The Return of the Ruined Chaebol's Third-Generation Heir - Chapter 7

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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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The Regression of a Fallen Chaebol’s Third-Generation Heir — Chapter 7
The next morning. Second-year, Class 3, Seonjin High School.
“Hey, did you do the homework? Let me see it. I need to copy it.”
“Anyone with a gym uniform! We have PE today — can I borrow yours?”
“God, I’m starving. Should’ve gone to the snack bar.”
The place was absolute chaos.
Before morning homeroom began, the classroom was thick with the noise and heat radiating off a roomful of restless high school boys.
To my ears, it all blurred into white noise.
I sat with my chin resting in my hand, staring out the window, lost somewhere deep inside my own thoughts.
‘Mid-September…’
I’d gone home yesterday and combed through every newspaper and news broadcast I could find.
The autumn of 2003.
If my memory was right, just as the Chuseok holiday began, a catastrophic disaster would slam into the Korean Peninsula. Typhoon Maemi. A storm powerful enough to bend the Goliath cranes at Busan Port like taffy and reduce entire coastal cities to rubble.
‘The loss of life and the destruction of property will be heartbreaking — but the stock market will react in its own way.’
If I accumulated the right stocks beforehand, the share prices would surge on reconstruction themes once the typhoon had passed.
The problem was timing.
‘Still two weeks away.’
The competition ran for one month.
I couldn’t just sit on my hands for two weeks.
Han Jae-yi’s portfolio would hold our account steady, but if we wanted to win, we needed something to bridge the gap — no, something to pump our returns before the typhoon ever arrived.
‘There was definitely something.’
The rebound after the Sunkwang accounting fraud scandal? Or the credit card company merger issues?
Major events came to mind, but the single devastating move that could decide a high school competition in the short term remained frustratingly out of reach.
My head felt like a tangled ball of yarn.
“Seon-woo.”
Just then, someone tapped my desk.
I turned to find Min-jae, our class president, wearing that easygoing smile of his.
“Oh — morning, Min-jae.”
“You looked pretty deep in thought. Is it because of the homework Jae-yi gave us yesterday?”
Min-jae asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.
I swallowed a dry laugh.
‘This guy. My head’s already splitting and he goes straight for the jugular.’
He plays the oblivious card and then lands the sharpest jabs.
I kept my tone deliberately casual and sidestepped the question.
“Well… yeah, something like that. What about you — did you finish it?”
“Me? Obviously.”
Min-jae patted his bag with both hands.
“Last night I skipped my tutoring homework and did this instead. Stayed up all night reading financial statements and digging through news — and wow… I found one. A stock I actually feel good about.”
His face was alive with excitement — far more than it ever was over a math problem.
“Digging into this stuff properly made me understand it. What people mean when they say numbers don’t lie. The more you learn about the stock market, the more interesting it gets.”
‘Irritating. So irritating.’
Maybe it was because my body had reverted to a teenager, but my heart felt smaller too.
Here I was with my head in my hands, and this overachiever had already found his answer.
The kid wasn’t just promising — he was outright golden.
“So what about you, Seon-woo?”
Min-jae leaned in and asked, his voice low and conspiratorial.
“Did you find something?”
“Yeah, I’ve got… something. Obviously.”
I answered with practiced nonchalance. I hadn’t locked it in yet, but I had the typhoon card — so it wasn’t exactly a lie.
“I’m looking forward to it. I’ll be honest — you surprised me.”
“How so?”
“Watching you.”
Min-jae hesitated a moment, then scratched the back of his head with a sheepish look.
“Honestly, I used to find you kind of hard to approach. You always seemed on the outside of things, and whenever anyone tried to talk to you, you’d only give one-word answers. So I figured… you thought we were beneath you and just didn’t bother.”
Oh.
Something bitter settled in my chest at his words.
‘That wasn’t it at all.’
Back then, I’d been crushed under the weight of being labeled a third-generation chaebol heir, ground down by the pressure that came with it, and buried under the particular gloom of adolescence — everything felt like too much, and everything felt frightening.
If anything, I’d been the one too scared that they’d resent me for being born with a silver spoon, so I’d walled myself off first.
“But watching you lately, I realize I had you all wrong. Yesterday in the club room, when you were talking with Jae-yi — you were sharp, confident, said exactly what needed to be said…”
“……”
“More than anything, the way you carried yourself — like you were absolutely certain of something. It was cool. Like a leader.”
Min-jae’s admiration was entirely sincere.
Something that had been locked tight in my chest softened a little at his guileless praise.
Right. This time around, at least, I wouldn’t be misread by the people around me.
“Thanks. For seeing me that way.”
“I mean it. I’m genuinely looking forward to your pick at today’s meeting.”
Min-jae smiled and was about to head back to his seat when it happened.
“Hey! PC Room after school today?”
“Absolutely. Go grab us some seats.”
The voices of the guys clustered by the bulletin board at the back of the classroom cut through the air.
Normally I would have let it wash right past me.
But one word that followed struck my brain like a lightning bolt.
“What are you playing these days? Still doing StarCraft?”
“Are you serious? Who plays StarCraft anymore. Kingdom 2, obviously.”
“Dude, that game is insane. I tried the Open Beta yesterday — the combat feel is out of this world.”
“Right? I stayed up all night and hit level 20. When the official launch drops next month I’m paying up right away.”
In an instant, something rang through my skull like a bell.
‘…Oh.’
Kingdom 2.
The legendary MMORPG that rewrote the history of Korean gaming.
‘Right — it was now.’
Endigames, listed on KOSDAQ off the back of Kingdom 1’s success.
But the Open Beta that had launched just yesterday turned everything on its head.
‘New record for peak concurrent users. Reclaiming the top spot in PC Room market share.’
And then October 1st, next month.
When the monthly subscription Paid Service launched, this game would become more than a success — it would become a cultural phenomenon.
‘The godfather of Real Money Spending. The obsession of a generation.’
The sequel to the very game that, before my regression, had cemented the Kingdom-style business model as a fixture of the gaming industry.
Right now the market was on the fence. The Open Beta was an unprecedented triumph, but the conventional wisdom said users would flee once Monetization kicked in.
But I knew better.
Once middle-aged men got a taste of something, they had no fear of opening their wallets.
“Found it.”
Without realizing it, the corner of my mouth curled up.
The one sure card that would explode our account’s returns before the typhoon arrived — and turn Han Jae-yi’s suspicion into complete faith.

* * *
After school. The Club Room.
Reunited after just one day, the three of us gathered around the central table. On the whiteboard, Han Jae-yi had already drawn a pie chart of a sample Portfolio.
“Alright, as promised — let’s each present the stock we researched. Min-jae, you first.”
At Han Jae-yi’s prompt, Min-jae rose from his seat with some hesitation. He looked a little worn out, as though he’d been up all night preparing.
“Um… I’d like to recommend this company.”
Min-jae picked up a board marker and wrote four characters on the whiteboard.
[Hyunbo Computer]
“Hyunbo Computer?”
Han Jae-yi’s brow furrowed slightly.
“You want to buy Hyunbo Computer? Don’t you know the IT bubble already burst and PC sales are at rock bottom? I said tech stocks were risky.”
Her point was fair. The PC market at the time was saturated, and people had stopped buying expensive computers.
But Min-jae didn’t back down.
“I know that, Jae-yi. But I was watching the vibe.”
“The vibe?”
“Yeah. The vibe in our class is off the charts. After school, everyone sprints to the PC Room like they’ve lost their minds.”
Han Jae-yi gave a small, dismissive smile.
“So? Boys going to the PC Room is nothing new.”
“This is different. Even the straight-A kids who never used to go — they’re all going now. Because of Kingdom 2, which just launched.”
I sat with my arms crossed, quietly impressed.
‘Look at this guy.’
He wasn’t just noticing that a game was popular — he was observing the phenomenon behind it.
“But the thing is, the way kids are picking PC Rooms has changed. Before, they’d just go to the closest one. Now they’re comparing specs. Old machines can’t run Kingdom 2 without lagging out.”
Min-jae swallowed and pressed on.
“So apparently the PC Room owners are in a panic. They’re losing customers to the shop next door, so they have no choice but to upgrade their machines whether they like it or not. If that upgrade wave hits, replacement demand is going to explode — and when that happens, won’t the PC market recover?”
Min-jae pulled a clipped magazine article out of his bag.
“And when I looked it up yesterday, there was actually a piece in a computer trade magazine saying it was the first major PC replacement cycle in three years. It feels like the exact bottom to me.”
“……Hm.”
Han Jae-yi took the magazine and read through it carefully. The skepticism eased from her expression, slowly and visibly.
‘Sharp kid.’
I smiled to myself.
What the legends of Wall Street had called “discovering ideas in everyday life” — this high school kid was doing it by pure instinct.
Han Jae-yi nodded and set the magazine down.
“That holds up. You didn’t just go on gut feeling — you checked real-world reactions on the ground and backed it up with a published article. You put in the work.”
“Hehe, I was up all night.”
“Alright, fair enough. We’ve got six slots in the Portfolio anyway, so holding one hardware sector pick isn’t a bad idea. Seon-woo — do you agree?”
Han Jae-yi turned to me for my take. I gave a thumbs-up without hesitation.
“Absolutely. He went this far with his research — there’s no reason to push back. The logic is completely sound.”
“Good. Hyunbo Computer confirmed. Min-jae, I’m seeing you in a whole new light.”
At Han Jae-yi’s praise, Min-jae’s face flushed red as a beet.
“Alright, then. Your turn, Seon-woo.”
Han Jae-yi folded her arms and looked at me.
“I assume you came prepared with that grand ‘event stock’ you teased us with?”
I stood up and walked to the whiteboard, writing a new name beside Min-jae’s Hyunbo Computer.
“My angle isn’t too different from Min-jae’s — games being the big trend in our class right now.”
“So? You’re saying we should buy Endigames, the company that made Kingdom 2?”
Han Jae-yi shook her head.
“That’s a no. I already looked at the chart — it’s run up too far on expectations. The PER is over 50 times. That’s a bubble.”
“No, Jae-yi.”
I shook my head.
“What did I say we were going to do? Exploit the Timing Advantage.”
“Timing Advantage?”
“Right. Endigames is already the star of the show. Everyone’s watching it. There’s not much pie left for us. But…”
I tapped the name I’d written on the whiteboard.
[Genesis Games]
“Genesis Games?”
“Yes. They listed on KOSDAQ last June. They run a 3D MMORPG called Miracle.”
“I don’t know the game, but I know Genesis. They hit the Stock Trading Limit Up right after their IPO. Lately, though, the share price has been pretty flat.”
“Exactly. No momentum, so it’s been resting. But if Kingdom 2 from Endigames turns into a massive hit — how do you think the market will react?”
Han Jae-yi thought for a moment before answering.
“…It would light a fire under investor sentiment for the entire gaming sector?”
“Exactly right. People will think: damn, I should have bought Endigames. But it’s too expensive to buy now. Right?”
I let a small smile show.
“At that point, people’s eyes start searching for the next Endigames. Something in the same 3D MMORPG space, but with a share price that hasn’t moved yet. Solid fundamentals — but undervalued.”
Miracle was pulling in cash not far behind Kingdom. It was just hidden in the market’s blind spot, buried under the spotlight on the number one player.
“Endigames’ success will plant the idea that gaming companies are exceptional cash-generating machines. The money will overflow and spread into the mid-cap gaming stocks around them. The market calls that the Trickle-Down Effect.”
I put a period on it with a voice full of certainty.
“By the time people start looking around asking who’s next — I’ll already be inside Genesis Games, waiting.”
When I finished and turned around.
Silence had settled over the Club Room.
Both Han Jae-yi and Min-jae were staring up at me, mouths open, utterly dumbstruck.
“……”
“……Why are you looking at me like that?”
At my question, Han Jae-yi let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“Ha, honestly…”
She shook her head slowly, like she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard.
“Are you actually a high school student? Trickle-Down Effect and all that — you sound like an economist on TV.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is one. The logic is so airtight it’s giving me chills — I can’t find a single thing to argue with.”
Han Jae-yi raised her pen and drew a star next to my stock pick.
“Alright. Genesis Games approved. Adding it to the list.”
Two pairs of awestruck eyes fixed on me.
‘Ah, that look.’
I kept my face neutral and settled back into my seat. After that, I listened as Han Jae-yi laid out the Hedge stocks she had prepared.
She explained that consumer spending had contracted in the aftermath of the credit card crisis, and chose defensive stocks accordingly.
It was sound reasoning, and with that, the six-stock Portfolio was finalized.
The preparation was done.
All that remained was waiting for the competition to begin and watching the share prices climb.

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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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