đ„đStock God AFK: I'm Just Here to Play the Marketđ„đ
"What on earth?!... who slipped this piece of trash in here?" Kade Mercer, manager of the HR department, pinched a resume between two fingers as though it were contaminated. His temper was on the verge of exploding. Outside the window stretched the steel jungle of Brecken City's financial districtâskyscrapers clustered together, radiating the raw arrogance of money and power. Inside, the gilded letters of Axom Capital gleamed on the wall, silently proclaiming the prestige of this top-tier private equity firm. With assets under management in the hundreds of billions and a dominant position in the industry, this was the sacred hall every graduate from elite universities dreamed of entering. Here, credentials were currency, and the sharpest financial minds clawed tooth and nail for a single foothold. Yet in Kade's hand lay this resumeâ Name: Elon Shaw Age: 25 Education: Brecken Industrial University, Brecken City Major: Business Administration Certificates: None Work Experience: None Kade almost suspected the printer had jammed and someone had mistakenly dropped a test page onto his desk. No CFA, no CPA, no FRMânone of the golden tickets every finance professional lived and died by. No internships. No work experience. Nothing but a blank slate. To be honest, in Axom's history, he had never once seen such a pitiful resume land on his desk. He considered feeding it straight into the shredder. Even then, Kade felt it would be an insult to that expensive imported machine. And yet, today, here it wasâlying brazenly on his desk. "Mr. Mercer," his secretary's voice trembled with caution, "this resume came directly from the chairman's office." "What?" Kade shot to his feet, disbelief etched across his face. The chairman? The very man who had built Axom Capital from obscurity to industry dominance? The man renowned for his ruthless vision, his meritocracy, and his open contempt for nepotism? Kade remembered vividly: just last year, a decorated company veteran had tried to place his nephew, freshly returned from overseas, into a key department. The chairman had crushed the proposal in front of the entire executive board, humiliating the old guard so badly that no one dared test that red line again. And nowâthe chairman himself had sent over a resume this... unremarkable? This wasn't a hint. It wasn't even a suggestion. It was an order. Could it be... a relative? The surname didn't match. But who could say for sure? "Did he say which department to assign him to?" "No, nothing. Just sent the resume down." "Heh..." Kade let out a bitter laugh. No instructionsâthat was the hardest instruction of all. It meant HR had to handle it, make it look natural, and avoid causing offense. But where to place such a mediocre "connection"? Put him in a core department, and the place would erupt. Shove him in a peripheral corner, and it might look like they were slighting the chairman's protĂ©gĂ©. After half a minute of silence, thoughts twisting through his head like tangled wires, Kade finally decided. "Put him on Desk One. Start him as a junior trader." The secretary hesitated. "Sir, the team on that desk... they won't be happy." "Let them complain!" Kade snapped, waving his hand dismissively. "This is someone personally 'recommended' by the chairman. If anyone has a problem, they can take it up with me!" Yes, Trading was a core departmentâbut an assistant? That was glorified grunt work. Clicking through simulation trades, fetching coffee, printing documents, running errands... In other words, a harmless bystander. This way, the chairman's face was saved, and the so-called protĂ©gĂ© wouldn't have the chance to cause any real damage. Perfect. Kade sighed inwardly. A company as vast as Axom was bound to attract its share of parasites and hangers-on. Human favors and hidden deals... they were impossible to escape. He glanced back down at the resume, eyes lingering on that nameâElon Shaw. What kind of earth-shaking background did this young man carry? What could possibly compel the chairman to bend his own iron rule? That name was like a pebble tossed into Axom's deceptively calm but treacherous depths, sending quiet ripples outward. And at the very heart of those ripplesâthe young man called Elon, who, just hours earlier, was still in some forgotten corner of the city, caught in the middle of a storm powerful enough to overturn his life. ... Bang! The door slammed open with a dull echo. Elon jolted violently, spinning away from his computer screen. In the dim room, the monitor's pale glow cast his face in sharp reliefâashen, startled, guilty. "Mom... Dad? When did you get back?" "What, you've been gaming so hard you didn't even notice us walking in?" His mother's voice was sharp, frayed with exhaustion, carrying anger suppressed for far too long. Behind her, his father loomed in silence, a volcano on the verge of eruption, his glare sharp enough to cut. "Your father and I work ourselves half to death outside, just to earn a living! And you? You sit at home every day, glued to your games!" "Look at George's boy next door. Same age as you. He just got promoted last month, already planning to buy a house and get married! "And your sister! She's three years younger than you, but sheâs got a stable job and actually has a plan for her life. "And you? Do you plan to waste away like this for the rest of your life?" Their long-suppressed resentment burst loose like a broken dam, crashing over Elon with the force of a flood. Every word was a spike, driven straight into his chest. He knew they were right. Every accusation hit home. He had no defenseâonly silence. He had once been a young graduate, a fresh-faced dreamer with ambition in his heart. But after endless rejections, jobless months stretching into years, his resolve had withered. He had retreatedâinto games, into the shelter of a virtual world. Leeching off his parents, numbing himself, running away. "Elon..." Suddenly, his mother's voice softened. "I wish you could play happily for the rest of your life. But reality won't allow it. Your father and I... we'll grow old one day. What will you do then? You need to think about your future..." "I know." Elon lowered his head. His voice was rough, almost broken. "This is the last time!" his father thundered, each word like a hammer strike. "We'll give you one last chance. This time, you must show us something real. Show us change. Don't disappoint us again!" The door slammed shut, leaving behind a suffocating silence. Elon sat frozen in his chair. On the game screen before him, a newly looted weapon gleamed with legendary brilliance. A prize worth celebratingâyet at this moment, it looked like the cruelest joke. "Heh..." A dry, bitter laugh escaped his throat, his chest tightening with unease. Just moments ago, he had been laughing and bragging with his guildmates in voice chat. [No way! Elon just pulled a god-tier legendary!] [Elon! What kind of luck is that?! The absolute RNG King!] [This dude's account is blessed. The chosen one, I swear.] ... The guild channel buzzed with cheers, banter, and reverent shouts. Elon basked in it, proud and exhilarated, relishing the attention, the worship, the title they gave himâthe RNG King. All of it stemmed from a strange gift he had recently discovered. A mysterious intuition. It had started about a month ago. During the most random, luck-driven moments in the gameâdrawing cards, opening loot boxesâhe had begun to sense something. For the briefest instant, a fleeting timing, impossible to describe. Sometimes it felt like a faint electric current sparking at his fingertips, rushing up to his head in a dizzying jolt. If he clicked the mouse in that exact instantâmiracles happened. Like just now. That legendary weapon flashing across his screen? That was the result of seizing that elusive feeling and clicking without hesitation. This inexplicable "RNG King's Luck" was his last shred of pride, his only comfort against the emptiness of real life. But under the crushing weight of his parents' disappointment, even this fragile pride felt pitifully small. He exhaled a long sigh. It couldn't go on like this. He opened the guild chat box. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long moment before finally typing a single line: [Hey guys, I'm sorry... but I think I have to quit.] The channel erupted. [What? Elon, you're quitting? Why all of a sudden?] [Who pissed you off? Tell us! We'll beat the crap out of him!] [Don't go, man! We're a bunch of old dudes here. If you leave, the guild will be a retirement home!] Reading the flood of messages, Elon felt a pang of warmth, mixed with a bitter ache. He explained his family situation briefly. The chat fell silent for a few seconds. [I see...] [Sigh... we get it. Your parents aren't wrong. Time to find a proper job.] [What a shame, though! Without your luck, who's gonna pull gear for us?] Amid the sighs and consolations, a private chat window suddenly popped up. It was the guild master. [Elon.] [Guild Master? What's up?] [Hold off on quitting for now. If I remember right, you graduated from Brecken Industrial University? Business Administration major?] [Yeah, that's right. Why?] [How's your math? Did you take accounting?] [Decent. Learned a bit.] [Good. Send me your resume.] [Huh? My resume? What do you need that for?] [Forget wasting time on random jobs. Come work at my company. That way, you don't have to quit the game. Hell, if you leave, our guild really will turn into an old folks' club.] Elon froze. The guild master? The guy who cracked jokes in chat, who treated everyone like family, who always insisted on picking up the tab at meetups? The one who drove a different flashy car every week? Elon had always pictured his guild master as just another aimless heir to a fortune, whiling his days away in-game. But he had an actual company? And he was offering him a job? This was... surreal. [Guild Master, you're not joking, right?] [Do I look like I'm joking? I know what kind of person you are. Reliable, loyal, sharp. You've carried plenty of guild nonsense on your shoulders for me. Think of this as me returning the favor. Send your resume to this email. I'll have HR arrange everything.] Elon's eyes stung with sudden heat. They had only met through a game. Yet the guild master was willing to go this far? Still... doubt gnawed at him. What if the company was shady? A shell operation? No! He shook his head fiercely, banishing the thought. Was this really the time to be picky? A job was a job. Company size, salaryânone of it mattered. What mattered was having an answer for his parents. "At least... I can finally tell them something," he muttered. He glanced at the email address the guild master had given him. His fingers trembled as he copied it into a search engine. The results popped up in an instant. [Axom Capital] [Top-tier domestic private equity fund] [Assets under management exceeding 100 billion] Elon's pupils contracted. His mind went blank, as though lightning had struck him on the spot. His mouth opened soundlessly before two words escaped, raw with shock, disbelief, and absurdity: "...Holy...Shi?" Chapter 2 "Damn... this is really it?" Elon tilted his head back, staring up at the towering skyscraper gleaming gold against the morning sky, and gulped. Axom Capital. One of the country's top private equity firms. For an ordinary graduate from a second-tier universityâan unemployed youth who couldn't even land a jobâthis place was practically a temple gilded with diamonds. Normally, even glancing at it too long would feel like overstepping. And yet, here he was, about to walk inside as an employee. "I haven't even told Mom and Dad..." He still felt like he was dreaming. How could someone like him deserve a place in such a legendary company? What if he turned out to be useless, just a burden, and got tossed out in a matter of days? The thought gnawed at him. When leaving the house, he hadn't dared to tell his parents the truth. He'd only muttered something vague about going to an "interview," then bolted before they could ask more. "Ugh, this suit... feels too tight." During his years freeloading at home, he had at least quit late-night snacks to avoid his mother's death glares and endless nagging, so his body hadn't ballooned completely out of shape. But judging by how this suit pinched at his shoulders, he really needed to start hitting the gym. Just a subway ride and a short climb up a few stairs had left him embarrassingly winded. Still... was it really normal to start work this early? [Report before 7 a.m. sharp.] When he'd first read that line in the onboarding message, he'd thought it was a mistake. To make sure he wasn't late, he'd dragged himself out of bed before dawn and stumbled into the first subway of the day, still half-asleep. Looking at the empty carriage, he'd muttered to himself, "Am I the only idiot showing up this early? What if the building's not even open yet?" But the moment he reached the financial district, the sight floored him. 'Good lord!' The entire street was packed shoulder to shoulder with men and women in sharp suits, a flood of professionals moving in unison like a dark tide. 'Seriously? Finance is this cutthroat?' Then again, it did make sense. A private equity firm starting at seven wasn't unreasonable. After all, the stock market opened at nine-thirty. If you wanted to be fully prepared, you had to start earlyâpainfully early. These people weren't just working with money. They were masters of time itself. Just then, his phone buzzed. The caller ID lit up: Guild Master. "Guild master... no, waitâChairman?" A laugh came from the other end. "Hah, no need to change how you call me. Between us, just stick with 'bro.' So? You at the office yet?" "Yeah, yeah, I'm downstairs now. But... bro, I don't know a thing! What if I just drag everyone down?" "Relax. I checked for you. You'll be a junior traderâbasically errands, grunt work, maybe a bit of slacking. You'll be fine. Oh, and just make sure you carve out some time to get your Series 7 license." "Thanks, bro. I'll work hard." "And one more thing. If anyone asks how you got in, keep your mouth shut. Just say you don't know. Especially about the game. Not a word, got it? Alright, I'm hanging up. See you online tonight, same time for the raid. Don't be late." "Got it, bro! I won't forget!" The line went dead. Elon stood there dazed, as though caught in a dream. The same man he'd been raiding dungeons and cracking jokes with in-game was actually a financial tycoon in real life? And just because they played together, he'd parachuted Elon into the company? The plot twist was more absurd than a K-drama. Who on earth would believe it? ⊠Inside the manager's office of Trading Desk One, Brock Magnus studied the newcomer that the HR manager had personally escorted in. The HR manager's eyebrows were twitching with unspoken hints. Elon Shaw. A "new hire." Brock had been deep in analysis, parsing freshly released overseas macro data and the resulting shifts in global markets, fine-tuning his strategy for the opening bell. The last thing he needed was a disruption. And yet, here one wasâstanding in his office, shattering his concentration and pulling him away from the razor-sharp focus he needed to maintain. The irritation prickled like an itch under his skin. "Have you ever worked in financeâor any industry, really?" "Uh... no. This is my first job." "Any simulated trading experience? Investment of any kind?" "N-no... but I'll work hard to learn!" In his mind, Brock cursed so loudly it could've shaken the walls. 'Good god. A total novice. A blank slate. A complete greenhorn from head to toe.' They hadn't just parachuted someone inâthis was the ultimate rookie, the kind that needed hand-holding for everything. But as his initial anger cooled, Brock realized the move from HR wasn't entirely without logic. Yes, trading was a brutal, high-stakes pressure cookerâbut that was only true for the seasoned pros who battled the markets directly, with their performance metrics looming over every decision. Junior traders, however, were insulated from that pressure. They weren't trusted with real capital or live orders. Their duties were pure grunt work: fetching coffee, organizing files, running spreadsheets. On a good day, they might be allowed to dabble in simulated trades while shadowing a senior employee. They were kept far from the actual nerve center. In other words, this position was the perfect camouflageâa meaningless pit stop for someone meant to "gain experience" before being elevated straight into management. A classic corporate fast-track for the well-connected. Which meant Elon was destined to breeze through and move on. With that thought, Brock's irritation eased. If Elon were only a passerby, then he'd treat him like one. "Charlotte," Brock called. "Yes, Sir?" A crisp, capable voice answered as a young woman stepped in. "This is Elon Shaw, our new junior trader starting today. Charlotte, you'll be in charge of showing him the ropes." "Understood, Sir." She nodded. ... For Charlotte Larson, training newcomers was nothing new. Over the years, Desk One had become a revolving door. Countless bright-eyed rookies arrived, bursting with ambition and dreams of conquering the market. Most didn't last three months. They fled, shell-shocked and swearing never to return. It wasn't their fault. The demands of this desk were beyond what any ordinary person could endure. Take the schedule. Every new junior was required to be at their terminal by 7:00 a.m. at the latest. Their morning was a gauntlet: preparing the pre-market briefing, configuring the conference room, and conquering a mountain of administrative drudgery. Running themselves ragged was the baseline expectation. And the workload only exploded from there. As they grew more familiar with the rhythms of the desk, the demands became more intense. The market shifted by the second. Senior traders made decisions at lightning speed, and at any moment, they might bark out requests for obscure data sets, complex charts, or immediate analysis. Juniors had to function like battlefield couriersâdelivering exactly what was needed, with precision and speed. A single delay or misstep would earn them a verbal lashing on the spot. And for good reason. This was a financial war zone where trillions flowed every day. Here, speed meant money. Efficiency meant survival. Even if someone managed to endure the brutal initiation and secure a permanent role, harsher performance evaluations awaited. Every month was a trial by fire. Fail to turn a profit, fall short of your targetsâand you were out, no matter who you were. Without iron willpower, no one lasted long. "First lesson for a newcomerâlearn how to make coffee," Charlotte said matter-of-factly. "Everyone here runs on caffeine. You have to prepare it before every morning meeting. Oh, and Mr. Magnusâhe's a fitness nut. Doesn't drink coffee. You can skip his." As she spoke, she worked the coffee machine with practiced ease. "Got it, Charlotte!" Elon bobbed his head like a pecking chick, dutifully pulling out a small notebook and jotting down every word. The earnestness gave Charlotte a decent first impression. "Besides coffee, you'll also be handling all kinds of paperwork. You won't be directly involved in analysis or decision-making at the start, but don't underestimate it. It's a golden opportunity to learn. Read every research report carefully. If something confuses you, ask." "Yes! Understood!" His crisp response and positive attitude made her even more satisfied. As she went on, rattling off a list of dos and don'ts, a sudden thought struck her. She glanced at him curiously. "By the way, Elon, which university did you graduate from?" "Uh... university?" "Of course. You seem so capableâyou must've come from a top school, right? Maybe even the Ivy League? Who knows⊠you might even be my junior." "I... graduated from Brecken Industrial University." "Brecken IndustrialâŠUniversity?" Her smile froze. If she remembered correctly, that was a lower-ranked, fairly ordinary second-tier university. And someone from that kind of background... had landed a spot at Axom Capital? One of the top private equity firms in the country? Impossible. Unless... "Ahaha, never mind that. Let's not get into it now. The morning meeting's about to start. Come on, let's head to the conference room." "O-okay!" ... "...This NFP print smashed expectations, and with that hot CPI reading adding fuel to the fire, we're in for a spike in volatility..." "On the equity side, our core mid-to-long term thematic plays are still AI and automation. Short-term, keep a close eye on earnings season. And last week's darlingâthe gold minersâgave us a nice pop, but the sector is deep in overbought territory now. We're due for a pullback. Look to structure short exposure through equity swaps or OTC puts. Also, monitor the arbitrage spread between COMEX and London spot gold..." "Copy that." Elon listened, completely lost, his expression blank. What the hell? Every word was English, but strung together, it might as well have been alien code. He couldn't make sense of any of it. Still, he forced himself to look composed, nodding seriously while secretly jotting down every unfamiliar technical term at lightning speed. He planned to ask Charlotte about them afterward. At the head of the table, Brock sat upright, listening as his traders took turns reporting the latest market updates and data analyses. With calm precision, he issued a steady stream of trading instructions, laying out the day's overall strategy. Watching this, Elon suddenly felt a bizarre sense of dĂ©jĂ vu. This was just like a raid in an online gameâright before storming a massive dungeon, the raid leader would brief the team, assign roles, and distribute tactics. That thought jolted him awake. What had been incomprehensible jargon a moment ago suddenly seemed thrilling. His blood quickened. "Alright! That's our morning strategy. Everyone to your stationsâprepare for battle!" Brock's final words rang out with sharp authority, bringing the information-packed meeting to a close. Chairs scraped back as everyone rose and streamed out, heading to their desks at speed. "Charlotte, today you'll walk Elon through the simulated trading process. Start from the basics," Brock instructed. "Got it," Charlotte replied briskly, then led a still-bewildered Elon back to her workstation. She powered up her computer. A complex trading interface bloomed across the screens, a dizzying array of charts, tickers, and flashing lights. "We start everyone on the sim for a simple reason," she explained, her fingers already flying across the keyboard. "The firm isn't about to hand you a live book to burn. You need to build instinct and learn the rhythms of the market right here, first. "And just so we're clear, your simulation results are also one of the key criteria for evaluation." Her words finally gave Elon a clear pictureâsimulation wasn't just training; it was a test. "So... if I crush the sim, I get a shot at a real book?" he asked. "Absolutely. This is trading. Performance is the only thing that talks. Not your degree, not who you know. "The only question is: how much money can you make? How much value can you create for the firm?" Performance above all. Those words carried both the intoxicating allure and the brutal cruelty of this industry. Riiing! A sharp bell shattered the last calm before opening. "Oh! The market's open!" Charlotte exclaimed. The office erupted instantly, like a lit fuse reaching a powder keg. The air turned electric with frenzy and fire. Traders hammered their keyboards, screens flickered wildly, phones rang nonstop. The clicks of mice and the frantic clatter of keys crashed together in a chaotic, fevered symphony. "This is the one time we juniors are actually free," Charlotte explained over the din. "The senior traders are too busy trading to bother with us. Perfect time to practice simulations and build real experience. Come on, I'll show you how to place an orderâ" But Elon wasn't listening. His eyes locked on the screen, transfixed by the unfamiliar candlestick charts, the dizzying ticker symbols, the ceaselessly blinking red and green numbers. A jolt tore through him like lightning. His whole body went rigid. A strange current surged from his fingertips through every nerve, leaving him trembling, scalp tingling. "What... what is this?" The sensation drew him straight to the chart in front of himâZRN, a stock that was a blazing, triumphant red in the sea of data. To Elon, it wasn't just a stock. It was like a treasure chest in a game, waiting to be opened. And somehow, with bone-deep certainty, he felt it held something earth-shaking inside. That instinct, that wild pulse pounding from his soul and hammering his brain, sent his adrenaline skyrocketing. All reason shattered. As if possessed by some unseen force, he grabbed the mouse. Click! The sharp sound of a mouse button echoed. The red Buy button lit up, pressed down with every ounce of his strength. Chapter 3 "Ahhhâ!!" Charlotte nearly jumped out of her chair at Elon's sudden move, her voice rising in shock. "Elon! What are you doing?! Why did you suddenly hit buy? I wasn't even done explaining!" Damn it! First day on the job, and before he'd even started working properly, he had already caused trouble. Elon's heart sank. This was bad. "This is a penny stock! And look at the order bookâsee? There are only sell orders sitting there. Do you see any buy orders?" "No..." "Exactly! Which means this stock is locked at the daily limit-down. Do you understand?" "Then... what should I do?" "Thank God this is a SIM account! Not real money! If you'd pulled a stunt like that on the live desk, the manager would've thrown you out the window by now!" Hearing that, Elon finally exhaled in relief. For a moment, when she had screamed beside him, he thought he'd actually lost the company a fortune. "But here's the problem," she said, her voice dropping to a genuine, concerned whisper, as if his mistake were her own. "I already told you, your SIM P&L is part of your review. You need a strong performance here to get a full-time offer. And now... you've gone all-in on a toxic stock that's hitting circuit breakers." "I'm sorry!" "Oh, come on, what are you apologizing for?" Charlotte broke into a laugh. "Everyone's a rookie once. Making silly mistakes is perfectly normal. When I first started, the blunders I made were way more ridiculous than this. "Of course, this might... well, affect your evaluation a little. But don't worry! I'll explain it to the manager. It'll be fine!" Elon stared at her, momentarily stunned by the sincerity of her smile. 'What a good person,' he thought. His chest tightened with gratitude, and in his heart, he silently handed Charlotte a giant "Good Person Card." Still, to make such a rookie blunder on his very first day at workâthis was social death, plain and simple. But then... that strange sensation from earlierâso strong it had made his entire body trembleâ It had been real. Blindingly vivid. Overwhelmingly powerful. It was that almost fated premonition that had driven him, against all reason, to slam the buy button. The difference was, in a game, pressing a button meant instant feedbackâwhether the chest held god-tier loot or worthless junk, you'd know right away. The stock market, however... was a murky abyss, unpredictable and treacherous. On the screen, the ZRN stock remained locked in limit-down, the chart an unforgiving wall of red that made his stomach twist. Had his instincts really been wrong? Maybe his "in-game RNG King ability" had nothing to do with real-world investing. Maybe the two worlds were utterly irrelevant, as far apart as heaven and earth. Or worseâmaybe he never had any special ability at all. Maybe all those times before were nothing more than dumb luck. 'Forget it. Focus on the work in front of you. Stop overthinking,' he told himself. ... The stock market's official opening bell rang at 9:30 a.m. But in truth, the battle began long before. With index futures and the pre-market call auction in play, the first shots were already fired by 9:15. It was a silent war, invisible yet merciless. And it would rage until 4.00 in the afternoon, when the closing bell declared victory or defeat. This was no war of gunpowder or steel, but a financial battlefield built on real moneyâwhere hearts could stop in an instant and blood pressure soared sky-high. And within the entire firm, no division operated under more blistering speed or brutal pressure than the trading floor. What was the religion here? A single, sacred mantra: Get in fast, get out faster. The short term was the only term that mattered. The instant prices gapped or reversed, you had to strike like a hawkâscraping profit from the chaos, shaving basis points from the volatile flicker of the candlesticks. This was no ordinary office. It was a digital colosseum. Here, positions rarely lasted more than a session. Most were liquidated intradayâhedged with futures, locked with options spreads, or dumped for a scalp before the closing bell. Profits were taken without sentiment. It was the essence of day-trading, a relentless T+0 grind. "Cash is king. P&L is God." Those six words weren't a suggestion; they were coded into the department's DNA. Anyone who preached "long-term value investing" was culturally homeless here. They belonged in Wealth Management, or over in Equity Researchâthe places where patience was still considered a virtue. But not on the desk. Brock, head of Desk One, had nothing but contempt for a slow trade. What he lived forâwhat he cravedâwas this beautiful hell. A place where adrenaline hit like a shock collar, where dopamine flooded the system until fingertips trembled over keyboards. Where every second of the trading day, the red and green of the lightstream waged a savage warâa silent, digital battlefield where millions were won and lost in the blink of an eye. The traders fought psychological wars as vicious as any trench fight. Smoke bombs. Sniper shots. Hidden traps. Mines buried beneath the surface. And thenâwhen the moment cameâsickles flashing, they harvested their opponents' capital without mercy. It was why those dopamine-chasing short videos young people scrolled endlessly these days seemed utterly tasteless to Brock. Compared to the raw, brutal thrill of trading real money in a market that could flip on a heartbeat? Those little clips were nothing more than children playing house. Thisâthis battlefieldâwas the true dopamine paradise. The only place where an adult's reward system could explode in ecstasy. And that was the core reason Brock stayed. Of course, he was often asked, "Why not go solo? Trade your own money? Wouldn't that be even freer, even more exciting?" No. Absolutely not. Using company capital left a sliver of detachmentâjust enough distance to keep a trader clear-headed, rational. But the instant you touched your own savings, that deep-seated greed and fear coded into human DNA would flare up like a virus, instantly devouring reason. It would reduce you to nothing more than driftwood, tossed about on emotional waves. So many brilliant tradersâgods of the trading floorâcollapsed into ruin the moment they went solo. That was why. The closing bell had just sounded. The air still carried the acrid haze of battle. "Jack," Brock called out, "tidy up today's position report and trading log for me. Did you flag the special cases?" "Yes, Mr. Magnus. The report's ready. I'll send it over with the data right away." "Good. Be quick. I'll need it to plan tomorrow's strategy." "Yes, sir!" After issuing his orders, Brock stood, stretching muscles stiff from sitting all day. He reached beneath his desk, pulled out a dumbbell, rolled up his sleeves, and began his post-market ritual. Every day after the closing bell, he forced himself through several sets of strength training, staving off muscle loss, then downed a protein shake. Dinner, as always, would be the same bland chicken breast. That was discipline. But tonight, as he curled the dumbbell, he noticed someone standing a short distance away. A figure hesitated, unsure whether to interrupt. "Charlotte? What is it?" Brock asked without pausing his set. "AhâSir, sorry to disturb your workout." Charlotte dipped her head politely. "It's fine. Just stretching the joints. Speak." "Well... it's about the newcomer today." She quickly summarized what had happened during the orientation. "So you're telling me," Brock frowned, lowering the dumbbell, "the rookie who started today accidentally went full position into a single penny stock? At the limit-down price?" "Yes... I think he might have clicked the wrong button while I was explaining the system." She hesitated. "And since that stock was locked at limit-down all day, I was worried it might... affect his final review." "I get it." Brock cut her off. "Don't worry about the review. Just keep showing him the ropes." "Yes, sir. Thank you." As Charlotte left, Brock's gaze lingered, thoughtful. Charlotte was sharp, capable, and kind. Yet in this ruthless world of numbers, where only P&L mattered, her compassion made her seem like a foreign elementâa asset in most places, but a potential liability here. He tried to dismiss the rookie's blunder. But the kid was a nepo hire, and that clumsy trade stuck in Brock's mind like a persistent glitch on a Bloomberg screen. Full size. Limit-down. Penny stock. Any one of those sins in a live account would have gotten the kid escorted out of the building by security. But in the SIM? No real damage done. Even so⊠something about it nagged at him. A misclick? Really? He still had to hit "Buy" and then "Confirm Order." It's not like the mouse had a mind of its own. "Maybe there's something off about that trade..." The stock the kid bought was ZRN, a micro-cap gold miner. Penny stocks were toxic enoughâconstant delisting risk, zero liquidity. Firm rules outright forbade trading them. And today, with gold futures getting hammered in a technical correction, the entire sector was a bloodbath. Could it really have been just a mistake? "Forget it. Don't waste the cycles." The rookie was a connected kid, here to put a fancy line on his resume. He was never making it through the evaluation. A greenhorn who couldn't even read a simple chart? Entrust him with the firm's capital? Brock wasn't that stupidâand neither was management. So let him play. Let him blow up his simulated account. Brock would sit back and watch what kind of magic the boy thought he was going to pull off. ... "Time really flies... It's already this late?" Before Elon realized it, the clock had crept past seven in the evening. From the moment Elon stepped through the company doors at seven that morning, he had been confined to this narrow space for a full twelve hours. Strangely enough, the day felt as if it had passed in the blink of an eye. "Stay here long enough and time really does speed up," Charlotte said with a laugh as she packed up her things. "Maybe it's because in this place, speed is everything. Everyone's running as if their life depends on it." In the first stretch after the market opened, the two of themâidlers by comparisonâdidn't have much to do. But once trading reached its fever pitch, orders and errands came crashing in from every direction: "Quick, print this report!" "Send those figures to the forex desk!" "Coffee! Coffee! I need a refill before I drop dead!" ... Utterly bewildered, Elon had no choice but to trail after Charlotte like a shadow, stumbling along, learning as he went. "But honestly, Elon," Charlotte said with a warm smile, "for your very first day, you did quite well. So, see you tomorrow." "Ah, thank you, Charlotte! Yes, see you tomorrow!" He stood there, dazed, watching her silhouette fade into the distance. To be honest, today's intensity had far exceeded his expectations. Yet thinking about it, it was only natural. This was, after all, one of the most prestigious private funds in the countryâthe place countless finance prodigies fought tooth and nail to enter. Complaining after just a single day would be disgraceful. And then there were his parentsâstill working tirelessly, just to support the son who had once lived off them without a care. Compared to their hardships, sitting in an air-conditioned office hardly counted as suffering at all. Besides, with Charlotte guiding him, this was already a better start than he could have hoped for. What right did he have to complain? No⊠he had to keep going. Work harder. He glanced at the time. "Crap, it's dungeon time! The guild master and the others are still waiting for me in-game!" Elon immediately quickened his pace, almost breaking into a run as he dashed toward the subway station... ... At six or seven in the morning, the city had yet to fully awaken. Office workers dragged themselves from their beds, yawning and sighing as they braced for another grueling commute. This was the rhythm of modern corporate lifeâfast, relentless, unforgiving. But among the masses, there existed a peculiar breed. Not only did they show no complaint, they arrived at the office with a devotion bordering on the sacred. They were traders. For this group, the weekend stock market closure was agony. Restless and irritable, their fingers twitched involuntarily as if suffering withdrawal symptoms. The gnawing impatience in their hearts was no different from that of gamblers desperate for the roulette wheel to spin. Of course, not every trader fit this mold. But in Brock's career, more than half the traders he had known carried this unmistakable traitâan addiction to dopamine itself. Today, as always, Brock was the first to arrive at the office. He meticulously and methodically pored over the deluge of reports and documents stacked high before him, scanning for events on the far side of the globe that might ripple across the markets. As he sifted through the data, he took a measured sip of his morning drink: protein powder mixed with water. Coffee? That was for mortals. "Good morning, Mr. Magnus." One after another, his team members filed in, punctual as clockwork, slotting neatly into place like gears in a well-oiled machine. "Be ready. Morning meeting in fifteen." "Yes, sir!" The briefing was briskâreviewing yesterday's trades, analyzing current conditions, and fine-tuning strategies with the freshest intel. Once Brock had finished issuing instructions, he returned to his desk, framed by a wall of multi-screen monitors. One minute to market open. Despite his years of experience, this moment always sent a sharp tension through his chestâan edge of nerves sharpened by a rush of exhilaration. His fingertips tingled with the irrepressible urge to strike the keys. The battle was about to begin. The opening bell rang, shattering the stagnant air. Brock's fingers flew across the keyboard, darting between mouse and screen in a blur, his gaze leaping across the shifting tide of numbers. His brain burned like an overclocked processor, calculating, adjusting, anticipating. When the market bent to his predictions, a fierce wave of dopamine surged through himâraw, euphoric triumph. Within hours, he could experience a thousand deaths and rebirthsâsoaring to heaven one moment, plunging into hell the next, only to claw his way back again. In that whirlwind of extremes, time dissolved. Before he knew it, the hours had vanished. The closing bell sounded. "Ah..." Every day at this moment, Brock felt the same hollow ache, as if the carnival lights of an amusement park had gone dark, leaving only silence and emptiness. "Mr. Magnus, today's report and data are ready. Sending them over now." The voice of a subordinate dragged him back. There was no time for sentimentality. Today's battle was done. Tomorrow's awaited. The review must begin; new ammunition must be prepared. "Alright. Anything unusual?" "A few stocks showed abnormal surges today. I've compiled the details in a file for you." "Alright." He opened the file and began scanning the market anomaly report, eyes skimming the list of sudden risers and unexpected plunges. Each ticker told a storyâwinners and losers etched in red and green, a comedy and tragedy of capital intertwined. Thenâ "...Hm?" One name snagged his attention like a pop-up window. It looked familiar. Strangely familiar. "Wait⊠this is..." A wild thought flashed through his mind. He hurriedly pulled up yesterday's records from the newcomer's simulation account. The numbers confirmed it. A cold knot of disbelief tightened in his chest. [ZRN // Position: 100% // P&L: +5%] ZRN had been halted all morning on news, only to reopen in the afternoon and instantly rocket to limit-up. "Heh." A short, sharp, incredulous laugh escaped Brock's lips. The reason surfaced quickly enough. Gemrock Group had announced a strategic acquisition of a 20% stake in ZRN. As a titan in the gold sector, Gemrock's move ignited frenzied speculation about massive asset injections and industry consolidation. In Brock's professional view, the stock was now a sealed rocket. There would be no boarding for latecomers. It would be a cascade of consecutive limit-up days, straight into the stratosphere. And the one holding a full-position ticket was the rookie. Sure, it was fake money. It was only a simulation. The missed real profit was a sting, but it was overshadowed by a deeper, more unsettling question now circling like a vulture in his mind, 'How the hell did he know?' He replayed yesterday's morning meeting. The team had dissected the U.S. nonfarm payrolls, the hot CPI print, a strengthening dollarâthe entire narrative had pointed to continued technical pressure on gold. Every single trader, himself included, had consensus: gold equities were dead money for the session. The market's open had confirmed it. Yet somehow, that rookie had fished a single diamond out of a sewer, buying ZRN in full at its lowest point. But Charlotte said it was a misclick. The more Brock thought about it, the less sense it made. Under such a bearish backdrop, from thousands of stocks, the newcomer had somehow pinpointed this one toxic, limit-down penny stock out of thousands and bought it in full size? That was no accident. It was a calculated move. A disguise. An outright provocation. A ludicrous, terrifying thought erupted in his mind, 'The kid is connected. He has a source!' Maybe the junior trader title was a cover. Maybe he had deliberately chosen a stock everyone would scorn and then bought it in the most audacious way possibleâfull size, limit-downâjust to broadcast his silent contempt for their entire operation. Brock sucked in a sharp breath. Chapter 4 "Ugh!" It felt as if an invisible force had struck him hard. Elon jolted violently, eyes snapping open. "Wha... what time is it?" His mind was still foggy as he fumbled for his phone, nearly dropping it before lighting up the screen. "Urghhh..." A strangled groan escaped him, laced with endless frustration. There were still ten whole minutes before his alarm. Ten minutes! He could'veâshould'veâstolen ten more minutes of precious sleep. The feeling was achingly familiar, dragging him back to those suffocating schooling exam years when every stolen minute of rest felt like ambrosia. 'Sleep a little longer? Just ten minutes?' The temptation surfaced, only to be crushed mercilessly. "Yeah, right. Like I'd wake up after that." He gave a bitter smile. He knew himself too well. If he closed his eyes now, there was no chance he'd hear the alarm ten minutes later. He'd be out cold until noon, and by then, forget workâhe'd probably struggle to even remember his own name. "Urghhh..." It felt like waging a brutal war against the mattress itself. Teeth clenched, muscles straining, Elon finally forced himself upright, every bone aching with exhaustion. "Damn... shouldn't have gamed so late last night..." He thought of the guild veteransâmiddle-aged men, coming home after long workdays yet still finding the strength to log in for a dungeon raid. That kind of determination... it truly demanded respect. "Crap! I'm gonna be late!" The moment he had zoned out, another ten minutes had slipped away unnoticed. His heart lurched. No time to waste. He shot up and dashed into the bathroom. No time for a morning routine. There was only one solution. He twisted the shower knob. A torrent of ice-cold tap water crashed over his head. The shock stabbed straight into his bones, snapping him half-awake in an instant. With his left hand, he grabbed the shampoo, slapped it onto his hair, rubbed twice, rinsed onceâdone. Fast. Efficient. Effective. He shook his dripping hair, droplets flying everywhere, carrying with them the faint fragrance of shampoo. God, he missed the old days... Back when he was still leeching off his parents, this hour of the morning would've found him in the thick of some game raidâfighting, shouting, alive with adrenaline. Afterwards, he'd collapse into bed, weary but satisfied, and sleep straight through until the sun and moon traded places. Those carefree days were gone. Forever. He threw on his clothes at record speed and stepped out of the bathroom toward the living room. And froze. At the dining table sat his parents, wide awake when they should've been asleep. Both of them sat upright. Both staring at him. His stomach dropped. Had the noise woken them? "You're up early," he said with a forced laugh, though his voice wavered. "Elon. Sit down," his father said, calm but commandingâhis tone leaving no room for refusal. "What's wrong?" "You've been sneaking out before dawn every day," his mother said, eyes narrowing with both worry and suspicion. "Where exactly are you going? You claim it's interviews⊠but at this hour?" The moment he'd been dreading had arrived. Elon drew in a deep breath, as though steeling himself for a decision he could no longer postpone. "Well... actually, I found a job." "What?" His mother's voice shot up in pitch. "I thought you said you were interviewing!" "I was. But now... I'm heading to work." For the past three days, he'd been working at Axom Capital. The first two days, nerves had consumed himâhe hadn't dared tell his parents, unsure if this job would vanish as suddenly as it had appeared. But today, he could finally say it out loud. Becauseâ He reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and set it on the table with a crisp thud. "What? Axom Capital?" His father's voice broke in shock as he lurched to his feet. "Wait⊠did you just say 'THE' Axom Capital?" His mother leaned closer to the table, eyes wide with disbelief. Their gazes locked on the employee badge and business card Elon had placed down, as if trying to bore holes through them. "This... this is real?" His father picked up the card, fingers trembling with excitement as he traced the gold-embossed letters. "Good heavens! It is Axom's badge and card... How on earth...?" Disbelief was etched all over his mother's face. Her eyes darted between the badge and her son, struggling to reconcile the two. Then, almost abruptly, she seized his hand with such force that it made him wince. Her fingers were cool and trembling against his skin. "Elon, tell me the truth. Did we pressure you too much? Is this just a fake card you made to fool us? I know what Axom Capital is! A top-tier firm like that⊠you could never get in!" Her voice quavered with both panic and certainty, as if she had already decided he was spinning an impossible lie. Tsk. Elon clicked his tongue. That... was hard to argue with. In the past, Axom Capital had been so far beyond his reach it may as well have been the moon. Their threshold was sky-high, an unattainable dream. But he wasn't lying. He was working there nowâthough the way it had happened was far too strange to explain in a single breath. "It's complicated," he said at last. "But I really do work there. And I need to leave now. The market opens at nine-thirty, and I've got a lot to prepare before then." He was only a junior trader, after all. Running errands, handling odds and endsâthat was the job. His duty was to make sure the senior traders had everything they needed to rake in profits for the day. Which meant he absolutely could not be late. "Elon, just tell me honestly..." His mother still refused to let it go. "Honey, don't you know your own son?" His father finally spoke, setting down the card. He studied Elon with complicated eyes. "Sure, his grades were lousy. He's lazy, spends all his time gaming... He's had a mountain of flaws since he was a kid. But lying? Especially about something this big? That's one thing he's never done." "Dad, are you praising me or tearing me down?" Elon muttered with a crooked grin. But warmth bloomed in his chest. "So, son," his father pressed, "this is real, isn't it?" "Yes." Elon nodded firmly, his gaze unwavering. "Good. Then I believe you." His father picked the card back up, holding it as though it were a rare treasure. His fingers traced every printed word. "If you got in, it means you've got ability. They saw something in you." A proud smile spread across his father's faceâgenuine, radiant, a smile Elon hadn't seen in years. "I knew it. My son could do it! Hahaha!" "Thanks, Dad. I'll get going now." "Hurry then!" His father waved him on. "Being late on the job isn't an option!" Elon scrambled to gather his things and bolted for the door. Just as he pulled it open, his mother rushed after him, thrusting a sandwich and an apple into his hands. "Eat these on the way. Don't go hungry." The familiar taste of home clung to the bundle, laced with his mother's warmth. It had been so long since he felt it. "And another thing⊠Your suit. You can't wear the same one every day. This weekend, I'll take you to buy a few more." Before he could respond, she wrapped him in a tight embrace, her arms trembling with affection. That hug, too, had been absent for far too long. It carried her faint fragrance, and with it, the grounding weight of something called home. His father came over as well, smiling broadly. Clumsy though it was, he pulled Elon into a rough hug, patting his back twice with heavy hands. "Do your best, son! And if it ever gets too much, just tell us. Don't force yourself, understand?" "...Yeah." Elon's nose prickled. So this... this was what being acknowledged felt like. Something stirred gently in his chest, swelling warmly, sweeping away the last chill of morning. "Ah, I'm really running late now! I'm off!" "Go! I'll make your favorites. Call when you finish work!" "Got it!" With a cheerful reply, Elon dashed out the door. And today, his steps felt lighter than ever. ... The moment Elon stepped into the trading floor, Charlotte's teasing voice cut across the room. "Right on the dot, huh? One more minute and you'd be late." "Whew... just made it." Elon exhaled, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Sorry, Charlotte. I should've gotten here earlier." She let out a quick laugh and waved him off. "Don't worry. With me covering for you, even if you're late, I'll make sure you get through it." A crisp morning began, as always, with tackling the mountain of reports piled on their desks. "Yesterday was brutal, wasn't it?" Charlotte said while sorting through files with practiced ease. "Tell me about it." Elon shuddered at the memory. "I thought my first day was hectic enough, but yesterday? That was on another level." "Special circumstances," Charlotte explained. "The market swung unusually hard. Nothing you'll see every day. Don't worry." As she spoke, she glanced at the newcomer beside her. It was only his third day. Yet she had to admitâthis one was different. Most rookies needed at least a month of hand-holding before they could make sense of anything, let alone move without tripping over themselves. But Elon... He was quick. Sharp. Yes, that was itâsharp. It was as if he instinctively knew where to be and what to do at the right time. Thanks to him, the morning prep had gone unusually smooth. So smooth, in fact, that she actually had the rare luxury of sipping a steaming cup of coffee by the window, stealing a quiet moment to enjoy the city skyline. That was a luxury unheard of on a normal trading day. "Oh, right," Charlotte suddenly remembered. "Yesterday was so crazy, I completely forgot to check the simulation account. Did you look at it?" "No," Elon admitted. "I was too busy running around with you all day." Files, coffee, printouts, snacksâyesterday he'd been everywhere, pushing a cart stuffed to the brim, darting between trading teams like a human pinball. He had assumed a junior trader only needed to stay within their assigned group. Reality proved otherwise. When the market went wild and hands were short, rookies like him had to jump in wherever needed. Yesterday had been chaos. He practically became the department's delivery boy. His legs had been threatening to give out from the constant running. "I was just thinking," Charlotte said, lifting her cup for another sip, "instead of letting that simulated position keep bleeding, we should've closed it early. Once the correction ends, we'd have more ammo to jump back in." "Really?" "Mm. I'll guide you through it. Let's see if we can claw back the losses. Now, what did we buy last time? RightâZRN. Let's check yesterday's closing price..." It felt good, this rare calmâcoffee warming her hands, the hum of the office in the background. A fleeting moment of peace. She tapped the mouse, opening the stock's chart. And thenâ "Pfftâ!" A mouthful of coffee exploded out of her, arcing through the air in a dramatic spray. Elon, sitting across from her, jerked back in alarm, narrowly avoiding the unexpected crossfire. He scrambled for tissues and shoved them toward her. "Charlotte, are you okay?" "E-Elon... look! Look at this!" Charlotte ignored the coffee dripping from her chin. She pointed at the monitor with a trembling hand, her eyes wide with disbelief. On the screen, glaring in a triumphant, bold greenâ [ZRN: LIMIT UP // +5.00%] The very stock he had bought at its absolute low. The one he'd gone all-in on, when every other gold share was cratering and the entire sector was a sea of red.
