I'm Just A Gamer Who Beat Wall Street

"What the hell... 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 district—skyscrapers 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 resume—

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 FRM—none 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 was—lying 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 now—the 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 instructions—that 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 protégé.

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 department—but 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 protégé 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 name—Elon 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 ripples—the 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 relief—ashen, 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 she’s 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 defense—only 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 retreated—into 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 celebrating—yet 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 him—the 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 game—drawing cards, opening loot boxes—he 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 instant—miracles 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, salary—none 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... shit?"