Golden Spoon Investor

With the engine still roaring, Roy screeched to a halt in front of a pub in Harvard Square. The old, weathered sign above the entrance read "Moby Dick," named after the famous novel by H. Melville. The pub, with its large windows and red brick walls, had been a beloved spot for Harvard students for over fifty years.

Seok-won, holding his helmet, looked up at the sign and then turned to Roy with a puzzled expression.

"Why are we here?"

But Roy, ignoring his question as usual, grabbed Seok-won's wrist and pulled him inside the pub.

"Come on, we're late. Hurry up!"

"Late for what?"

"You'll see once we get inside! Quick, quick!"

Still confused and slightly irritated, Seok-won was pulled into the crowded pub. The interior, decorated in vintage style with brick and wood, was packed with people even though it was still early in the evening.

"Excuse me, coming through!"

Still holding Seok-won's wrist, Roy pushed through the crowd, making his way toward the back.

"O'Brien!"

Roy called out loudly, and a blonde-haired guy wearing a Harvard varsity jacket turned around.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"At least I made it. We're not too late, right?"

O'Brien glanced at his watch and then relaxed his expression.

"Barely made it in time."

"Phew! That's a relief."

As Roy sighed with relief, O'Brien, the guy's name, nudged him playfully in the ribs.

"If you had been five minutes later, we would've declared you forfeited. I won't be so lenient next time. Not that I know if there'll even be a next time."

"Sorry, sorry."

"So, is he the guy?" O'Brien asked, glancing at Seok-won before jerking his chin toward the back. "No time to waste; get ready."

Get ready for what?

Still not understanding anything that was happening, Seok-won followed O'Brien's gaze and froze in surprise at the sight before him.

Where a jukebox should have been, there were now two standing arcade game machines facing each other.

"What the heck is this?"

"What do you think? They're Street Fighter arcade machines."

"Why are these here instead of in an arcade?"

"Because we're having a Street Fighter tournament here, of course."

Roy responded nonchalantly as he took Seok-won's backpack off his shoulders.

The so-called Street Fighter tournament was nothing more than a makeshift competition between Harvard and MIT students. There were no grand prizes, no big rewards at stake.

Yet, they had gone to the trouble of bringing in actual arcade machines for the preliminary rounds, which left Seok-won both baffled and impressed.

"This must be what they call 'American scale'…"

But seriously, where did they even get these machines?

Even if they borrowed them, transporting and setting them up must have taken a lot of effort. Seok-won was amazed at the sheer drive it took to make this happen.

"What are you standing around for? Get ready."

"Man, you're really…"

Seok-won sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"I told you I didn't want to do this."

Already swamped with work, Seok-won found the idea of participating in a game tournament a pointless nuisance.

"You signed the application form; no backing out now!"

"Well…"

Before he could finish, a deep voice boomed from across the room.

"Hey, are you in or out?"

Seok-won turned to see a huge guy, easily over 2 meters tall, with a muscular build, glaring at them from beside one of the arcade machines. He was giving them a disdainful look.

"That's Ian, captain of the rugby team. He might look like a brute, but he's pretty skilled. Too bad you've got to face him in the first round," Roy whispered, giving Seok-won a quick rundown of his opponent.

Ian was surrounded by four other guys who seemed to be his rugby teammates, all of them similarly built.

"I don't need that kind of information."

Sighing, Seok-won muttered to himself and turned toward Ian.

He was about to apologize for the delay and forfeit when Ian, full of himself, made an insulting remark.

"Hey, Ching Chong, if you're not gonna play, then scram."

"Hahaha!"

His friends, flaunting their bulging muscles under their short-sleeved shirts, all burst out laughing.

"That's too harsh, Ian!"

"What if he gets all butthurt and runs off crying?"

As the taunts rained down on him, Seok-won's face hardened.

"That bastard!"

Roy's face twisted in anger, and even O'Brien frowned in disapproval.

"What the hell did you just say?!"

"Calm down."

Seok-won quickly grabbed Roy's arm, stopping him from charging forward.

"Let me go! That bastard just said something outrageous!"

Unlike his usual playful self, Roy was genuinely furious, his eyes flashing with rage. Ian, noticing, sneered and beckoned mockingly with his fingers.

"Oh, you wanna go? I'm fine with that, come at me."

His rugby teammates started laughing again.

"Those pricks!"

"I said, calm down!"

Holding Roy back, Seok-won shot a cold glare at Ian and his group.

"They're not worth it. Stay here."

Seok-won then walked up to O'Brien, who was in charge of the event.

"I'll use the left machine, right?"

"Yeah."

As Seok-won took his place at the left arcade machine, he shot a challenging look at Ian.

"Jock, I'll end this quickly, just sit down."

The crowd, already intrigued by the situation, burst into cheers and laughs at Seok-won's brazen comeback.

"He's got guts!"

"Yeah, those jocks can be a bit thick sometimes."

"Hahaha."

As the tension in the room escalated, Ian's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What did that punk just say?"

He looked ready to pounce, but O'Brien quickly stepped in.

"That's enough! Or I'll disqualify both of you!"

O'Brien's stern tone made Ian grit his teeth, but he eventually backed down, though not without a glare.

"Tch! You're dead, you little punk."

He spat, clearly furious but also restrained by the situation. Seok-won, however, remained completely unfazed, ignoring Ian's threats.

"That son of a…!"

"Ian Renfield! Are you playing or not?"

O'Brien sent another sharp warning Ian's way.

Scowling, Ian stomped over to the opposite machine and sat down, still fuming.

"I'll destroy you."

Ian selected Ken, while Seok-won chose Ryu without hesitation.

"As you know, the prelims are single elimination."

O'Brien quickly explained the rules.

As they prepared to start, the crowd gathered closer to watch.

[Round 1]

[Fight!]

As soon as the match started, Seok-won closed the distance, grabbed Ken by the collar, and threw him to the ground.

Ken tried to get back up, but Seok-won didn't give him a chance.

With a swift series of joystick movements and button presses, he executed Ryu's Tatsumaki Senpukyaku, sending Ken's health bar plummeting to below half in a single move.

[A-ta-ta-touken!]

Whack!

The sound of the hit was so satisfying that it echoed through the pub.

Ian, who was overwhelmed right from the start, couldn't hide his frustration and cursed under his breath.

"Fuck!"

He desperately tried to counterattack, but it was too late. Seok-won had already moved on to Ryu's signature move, the Shoryuken.

[Shoryuken!] Smack!

Ryu's fist shot up like a dragon ascending to the heavens, and Ken's remaining health bar evaporated as he was launched into the air before crashing to the ground.

Ryu, victorious, crossed his arms in front of the fallen Ken, striking a pose.

The match had ended in mere seconds.

[You win.]

"Wooow!"

"Did you see that? It's already over?!"

"He wiped him out in no time!"

"That was insane!"

"Ian always acts so cocky, but look at him now."

The onlookers, who had been watching the match unfold, burst into cheers and applause, thoroughly impressed by Seok-won's flawless victory.

Not only had he won decisively, but he hadn't taken a single hit. It was a perfect win.

Roy, who had been anxiously watching, also jumped up, punching the air in celebration as if he had won the match himself.

"Yes! That's what I'm talking about!"

Roy slapped Seok-won on the back, unable to contain his excitement.

"That was awesome!"

While the crowd buzzed with excitement, Seok-won remained calm, standing up and looking down at Ian, who was staring at the floor, seething with humiliation.

"Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face."

It was a famous quote from the legendary boxer Mike Tyson.

The crowd erupted in laughter at Seok-won's parting shot. Ian, already fuming from his humiliating loss, turned beet red, his face twisting in anger.

He looked ready to lash out, but Seok-won stood his ground, meeting Ian's gaze without flinching.

'What are you going to do now that you've lost?'

Besides, the crowd was clearly on Seok-won's side.

Realizing this, Ian slammed his fist on the arcade machine in frustration, then abruptly turned away.

"You said it was a single-elimination match, so that's it, right?"

O'Brien, who had been watching the whole thing with interest, nodded.

"Yeah."

"Then I'm out of here."

Seok-won slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed for the exit without another word.

"Damn monkey…"

Ian muttered through gritted teeth as he watched Seok-won leave. His teammates, equally disgruntled, started complaining.

"This is embarrassing, man."

"How did you lose without even landing a single hit?"

They had come here expecting Ian to dominate, but instead, they had to watch him get humiliated.

"Shut up!"

Ian barked, grabbing a beer from one of his teammates and downing it in one go.

Outside, Roy followed Seok-won to the scooter, still singing his praises.

"Dude, that was amazing! You wrecked him so fast! You're a total beast!"

But Seok-won, still as nonchalant as ever, simply sighed.

"Next time, at least tell me where we're going."

"Sorry, but let's be honest, would you have come if I had?"

"Well… you got me there."

If Roy had told him about the tournament, Seok-won would have flat-out refused to come. Seeing that Seok-won wasn't too angry, Roy tested the waters.

"So, you'll come to the next match tomorrow, right?"

"I have class tomorrow."

"Just skip it."

"Why did you even come to Harvard?"

Seok-won frowned.

"I can't. It's Professor Frank's class."

The mere mention of Professor Frank, known for his strictness, made Roy groan as if the world had ended.

"Of all people, why him?!"

Seeing Roy's despair, Seok-won couldn't help but chuckle.

"What time is the match?"

"3 PM."

"My class ends at 2:30, so it'll be tight."

Roy's eyes lit up as he quickly replied.

"I'll drive you on the scooter like today, so don't worry!"

"Hmm."

"You'll come, right? You won today, after all."

"I'll think about it."

Seok-won hopped onto the back of the scooter and put on his helmet.

"I'm starving. Let's get something to eat."

"I know the best sandwich place in Harvard Yard."

"You're buying, right?"

"Of course… Wait, aren't you a rich kid? Are you really going to make a poor student like me pay?"

"Nice try. I know how much you make building computers. You're not fooling anyone."

"Not as much as you do."

Roy shrugged, then glanced back at Seok-won.

"How about we go Dutch?"

"Fine, just get going."

"Alright."

Revving the scooter's engine, Roy took off down the street.

***

Four Days Later, Manhattan, New York, USA

Inside the Salomon Brothers' headquarters trading floor, Cox sat surrounded by four computer monitors. Despite over a week of working overtime, his face was lit up with excitement as the pound's fall continued, yielding significant profits.

Cox's eyes were glued to the constantly fluctuating exchange rate graphs on the monitors. As the pound finally dropped below the 1-dollar mark, he immediately picked up the phone in front of him.

"Buy 1 billion pounds at 0.99 dollars now!"

He waited for a moment without taking his eyes off the monitor until the response came.

[The transaction is complete.]

"Okay."

As soon as Cox put the phone down and checked the monitor, the exchange rate graph, which had briefly spiked upwards, immediately began to drop again, continuing the downward trend.

Even though he had just bought 1 billion dollars worth of pounds, the market absorbed it quickly, a testament to the sheer size and strength of the selling forces.

After calculating the final profit from liquidating all positions, Cox let out a short whistle.

"31.12%. Incredible."

In a single transaction, the profit exceeded 310 million dollars. This was a return that even the top traders on Wall Street would struggle to achieve.

"And all of that in less than a month."

The more he looked at it, the more impressed he was.

Cox then reached out to pick up the phone again and dialed Suk-won.

[Hello?]

"I've just liquidated all the pound positions."

[Good. The target price was reached faster than I expected.]

Listening to the calm, soft voice on the other end of the line, Cox smirked slightly.

"Aren't you curious how much the confirmed profit is?"

[How much?]

"311.2 million dollars!"

Grinning broadly, Cox added,

"Congratulations on becoming a billionaire."

TL/n - 

Ching chong, Ching chang chong, and Chung ching are ethnic slurs used to mock or imitate the Chinese language, people of Chinese ancestry, or other people of East Asian descent perceived to be Chinese.