Golden Spoon Investment Portfolio - Chapter 101

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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101. Honestly, I can’t even imagine the Director failing.

January 3rd, 1995.
As the year’s first trading session approached, Seok-won gathered the senior staff of the Trading Department for a meeting.

“While the composite stock index recorded four digits last year and continued its relentless ascent, this year has a high probability of being a difficult market.”
“…?”

Experts, the government, and the media were all pouring out optimistic forecasts, so everyone wore puzzled expressions at Seok-won’s entirely different perspective.

“Everyone here should know that the driving force behind the stock market’s heated surge last year was the foreign investment capital that flooded in following the market’s opening.”

Seok-won continued speaking as he observed the executives nodding their heads.

“However, as we enter the fourth year since opening, virtually all quality stocks have now reached their foreign investment limits. In other words, we’ve enjoyed substantial gains thanks to the relentless inflow of foreign capital until now, but that will become difficult going forward.”

When the government opened the market, it imposed restrictions to prevent management control from passing to foreigners, capping foreign shareholding at 12% or more per stock.
For state-owned enterprises like Korea Electric Power and Pohang Steel, the foreign investment limit was set even more strictly at 8%.
Because of these restrictions, once a company’s foreign shareholding limit was reached, investors couldn’t inject additional capital even if they wanted to.

“Over the past few years, there were many stocks with attractive valuations, so when one stock’s investment limit was exhausted, we could simply purchase another company’s shares—there was no need to worry greatly.”

Seok-won murmured softly to himself.

‘That’s how all stocks rose together, and the composite index broke through 1,000.’

Indeed, as foreigners carried bundles of dollars and recklessly drove up stock prices even for small enterprises, Korea’s overheated stock market had moved beyond prosperity into signs of overheating.

“But now even those stocks have become difficult to find. That said, foreigners won’t purchase problematic penny stocks either. It will be hard to expect the massive liquidity inflows we saw before.”

Seok-won spoke with certainty.
If the inflow of foreign investment capital—the core driver of the market boom—were to stop or diminish, the upward momentum would naturally weaken proportionally.
The executives, fully aware of this reality, wore increasingly serious expressions.

“On top of that, the aftermath of the Mexico currency crisis that erupted at year-end is dampening investment sentiment globally.”

The Mexican peso, which had been plummeting since year-end, had now fallen to six pesos per dollar.
The problem was that the foreign exchange crisis showed signs of spreading beyond Mexico to encompass all of Latin America—Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and beyond.

“If it stopped there, we’d be fortunate. But if the situation deteriorates further, global investment funds might attempt to withdraw their capital from unstable developing nations altogether.”
“…!”

Stunned by this alarming assessment, everyone stirred visibly, unable to conceal their shock.
At that moment, one of the team leaders raised his hand and spoke hesitantly.

“But Korea, unlike Mexico, has a robust economy and substantial export volumes. Surely such a scenario couldn’t unfold here?”

His anxious expression betrayed an unmistakable desire to deny the possibility.

“Of course, I’m not suggesting that large-scale capital flight will occur immediately. However, now that Korea has opened its markets to the outside world, we must not forget that our nation is no longer insulated from the financial shocks originating abroad.”

Seok-won, his expression stern, continued speaking as he surveyed the executives seated around him.

“Because the stock market has surged dramatically on the back of foreign capital inflows, if those inflows diminish or capital suddenly withdraws, the repercussions will be far more severe and devastating than anyone imagines.”

Seok-won muttered silently to himself words he could never voice aloud.

‘During the IMF crisis, we’ll experience firsthand just how ruthless and terrifying foreign capital can be.’

When foreign investors sensed the crisis, they simultaneously sold over two trillion won in stocks and withdrew their dollars, not only devastating the domestic stock market but further exacerbating the foreign exchange crisis.
As the atmosphere grew heavy, Seok-won continued.

“Moreover, as the stock market has climbed steeply, the accumulated fatigue is reaching a point where it will soon manifest. We may begin to see the rate of gains slow or even reverse.”

Seok-won’s voice grew firm as he issued his directive.

“As I mentioned, given the turbulent and uncertain conditions both domestically and internationally, we must proceed with our investments with even greater caution and deliberation.”
“Yes.”
“Understood.”

Though the executives remained skeptical—given how favorable the market sentiment currently was—they responded with noticeably tense expressions, a stark contrast to their earlier demeanor.
Afterward, Seok-won engaged in an in-depth discussion with the executives regarding investment strategy for the first half of the year.
Once Seok-won concluded the meeting and rose from his seat, the executives gathered their belongings and filed out of the Conference Room.

“What is that fellow doing all by himself?”

Choi Ho-geun, the team leader, rose from his desk with the company diary in hand. He noticed Song Jong-geun, his colleague from the same cohort, sitting across from him with a face full of worry, so he walked over and drew closer.

“Is something troubling you?”

Song Jong-geun lifted his head from his chair and looked up at Choi Ho-geun.

“Huh? What did you say?”
“You’re already gloomy enough, and now you’re sitting there looking like you’ve lost everything. What’s going on?”
“Sigh.”

Song Jong-geun exhaled deeply and then opened his mouth.

“The new head of the headquarters—you know, the one who took over PI operations—he assigned our team to handle yen trading.”
“So what’s the problem?”

Choi Ho-geun asked, recalling the conversation he’d heard about. Song Jong-geun slumped his shoulders as he replied.

“A damned currency crisis erupted in Mexico, and the yen skyrocketed in just a few days. The losses are catastrophic.”
“What? A crisis in Mexico, but why did the yen surge?”

Choi Ho-geun tilted his head in confusion, and Song Jong-geun spoke with a tone of lamentation.

“Global investment capital fleeing from Southeast Asia and other developing nations is pouring into Japan because it’s considered safe. That’s driving up the yen.”
“Ah. So that’s how it works.”

Choi Ho-geun nodded in understanding, letting out a short exclamation.
Despite the bubble collapse plunging Japan into a deep economic quagmire, it remained an economic superpower that could stand shoulder to shoulder with the United States on the world stage.
And since the yen, a quasi-reserve currency, was considered a safe-haven asset, it was natural that demand would surge whenever a crisis emerged.

“What’s the yen trading at now….”
“95 yen to the dollar.”
“What was your average selling price?”
“We sold 4 million dollars’ worth at 100 yen.”

At those words, Choi Ho-geun’s eyes widened and he gasped.

“It jumped 5 yen? How much is the loss?”
“Don’t even ask. Every time I check the loss amount, I feel my blood draining away.”

Song Jong-geun replied listlessly.
Only then did I understand why everyone else had been bustling about to leave the conference room while I sat alone, my mind adrift.

‘With losses this substantial, it’s understandable.’

Choi Ho-geun, as team leader, knew all too well what it felt like when results diverged from expectations and losses mounted significantly, so his gaze toward his colleague naturally carried a note of sympathy.

“The more troubling part is that the situation keeps deteriorating.”

Just as Seok-won had pointed out in the meeting moments ago, the Mexican foreign exchange crisis showed signs of spreading beyond borders throughout all of South America.
Consequently, global investors were increasingly favoring safe-haven assets, which meant the pressure for yen strength would naturally intensify—as clear as day.

“That’s why our team leader and I went to the executive director and suggested that, regrettably, we should close out our position here before losses mount further.”

The losses wouldn’t be insignificant, but to avoid losing even more money, one had to know when to cut their losses decisively.

‘There’s a saying that timing is everything when it comes to cutting losses.’

If that happened, it would be Seok-won’s first failure, but how could anyone go through life succeeding at everything?
Choi Ho-geun thought it was somewhat disappointing but entirely understandable.

“There are times you win and times you lose. Don’t take it too hard.”

As Choi Ho-geun patted his shoulder in consolation, Song Jong-geun shook his head as if to say that wasn’t the issue.

“I know there’s no such thing as a one-two day in this business, and I’m well aware of that. But do you know what the executive director said?”
“What did he say?”

Song Jong-geun sighed heavily once more.

“He said it’s not a loss until we sell.”
“What?”

Choi Ho-geun, who naturally expected to cut losses, couldn’t hide his bewilderment.

“On top of that, he said it was a golden opportunity to increase profits and ordered us to sell additional yen.”
“Is that really true?”
“I’m eating expensive rice—why would I lie?”

Song Jong-geun tore at his hair, speaking as though he were losing his mind.

“So the moment the market opened today, I sold another million dollars’ worth of yen.”
“Good heavens.”

Faced with this unexpected move, Team Leader Choi Ho-geun could only stand with his mouth agape, unable to utter a word.

“And that’s not even the worst part—he’s talking about using leverage to amplify the investment amount on top of all this recklessness. I mean, does this even make sense? Does any of this actually make sense?”
“He’s using leverage too!”
“Yes!”
“Hmm.”

Team Leader Choi Ho-geun exhaled a low, grave murmur.
He was deeply concerned that Seok-won, intoxicated by continued success, was making reckless moves instead of knowing when to withdraw from the position.

“At this rate, I’m not sure if I’ll even get my year-end bonus—I might just have to submit my resignation and go home.”

Song Jong-geun stared at the ground and sighed.

“You’re only executing trades under the division head’s orders. Why would you resign?”
“Because the division head is the chairman’s son. Even if there are losses, do you think they’ll hold him accountable? Of course not—they’ll just dump it on us powerless underlings and he’ll slip away clean.”

Based on the Seok-won I knew firsthand, he wouldn’t commit such a cowardly act of shifting blame to his subordinates, but once a crisis actually struck, there was no telling what might happen.
In a word, the upper echelon could very well sacrifice someone else to protect Seok-won, the chairman’s son.

“Damn it. My three-year curse ended last year, but what is this mess? I’ve stepped in it right from the start of the year.”

Song Jong-geun vented his frustration as he spoke.

“The division head said it himself—the losses aren’t confirmed yet. So don’t give up so easily. Who knows? Maybe the yen will suddenly plummet.”

Still wanting to defend Seok-won, Team Leader Choi Ho-geun offered a gentle rebuttal, and Song Jong-geun shot him a sharp look.

“Does that seem likely to you? Don’t speak so carelessly about something that isn’t your problem.”
“Hey, surely you don’t think I would!”
“You would and more. Everyone knows Investment Team 4 threw a bonus party last year thanks to the division head—don’t try to weasel out of it.”

Team Leader Choi Ho-geun regarded his colleague from the same cohort with sympathetic eyes, sensing how the mounting losses were making him increasingly on edge.

“Do you know what I’ve come to realize working under the Director?”
“What is it.”

Song Jong-geun replied with a flat tone.

“Your foresight is truly remarkable. And on top of that, you have an uncanny ability to sniff out money.”
“….”
“Even if it looks reckless at first, it’s not just one or two times you’ve struck gold later.”

Song Jong-geun seemed intrigued but still spoke with a hint of skepticism in his expression.

“I’ll admit your skills are outstanding, but that doesn’t mean you always succeed.”
“Of course not. But honestly, I can’t even imagine the Director failing.”
“You’ve become a complete follower. Did you eat something bad?”
“I’m serious.”

Team Leader Choi Ho-geun spoke with genuine earnestness.

“The way the Director shows that kind of confidence, there’s definitely something to it. So trust him and do as he says.”

Hearing those words, a glimmer of hope began to stir in Song Jong-geun’s previously doubtful heart.

“You really think so?”
“Absolutely. The Director is the type who gets lucky even in his sleep if he just follows orders.”
“I really hope that’s true.”
“Enough with the gloomy talk. Come on, get up. I’ll buy you a vending machine coffee.”
“Taking credit for a few hundred won worth of coffee.”

Song Jong-geun grumbled but picked up the diary in front of him.

“Fine. If they tell you to jump, you jump. What else can you do? It won’t change anything anyway.”

Bolstered by his colleague’s encouragement, Song Jong-geun placed a hand on Team Leader Choi Ho-geun’s shoulder.

“Forget the vending machine coffee. Buy me drinks tonight instead.”
“Can’t do it. My wife will kill me.”
“Are you still under your sister-in-law’s thumb?”
“Hey, don’t call her that. Call her my sister-in-law.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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