The Return of the Ruined Chaebol's Third-Generation Heir - Chapter 10

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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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Regression of a Third-Generation Chaebol’s Fall — Chapter 10
It was late at night, but I sat at my desk, eyes boring into the computer screen.
[15th Mirae Securities High School Mock Investment Contest — Midterm Rankings]
[1st Place: Chasing the Upper Limit (Return Rate: 12.4%)]
[2nd Place: The Textbook Return (Return Rate: 8.2%)]
“……They’re really good, aren’t they?”
I propped my chin in my hand and glared at the monitor.
Our team was holding its own.
Genis Games had surged day after day just as expected, fattening our account, and Min-jae’s Hyunbo Computer had bottomed out and managed a solid rebound. Han Jae-yi’s defensive stocks were pulling their weight too.
An 8% return in a single week.
For a typical fund, that would be a full year’s harvest.
‘The problem is that first-place team.’
They called themselves Chasing the Upper Limit, and they lived up to the name — absolutely reckless. Financial statements, company fundamentals — none of it mattered to them. They read the news and threw every cent of their seed money into whatever theme stock was hottest that day.
They got lucky riding the biotech wave, and just the other day they hit the jackpot on a stem-cell-related stock.
‘At this rate, the gap will only widen.’
The gaming sector we rode was approaching its peak.
The news of Kingdom 2’s successful monetization had already been fully priced in.
Starting tomorrow, profit-taking would flood the market. In other words, the Momentum was fading.
“We need to rotate.”
Tomorrow — September 8th.
The last trading day before the Chuseok holiday.
Once the market closed tomorrow, four straight days of Chuseok break would begin.
‘And then Maemi will come.’
I pulled up an internet news window.
The Korea Meteorological Administration forecast page showed Typhoon Maemi’s projected path.
Still out in the Okinawa Sea, Japan.
The media was reporting nothing more alarming than a possibility of development into a large typhoon.
People didn’t know yet — that this swirling mass would lock onto the Korean Peninsula in a matter of days.
‘……Hah.’
A heaviness settled in my chest.
It was too much to simply celebrate this as a money-making opportunity — the wounds Maemi left behind had been too deep for that.
The towering cranes at Busan Port twisted like taffy, coastal cities swallowed by muddy floodwater — that image of devastation was burned into me.
Countless disaster victims, countless lives lost.
‘Knowing it won’t let me stop it.’
I wasn’t Superman. I couldn’t halt a natural disaster.
It was bitter, but the living had to keep living. And I was in a position where I had to find opportunity even in the middle of catastrophe.
Keep the sentiment brief. Keep the judgment cold.
‘The scenario is clear.’
Breaking news would blanket every channel around the clock throughout the holiday.
And when the holiday ended and the market reopened on Monday, September 15th —
— the market would crash in a panic, but typhoon-related stocks alone would open with a Gap Up.
Which meant that if I didn’t buy tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to buy at all no matter how much I wanted to.
‘I need to convince Han Jae-yi to sell every share of Genis Games. That money has to move into typhoon theme stocks.’
The question was what to buy.
I scrolled through the relevant sectors, sorting them out in my head.
Reconstruction or waste disposal.
‘Most people think of reconstruction first.’
Buildings collapse, so cement and construction equipment would be needed.
Ssangseong Cement, Seonjin Construction — stocks like those.
But there was a drawback. They were too heavy.
To reclaim first place in a high school competition, I needed a nimble stock capable of hitting the 15% daily ceiling, but construction stocks moved like lead — they’d creep up 3 to 5% and stall there.
‘Then waste disposal?’
Inseong ENT, Onntech.
Companies that cleared the debris a typhoon left in its wake.
Lighter than construction plays, for sure. Their market caps were small enough that institutional money could toy with them easily.
‘But something’s missing.’
I crossed my arms and sank deeper into my chair.
I dug through my memories of the previous life.
September 2003. Just after Maemi had passed.
Waste disposal stocks had risen, that much was true. But had they led the charge?
Were they the ones people chased in a frenzy, day after day?
‘No.’
Waste disposal was too obvious. Anyone could see it coming.
The market reacts to obvious catalysts but never goes wild over them.
The market goes truly mad when fear and survival are directly on the line.
What remains after a typhoon passes and the waters recede.
It isn’t just rubble and garbage.
“……Right.”
Rotting earth. Contaminated water.
The second wave of disaster that follows.
What people had truly feared wasn’t the collapsed buildings — it was the calamity that came after.
‘Oh!’
Lightning struck somewhere in my mind.
That was it.
Not construction, not waste disposal. The real theme that had set the market on fire in the autumn of 2003.
“That was the one.”
A cold smile crept across my lips.
Reconstruction? Waste disposal?
Both wrong. The real play this time was somewhere else entirely.
“Found it. Now let me go ahead and set up a pre-market buy order in my own account.”

* * *
The day before the Chuseok holiday.
The moment morning classes ended, we gathered in the Club Room.
“The mood’s good.”
Han Jae-yi crossed her arms with a satisfied air.
“The first-place team switches stocks every single day. Yesterday biotech, today apparently some entertainment stock. One misstep and they’re finished.”
“Exactly. We’re stable, so if we just hold steady, a top ranking is basically guaranteed.”
Min-jae chimed in. Both of them seemed perfectly content with their current Portfolio.
Han Jae-yi turned to me.
“Seon-woo, no issues, right? Let’s skip trading today, carry this Portfolio through the holiday, and reassess once the market opens after Chuseok.”
The safest call, without question.
Standard practice before a holiday was to either cash out or hold your existing positions.
But I shook my head.
“No. We need to Rebalance.”
“Rebalance? Adjust our weightings?”
“More than adjusting weightings — we need to swap out the stocks entirely.”
I drew a long breath and spoke.
“Genis Games — let’s sell everything today.”
“……What?”
Han Jae-yi’s eyes went wide. Min-jae’s jaw dropped beside her.
“Are you insane? Genis is the one dragging our Return Rate up by the collar right now. It’s up another 3% today — why on earth would we sell?”
“She’s right, Seon-woo. I saw the forum — people are saying it still has room to run……”
“That’s exactly why we sell.”
I kept my voice steady.
“There’s an old market saying — leave while they’re still applauding. This is exactly that moment.”
“Okay, but what’s the reason? It’s going to keep climbing — why get out now?”
Han Jae-yi’s expression said she wasn’t buying it.
Understandable. Being told to spit out a piece of candy you could still taste was never easy.
“Rotational Trading.”
“Rotational Trading?”
“Yes. Money doesn’t pool in one place forever. The gaming sector has been leading the market for over a week now. Those who’ve caught the scent of profits will start hunting elsewhere soon enough.”
I drew a circle on the board.
“It’s not that Genis Games or ND Games have gotten worse as companies. But what drives a stock up is ultimately the money flowing in — the Supply and Demand. When that money leaves, the price drifts down. Simple as that.”
“Then what’s the next theme?”
Han Jae-yi asked, arms folded.
“Is there even an alternative right now besides gaming? Pharma and biotech have been losing steam for a while, construction’s been dead in the water.”
I pulled a folder from my bag, the one I’d prepared the night before, and spread the pages across the table.
Showing them was faster than telling them.
“This.”
Printed on the A4 sheets was a satellite image — a map of the Korean Peninsula with a red arrow cutting across it.
[Korea Meteorological Administration — Typhoon Advisory Bulletin]
[Typhoon No. 14 ‘Maemi’ Moving North… Possibility of Developing into a Major Typhoon]
“A typhoon?”
Han Jae-yi’s brow furrowed.
“You want to sell our gaming stocks because of this?”
“Yes. As you can see, the projected path is alarming. There’s a high probability it will cut straight through the Korean Peninsula during the Chuseok holiday — and at a record-breaking intensity.”
I spoke with conviction, but the room went cold.
“You’re trusting the Meteorological Administration? Don’t you know they’re wrong all the time? Just last week they called for rain and it was nothing but sunshine.”
Min-jae added his voice.
“She’s right, Seon-woo. My dad says whenever he goes fishing he just assumes the opposite of whatever they predict. It’s not like this is the first time a typhoon warning fizzled out into nothing.”
As expected.
No one believed it.
Back then, the Korea Meteorological Administration’s credibility was at rock bottom. Supercomputers hadn’t been introduced yet, so forecasts missed the mark constantly.
To them, Maemi was just another typhoon — the kind that rolled through every year, dropped some rain, and moved on.
‘I suppose you can’t really know until you’ve lived through it.’
I swallowed a quiet sigh.
I was certain because I’d seen the future, but there was no way to prove my foresight to them.
Which left only one approach.
“Fair enough. The Meteorological Administration gets it wrong all the time. I know that.”
I conceded the point freely.
“Whether the typhoon actually comes — only the sky knows. But……”
I pointed to the monitor. It was the Supply and Demand window in the trading terminal.
“Supply and Demand never lies.”
“Supply and Demand?”
“Look at this. The foreign broker accounts that had been buying Genis Games like mad all week — their buying dried up completely this morning.”
The red bar graph on screen — net purchases — had gone flat at today’s date.
“Meanwhile, retail investor buying is surging. What does that tell you?”
“……A change of hands.”
Han Jae-yi murmured.
“Exactly. The smart money is already walking out the door, and the retail crowd — the ones who finally caught the news — are stepping in to absorb those shares. Classic Peak signal. Typhoon or no typhoon, the technical read says it’s time to exit.”
Silence settled over the room. Han Jae-yi stared hard at the monitor.
She could brush off a weather forecast, but the data right in front of her was harder to dismiss.
Her eyes wavered.
Then Min-jae quietly raised his hand.
“Jae-yi.”
“……Yeah?”
“I’m with Seon-woo on this.”
“You too, Min-jae?”
“You said it yourself — investing isn’t gambling, it’s managing risk. He came in with actual research. It doesn’t sound like he’s talking out of nowhere.”
Han Jae-yi fell quiet, her own words turned back on her. There was no rebuttal for that.
She exhaled slowly and gave a single nod.
“……Fine. You win.”
She swiveled her chair to face me.
“You’re right. That foreign supply chart was nagging at me too. We’ve made decent gains anyway — better to pocket them than get greedy.”
“Good call.”
“Alright. Full sell on Genis Games. So what do we buy with that money? Hold cash?”
I shook my head.
“No. We buy the typhoon theme stocks I mentioned.”
“You just said yourself we can’t trust the Meteorological Administration.”
“We can’t trust their forecast — but we can trust market panic. Even if the typhoon never arrives, we lose nothing. If it does, we clean up. Think of it as buying insurance.”
Han Jae-yi looked like she’d given up arguing, but she didn’t object.
“Fine — I already decided to let you play striker on your own terms. So which stock? Construction? Waste disposal?”
“Neither.”
I walked to the board and wrote a new name.
[Daejin Bio]
“Daejin Bio? That’s a fertilizer company.”
“To be precise, they make fertilizer and veterinary pharmaceuticals.”
“A typhoon’s coming and you want fertilizer?”
Han Jae-yi and Min-jae tilted their heads in unison.
“When most people think ‘typhoon beneficiary stocks,’ they jump straight to construction for rebuilding structures or waste disposal for clearing debris. That’s first-level thinking. Think about the time lag instead.”
I continued, keeping my voice level.
“When a typhoon passes and the floodwater drains away, what’s left behind? Not just garbage. Contaminated soil. And pathogens.”
“Oh……”
“Farmland in flood zones will be hit by crop blights, and livestock will face a sharply higher risk of infectious disease. What does the government do first? Quarantine and disinfection. They’ll fumigate and distribute fertilizer to rehabilitate the soil.”
I tapped the board twice.
“Anyone can haul away debris, but quarantine supplies and fertilizer are essential goods. On top of that, this company has a small market cap — the slightest inflow of capital and it takes off. While everyone else eyes waste disposal, we move first into quarantine and agricultural recovery.”
Han Jae-yi stared at the board for a moment, then let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“You…… what exactly is going on inside your head?”
“Common sense and logic.”
“Oh, common sense, he says. Like anyone would call that common sense.”
She shook her head, but her hand was already moving toward the keyboard.
“You’ve convinced me. I’ll admit it. Buying Daejin Bio.”
“Thank you.”
Click. Click-clack.
The sound of orders going through. The funds from selling Genis Games shifted into Daejin Bio.
I had already done the same the night before — every last won in my own account moved into Daejin Bio.
“Right. Setup’s done.”
Han Jae-yi pressed the Enter key with a firm tap and leaned back in her chair.
“The die is cast. Pray during the holiday. Pray that the Meteorological Administration is actually right this time.”
She said it like a joke, but I couldn’t smile.
The forecast would be right — and the price of that would be devastating.

* * *
September 11th.
The Chuseok holiday had begun, but the air in the Pyeongchang-dong living room felt nothing like a festive occasion.
On the TV screen, a weather reporter was being battered by wind and rain, shouting into her microphone.
[I’m standing here at Seogwipo Port, Jeju! As you can see, we’re being hit by gusts strong enough to knock a person off their feet! Typhoon Maemi is currently maintaining an extremely powerful intensity with a central pressure of 950 hPa as it moves northward……]
In the satellite image, an enormous spiral gaped open as though ready to swallow the Korean Peninsula whole.
‘Just as I thought…… the future hasn’t changed.’
I tightened my hands into fists.
Against everyone’s complacent assumptions, Maemi had held its record-breaking strength and kept moving north.
By tomorrow night it would make landfall on the southern coast and sweep everything away.
“Oh my, what’s going to happen. I hope there aren’t too many casualties……”
My mother watched the news with worry creasing her face. Beside her, Seon-ah looked frightened.
“Mom, look at that reporter barely standing. It’s scary.”
“It’ll be all right.”
My mother soothed Seon-ah, but her own expression stayed dark.
The TV had already cut to footage of boats moored at a harbor being dragged under by waves.
‘I am not Superman.’
Knowing the future didn’t give me the power to stop nature.
I couldn’t redirect the typhoon’s path, couldn’t still the wind and rain.
By tomorrow, countless people would be displaced, some would lose everything they had ever built.
And I was someone who had already positioned himself to profit from that disaster. Cold-blooded — but there was nothing to be done about it.
‘Still……’
That didn’t mean I could sit back and watch without lifting a finger. There was a minimum of human decency to uphold, and there were things I could actually do with what I had. If I ignored even that, I’d be nothing but a creature driven by money.
“Mom.”
“Yes? What is it, Seon-woo?”
I kept my eyes on the TV as I spoke.
“The situation around Busan is going to be bad. Going by the news, this is historic — when it hits, there’ll be an enormous number of displaced people.”
“I suppose so. It’s worrying.”
“On top of that, recovery crews will be pouring in from all over the country — soldiers, police, firefighters, all of them.”
I paused for a moment, then spoke as though arriving at a decision.
“What if we offered Seonjin Resort Busan Branch to house them?”
My words made my mother’s eyes go wide.
“……What did you say?”
“Open it as accommodation for the recovery crews. After the typhoon, they’ll be covered in mud with nowhere decent to sleep — they’re going to need somewhere with hot water and meals.”
My mother couldn’t find words for a moment, studying my face. Seon-ah looked equally startled.
“It’s not like anyone would be going on vacation near a disaster site anyway. Better than leaving it empty……”
“You actually thought about that, Oppa?”
“Just — watching the news, it seemed obvious.”
I kept my tone deliberately matter-of-fact.
“And practically speaking, when things get serious, the authorities will come asking for cooperation anyway. Offering before we’re asked looks far better than being pressured into it. It’ll do the group’s image good as well.”
Even from a purely calculating standpoint, it made sense.
The group’s reputation had taken a beating during the investigations that had shadowed my father before his death.
And nothing had really improved even after my mother had taken over as chair.
But tangled into those calculations was a smaller, quieter thing — my own sense of debt.
“……Seon-woo.”
My mother’s expression shifted slowly — surprise giving way to something like pride, then to a warmth that threatened to spill over.
“You’re right. That’s truly…… a wonderful idea.”
She reached for her phone without another word.
“I’ll call the Resort manager right now. If it gets bad, clear the rooms — and get the restaurant ready to run around the clock.”
“Please do.”
I watched her step away to make the call, then settled back into the sofa.
The weight that had been pressing on my chest felt, just slightly, lighter.
‘I did what I could.’
Now the only thing left for me to do was survive the coming storm and grow stronger.
Only then could I protect more of what mattered.

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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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