I Became a Black Market Tycoon with an Inventory - Chapter 2

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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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002-Settlement
2. Settlement
You know what an inventory is?
Like in games—a space where players store items and weapons and such.
I have one too.
Not in a game, but in the real world.
Why this ability came to me, how it works, what reason behind it—I have no idea.
I don’t particularly care to know, either.
One day it just occurred to me: wait, I could store that in my inventory, couldn’t I?
You know how it is.
A fruit hanging from a tree just high enough.
The kind where you think: I could jump and grab that.
Except the thought was: I could put this in my inventory, couldn’t I?
When I hold something in my hand and will it into my inventory, it simply vanishes.
Even objects I can’t hold in my palm—if I touch them, I can store them in my inventory.
At first, I was absolutely stunned.
The object in my hand just whooshed away.
I did it myself, yet I couldn’t believe it.
If an inventory suddenly appeared one day, would you believe it?
Objects in my hand vanish somewhere.
And whenever I want them, I can retrieve them from anywhere.
How extraordinary and incredible an ability.
So I ran some experiments.
How to use it.
What size objects fit inside.
Whether there’s a limit to frequency.
How much storage capacity exists.
To summarize simply: there’s no limit on usage frequency.
But there are restrictions on size and capacity.
The capacity is roughly that of a 28-inch carry-on suitcase.
Anything that fits in that size goes in, regardless of weight.
Size and quantity don’t matter.
But volume plays quite an important role.
So if it fits in a 28-inch carry-on, it can be stored in my inventory regardless of size or weight.
It’s not absolute—just roughly that magnitude.
A rod about a meter long won’t fit in a 28-inch carry-on, but it fits in my inventory.
I figured the volume limit was around that threshold.
This extraordinary ability granted to me.
The more I tested it, the more wondrous it became—I deliberated endlessly on how to use it well.
And then I made a decision.
I’ll use it to eat well and live decently.
Isn’t that enough?
.
.
.
.
I first realized I had an inventory ability three months ago, during summer break of my second year in high school.
Summer break of my sophomore year.
Until then, I’d been living like this.
Literally like a beggar’s child.
A mother whose face I’d never seen.
A father I could barely see, and me—abandoned. Does that paint the picture?
My only wish was to get into the Orphanage.
At least there, I could eat regular meals.
That alone was more than I could ask for.
I’m legally tied to my father, so I can’t go to the Orphanage, but this man I call father is hardly ever around.
This man I call father.
Where he goes, what he does.
I don’t even know what his job is.
He comes home once every few months, drinks himself stupid for days without doing anything, then beats me senseless for no reason at all before passing out.
Then he just disappears without a word.
The electricity, water, and gas are all cut off.
We do receive basic living assistance, but none of it comes to me.
It all goes to my father.
So I was literally living like a beggar.
Then I discovered this ability—can you imagine how I felt?
I wanted to make money.
I wanted to become a tycoon.
Nothing that grandiose.
I just wanted to eat until I was full.
That was all I could think about.
Terrified someone might see, I went to the Mart and secretly stuffed a package of instant noodles and a butane canister into my inventory without anyone knowing.
I literally stole them.
Of course, I went to school, so I knew stealing was wrong.
I had that much common sense.
But back then, I had no choice.
I was starving so badly I thought I’d die.
I genuinely felt like if I didn’t eat, I’d drop dead.
During school, at least there’s the cafeteria—one meal a day—but once break started, food just vanished.
If I got caught, so be it. That’s what I thought as I stole.
Even though I’d practiced so much beforehand, when people actually started walking past me and I tried to place items into my inventory, I was genuinely nervous—sweat dripped down in rivulets.
Still, all that practice paid off, because I managed to store instant ramen and butane canisters without any major issues and make it home.
Honestly, no one was really paying attention to me, but regardless of that, I was absolutely trembling.
The moment I got home, I started boiling ramen.
I cooked three packages at once.
It was the first extravagance I’d ever allowed myself in my life, and emotion washed over me.
Looking at that pot brimming with noodles, I felt genuinely proud.
Whenever I ate ramen, I always felt unsatisfied.
Never quite enough, always wanting just a bit more.
Yet I’d never once asked for seconds.
There was no one to ask, and no one to give me more anyway.
Growing up unable to eat my fill had left me with a rather scrawny frame.
Still, I finished all three packages of ramen myself.
Though I did suffer from indigestion that day,
after that, things became remarkably easy.
I’d visit several Marts and swiftly place necessary items into my inventory.
Theft became routine.
Perhaps because I’d been to so many Marts.
Now when I went to a Mart, I could roughly figure out where the CCTV cameras were and where the staff positioned themselves.
I’d skillfully avoid detection and fill my inventory with necessities from various Marts.
I stole the most from large supermarkets.
Large supermarkets definitely had less stringent surveillance regarding theft and such things.
Plus they had more inventory.
Anyway, thanks to this incredible and remarkable ability I’d gained, I no longer had to go hungry.
That was truly wonderful.
Yet my life hadn’t fundamentally changed.
I used to be a stray who couldn’t even eat, and now I’m a stray who eats.
Before, I was a stray without food; now I’m a stray with food.
I needed money.
At least to afford electricity, water, and gas.
I was working a part-time job.
At a Convenience Store, but apparently minors can’t work past ten o’clock?
So I only work four hours, from six to ten.
Three days a week.
Actually, the Convenience Store doesn’t usually hire part-timers like this.
Short shifts are inconvenient and bothersome.
The owner hired me out of sympathy.
Saying he’d take a break during those hours.
Because he knows my situation.
He even gives me food that’s about to be discarded sometimes.
But that alone wasn’t enough to live on.
I was short. Very short.
I thought I was struggling, but even that disappeared.
The building owner sold the building and decided to demolish it and rebuild from scratch.
Naturally, the manager quit the Convenience Store,
and I quit my part-time job too,
and either way, I needed money.
My ability is to store items in my Inventory, not to create money.
If someone handed me money, I could slip it into my Inventory faster than anyone else.
But no one ever handed me money.
I never had the chance to even touch cash.
Especially these days, everyone uses cards anyway.
So I thought about it differently.
Instead of storing money in my Inventory—could I earn money using my Inventory?
No matter how much I thought about it, all I could do with my Inventory was steal items.
This time, I headed not to the Mart, but to the Stationery Store.
I went in and put some expensive pens and nice-looking items into my Inventory.
At first, I planned to sell them to classmates at school.
But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea to sell at school.
For one, I had no friends,
and if some poor kid suddenly showed up with fancy stuff asking “want to buy this?” they’d immediately think “you stole this, didn’t you?”
So I used Carrot instead.
At least those people wouldn’t know who I was.
They wouldn’t know I was experiencing school violence,
that I was an orphan with no parents.
That’s why I used Carrot.
But my items didn’t sell well on Carrot either, contrary to expectations.
I thought expensive pens listed at half price would fly off the shelves, but they didn’t.
Different people preferred different items.
If it wasn’t popular or trendy, even though it was new and half the price, it wouldn’t sell well.
And I had no ability to discern such things.
How would I know what to buy if I’d never bought anything?
.
.
.
A fairly large Food Mart opened in the neighborhood.
I’d been going to big Marts frequently lately and felt conspicuous, so this was perfect timing.
The Mart was spacious, had lots of items, and looked good.
As soon as I entered, I checked the CCTV positions first. The employees’ faces too.
And lately, I felt like I was lacking protein.
I started taking several packages of beef at a time, since I seemed to be lacking iron.
When I grilled it at home, it tasted absolutely exquisite.
Was it Korean beef, perhaps?
It melted on my tongue.
After a few visits, I noticed the way people looked at me had changed.
I wondered if I’d need to switch to a different Mart.
But then a thought struck me—what if I could use this to my advantage?
Settlement money.
If I was suspected, if they searched me, and found nothing, couldn’t I claim I was wronged and extract some compensation?
I researched and formulated a plan.
The truth was, I’d stolen a bit more meat over the past few days.
The owner needed to notice the missing items.
He needed to suspect me.
I deliberately lingered in front of the Meat Section and stole more expensive beef.
Sure enough, the owner took the bait.
He accused me of theft and threatened to open my bag.
On the surface, I played innocent, frightened, wronged—but inside, I was thrilled.
Especially when that man grabbed my wrist and dragged me—I felt a rush of exhilaration.
For a moment, I even hoped he’d hit me.
That spot had excellent CCTV coverage.
Mart customers gathered like an audience, and the Police Officer arrived right on cue.
Was it possible to orchestrate things this perfectly?
I opened my bag there and dropped the food I’d prepared beforehand.
Would the School Nutritionist really have packed food for me?
She doesn’t even know who I am.
Why would she take such a risk? If I got food poisoning, her career would be in jeopardy. She wouldn’t deliberately expose herself to that danger.
I brought everything myself.
In the end, the owner couldn’t prove my theft and was taken away by the Police Officer. I went along for questioning as well.
I played the role of a pitiful boy—wronged, frustrated, treated like a thief because I was poor and had no money—and I played it flawlessly.
My small stature only enhanced my performance.
Look at this.
He called me.
“I’ll give you a 100,000 won coupon you can use at my Mart. Isn’t that enough?”
“Ugh, this is ridiculous. I’m hanging up.”
A 100,000 won coupon?
I don’t need that.
I can take merchandise anytime I want.
From the Food Mart the owner operates.
What I need is money.
Money. Money. Money. Money.
The phone rang again.
I answered but said nothing, simply waiting in silence.
I could feel the hesitation on the other end.
“500,000 won in coupons. That’s my final offer.”
Min Bae-ho, the portly manager, finally made his decision with a tone that brooked no argument, as if delivering an ultimatum after much deliberation.
I didn’t need to hear another word—I simply hung up.
The phone rang immediately.
“Why do you keep hanging up on me?”
“What’s the point of staying on the line if I have nothing to say?”
“You need to say something so I can understand what you want.”
“Why did I hang up? Because you’re spouting nonsense.”
“Then what would make sense?”
“Manager. I’m going through a very sensitive time right now. You know—the turbulent years of adolescence. But at the mart earlier, among all those customers watching us, there was someone I cared about. And in front of them, I was falsely accused of being a thief. I had to reveal that I’m on basic welfare, that I eat leftovers from other people’s meals. Why? Because you branded me a thief. In front of all those people, I nearly became a criminal, and to avoid that label, I had to expose myself as a pauper. Even now, thinking about it makes me break into a cold sweat and my hands and feet tremble. I might need to see a doctor, maybe even a psychiatrist, and you’re offering 500,000 won in coupons? Does the psychiatrist accept Food Mart coupons as payment?”
“Ahem. Well, there was a misunderstanding between us. Fine, I’ll give you 500,000 won in cash instead. Can we settle this?”
“500,000 is too little. Give me 3 million and we’ll call it even.”
“What? 3 million? Are you joking?”
“3 million is already me being incredibly generous. I genuinely believe I deserve at least 5 million won. At least 5 million—because I’ll be using the Food Mart frequently going forward, and if things are awkward between us every time I come in, it’s uncomfortable for both of us. So I’m asking for exactly 3 million won to cover medical expenses. That’s my final position.”
“3 million is still too much.”
“If that doesn’t work, I don’t need to convince you. I’ve already filed criminal charges for insult, assault, defamation, and child abuse. Once you pay the fine, we move straight to civil court.”
“What???”
“You didn’t know? You thought paying the fine was the end of it? There’s still the civil suit after that.”
“Who’s going to take your case for free?”
“For someone running a business, you really don’t understand how the world works. Nobody does this for money. It’s about marketing yourself as the hero who saved a minor from being falsely accused of theft. We’ll pursue the civil suit to demonstrate that justice still exists in society. A good news story like that would make headlines, wouldn’t it? Korean journalists love this kind of gossip. And it wouldn’t be great for your Food Mart’s reputation—one quick internet search and people would know exactly where you are.”
Min Bae-ho, cornered by the student’s sharp logic with no escape route, erupted in anger.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who suspected me and created this situation. If you hadn’t accused me of theft and assaulted me, none of this would have happened. Why do you forget what you did?”
“Sigh… 3 million is too much. I’ll give you 1 million won. That should be enough.”
“Manager, when you add up the fine, civil damages, and attorney fees, how much do you think that’ll be? Won’t it exceed 3 million? Why are you trying so hard to use a shovel when you could use a hoe? Besides, the CCTV footage is crystal clear—there’s no way out.”
“You’re just asking for an absurd amount.”
“Manager, if this goes to civil court, I’m starting my claim at 10 million won. I’m not going back to school starting tomorrow. I have PTSD—I can’t function in society anymore. I keep seeing people pointing at me, calling me a thief. I can’t live a normal life. The court will decide the final amount, but I’m opening with 10 million.”
“So you won’t budge on the amount?”
“No. Not even 1 won. 3 million won in cash. In exchange, once I receive the money, I’ll go straight to the Police Station and withdraw the complaint.”
A brief silence.
Then a long sigh.
“Fine… I understand. Come by the shop later.”
“Yes.”
After hanging up, the student took a large bite of the perfectly grilled beef.
It really is Korean beef—so savory.
It melts on the tongue.

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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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