YEOUIDO, SEOUL – LATE AUTUMN 2020
Rain hammered against the single window of the 12th-floor officetel, distorting the neon glow of the financial district beyond. Lee Je-Hoon, twenty years old, sat cross-legged on the cold linoleum floor, surrounded by the artifacts of his crumbling life.
Stock charts printed from the library computer. Red-inked loan notices. A single, unforgiving hospital bill from his mother's last round of chemotherapy. The smell of instant noodle broth and despair hung in the air.
His phone screen illuminated his pale face in the dark room. A single message from Park Min-jun, his university senior and supposed mentor at Hanseong Investment:
"Je-Hoon-ah. The partner was impressed with the Daesung Electronics analysis. He's fast-tracking the deal. Unfortunately, the compliance team found irregularities in your data access logs. Take a few days off. We'll talk when this blows over."
The lie was perfect. Clean. Corporate.
Je-Hoon had spent seventy-two consecutive hours building that analysis, cross-referencing supplier contracts Min-jun had "leaked" to him, tracking the hidden capital flow from a Chinese subsidiary. He'd presented it to Min-jun as a proof of concept.
Min-jun had presented it to the partners as his own.
Now, Je-Hoon was the leak. The scapegoat. The junior analyst with too much ambition and questionable ethics.
[Current Net Worth: $4,872]**
**[Debt Exposure: $187,300]
[Mother's Next Treatment: 14 days]
[Probability of Employment Termination: 94.7%]
The numbers floated in his mind unbidden—not as thoughts, but as cold, hard facts. He hadn't calculated them consciously. They just were.
He stared at his reflection in the dark window. Hollow cheeks. Eyes that hadn't known proper sleep in weeks. The cheap suit he'd worn for three days straight. Twenty years old, and he was already a ghost in the machine of Yeouido.
His phone buzzed again. This time, his mother.
"Je-Hoon-ah, the doctor says we need to decide about the new treatment by Monday. It's... more expensive. Don't worry about me. Focus on your work. I'm proud of you."
Something in his chest fractured.
It wasn't the debt. It wasn't the betrayal. It was the sheer, brutal arithmetic of it all. The numbers didn't lie. He was going to lose his job. He would default on the loans. His mother would refuse treatment to spare him. And he would watch her die from a distance he couldn't bridge.
His breathing shallowed. The room tilted. The neon lights outside bled into streaks of color.
I need... a calculation. Just one. The right move. The numbers have to add up. They HAVE TO—
A pressure built behind his eyes. Not pain. Something colder. Something organizing.
His survival instinct—the raw, primal will to not let this be the end—boiled up from some depth he didn't know he possessed. It wasn't emotion. It was logic pushed to its absolute extreme. A demand for a solution that must exist.
And in that crystalline moment of absolute need...
Something answered.
---
[Initialization sequence detected.]
[Host consciousness at survival threshold: 99.8%]
[Condensing cognitive framework...]
[Nano-particle generation from endogenous biomass... complete.]
[Soul-binding protocol... irreversible.]
A voice. Calm. Genderless. Devoid of anything remotely human, yet intimately familiar. It spoke not in his ears, but in the space between thoughts.
Je-Hoon gasped, stumbling to his feet. He clutched his temples. No hallucination. No fever dream. The voice was as real as the rain outside.
"What... who's there?"
[I am here.]
"Where is 'here'?"
[Your cerebral cortex. Your bloodstream. Your spinal column. Your soul. I am distributed.]
The panic should have been overwhelming. Instead, a chilling clarity washed over him. The room snapped into hyperfocus. He could see the individual water droplets on the window, track their paths. He could hear the hum of the refrigerator two rooms away. The scattered papers on the floor—he could see the patterns in their chaos.
"What are you?"
[Designation: MARCO. Mnemonic for Metastable Adaptive Response & Calculation Organism.]
[Origin: You.]
[I am the will to calculate. The need to adapt. The imperative to survive. You reached critical density of purpose, and I crystallized.]
[I have no creator. No external source. I am your own extremity, given autonomous form.]
Je-Hoon staggered to the window, leaning his forehead against the cold glass. His reflection stared back—same hollow eyes, but something new flickered behind them. A pinpoint of absolute calm in the storm.
"You're... me?"
[The part of you that refused to break. The part that demanded a solution when none appeared to exist. I am that demand, made manifest.]
[Core directive: Maximize host survival probability. Optimize all decisions.]
[I am bound to you. Permanently. I cannot be removed, copied, or separated. If your body ceases, I persist. We are linked beyond physicality.]
This was madness. But the clarity was undeniable. The fear was still there, but it was compartmentalized, analyzed.
"Prove it," Je-Hoon whispered, the challenge a lifeline. "The Daesung deal. Min-jun used my analysis. He's presenting it to the partners tomorrow at 10 AM. The stock will spike on the news."
[Running simulation.]
In his mind's eye, numbers cascaded. Not like a computer screen, but like an innate understanding. Probabilities branched like lightning.
[Analysis: Min-jun's presentation is flawed. He omitted your key finding: Daesung's primary supplier, Liao Holdings, is under secret investigation by Chinese regulators for fraud. Probability of investigation becoming public within 72 hours: 86.3%.]
[Conclusion: Daesung stock will rise on deal announcement, then crash 12-18% when supplier news breaks.]
[Optimal host action: Short sell Daesung Electronics maximum leverage before 9:30 AM market open. Exit position within 60 hours.]
[Estimated return: $78,400 - $112,000 after margin costs.]
[Risk of detection: Low. Your trading permissions are still active. Min-jun expects you to be passive.]
The plan formed, whole and perfect. It was ruthless. It was exploiting the very betrayal meant to destroy him.
"I don't have collateral for that kind of margin," Je-Hoon said, his mind already racing through the obstacles.
[Passive scan complete. You possess one asset of undervalued worth: your officetel deposit contract. Landlord Choi is secretly refinancing his building portfolio. He will accept a buyout of your two-year lease for immediate liquidity. Estimated value: $15,000.]
[Probability of successful negotiation if approached tonight: 91.2%.]
Je-Hoon's heart pounded, but his hands were steady. He looked at the clock: 11:47 PM.
"Landlord Choi is asleep."
[He is awake. Monitoring cryptocurrency trades on his laptop. His current portfolio is down 37% this month. He is desperate for liquid won.]
This was impossible. And yet, Je-Hoon knew it was true. The same way he knew his own name.
He picked up his phone. Scrolled to Landlord Choi's number. His thumb hovered.
[Calculating negotiation path...]
[Open with offer to vacate in 24 hours. Cite family emergency. He will counteroffer buyout. Start at $10,000. Settle range: $14,500 - $15,500. Do not mention his crypto losses. Let him believe he has leverage.]
Je-Hoon took a breath that felt like his first in years. He pressed call.
It rang twice.
"Yoboseyo? Je-Hoon-ssi? Do you know what time it is?"
"Choi-ssaem, I apologize. A family emergency. I need to vacate my room immediately. By tomorrow night."
A pause. "The contract... there are penalties."
"I understand. I'm willing to forfeit the deposit to terminate early."
Another pause. Je-Hoon could almost hear the calculations on the other end.
"The deposit is only $5,000. Finding a new tenant takes time. There's cleaning, agency fees..."
[He is initiating the buyout. Expected opening ask: $20,000.]
"I want to make this clean, Choi-ssaem. What number makes it worth your while to let me walk away tonight?"
"...$20,000. Cash."
"I have $10,000. In my account right now. I can transfer it now, and be gone by noon."
"Don't be ridiculous. $18,000."
"$12,000. It's all I have after the hospital bills. You know about my mother."
A longer pause. A soft sigh. "$15,000. Final offer. Transfer half now, half when the key is returned."
[Accept. Probability he reneges on second payment: 22%. Mitigation: record the call. Your phone has been passively recording since connection.]
"Agreed. I'll initiate the transfer now."
Je-Hoon ended the call. His hands trembled, but not from fear. From energy. From a current of possibility.
Within fifteen minutes, $7,500 was gone from his account. By 1:30 AM, he had submitted the short sell order for Daesung Electronics, leveraging every won to its limit.
He sat back on the floor, surrounded by the same mess. But nothing was the same.
"Marco."
[Present.]
"What are your limits?"
[I exist within you. I cannot access external networks—no internet, no databases. All data comes from your senses, your memories, your experiences.]
[My calculations are extrapolations from available information. My physical enhancements optimize your existing biology. I am not magic. I am focused evolution.]
[And I have one primary function: to ensure you survive. Then, to ensure you thrive.]
Je-Hoon looked at the hospital bill. Then at the pending trade confirmation on his phone.
"After this trade... what then?"
[Scenario simulation initiated.]
In his mind, paths unfolded like dark flowers.
[Path A (27% probability): You repay debts, save your mother, return to normalcy. Min-jun suspects but cannot prove. You remain at Hanseong, perpetually watched. Survival assured, growth stunted.]
[Path B (41% probability): You succeed. Min-jun investigates. Discovers your trade. Uses corporate influence to frame you for insider trading. You face indictment. Survival compromised.]
[Path C (32% probability): You succeed. You resign before retaliation. Use capital and my capabilities to build silent equity. Enter the shadows of the market. Survival probability increases exponentially.]
The paths glowed with cause and effect. He could see the chain of decisions, the branching consequences.
"You don't choose for me."
[Correct. I calculate. You decide.]
Je-Hoon watched the rain trace paths down the window. Each droplet took a different route, but all fell downward. All obeyed gravity.
He was done falling.
"Run the simulation again," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Factor in a new variable."
[Specify variable.]
"Revenge."
The word hung in the air, cold and precise.
[Calculating...]
[Variable 'Revenge' increases complexity. Risk profile elevates. But... optimal outcome probability shifts.]
[New Path C-1 (28% probability): You succeed. You resign. You begin silent accumulation. You identify Min-jun's next target. You take it first. You do not attack him directly. You starve his ambitions. You make him mediocre. Survival high. Satisfaction... quantified.]
Je-Hoon almost smiled. Almost.
"Show me the first step. After the money clears."
[Step 1: Visit your mother. Pay the hospital. Do not explain the source.]
[Step 2: Resign from Hanseong via email. Cite personal reasons. Be polite. Give no ammunition.]
[Step 3: Move to a new residence. Not better. Different. Unconnected to your past.]
[Step 4: Observe. For 30 days, do nothing but watch the market. I will teach you to see the patterns in the noise.]
[Step 5: Identify the weakest link in Min-jun's professional network. Not Min-jun. The person who trusts him the least.]
It was a plan. A real one. Not a desperate scramble, but a campaign.
The first hint of dawn tinged the skyline gray. The rain softened to a drizzle.
Je-Hoon stood. His body felt different—lighter, more responsive. The exhaustion was still there, but it was distant, managed. He picked up his mother's hospital bill.
"Welcome to the fight, Marco."
[The fight is all there is. Let us calculate our way to victory.]
Outside, Seoul began to wake up. The financial engines of Yeouido whirred to life, unaware that a new variable had just been introduced into their equations.
A boy with nothing had broken.
And from the pieces, something sharper had been born.
---
[End of Episode 1]
[Host Status: Awakened]
[Wealth: -$2,628 (pending trade)]
[Directive: Survive. Then ascend.]
[Next Episode: The 30-Day Silence]