Chapter 4

"Ugh!"

It felt as if an invisible force had struck him hard. Elon jolted violently, eyes snapping open.

"Wha... what time is it?"

His mind was still foggy as he fumbled for his phone, nearly dropping it before lighting up the screen.

"Urghhh..." A strangled groan escaped him, laced with endless frustration.

There were still ten whole minutes before his alarm.

Ten minutes!

He could've—should've—stolen ten more minutes of precious sleep.

The feeling was achingly familiar, dragging him back to those suffocating schooling exam years when every stolen minute of rest felt like ambrosia.

'Sleep a little longer? Just ten minutes?'

The temptation surfaced, only to be crushed mercilessly.

"Yeah, right. Like I'd wake up after that."

He gave a bitter smile. He knew himself too well.

If he closed his eyes now, there was no chance he'd hear the alarm ten minutes later. He'd be out cold until noon, and by then, forget work—he'd probably struggle to even remember his own name.

"Urghhh..."

It felt like waging a brutal war against the mattress itself. Teeth clenched, muscles straining, Elon finally forced himself upright, every bone aching with exhaustion.

"Damn... shouldn't have gamed so late last night..."

He thought of the guild veterans—middle-aged men, coming home after long workdays yet still finding the strength to log in for a dungeon raid.

That kind of determination... it truly demanded respect.

"Crap! I'm gonna be late!"

The moment he had zoned out, another ten minutes had slipped away unnoticed.

His heart lurched. No time to waste. He shot up and dashed into the bathroom.

No time for a morning routine. There was only one solution.

He twisted the shower knob. A torrent of ice-cold tap water crashed over his head.

The shock stabbed straight into his bones, snapping him half-awake in an instant.

With his left hand, he grabbed the shampoo, slapped it onto his hair, rubbed twice, rinsed once—done.

Fast. Efficient. Effective.

He shook his dripping hair, droplets flying everywhere, carrying with them the faint fragrance of shampoo.

God, he missed the old days...

Back when he was still leeching off his parents, this hour of the morning would've found him in the thick of some game raid—fighting, shouting, alive with adrenaline. Afterwards, he'd collapse into bed, weary but satisfied, and sleep straight through until the sun and moon traded places.

Those carefree days were gone. Forever.

He threw on his clothes at record speed and stepped out of the bathroom toward the living room.

And froze.

At the dining table sat his parents, wide awake when they should've been asleep. Both of them sat upright. Both staring at him.

His stomach dropped. Had the noise woken them?

"You're up early," he said with a forced laugh, though his voice wavered.

"Elon. Sit down," his father said, calm but commanding—his tone leaving no room for refusal.

"What's wrong?"

"You've been sneaking out before dawn every day," his mother said, eyes narrowing with both worry and suspicion. "Where exactly are you going? You claim it's interviews… but at this hour?"

The moment he'd been dreading had arrived.

Elon drew in a deep breath, as though steeling himself for a decision he could no longer postpone.

"Well... actually, I found a job."

"What?" His mother's voice shot up in pitch. "I thought you said you were interviewing!"

"I was. But now... I'm heading to work."

For the past three days, he'd been working at Axom Capital.

The first two days, nerves had consumed him—he hadn't dared tell his parents, unsure if this job would vanish as suddenly as it had appeared.

But today, he could finally say it out loud.

Because—

He reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and set it on the table with a crisp thud.

"What? Axom Capital?"

His father's voice broke in shock as he lurched to his feet.

"Wait… did you just say 'THE' Axom Capital?" His mother leaned closer to the table, eyes wide with disbelief.

Their gazes locked on the employee badge and business card Elon had placed down, as if trying to bore holes through them.

"This... this is real?"

His father picked up the card, fingers trembling with excitement as he traced the gold-embossed letters.

"Good heavens! It is Axom's badge and card... How on earth...?"

Disbelief was etched all over his mother's face. Her eyes darted between the badge and her son, struggling to reconcile the two. Then, almost abruptly, she seized his hand with such force that it made him wince. Her fingers were cool and trembling against his skin.

"Elon, tell me the truth. Did we pressure you too much? Is this just a fake card you made to fool us? I know what Axom Capital is! A top-tier firm like that… you could never get in!"

Her voice quavered with both panic and certainty, as if she had already decided he was spinning an impossible lie.

Tsk.

Elon clicked his tongue.

That... was hard to argue with. In the past, Axom Capital had been so far beyond his reach it may as well have been the moon. Their threshold was sky-high, an unattainable dream.

But he wasn't lying.

He was working there now—though the way it had happened was far too strange to explain in a single breath.

"It's complicated," he said at last. "But I really do work there. And I need to leave now. The market opens at nine-thirty, and I've got a lot to prepare before then."

He was only a junior trader, after all. Running errands, handling odds and ends—that was the job. His duty was to make sure the senior traders had everything they needed to rake in profits for the day.

Which meant he absolutely could not be late.

"Elon, just tell me honestly..." His mother still refused to let it go.

"Honey, don't you know your own son?" His father finally spoke, setting down the card. He studied Elon with complicated eyes.

"Sure, his grades were lousy. He's lazy, spends all his time gaming... He's had a mountain of flaws since he was a kid. But lying? Especially about something this big? That's one thing he's never done."

"Dad, are you praising me or tearing me down?" Elon muttered with a crooked grin. But warmth bloomed in his chest.

"So, son," his father pressed, "this is real, isn't it?"

"Yes." Elon nodded firmly, his gaze unwavering.

"Good. Then I believe you."

His father picked the card back up, holding it as though it were a rare treasure. His fingers traced every printed word.

"If you got in, it means you've got ability. They saw something in you."

A proud smile spread across his father's face—genuine, radiant, a smile Elon hadn't seen in years.

"I knew it. My son could do it! Hahaha!"

"Thanks, Dad. I'll get going now."

"Hurry then!" His father waved him on. "Being late on the job isn't an option!"

Elon scrambled to gather his things and bolted for the door.

Just as he pulled it open, his mother rushed after him, thrusting a sandwich and an apple into his hands.

"Eat these on the way. Don't go hungry."

The familiar taste of home clung to the bundle, laced with his mother's warmth. It had been so long since he felt it.

"And another thing… Your suit. You can't wear the same one every day. This weekend, I'll take you to buy a few more."

Before he could respond, she wrapped him in a tight embrace, her arms trembling with affection.

That hug, too, had been absent for far too long. It carried her faint fragrance, and with it, the grounding weight of something called home.

His father came over as well, smiling broadly. Clumsy though it was, he pulled Elon into a rough hug, patting his back twice with heavy hands.

"Do your best, son! And if it ever gets too much, just tell us. Don't force yourself, understand?"

"...Yeah." Elon's nose prickled.

So this... this was what being acknowledged felt like.

Something stirred gently in his chest, swelling warmly, sweeping away the last chill of morning.

"Ah, I'm really running late now! I'm off!"

"Go! I'll make your favorites. Call when you finish work!"

"Got it!"

With a cheerful reply, Elon dashed out the door.

And today, his steps felt lighter than ever.

...

The moment Elon stepped into the trading floor, Charlotte's teasing voice cut across the room.

"Right on the dot, huh? One more minute and you'd be late."

"Whew... just made it." Elon exhaled, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Sorry, Charlotte. I should've gotten here earlier."

She let out a quick laugh and waved him off. "Don't worry. With me covering for you, even if you're late, I'll make sure you get through it."

A crisp morning began, as always, with tackling the mountain of reports piled on their desks.

"Yesterday was brutal, wasn't it?" Charlotte said while sorting through files with practiced ease.

"Tell me about it." Elon shuddered at the memory. "I thought my first day was hectic enough, but yesterday? That was on another level."

"Special circumstances," Charlotte explained. "The market swung unusually hard. Nothing you'll see every day. Don't worry."

As she spoke, she glanced at the newcomer beside her.

It was only his third day.

Yet she had to admit—this one was different.

Most rookies needed at least a month of hand-holding before they could make sense of anything, let alone move without tripping over themselves.

But Elon...

He was quick.

Sharp.

Yes, that was it—sharp.

It was as if he instinctively knew where to be and what to do at the right time. Thanks to him, the morning prep had gone unusually smooth.

So smooth, in fact, that she actually had the rare luxury of sipping a steaming cup of coffee by the window, stealing a quiet moment to enjoy the city skyline. That was a luxury unheard of on a normal trading day.

"Oh, right," Charlotte suddenly remembered. "Yesterday was so crazy, I completely forgot to check the simulation account. Did you look at it?"

"No," Elon admitted. "I was too busy running around with you all day."

Files, coffee, printouts, snacks—yesterday he'd been everywhere, pushing a cart stuffed to the brim, darting between trading teams like a human pinball.

He had assumed a junior trader only needed to stay within their assigned group. Reality proved otherwise.

When the market went wild and hands were short, rookies like him had to jump in wherever needed.

Yesterday had been chaos. He practically became the department's delivery boy. His legs had been threatening to give out from the constant running.

"I was just thinking," Charlotte said, lifting her cup for another sip, "instead of letting that simulated position keep bleeding, we should've closed it early. Once the correction ends, we'd have more ammo to jump back in."

"Really?"

"Mm. I'll guide you through it. Let's see if we can claw back the losses. Now, what did we buy last time? Right—ZRN. Let's check yesterday's closing price..."

It felt good, this rare calm—coffee warming her hands, the hum of the office in the background. A fleeting moment of peace.

She tapped the mouse, opening the stock's chart.

And then—

"Pfft—!"

A mouthful of coffee exploded out of her, arcing through the air in a dramatic spray.

Elon, sitting across from her, jerked back in alarm, narrowly avoiding the unexpected crossfire. He scrambled for tissues and shoved them toward her.

"Charlotte, are you okay?"

"E-Elon... look! Look at this!"

Charlotte ignored the coffee dripping from her chin. She pointed at the monitor with a trembling hand, her eyes wide with disbelief.

On the screen, glaring in a triumphant, bold green—

[ZRN: LIMIT UP // +5.00%]

The very stock he had bought at its absolute low. The one he'd gone all-in on, when every other gold share was cratering and the entire sector was a sea of red.