I woke to my phone's buzz, the goshiwon's walls gray in the early light. Soo-jin's text glowed: You alive? Call me, punk. I smiled, her nag a warm jab. It was 5:47 a.m., the alley outside quiet except for a delivery bike's hum. I rolled over, the mattress sagging, and grabbed my notebook. Last night's dream showed OCEAN DATA, a cloud storage company. Buy at 18,000 won, sell at 26,000, twelve days. I'd bought shares at 4 a.m., 2 million won's worth. But the text from ten days ago—Smart trades—hung over me like a bad dream.
I showered in the shared bathroom, the water lukewarm, tiles slick under my feet. My reflection in the cracked mirror showed dark circles, like I hadn't slept in weeks. The dreams were a lifeline, but they were heavy, stealing rest. I threw on a hoodie and jeans, grabbed my backpack, and headed out, the stairwell's kimchi smell trailing me.
The subway to Sinchon was half-empty, an old lady across from me reading a crumpled newspaper. A headline caught my eye: "Young Traders Stir Market Talk." My gut twisted. It mentioned "unusual gains" by small investors, with regulators watching. No names, but it felt too close. I gripped my backpack, the canvas rough, and wondered if I was one of them.
At university, Ji-hoon was outside the lecture hall, munching a red bean bun, crumbs on his jacket. "Yo, saved you one," he said, tossing me a bun wrapped in plastic. The bread was soft, the filling sweet, like the ones we'd split in high school.
"Thanks," I said, taking a bite. Ji-hoon's grin was a piece of normal, but I felt miles away, my secrets piling up.
In class, the professor threw up slides about market bubbles, her voice a dull hum. My phone buzzed—OCEAN DATA at 19,000 won. My heart skipped. I'd checked a blog last night, some nerd raving about their new data center. It wasn't just the dream; I was starting to trust my homework, too. I glanced at Ji-hoon, doodling a beer mug in his notes. I wanted to tell him, but his world was group projects and bar dreams, not mine.
After class, I called Soo-jin from a campus bench, the air crisp with falling maples. "You sound like crap," she said, her voice crackling. "Jjigae's coming soon. Eat it."
"Will do, noona," I said, kicking a leaf. I almost spilled about the trades, the text, but her worry would drown me. We chatted about her hospital shifts, her stories of grumpy patients pulling me back to earth. I promised to visit Busan and hung up, my chest lighter but still tight.
That evening, I worked in my Yeouido office, the desk lamp buzzing, papers scattered like fallen leaves. OCEAN DATA was at 20,500 won, a 250,000 won gain. I dreamed of PARK VENTURES as more than a rented room—maybe a real company, with a team. But the text kept me grounded. I dug through financial forums, finding posts about "shadow investors" targeting young traders. One guy said his buddy got a vague text, then a shady deal. My mouth went dry. I typed a reply to the unknown number—Who are you?—and sent it, my hands sweaty.
Over the next week, OCEAN DATA rose—22,000 won, then 24,000. I kept my routine: lectures, lunches with Ji-hoon, late nights in Yeouido. The texter didn't reply, and I checked my phone less, hoping it was a fluke. Another dream brought HORIZON METALS, buy at 30,000 won, sell at 42,000, fifteen days. I bought shares, splitting them across apps.
On day twelve, OCEAN DATA hit 26,000 won after a tech expo hyped their servers. I sold, my account at 4.6 million won. In my goshiwon, the alley's damp air seeping in, I stared at the number. It could pay Soo-jin's loans, get me a real bed. But the money was a magnet, drawing eyes I couldn't see.
My phone buzzed. The texter: You're moving fast, Min-jae. Meet me. Yeouido Park, tomorrow, 8 p.m.
I froze, the alley's quiet pressing in. The dreams were my edge, but someone was closing in, and I didn't know if I could outrun them.