"Hold on a second!"
That buzzcut bitch.
Tits so huge they're ridiculous.
At least she's got one hell of a pair of milk jugs.
'Miss, your milk jugs are to my liking.'
I shot up from my seat, and inertia did its thing.
Bouncing right back into place would show some spring, at least.
"Was that just directed at me?"
"Sorry, I'm busy."
"I clearly heard it. Something about a buzzcut bitch trying to be a trader."
"..."
But her head didn't have much bounce to it.
Just let it slide like it never happened—why scratch at it and make a fuss?
Five seconds passed.
Only then did the others catch on to the situation.
All eyes turned to me and the buzzcut girl.
'Daring to mouth off to a senior like the sky above.'
Maybe I should give her a taste of her own medicine?
No matter if you're the top freshman, pretty-faced, with massive milk jugs—Korea runs on respect for elders.
"But who's that girl?"
"Not a girl. She's older."
"I heard she's class of '12."
"Class of '12 and still not graduated?"
"..."
Generally speaking, anyway.
Unfortunately—or inevitably—I'd had zero interactions with the department folks.
'Why would I hang with buzzcuts like these?'
Yeah, Korea University is prestigious.
But that doesn't mean everyone's got talent.
Let's be real—they're just here on grades.
Anyone obsessed with what others think has no value.
"You're our department senior... right?"
"Yeah, you punk."
"Pardon?"
"Nah, yeah, I am."
It's the mindset every investor needs.
In that sense, she showed a bit of potential.
'A girl who wants to work at a securities firm—why come here?'
But choosing the Economics Department after all that thought?
From an industry vet's perspective, it's laughable.
"Even if you're a senior, that crossed a line."
"Could happen."
"Could happen...?"
Light makeup.
Yet her features stood out sharp—classic beauty.
Even her modest outfit couldn't hide that outrageous figure.
"I just can't understand it. If I'm lacking, tell me exactly how and where."
"Do I have to explain it?"
"Do it. Or apologize."
She really seemed dead set on just studying hard, like she claimed.
Which made it all the sadder.
'Career counseling overload.'
She could've gone the safe campus recruiter route for steady high pay.
I couldn't fathom aiming for trader—a straight-up gamble.
"Sorry. I blurted out my honest thoughts without thinking."
"Okay, an apology... "
"Shouldn't call a buzzcut a buzzcut. But it sounded so buzzcut-level stupid, I couldn't hold back. Cut me some slack."
"???"
Yeah, my mouth's a bit foul.
Folks in this industry all have massive egos, convinced they're always right.
But I don't make shit up.
It was just so absurd, it slipped out.
'You get it, right?'
What a pain.
No need to explain myself.
"It's partly your fault too. Mutual fault. Let's just call it even."
"What kind of psycho talk is that?"
"What? Come on, you know. Coming to Economics for a securities firm job? That's peak buzzcut logic."
"...Pardon?"
Who picks Economics for that?
This ain't the wild '08 days when firms printed money on half-assed trades.
What I said was pure common sense.
"Why securities firm?"
"Traders make bank, don't they...?"
"It's brutal! Insane competition."
"That's not what this senior's saying, though?"
Someone else shared my common sense.
The background extras.
Listening to their mutters made my head throb.
'...Wait a sec.'
Common sense.
[Noun] Knowledge people generally know or should know.
A concept ingrained through repeated culture and knowledge in a society as basic literacy.
So it can differ.
My common sense, forged rolling in Wall Street for decades, versus these green econ rookies with zero real-world experience.
"Aren't you being too rude?"
"Calm down."
"Does this look calm to you?"
"Why so angry? Why's everyone so hot-tempered?"
Her body's probably toasty too.
Not the time for stray thoughts.
The situation might be more tangled than I thought.
The stares from around.
The stinging glares weren't imaginary.
They looked at me like I was some heinous criminal.
'This is why I hate college.'
That signature collectivism.
The type I despise most.
People who only think like the herd.
To survive in securities, you gotta change.
You can't make it without unique thoughts, no matter what.
"So if I explain and you get it, you'll back off?"
"Back off? What am I, gum on your shoe?"
"Not gum, no."
"?"
No sense of self.
Just nodding along to the crowd.
Bet she took alumni tales at face value.
'Thinks Economics means straight econ jobs.'
Vaguely aiming for finance?
That sweet-life generation ended with your parents.
Fourth Industrial Revolution chews 'em up.
Machines count numbers and crunch stats better than humans—why hire us?
Securities too.
Computers are starting to replace trading staff.
"Traders won't be needed anymore. By graduation, they won't hire humans."
"You expect me to buy that nonsense?"
"What if you don't?"
"You think traders are a joke? How can computers replace them?"
In RPG terms, macros.
Run the program, and it prints money on autopilot.
'Way too idealistic.'
Does it work?
Research has been around for ages.
Success slashes labor costs dramatically.
Traders pull hundreds of millions to billions in bonuses.
Pay-for-performance means insane numbers.
"Right, right!"
"I heard it doesn't work."
"That'd be a scam... Auto-money printer."
The merits overflow.
Research kicked off early 2000s.
But over a decade later?
'Total failure.'
Stock markets aren't just buy low, sell high.
Not simple enough for computers.
Human psychology clashes.
Greed and desire.
Computers can't grasp that filth.
"My dad's worked Wall Street, now executive at a Yeouido securities firm. Way more than you... "
"Wall Street to Yeouido?"
"Yes."
"Must've misspoken—fled with tail between legs."
"...Pardon?"
That's why computers can't replace humans.
Paradoxically, demand explodes because of it.
'Study humans. Worth pouring money into.'
New Wall Street hires?
Mostly math or neuroscience backgrounds.
If psychology's the issue, study psychology itself.
Top traders', specifically.
"Did you just insult my dad?"
"Just stating facts."
"What gives you the right...?"
"Better than that dropout by 100, no, 1,000 times."
"!!"
Computers mimic humans.
Traders must provide superior learning.
Future traders compete with machines, not people.
If you're culled in human competition?
'Pack up and head home.'
Standards rise daily.
Mediocrity flees.
From Wall Street's monster den.
"Apologize."
"Apple."
"Think this is a joke?"
"Not joking."
Even entrenched vets wash out.
Newbies? 999 of 1,000 get shredded.
'Pretty face wasted.'
Would've been a fun fling on Paprika TV.
Hope she rethinks her path now.
"Quitting early without running's an option too."
"He didn't run, and who are you...?"
"Plenty jobs besides securities trader. Like... gym trainer or Pokémon trainer."
Tall, killer curves.
Seducing rich uncles is easier cash.
"Pfft!"
"Pokémon trainer."
"Bold for a freshman."
"Ah, shouldn't laugh."
Just career advice.
Some extras seemed to agree.
'Trainer, huh?'
Her face flushed beet red.
Body trembling, milk jugs jiggling along.
My eye for talent's spot on.
"Anyway, work hard at Pokémon trainer."
"I'm aiming for securities trader."
"Yeah, can't play in Pallet Town forever like Ash."
Chaotic vibe.
Perfect exit window.
Patted the Pokémon trainer's shoulder and slipped out of the restaurant.
In stocks, prime wash trade.
But reality, human relations? Lingering backlash possible.
'Hard to live truthfully.'
Maybe roughed up my 20-year return a bit.
9 AM.
For investors, an irreplaceable golden hour.
'Gambling den opening time!'
Gotta go to school.
Student duty.
Hate that rote-education crap.
Economics Department?
Then teach real life from year one—hit the pits daily.
'Pits...no, KOSPI open—why school?'
Damn major classes always mornings.
Economics should schedule lectures afternoons to respect trading hours.
Korea's system is fucked.
Start econ ed young.
Cultivate national gambling prodigies.
Dr-r-ruck!
Lost in thoughts, arrived.
Lecture hall back door squeaks no matter how careful.
"When price rises, demand falls. We call this the law of demand..."
Luckily, prof's deep in lecture.
Slide in like from the bathroom, take a seat.
"Mind sitting somewhere else?"
Familiar voice.
Chills—bad vibes.
'Whatever.'
Checked room on entry.
Everywhere else front-row hell.
Ignore, sit anyway.
Friend's seat?
Holding spots okay up to MapleStory levels.
"I said don't sit!"
"Who are you?"
"Um... don't you remember?"
Hunting in someone else's spot gets guild wipeouts.
Not the issue.
'No memory of room service yet.'
Pretty.
And massive.
Thick sweater can't hide the absurd protrusion.
"Oh, the Pokémon trainer?"
"No!"
Reaction like hit panic button.
But in echoey lecture hall, even whispers boom.
"Quiet back there!"
Prof snaps, chalk points right at us.
"Again because of you... "
"So angry."
"Can you blame me?"
The freshman welcome party career dreamer.
Seems to hold grudges hard.
"Damn, tough from Pallet Town."
Just cheering her Pokémon trainer dream.
Didn't expect this bad blood.
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