Chapter 9: The First Line on the Ledger
The first profit was small.
So small that no one would have noticed it even if they were looking directly at it.
Min-jae preferred it that way.
The opportunity came through the American firm—not directly, of course. It arrived disguised as a question forwarded through his uncle.
A request for local insight. Nothing official. No contracts. Just curiosity about a minor Korean manufacturer producing low-margin components for export.
In Min-jae's memory, the company would struggle for years… then become a quiet lynchpin once overseas demand shifted.
Not yet, he thought. But soon enough.
He advised patience. Suggested a limited position. Emphasized regulatory safety, not returns.
The investment went through.
Three months later, currency movement did the rest.
A small gain. Barely worth mentioning.
His uncle smiled when he saw the numbers. Not wide. Not excited. Just enough to say he noticed.
Min-jae said nothing.
Fourth rule: never celebrate the first win.
At university, he began to change—subtly.
He spoke more during seminars. Asked questions that didn't show brilliance, but direction. Professors started seeing him as someone serious. Reliable. Corporate-minded.
Exactly the mask he wanted.
One professor, a former corporate legal advisor, pulled him aside after class.
"You think like someone who plans to sit on boards," the man said.
Min-jae bowed politely. "I just like understanding systems."
That night, he added a new section to his ledger.
Trusted Names.
It was short. Very short.
Ji-hoon didn't make the list.
Sun-kyu did.
Not because Sun-kyu was loyal—Min-jae didn't believe in loyalty yet—but because he knew how to stay silent.
The system appeared again, quieter than before.
[Capital: incremental]
[Exposure: contained]
Min-jae closed his eyes for a moment.
"Good," he murmured.
He wasn't building an empire yet.
He was building habits.
Habits of restraint.
Habits of patience.
Habits of seeing three steps ahead and acting only on the first.
Weeks passed. Then months.
He sent another letter. Then another. Each time refining the tone, the suggestions, the restraint.
The American firm stopped replying formally.
They started asking him.
That was the real shift.
Min-jae didn't let it show. He continued attending classes, studying case law, learning how wealth protected itself when challenged.
He watched classmates dream out loud about futures that would never arrive.
He watched seniors burn out before graduation.
And he watched the world slowly align with the memories in his head.
This time, when he looked at the faint interface, he didn't feel watched.
He felt… accompanied.
Not guided.
Not helped.
Just there.
And for now, that was enough.