The heat of the weekend cooled sharply by Monday morning.
For the past two days, it had felt like I was dreaming.
On Saturday night, I'd been reborn as an "ace" in the club.
On Sunday, I spent the entire day exchanging messages with Sunny, savoring that fluttering excitement.
The youth of thirty-one—the kind my forty-nine-year-old self had long forgotten.
I'd been so intoxicated by that sweetness that I'd momentarily forgotten my true goal.
But the moment I sat in front of my newly bought computer at 8:30 a.m. on Monday, reality hit me like cold water.
I was no longer a rookie dancer drunk on romance.
I was a cold-blooded investor who had to survive the coming tidal wave of collapse.
Get a grip, Park Cheolmin.
I muttered to myself as I washed my face with cold water.
Dance.
And her.
They were precious gifts that had come with my second life.
But there was a prerequisite to enjoying those gifts.
Financial freedom.
Without money, all that excitement and joy would vanish like a mirage.
I logged into my HTS and checked my balance.
Available funds: ₩1,652,000
A pitiful number.
I'd made over sixteen million won on Daeyoung Tech, but most of that money had already slipped through my fingers.
I'd paid off ₩6.9 million in margin debt, put down ₩10 million as my officetel deposit, and spent several million more on a computer, appliances, and furniture.
Of course, all of it had been a necessary investment to shed my old life.
But the result was harsh.
All I had left was ₩1.65 million in ammunition.
The minimum margin required to enter the futures market was ₩15 million.
I was still short over ₩13 million.
It would've been nice to catch another rocket stock like Daeyoung Tech—but there were no such names left in my memory.
Which meant there was only one option left.
Day trading.
Ultra-short-term trading—buying and selling stocks multiple times a day to stack small profits.
A battlefield that demanded extreme focus and razor-sharp instincts.
A realm my past self, eighteen years ago, wouldn't have dared approach.
But now?
Eighteen years of market experience and data were etched into my brain.
Like an open-book exam, I already knew the answers.
I reviewed the Excel files I'd organized—movements of major stocks from September 2007.
And then, I chose today's prey.
"D Construction."
Back then, it was tied to the Grand Canal theme, swinging over 10% in a single day—a volatility monster.
If my memory was right, it would dip in the morning…
Then surge violently in the afternoon.
I was ready.
9:00 a.m.
The bell signaling the start of war rang.
The moment the market opened, I pulled up D Construction's order book.
Just as expected.
After its recent surge, profit-taking flooded in, and the stock fell into the blue.
The Paxnet discussion board was filled with screams.
Title: They've started shaking out retail investors! Run!
Post: Anyone who bought yesterday is dead lol—Han River's warm today 😂
I sneered at their panic and rested my hand on the mouse.
And when the price reached the exact point I judged to be today's bottom—
I clicked Market Buy without hesitation.
All ₩1.65 million.
Buy order completed successfully.
In an instant, my account was filled with "D Construction."
Only a few tens of thousands of won remained as cash.
Now came the blood-drying wait.
Contrary to my expectations, the price didn't rebound immediately.
It fell another 2–3%, chilling my spine.
The blue number flashing on my P/L screen—-₩45,000—seemed to mock me.
Cold sweat trickled down my back.
My finger hovered over the Sell button.
If I dumped it now, I could cut my losses to a few tens of thousands.
But that would be defeat.
The same fear-driven surrender as my past self.
I clenched my fist.
It's fine. Hold.
Eighteen years ago, I would've panic-sold here.
But now I knew.
This drop was a fake—a final shakeout to scare retail investors.
I minimized the HTS window and forced myself to read unrelated news.
I had to empty my mind.
Getting shaken by short-term noise meant losing sight of the bigger picture.
About an hour passed.
10:30 a.m.
As if scripted, massive buying pressure flooded in.
The pale-blue order book turned red in seconds.
The price shot upward in a perfect V-shaped rebound.
"It's here."
I murmured.
The moment I remembered had arrived.
I locked back into the HTS.
The price soared past my average—5%, 7%, 10%.
My account value climbed in real time.
₩1.65 million… ₩1.8 million…
Just a little more.
I suppressed my greed.
Today's goal wasn't a limit-up.
It was safe, certain profit.
At the price I remembered as today's peak, I placed a sell order in advance.
And moments later—
The stock touched that exact price… then fell as if on cue.
Sell order completed successfully.
Only then did I let out a breath.
I checked my balance again.
Available funds: ₩1,815,000
Over ₩160,000 earned in a single day.
I quietly shut down the HTS.
Today's hunt was a success.
The next day.
And the day after.
My life repeated in the same perfect pattern.
8:30 a.m.—shower, coffee, computer.
I checked U.S. and domestic markets, confirming no variables had disrupted my overnight scenarios.
At 9:00 a.m., when the market opened, I went all-in on whichever of my two or three preselected targets hit its remembered buy point first.
Then came the blood-drying wait.
When the price reached its remembered peak, I sold everything without hesitation.
Then I moved on to the next prey.
Average daily returns: 5–10%.
A dream for most—but to me, just the wages of tedious labor.
There was no joy.
No thrill.
I repeated buys and sells like an emotionless machine, following a preset algorithm.
Lunch was always cup ramen.
I couldn't afford to take my eyes off the screen for even a second until the market closed at 3 p.m.
After the close, I collapsed onto the bed, completely drained.
By evening, I was back at the computer, scouting the next day's prey.
The money kept growing.
₩1.8 million on Monday.
Over ₩3 million by Wednesday.
Nearly ₩4.5 million by Thursday's close.
But I felt nothing.
Instead, I felt hollow.
The new officetel was too large, too cold, for one person.
Sometimes I stared out the window, watching ordinary lives unfold.
A housewife heading home with groceries.
Students laughing with friends.
Their world looked warm and alive.
Mine was nothing but a cold monitor and dancing numbers.
I was earning money.
But I was losing something else.
Is this really the right way to live…?
Whenever doubt crept in, I looked at the note taped to the wall.
Futures margin: ₩15,000,000
Right. Still far away.
This wasn't the time for sentimentality.
I steeled myself and returned to the cold world of numbers.
#004
Time passed, and soon it was the last Friday of September.
That day, too, I was locked in battle before the monitor.
Today's prey: H Shipbuilding.
Back then, fueled by China's boom, the shipbuilding industry was enjoying unprecedented prosperity.
As usual, I poured in everything at the early-morning dip.
But today, something felt off.
The price didn't rebound.
It kept sliding.
What…? Was my memory wrong?
Cold sweat ran down my back.
The loss on my P/L screen exceeded 10% of my principal.
Terror surged as my mouse drifted toward the stop-loss button.
That was when—
No. Hold.
My forty-nine-year-old self whispered to my thirty-one-year-old self.
This is the last shakeout. At 2 p.m., everything flips.
I chose to trust that voice.
I closed my eyes and didn't even look at the HTS.
Hell dragged on for hours.
Finally—2:00 p.m.
With trembling hands, I reopened the HTS.
And I couldn't believe what I saw.
The blue order book was gone.
In its place—
A towering red pillar, shooting toward the sky.
Limit up.
+15%.
"..."
I let out a hollow laugh.
That day alone, I made over ₩700,000.
After the market closed, I checked my balance.
Available funds: ₩5,230,000
I'd finally crossed ₩5 million.
Dragging my exhausted body, I collapsed onto the bed.
Every ounce of strength drained away.
Then—
My slide phone vibrated in my pocket.
A text.
Jinwoo (Dotori):
Hey, don't forget to come to Boogie Woogie tomorrow! Sunny-ssi's probably waiting for you lol
I smiled faintly.
Right.
I still had a world to return to.
Not the cold world of numbers—
But a world warm with people.
Just knowing that was enough to give me strength again.
Jinwoo's message was like a single drop of color splashed onto my gray day.
I stared at that short sentence for a long time.
"Sunny-ssi's probably waiting for you?"
He was probably just joking—but somehow, those words were comforting.
I sat up in bed.
As I rolled my stiff neck from staring at the monitor all day, it cracked loudly.
I looked at my reflection in the dark monitor.
A tired investor, worn down by money.
The sparkle I'd had at the club last weekend was nowhere to be found.
This isn't right.
I shook my head.
Money mattered—but not at the cost of losing the life I wanted back.
Cold reason.
And burning passion.
I wanted both.
I stood up and pressed the computer's power button.
I didn't want to see numbers anymore today.
Instead, I turned on the speaker in the corner of the living room.
I connected my MP3 player and played the jazz track Sunny and I had danced to last week.
Slow, sweet melodies filled the empty officetel with warmth.
I closed my eyes.
And remembered dancing with her.
The warmth of her hand.
Her smile.
The faint scent of shampoo lingering around her.
Before I realized it, my feet were moving.
Rock step.
Triple step.
Follower's turn.
There was no partner—but I reached into the air as if she were standing there, guiding her gently.
The movements were clumsy and ridiculous.
But I wasn't embarrassed.
This wasn't practice to impress someone anymore.
It was my own way of escaping the cold world of numbers.
For myself.
When the music ended, I stood at the center of the floor, breathing hard.
My body was soaked in sweat—but I felt light, refreshed.
I looked out the window.
Night had fallen over the city, lights blinking on one by one.
Watching them, I made a quiet promise.
Wait for me. I'm coming soon.
Tomorrow's sun would rise in a different color than today's.