Golden Spoon Investment Portfolio - Chapter 9

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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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9. Even if I’m a gaming addict, that was way over the line.

The next day, 10 Downing Street, London.
A striking 17th-century three-story red brick building with four imposing columns at its front stood prominently along the thoroughfare.
The Union Jack fluttered above the entrance, and the words “Treasury” were inscribed upon the outer wall.
Inside a room elegantly appointed with fine furniture and costly artwork, a dignified middle-aged man sat before a large desk.
It was Minister Henry, the head of the British Treasury.
As he sipped his black tea from an exquisite porcelain cup adorned with gold leaf patterns and reviewed the report, he embodied the quintessential English gentleman.
Just as Minister Henry turned the next page of the report, savoring the perfectly steeped tea’s aroma.
Leo knocked and entered with his hair neatly combed back.

“Minister, I have an urgent matter to report.”

Observing the tension etched across his secretary’s face, Minister Henry set down his teacup and responded with measured calm.

“What is it that troubles you so?”
“The foreign exchange market is behaving unusually.”
“Unusually, you say?”

Leo quickly explained the situation as Minister Henry’s brow furrowed slightly.

“The exchange rate has fallen 0.25 cents today, dropping to 1.4550 dollars.”

Minister Henry leaned back in his chair and responded dismissively.

“The decline is considerable, but hardly a matter of grave concern.”

Leo, meeting his gaze, spoke with unwavering seriousness.

“That may be true, but the problem is that a specific force is deliberately driving down the exchange rate.”
“…!”

Minister Henry’s expression hardened as he fixed his gaze upon Leo.

“Are you certain of this?”
“Yes. We’ve confirmed that a specific hedge fund has been selling large quantities of pounds.”
“Where in the world are they operating from?”

When pressed urgently, Leo responded immediately.

“The Quantum Fund.”

Minister Henry raised his eyebrows as he spoke.

“The Quantum Fund? You mean the hedge fund operated by George Hamilton?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Damn it!”

Unlike his usual demeanor as a proper British gentleman, Minister Henry found himself cursing without thinking.
George Hamilton, who had started a hedge fund with a capital of 12 million dollars and grown it to billions within just a few years, was a legendary figure on Wall Street.
In particular, his prescient investment in anticipating the yen and Deutsche mark appreciation driven by American policy, which netted him 230 million dollars in a mere four months following the Plaza Accord, remained the stuff of legend.
Britain’s most prestigious economic journal had even named him “the greatest fund manager on Earth,” so Minister Henry was well acquainted with George Hamilton’s reputation.
The prospect of such a titan targeting the pound sterling was impossible not to take with utmost seriousness.

“How much has he sold?”
“Over a billion dollars. And beyond the Quantum Fund, several other major institutions have placed massive sell orders—today alone, the pound has been sold at volumes exceeding normal trading by two billion dollars.”
“Ugh.”

Minister Henry grimaced and let out a strained sound.

“I was already uneasy about Germany refusing to budge during the Basel meeting, and now this disaster unfolds.”

With his lips pressed firmly together, Minister Henry reached for the keyphone receiver on the corner of his desk.

[Yes, Minister.]
“Connect me with Arthur.”
[Very well, sir.]

Minister Henry held the receiver to his ear and sat motionless, waiting with a stern expression.
Shortly after, he was connected with Arthur, the Governor of the Bank of England.

[Hello.]
“It’s me. Hamilton has been dumping pounds in massive quantities—are you aware?”
[We’re actually in a meeting about that very issue.]

Arthur’s voice through the receiver was noticeably tense as well.
Minister Henry adjusted his grip on the phone and spoke with utmost gravity.

“I’m confident there will be no issues defending the exchange rate.”
[Of course. Hamilton is undoubtedly a major player on Wall Street, but this time he’s chosen the wrong opponent.]
“Even today, there were reportedly two billion dollars more in pound sales than usual. If the opponent keeps attacking like this, won’t the exchange rate fluctuate?”

Arthur responded with unwavering confidence to the concern in the question.

[The Bank of England currently holds foreign exchange reserves exceeding sixty billion pounds.]

Sixty billion pounds—that easily surpassed eighty billion dollars, an astronomical sum.

[No matter how much capital Hamilton has prepared, he will fail to achieve his objectives and suffer a devastating defeat.]

Reassured by Arthur’s conviction, Minister Henry’s taut expression relaxed as he spoke.

“Still, he’s a formidable opponent, so don’t let your guard down. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to tell me.”
[Understood.]

Minister Henry hung up the phone.
Despite the reassurances, an inexplicable unease lingered, gnawing at his mind.
It felt as though an invisible splinter had lodged itself beneath his skin.
Minister Henry looked up at Leo, his chief of staff, and issued an order.

“Keep me informed of exchange rate fluctuations at regular intervals until this situation is resolved.”
“Yes, sir.”

As Leo departed, Minister Henry gazed down at his now-cold teacup, then rose from his seat and walked toward the window.
True to Britain’s capricious weather, the sky that had been clear moments before was now blanketed with dark clouds threatening rain.

“A hedge fund dares to challenge the Bank of England without fear? This is all because of those Germans.”

Minister Henry muttered this to himself, his brow furrowing as he gazed at the overcast sky.

* * *

Two days later, Cambridge, Massachusetts.
[Finland’s Currency Plummets as Government Abandons Exchange Rate Peg!
On Tuesday, September 8th, as the Finnish markka came under relentless speculative assault day after day, the Finnish government finally capitulated and announced the immediate abandonment of its exchange rate peg system.
Having secured Finland’s surrender, international speculators have now set their sights on Sweden, Italy, and Spain as their next targets, while the British pound has also become a focus of their attacks.
Indeed, the British pound has fallen sharply over the past week, dropping from $1.4800 per pound to $1.4350.
While market anxiety grows, British Prime Minister Isaac expressed strong confidence in defending the currency during an interview, asserting that the Bank of England’s coffers remain robust.
However, George Hamilton, a prominent Wall Street hedge fund magnate, countered that the British pound is afflicted with malaria and will inevitably collapse unless circumstances change.
Meanwhile….]

“Now they’re even launching a full-scale propaganda campaign.”

Though early September marked the threshold of autumn, the relentless sun still radiated warmth.
Sitting alone at an outdoor café table, I set down the Wall Street Journal article I’d been reading and muttered to myself.
George Hamilton, who typically avoided media contact and had earned the nickname “the hermit investor,” was behaving most unusually.
In recent days, he had granted interviews to major publications—not only the Wall Street Journal I’d just read, but also Britain’s The Times and France’s Le Figaro—consistently issuing pessimistic forecasts about the pound.
The implication was clear.

“He’s essentially announcing to the world that there’s appetizing prey here.”

It was a calculated move to exploit what’s known as the announcer effect—steering sentiment in a desired direction.

“Once this happens, while investors know the pound will wobble, those who’ve been hesitating will follow Hamilton’s lead and join the selling frenzy. Even if the Bank of England has built towering defenses, they’ll crumble under such pressure.”

History itself had proven this exact scenario.
Hamilton’s ability to identify money flows and vulnerabilities was remarkable, but what truly impressed me was his ruthless, overwhelming assault—leaving opponents no room to respond. I’d learned much from observing his methods.
I myself had been steadily selling pounds over the past several days, and my remaining liquid reserves now amounted to only about $400 million.

“I’d like to deploy everything right now, but I need to preserve my ammunition for the final knockout blow that forces the Bank of England’s surrender.”

I already knew the Bank of England would eventually capitulate, but a stronger finishing move was always preferable.
I folded the newspaper and tucked it into my backpack, finished the remaining sandwich, and stood up.
Then I mounted the bicycle I’d left nearby and rode back to my dormitory.
I pulled out my key, opened the door, and stepped inside—only to be assaulted by a familiar battle cry.

[Ryu-ken!]
[Hadoken!!]

Accompanied by exciting background music, distinctive sound effects erupted as the character on the TV screen unleashed a special move.

“Come on, just one more round! One kick and we’ve got this!”

Roy gripped the controller, veins bulging from his neck.
A few days ago he’d somehow acquired a CRT television, and ever since, he’d been glued to it playing games instead of attending lectures.

[K.O!! You Win!]

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!”

Roy leaped to his feet after executing a combo that knocked his opponent’s character down, pumping his fist triumphantly into the air.

How on earth did he even get into Harvard?

Now that I thought about it, I’d never once seen Roy actually studying.
I shook my head internally and slipped off my backpack, setting it down beside the bed.

“Oh, you’re back?”

Roy, who’d been absorbed in his game, finally noticed my arrival and turned his head.

“Seriously, why don’t you go outside for a walk or something? Every time I see you, you’re playing games.”
“Oh, mind your own business~”

Roy grinned and raised his middle finger.

“Executing special moves requires precise hand control. I’ve got an important tournament coming up, so I’m getting in some serious practice.”
“A tournament?”
“Yeah! We’re doing a league match against the MIT guys to determine who’s the strongest!”

Roy’s eyes blazed with passion as he shouted.
Harvard versus MIT—the very thought was exhilarating—but the competition was a fighting game tournament, of all things.
I couldn’t help but wonder if this was really what the top one percent of elite students should be doing.

“Sure, good luck with that.”

I offered a half-hearted shrug and words of encouragement devoid of any real enthusiasm.

“Who knows? Maybe one day Street Fighter will become an Olympic demonstration sport and I’ll represent the country.”
“Why are you suddenly talking about the Olympics?”

Roy chuckled with an expression of disbelief.

“Even if I’m a game fanatic, that’s too much. The Olympics? Really?”

Watching Roy snicker, I muttered under my breath.

‘What can I do? That’s exactly what’s going to happen.’

There was no point in telling him that professional gaming would become a legitimate career and that people would actually earn national team badges. He’d never believe it anyway.
I glanced at the Nintendo Super Famicom connected to the television and recalled my memories.

‘Now that I think about it, after George Hamilton brought the Bank of England to its knees, Japan was his next target. I can’t miss out on that—he’s going to strip Japan bare.’

Perhaps misinterpreting my gaze, Roy pointed at the Famicom with his chin.

“What, you want to play? Want to go a round?”
“No thanks.”
“Come on, I’ll go easy on you. You do know how to play, right?”

As Roy gently prodded me with subtle provocation, a competitive fire kindled in my chest.

“How about a ten-dollar bet?”

I immediately pulled a ten-dollar bill from my wallet and placed it on the desk with a decisive tap.
Roy’s eyes widened, and then he grinned widely.

“Ooh, playing for real? I don’t mind earning some pocket money.”

Not for a moment doubting his victory, Roy chuckled and placed his own ten-dollar bill on top of mine.

“I’ll let you win two rounds.”
“No need. Let’s just make it one game and call it done.”

I rolled up my sleeves eagerly, and Roy let out an impressed sound.

“You’re going to regret this.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Alright then, you’re on!”

Roy snapped his fingers with growing excitement, the sound crisp and sharp, as he retrieved another controller and connected it.

‘Don’t underestimate me. I was the Lightning Hand of Yeouido back in the day. Time to show you the arcade mastery that kept everyone else from even getting a turn.’

Seokwon let out a scoff and rolled up his shirt sleeves.
How many hours had he spent honing his skills to stretch a single coin as far as possible?
That dedication had earned him the nickname: the Lightning Hand of Yeouido!
It was time to resurrect that lightning-fast prowess—fingers moving so swiftly they blurred across the joystick, hammering buttons with inhuman speed.

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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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