Of course, it’s not like I’m saying I’m going to develop nuclear weapons right now.

I mean, if some civilian like me pulled something like that, America would come and give me a serious spanking. I’d get dragged off by the U.S. intelligence agencies and subjected to all kinds of colorful torture... torn apart in body and mind, and end up starring in some experimental “ruined human subject” project.

No, this is just a matter of switching jobs—from something a bit dangerous and not all that helpful to humanity, to a different field entirely.

It sounds difficult, but as long as you have money, it’s easier than it seems. People drop their majors in a heartbeat when you dangle high salaries, fat bonuses, and some paid vacation.

“Umm... If he’s a physicist, wouldn’t it be fine to just have him work in nuclear power or something? I mean, nuclear power and nuclear weapons both involve nukes...”

Seo Ji-yeon murmured like she didn’t quite get it.

“If you say stuff like that to academics, they’ll curse you out.”

“But a certain someone once told me I needed to learn economics, business management, accounting, negotiation, and secretarial work.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll pay you.”

“Sigh... Just this once.”

After joking around (probably) with Seo Ji-yeon, I stood still, letting the wind from the mountain valley wash over me as I enjoyed the scenery.

“Mountains would be great if it weren’t for the bugs. Can’t we just wipe them out?”

“Rachel Carson would cry. A mountain without bugs isn’t a mountain. You’re scary sometimes, young miss.”

–Tap, tap.

“Just kidding. Kidding. There’s always the superior sea, so mountains don’t really matter.”

Besides, you can wear swimsuits at the beach. People who complain it’s hard to go in winter just don’t travel abroad.

“Um... Are you taking the newbies to the beach again this year?”

“Mm, yeah.”

Every year, I take my subordinates or schoolmates to the sea. I doubt anyone has a problem with tagging along on a trip with their boss. Who would say no to hanging out with me, Yoo Ha-yeon?

“That’s some serious delusions of grandeur.”

“Hey, didn’t you see the news? I’m a total star now. If I’d known people in this country liked me this much, I would’ve hit them a little softer.”

“So you’re admitting you hit them.”

“When you draw a sword, you’ve got to at least cut a radish.”

.

.

.

“...Young miss.”

Seo Ji-yeon looked up at me as she lay nestled in my arms.

“What?”

“I’m a little scared. Scared, and... I don’t know, something feels weird too. I’ve known you since I was ten... And you’ve been planning this since then, haven’t you? How... How could you do that? How did you even know?”

I didn’t scold her for speaking informally. Instead, I gently stroked her, like one might pet a small, fragile animal.

“Yeah, I guess it is scary. A new era’s about to begin—who wouldn’t be scared of that?”

In these times, the idea that the country might collapse wasn’t a joke. Korea was trembling at its roots.

And the one shaking those roots... was me.

Some people might call it treason, but I was quietly moving beneath the surface, receiving praise as a national hero while doing things that would have others pointing fingers.

I didn’t feel guilty... but maybe my friends saw it differently.

“Just think of it this way. I was way more incredible than you thought. Right now, it feels like the world’s turning upside down, but later you’ll probably feel like it was nothing. Most things in the world are like that.”

“...”

After a brief pause, Seo Ji-yeon continued.

“Young miss, I’m okay. No matter what you do, I’ll stay by your side for the rest of my life.”

“Good girl.”

“But... are you okay?”

Now that’s interesting.

“Why would I not be? I just became the owner of 300 billion dollars. If things go right, I might even reach a trillion, just like you said.”

I crossed my arms beneath my chest and tilted my head. I couldn’t really figure out what she was worried about.

“Young miss, if you keep going like this... you’ll definitely become someone great. Maybe even a dictator controlling all of Korea.”

“Yeah, probably. I don’t really like the word dictator, though.”

“You don’t like it... because you don’t want to be hated, right?”

Hmm.

Even though she was scared, she still looked straight into my eyes. It seemed she genuinely wanted to say this.

“Yeah, I guess... That’s what you’re getting at, right? That I grew up without parents, so I have an affection deficit. That if I reach a position where I’m hated, I’ll get hurt over and over again.”

“I... I didn’t mean it quite like that. But you know that the top, where everyone looks up to you, isn’t always a good place. And it’s dangerous, too. Like you always say, there are things money can’t buy. So maybe... maybe start looking around a bit more now.”

“You mean, I’ve earned enough, so now I should take care of myself, live a little, and slow down... Something like that?”

“...Yeah. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“Haha, Ji-yeon... Thanks for worrying, but I don’t make money to be praised or loved. Well, maybe a little. It does feel amazing hearing people worship me. But if that were the case, would every hedge fund manager on Wall Street be an orphan?”

For a split second, Seo Ji-yeon looked like she wanted to agree—but she held it back and responded.

“...Ah, probably not.”

“Making money is like picking it up off the street. You just... do it because you can. Because it’s fun.”

Like tossing a tissue into a trash can nearby. Or stepping onto a balance beam in a gym for no reason. Straightening a tilted book on a shelf. Playing a few bars of a familiar tune on a piano you find while walking, then getting embarrassed at how rusty you are.

It’s just... like that.

Do you really need a reason to make money? You do it because it’s fun. Because you can.

“...Then, if you saw someone drowning on the street, you’d ‘just’ save them? Assuming it wouldn’t cost you anything, of course.”

She asked hesitantly, and my eyes curved gently.

“Fufu, that’s what you really wanted to ask? Ahaha, you’re sweet.”

Sweet.

It might sound like a compliment to a child, but in this world, it’s often a criticism... so Seo Ji-yeon turned red and shook her head.

“No, that’s not it. Besides, it would help you too, right? If you’re trying to pursue long-term gains in a half-collapsed country... saving people is something you’ll end up doing anyway.”

“True. You’re not wrong. And... I do have a lot on my mind.”

I turned my attention to the upcoming schedule. I had no choice but to think a lot.

–Rustle.

[Acquisition Plan: Goryeo Securities]

[Acquisition Plan: Hanil Group]

[Acquisition Plan: Geopyeong and Geukdong Group]

[Acquisition Plan: Nasan Group and Halla Group]

.

.

.

[Acquisition Plan: Cheonggang Group]

An endless list of chaebol groups—so many that it felt almost unreal—were quietly waiting for my touch.

I found myself wondering what to eat first from this massive banquet table. Which parts to carve out and devour.

But...

I glanced at the young future chief secretary nestled in my arms. If she made this choice knowing her workload would explode, then I had to respect that.

‘Yeah. There’s no reason for me to agonize over little things like this.’

Why bother picking just the best cuts? I’m in a weight class where I can just swallow the whole thing without fuss.

***

Cheonggang Group, 34th in the business rankings, had declared bankruptcy just a few days earlier and was teetering on the edge of collapse.

It wasn’t anything special. Even Koreans thought so. A chaebol group collapsed every other day—it had started to feel normal.

It was like one of those shonen manga stories, where all the early bosses with their “Seven Calamities” or “Secret Organization Division #Whatever” got wiped out en masse once the power balance broke.

The only difference between manga and reality was that in real life, there were no early characters showing up mysteriously stronger, or late-stage masters popping out of nowhere from the same neighborhood. Korea’s chaebol were exactly as they had been ten years ago.

Worse yet, Earth Online was a broken game where new regions almost never unlocked. Inflation and “capitalist development”—the leveling system—was based on the #1 server, the U.S.

And now the IMF had triggered a server-merge event. You can imagine the chaos.

The newbies on local servers couldn’t compete with the financial veterans who’d been stagnating for decades. Everyone except companies like Daehwa Group, who had adapted to high-level zones, was swept away like °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° autumn leaves.

But Cheonggang Group had one little twist.

“...What do we do? That... that 2 billion won loan...”

An executive, hastily packing up his things, spoke with irritation.

“We’ll deal with it later! For now, just grab anything important and a bit of gold, then head to the main house. We’ll come back once things cool down, okay? It’s not like we’re abandoning the company entirely!”

“But... the loan was under the employees’ names...”

Cheonggang Group had recently borrowed 2 billion won from a bank—not under the company’s name, but under the names of its employees.

That would be unthinkable in the 21st century. It was basically the company extorting its own workers. But that meant... it worked now.

They had secretly borrowed the money using the employees’ identities, and once things got out of hand... they zipped their lips and ran.

Debt? Why would that be my debt?

“...I’m just saying we can figure it out later! If we’re lucky, maybe the company comes back... or something.”

Spouting nonsense no one would believe, the executives slipped away for a while.

It happened three days before Yoo Ha-yeon returned to Korea.