unload merchandise. Even the part-time staff were quitting in shame.
"Sales?" Hyuk-jae asked, not turning around.
"Down 70% week-over-week, sir," his VP of Retail whispered. "We are bleeding 2 billion won a day in inventory costs. The Japanese partners are furious. They want to know why we aren't controlling the media."
"Because I don't own the media anymore!" Hyuk-jae smashed his glass against the window. "Hanseong Ilbo... that rat Hong Sung-il... and Kang Min-jun behind him."
Hyuk-jae slumped against the glass. He had lost the construction division to his sister. He had lost the fintech war to Toss. And now, his cash cow—retail—was being slaughtered by a boycott he couldn't stop.
"Close the stores," Hyuk-jae whispered.
"Sir?"
"Close them! Put up 'Renovation' signs! If we stay open, they'll burn it down. Hide the logo. Rebrand it. Do something!"
August 2019. Grand InterContinental Seoul Parnas. Korea Blockchain Week.
While the retail world burned, the crypto world was partying again. Bitcoin had recovered to $10,000. The winter was thawing.
Min-jun walked through the expo hall. He wasn't interested in the booths selling "Blockchain for Bananas" or "Decentralized Uber." He was looking for one specific booth.
Terraform Labs.
It was sleek, minimalist, and crowded. In the center stood a man in a plain t-shirt, holding a microphone with the confidence of a cult leader. Do Kwon.
"Money should be free," Do Kwon said, his voice mesmerizing the crowd. "Why do you pay fees to banks? Why is your savings rate 1%? Terra is stable. It is pegged to the dollar. And Anchor Protocol will pay you 20% interest. Risk-free."
The crowd cheered. 20% interest in a zero-rate world? It was salvation.
Min-jun stood at the back, arms crossed. He watched the mechanics. Burn Luna to mint Terra. Burn Terra to mint Luna. It was an algorithmic seesaw. It worked beautifully when the market went up. But when it went down? It was a "Death Spiral."
"It's a Ponzi," a voice said beside him.
Min-jun turned. It was Park Dong-hoon, the Toss engineer. He had tagged along out of curiosity.
"The math doesn't check out," Dong-hoon adjusted his glasses. "Where does the 20% yield come from? There is no lending revenue. They are paying old investors with new investor money."
"It's not a Ponzi, Dong-hoon," Min-jun corrected softly. "It's a bomb. A bomb wrapped in a very pretty interface."
Min-jun walked up to the booth. Do Kwon spotted him. He recognized the young VC who had backed Toss.
"Kang Min-jun!" Do Kwon grinned, stepping down. "The genius of Teheran-ro. Are you here to invest? We have room in the seed round. But the valuation is high."
"I'm just watching," Min-jun shook his hand. "20% yield. That's aggressive."
"It's the future. Banks are thieves. We are giving the money back to the people."
"And if the peg breaks?" Min-jun asked. "If Bitcoin crashes and your collateral evaporates?"
Do Kwon laughed. A dismissive, arrogant bark. "I don't debate the poor. The peg won't break. My algorithm is perfect."
Min-jun smiled. He had heard that tone before. From Hyuk-jae. "Good luck, Do. I'll be watching."
Min-jun walked away. "Are we investing?" Dong-hoon asked.
"No," Min-jun said. "We are going to short it. But not yet. Let the balloon inflate. Let it get so big that when it pops, it takes the whole world with it."
Min-jun checked his phone. Soulbrain Stock: +45% in one month. The "Patriot Trade" was printing.
He checked the news. [Daegwang Retail announces closure of 50 O-Style stores.] [Jin Hyuk-jae summoned for Parliamentary Audit regarding trade issues.]
Min-jun looked at the ceiling of the hotel ballroom. He had won the skirmish. But 2020 was coming. COVID-19. The event that would reset the entire board. The event that would crash the market to depths unseen since 2008, and then launch it to heights that defied logic.
"Get ready, Dong-hoon," Min-jun said. "Go home and buy masks. A lot of them."
"Masks? For the dust?"
"For the plague."
[TRANSACTION LOG]
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Date: July 2019
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Strategy: "Patriot Trade" (Long Domestic Materials / Short Daegwang Retail).
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Asset: Soulbrain, Monami.
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Capital: 10 Billion KRW.
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Return: +35% in 30 Days.
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Operational Action: Media Warfare via Hanseong Ilbo.
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Result: O-Style Brand Value Destroyed. Hyuk-jae's cash cow crippled.
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Market Observation:
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Terra (LUNA): Identified as Algorithmic Ponzi.
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Action: Monitoring for Short Entry (Target 2022).
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Next Threat: Global Pandemic (Preparing Liquidity).
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