Chapter 5

Charlotte noticed a peculiar shift in Elon's expression as he stared at the screen.

It wasn't quite surprise. His pupils flickered as if some hidden understanding had passed through them.

Nor did it look like complete confidence—there was a trace of something unexpected there, as though even he hadn't anticipated this outcome.

"Uh... yeah, I just saw it too. Strange... how did it rise like that?"

His tone carried an odd stiffness, a forced casualness that only made it sound more unnatural.

Almost as if he were trying to conceal something.

Was she imagining it?

Questions swirled in Charlotte's mind. Out of all the gold stocks, how did he manage to pick this one? The coincidence was almost too... precise. Like reaching into the dark and grasping, against all odds, the one star still burning bright.

She couldn't help asking, "You really didn't know?"

"Hm?"

"Be honest." Charlotte leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Did you already know this stock was going to rise today?"

"No, how could I know?" Elon's gaze wavered. He denied it at once, but his eyes betrayed him, darting away as if they had something to hide.

Charlotte steadied herself, realizing how absurd her suspicion sounded.

The entire market had agreed: gold's earlier surge had gone too far. With U.S. gold futures seeing massive long liquidations, even the most seasoned traders were convinced gold stocks were due for a heavy correction.

How could a newcomer—someone barely three days in, who couldn't even fully read a candlestick chart—possibly know something the veterans didn't?

No, it had to be just luck. Incredible, ridiculous, one-in-a-million luck.

Just then—

"Elon."

The deep, commanding voice cut through the office. It was Brock.

"Y-yes, Sir?" Elon straightened at once.

Brock's sharp gaze swept across Elon, Charlotte, and the coffee-stained desk. His face revealed nothing, but he tilted his chin slightly. "Come with me. I need a word in private."

"Yes, sir!"

Elon quickly fell in step, trailing the manager's broad, imposing figure into the office.

Watching his somewhat slender back disappear beyond the doorway, Charlotte quietly dabbed at the spilled coffee on the files, unease prickling at her chest.

'He's not getting scolded, is he? He did fine yesterday...'

Then another thought struck her.

'Wait. Did Mr. Magnus... see the simulation account too?'

...

As Elon followed Brock into his private office, he was still feeling a little dazed.

When he had bought that stock, he'd watched the price lock at the daily limit-down, and he had thought his strange "RNG ability" had completely failed him. The disappointment had left him discouraged.

Then, yesterday, he had been so swamped—spinning like a top from one task to another—that he hadn't even had time to check whether the stock lived or died.

Now… it hadn't just risen.

It had exploded. Limit-up.

"Elon," Brock said as he settled into the chair opposite him. He clasped his hands on the desk, the sleeves of his shirt stretched tight over bulging biceps that looked ready to burst through the fabric. "You've been here three days now. How are you finding it? Getting used to things?"

"Ah, yes, sir. Everyone's been very kind, and I'm still learning to adapt to the work."

"Good. Originally, I wanted to let you take it slow, not push too much onto your plate right away. But as you saw yesterday, with the market that volatile, the whole department was in chaos. I had no choice."

"It's fine, really!" Elon rushed to assure him. "Whatever task you give me, I'll learn and do my best."

Brock fell silent, his sharp eyes scanning him up and down for several seconds. The scrutiny made Elon's skin crawl.

At last, Brock spoke, "In this trading department, for now, only I know the truth."

Elon blinked. "What truth?"

"That you were placed here by direct order of the Chairman."

"Ah..." Elon instantly understood.

So, the manager had known all along he was a "special placement."

"Of course, something like this won't stay hidden for long. In a few days, once word gets out, the whole department will know."

Brock lifted a large shaker cup emblazoned with a gym logo, twisted off the lid, and took a swig. A thick, murky liquid gave off a sickly sweet scent.

Elon remembered Charlotte gossiping about it—it was the manager's daily protein shake. No wonder Brock was built like that...

"Normally, I don't care about other people's private business," Brock went on. "But given the situation, I have to ask: are you related to the Chairman?"

"No." Elon shook his head firmly.

"No?" Brock's brows twitched ever so slightly.

"Then why would the Chairman personally vouch for you—someone with no experience, no resume—and push you straight into our department? You should know yourself. Under normal circumstances, there's no way you'd have gotten into Axom Capital."

The words were brutally blunt, leaving no room for denial.

"Um..."

In his mind, Elon heard the Chairman's repeated warning. "No matter what, you must never tell anyone in the company that we met through an online game. Absolutely not."

And now he understood why.

If people learned that the Chairman of Axom Capital had shoved into the core trading team some kid he'd met in a game—someone with zero background or qualifications…

The whole company would explode. The entire financial circle would laugh itself sick.

Drawing a steadying breath, Elon lifted his head and met Brock's gaze. He forced his tone to sound sincere and resolute.

"Sorry, sir. I can't tell you."

"Alright." Brock studied him with a deep, unreadable look. He didn't seem surprised, only more intrigued. "Since you can't say, I won't press further."

Then his tone shifted. "But there's something else. That penny stock you bought in your simulated trades—what's the story there?"

So that was it!

Elon's heart lurched. Of course, the manager had called him in because of that!

He braced himself, falling back on the same flimsy excuse he'd given Charlotte. "That was... just luck. A complete coincidence."

"Luck? Elon, do you know what our daily return target is for live capital? It's 0.1% to 1%. On a volatile day, a top performer might risk a play to make 3%, maybe 5%. But that risk is calculated and hedged. Our entire strategy is built on consistency, not lottery tickets. The quickest way to blow up your book—and your career—is to chase unsustainable returns."

Charlotte had mentioned something similar: the team's monthly goal was around 3% to 10%—already among the best in the industry.

"But you," Brock continued, "hit a month's target in a single day. On a toxic, rule-breaking penny stock. And based on the news, that rocket isn't landing tomorrow. It's going to keep climbing."

His gaze burned into Elon.

"Let's be honest. That kind of precision isn't something you get from standard analysis. So, I'll ask you plainly: do you have a source? Access to information the rest of the market doesn't? Or are you expecting me to believe it was just... luck?"

Elon fell silent again. He couldn't answer.

The truth was, he knew nothing. Fundamentals, news flow, technicals—it was all a foreign language. Every morning meeting was a torrent of jargon and market slang where he couldn't even follow the punctuation. He'd been cramming from the Series 7 prep book every free second, but after three days, he was still a toddler stumbling through a pack of wolves.

What could he possibly say? Actually, sir, I have a game-like RNG ability that highlights lucky breaks?

That wouldn't just be career suicide; it would be grounds for being locked in a psych ward.

"Hmm... so this is something you can't talk about either, is it?" Brock nodded knowingly, as if he had expected nothing else.

"Uh..." Elon hesitated.

"Forget it. I won't ask again." Brock waved a hand, his tone that of a seasoned veteran. "In this brutal market, everyone has their own hidden edge. Only a fool would flaunt it. In our line of work, performance is everything. Real skill should stay under wraps. Especially for a trader."

He even chuckled self-deprecatingly. "I was too nosy this time. My mistake. Sorry."

"No, no, sir. You're too kind!"

"Alright. Get back to your desk. Look, once word gets out that you're a 'nepo hire,' people are going to view you with skepticism. There will be whispers. Ignore it. It doesn't matter. In this place, the only thing that matters is your P&L. If you prove yourself with consistent results and relentless effort, the perception will change on its own."

"Yes, sir. I'll work hard!"

"Good. And send Charlotte in on your way out."

"Sure thing."

He hadn't been scolded once—Brock had even encouraged him at the end—yet when Elon stepped out of the office, his heart still thudded wildly, sweat dampening his back.

There was something about the manager's presence, not deliberate, but commanding, a force that inspired both respect and pressure. Maybe it was the sheer power in those near-exploding muscles.

But what if...

As he walked back to his desk, the thought crept into his mind.

What if this ability could really be used?

This secret—unknown to anyone else—this strange gift that belonged only to him.

Maybe yesterday really had been pure dumb luck, one chance in a hundred million. But what if it wasn't?

What if this game-born power worked in the real, cold, merciless world?

After all, the so-called stock market was built on data, analysis, and models—but in the end, wasn't it also riddled with randomness, sudden shocks, and the mess of human emotion?

In a sense, wasn't it just a bigger, more complex, higher-stakes version of a guessing game?

Even if someone mastered every indicator and dissected every dataset, one black swan event—or a wave of irrational frenzy—could render all predictions worthless.

And in the end, who could guarantee certainty?

'I hope... today is a little quieter,' Elon thought, settling into his seat.

That way, he could test it properly. This strange game-born "ability"… was it just an illusion, or something real enough to change his fate?

...

'As expected... the kid is hiding something.'

Seated in his wide leather chair, Brock tapped the polished mahogany desk with absent fingers, each dull thud echoing through the office as his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Elon had been a puzzle from the start.

As far as Brock knew, the young man was supposed to be a "connection hire." But that didn't fit. Axom Capital's founder and chairman, Winford Lockhart, was notorious for one thing: ruthless meritocracy.

Winford had built his empire from scratch, transforming an obscure boutique private equity firm into an industry leader within a few short years—not by luck, but by sharp instinct.

His greatest weapon wasn't capital or strategy, but his uncanny eye for talent. He unearthed hidden prodigies, armed them with resources, and gave them room to shine, letting them create staggering value for the firm.

And yet—why would someone like that, a man who despised nepotism in all its forms, suddenly make an exception? Why would he personally push a resume-thin, utterly inexperienced newcomer straight into the core trading team he valued most?

At first, Brock had felt disillusioned, almost betrayed. Could it be that even the chairman he admired had stooped to playing favorites?

But now, he knew that wasn't the case at all.

These two weren't even related. Not in the slightest.

And when pressed for the reason behind his extraordinary placement, Elon had hidden behind a vague "I can't say."

Interesting.

This kid wasn't just secretive—he had guts. He guarded that secret like a lockbox.

More than that, Brock replayed their earlier exchange in his mind. The words might have sounded casual, but beneath them was a razor's edge. And from the flicker in Elon's eyes, the momentary shift in his tone, Brock was almost certain—

He knew. Elon absolutely knew ZRN was going to soar.

The boy's denial had been smooth, his expression well-controlled. But not enough. Brock had spent years wading through the treacherous waters of high finance—he knew how to read micro-expressions, the fleeting betrayals of a mask.

Which meant yesterday's simulated trade might not have been blind luck.

Elon had gone all-in on a single penny stock at a time when everyone else had turned bearish. That wasn't recklessness—it was madness laced with conviction.

A decision like that demanded more than courage. It required the kind of contrarian insight that bordered on the supernatural. When the entire market braced for gold stocks to tumble, this rookie had sliced through the fog and seized the one shining outlier.

That kind of clarity was terrifying.

A sharp gleam lit Brock's eyes.

"Mr. Magnus, you were looking for me?" Charlotte's voice came from the doorway, breaking his reverie.

"Oh, Charlotte." Brock looked up. "Are the documents for this morning's meeting ready?"

"Yes, everything's prepared."

"Good." He tapped the desk once, as though sealing a decision. "Here's what we'll do. Notify our department and the other relevant ones. Today, neither you nor Elon need to run errands. Stay at your desks."

"Eh? ...Got it. Yes, sir." She blinked at the order, then quickly nodded.

"You've both been too busy to practice simulations lately, haven't you? Let him focus on that today. Guide him as needed."

Though puzzled, Charlotte accepted without hesitation.

As for Brock, he still didn't understand why the chairman had forced this Elon into his team. Perhaps it was part of some higher-level strategy, a move hidden in the shadows.

But one thing was certain—Elon had something.

Whether it was a secret channel of privileged information, a freakish instinct sharpened to a blade's edge, or simply a daredevil addicted to dopamine and risk, hiding his recklessness behind a veneer of calm—it didn't matter.

From today on, Brock would watch closely. Test, observe, dissect. Eventually, the truth would surface.

Of course, there remained one final possibility.

Maybe the kid really had just stumbled into a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck, like a blind cat pouncing on a dying rat.

But then, as the markets loved to humbly remind everyone, there was an old adage:

"Three parts hard work, seven parts destiny."

And those rare, chosen few blessed with heaven-defying luck?

They didn't just play the game.

They rewrote the rules.