I sat on my goshiwon's mattress, the room's dim bulb throwing shadows over my notebook. The alley outside smelled of wet garbage and grilled eel from a nearby stall, the scents sneaking through my cracked window. That text—Smart trades, Park Min-jae—sat on my phone like a bad omen. Who knew about my trades? I'd been careful, splitting buys across apps, keeping it small. My account was at 2.8 million won, a fortune for a broke university kid, but now it felt like a target.
I flipped through my notebook, the pages soft from constant flipping. Last night's dream showed RIVER ENERGY, a solar panel outfit. Buy at 25,000 won, sell at 35,000, ten days. I'd checked at 4 a.m.—25,000 won, spot-on. But the text made my thumb freeze over the "buy" button. What if someone was tracking me? I'd read online about market watchdogs sniffing out weird patterns. My trades were small, but 2.8 million won in a month wasn't exactly subtle.
I grabbed a leftover kimbap roll from the table, the seaweed stale but edible, and chewed slowly. Sleep was a mess lately, the dreams pulling me in every night. They were a gift, sure, but they left me wired, checking prices like an addict. I needed to think, not just follow the visions blind.
The next morning, I hopped the subway to Sinchon, the carriage packed with suits and students, the air thick with coffee breath and damp hair. My backpack dug into my shoulders, heavy with textbooks I barely opened. At university, I slid into my finance lecture, the room's chalky smell hitting me. Ji-hoon, my best friend since forever, plopped down next to me, his hair a mess, tossing me a canned tea.
"You look rough," he said, grinning. "Store keeping you up?"
"Quit that job," I said, cracking the can. The tea was sweet, cold, a small jolt to my brain. Ji-hoon was the guy who'd split his lunch with me in high school when my family was broke. I wanted to tell him about the dreams, the cash, the text—but where do you even start?
"No way," Ji-hoon said, eyes wide. "What's the new gig? You selling crypto or something?"
"Just… side stuff," I mumbled, checking my phone. RIVER ENERGY was at 25,200 won. I'd bought 100 shares yesterday, half my winnings. If the dream held, I'd make a million won. My stomach flipped, not just from the money but the text. Who was watching?
The lecture dragged, the professor yammering about market trends. I snuck a peek at a financial forum on my phone, scrolling posts about "big players" tracking small traders. One guy claimed his friend got a creepy message after a winning streak. My hands got clammy. Was that me now?
After class, Ji-hoon and I hit a kimbap shop near campus, its tables sticky with soy sauce. We ordered tteokbokki, the red sauce bubbling, spicy enough to make my eyes water. Ji-hoon rambled about a girl in his class, but I was half-listening, thinking about the text. Soo-jin, my sister, popped into my head—her nagging me to eat, her loud laugh when we'd cook ramyeon as kids. I hadn't texted her back in days.
"You're off today," Ji-hoon said, pointing a chopstick. "What's eating you, Min-jae?"
"Nothing," I said, shoving tteokbokki in my mouth. Another lie, but Ji-hoon just shrugged, diving back into his story.
That night, I sat in my Yeouido office, a cramped room with a leaky ceiling and a desk that wobbled. PARK VENTURES was just a sign on the door, but it was mine. I checked RIVER ENERGY—26,000 won, up 100,000 won already. I imagined a real office, maybe in Gangnam, with a view. But the text wouldn't let me dream easy. I typed a reply—Who is this?—but deleted it. Too risky.
Over the next week, I stuck to my routine—classes, kimbap lunches, late nights checking stocks. RIVER ENERGY climbed to 30,000 won. I read more forums, learning about insider trading laws, my paranoia growing. I used a second app, splitting trades to stay low-key. On day ten, RIVER ENERGY announced a big solar deal. The stock hit 35,000 won, exactly as dreamed. I sold, my account jumping to 3.8 million won. I sat in my goshiwon, the alley's eel smell drifting in, and stared at the number. It was real, but so was the text.
I lay back, the mattress lumpy, and thought of Soo-jin's texts, Ji-hoon's grin. The dreams were changing me, and not just my bank account. Someone was out there, watching, and I didn't know how long I could keep this quiet.