Chapter 6

Elon awkwardly stretched his stiff limbs. His sudden movements drew a curious glance from Charlotte beside him.

"What are you doing, Elon?"

"Ah, Charlotte, nothing… just loosening up a bit."

For the past two days, as soon as the market opened, juniors like them had been forced to push those squeaky metal carts, darting back and forth through trading departments like frantic minnows, delivering orders and documents.

"You're the one who told me, Charlotte. In the stock market, everything changes in an instant, and the two things that matter most are—one, mentality! Stay steady as a mountain! And two, speed! Strike like lightning!"

Mentality? That was the kind of thing the balding veterans of the trading floor worried about.

As a newcomer who'd barely been here a few days, his only value lay in how fast he could run on two legs—fast enough to leave sparks in his wake.

After yesterday's nonstop sprinting, his calves still throbbed with a dull, heavy ache, as if they'd been poured full of lead.

The raw exhaustion had given him a sobering realization: this body of his—soft and neglected from years without exercise—desperately needed training.

But when was he supposed to find the time?

Work out after hours?

Sure, plenty of office workers had made post-work gym check-ins a trend these days...

But back when he was a gaming addict, his days and nights were flipped upside down. He practically lived in front of a screen. Regular exercise had never even crossed his mind.

Now, with his body already weakened by years of digital indulgence, how could he possibly muster the stamina to hit the gym after work? Impossible.

As Elon brooded over this, Charlotte suddenly leaned closer, her voice lowered but tinged with cheer.

"Elon, good news. Today... looks like we won't be fighting with that cursed cart."

"Huh?" He blinked at her, bewildered.

They were the lowest-ranked rookies on the team. If they didn't push the carts, who would?

"Mr. Magnus," she explained. "He's already made arrangements with the other teams. So today, it's the rookies from another group who'll be running errands for us."

That sudden?

Why not yesterday? He'd nearly run his legs off!

Not that he could ever voice such complaints aloud.

Still, it felt unusual. Why would Brock make this change so abruptly? Could it have something to do with the fact that the chairman had personally ordered his hire?

"So, today our assignment…" Charlotte's tone carried a faint excitement that was hard to miss, "—is to spend the entire day running simulated trades until market close. Mr. Magnus just gave the order. I'm guessing it's because of that penny stock you bought. He wants to give you a shot."

"Oh..." Elon nodded slowly. So that was it.

"Thanks to you, I get to ride the wave too. Appreciate it, Elon."

"Don't say that, Charlotte. That was pure dumb luck."

"Really?" She tilted her head and winked playfully. "Hmm... maybe. I suppose it's your secret weapon. And it'd be rude of me to pry, right?"

Secret weapon?

Elon could only laugh bitterly inside. What secret weapon? He'd only just learned the difference between the red and green candles on a chart yesterday.

"So you're saying... today, all we need to do is simulated trading?"

An unfamiliar thrill stirred in his chest.

It felt like this might be the perfect chance to test that mysterious ability of his.

"The morning meeting is about to start," Charlotte reminded him, glancing at her watch. "Listen closely. In a trading department like ours, the single most important thing before the open is identifying the main flow."

"The main flow?"

"Right. The movers, the theme plays, the focus stocks—they rarely move alone. They surge in waves, clustered around a specific sector or narrative. That cluster of momentum is what we call the 'main flow.'"

It sounded exactly like a game to him.

In multiplayer games, the most powerful strategies of the current patch were called the "meta."

The stock market was no different. The sectors with the most momentum and narrative power—the ones capable of dominating the tape—were the main flow. And that was where every trader on the desk aimed their focus.

"The morning meeting is all about figuring out who will emerge as the leader and which sectors will rise with them. Our department prides itself on being the most sensitive to these shifts."

Technically, it was the rookies' job to print and bind the meeting reports.

But in reality, all the content came from the research department.

Those analysts—elite graduates from prestigious universities—scoured domestic and global markets, dissected data, and predicted how each development might impact stocks.

What they produced, after layers of filtering, was a polished report of distilled insights.

The rookies merely printed, bound, and distributed it before meetings.

"To be honest, Charlotte," Elon said with a wry smile, "those reports look like gibberish to me."

Global macroeconomics, industry dynamics, fundamental analyses, market sentiment...

How could anyone possibly compress the chaotic, living world into these cold, rigid numbers and flickering charts?

It was an incomprehensible language. He couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"Haha, don't look so overwhelmed." She laughed, giving his arm a light, reassuring tap. "You sat through all those lectures in school, right? And crammed for your licensing exams until your eyes bled? You're supposed to be sick of this by now."

"..." Elon kept silent.

What could he possibly say? That his degree was in something entirely unrelated? That he hadn't even taken the Series 7 yet?

"Oh, look at the time. They're about to start. Let's go in."

"Alright."

'The main flow... find the flow...'

He followed Charlotte into the buzzing conference room, the phrase echoing in his mind like a mantra. His only job was to listen.

Because for the first time, he was about to hear the real thing—the live, real-time calls from analysts and senior traders on the day's flow. Judgments forged from top-tier research and market data that outsiders couldn't access at any price.

The conference room buzzed with voices, the air thick with an invisible pressure.

"Everyone's read the reports, yes?" Brock's sharp gaze swept across the room, his voice firm and commanding. "The market's current focus is on the new energy breakdown. Systemic risk across the entire supply chain is expanding. I want thoughts."

And just like that, Elon was lost. His head spun.

"After several recent EV fire incidents, global automakers are reexamining safety standards... Also, the price of nickel, a key battery material, has plunged 45% from six months ago, raising risks of inventory losses," a senior trader began.

"Don't forget overcapacity," someone else added. "Global power battery production this year is projected at 3000 GWh, far exceeding demand. This imbalance could push the industry into an 'oversupply cycle,' triggering price wars."

"But long-term, new energy vehicles are still bullish, right? Most countries plan to ban new fuel-powered cars after 2035," another voice argued.

Elon stayed silent, eyes racing over the report, ears straining to catch every keyword.

"Plans like that are written in pencil, not ink. For short-term traders like us, distant promises mean nothing," Brock cut in coldly. "Who knows if those pledges will flip overnight? That uncertainty alone is risk."

In Desk One, they lived and died by the short term. Long-term visions were worthless mirages. Retail investors were no different.

"For the new energy chain, we'll start the morning with short-selling," Brock declared. "But risk control is paramount. Hedge with ETFs heavily weighted in battery stocks."

"Understood. And leverage?"

"No higher than 1.5x net exposure. Keep it conservative. We short the morning session. If the market digests the news and finds a bid, we look for long scalps in the afternoon. Entry and exit points are your own responsibility!"

His tone hardened, cutting through the room. "But do not get greedy. I know last month's P&L was light. I know everyone is hungry. That is exactly when you lose discipline and blow up. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir!"

As the meeting adjourned, the team surged out of the room like soldiers rushing to battle.

Brock's orders had been clear and precise—yet to Elon, they might as well have been a foreign language. Not a single word had sunk in.

...

Charlotte drew in a deep breath, feeling the faint tremor at her fingertips.

This feeling—it had been a long time.

'I can't afford to slip up...' she thought.

Brock had been clear: this simulation trade was a test. If she failed, she would be stuck for who knew how long, reduced once again to being nothing more than a glorified errand girl. Serving coffee. Delivering files. Running around like a handmaid on the trading floor.

'No. Not this time. I can do this!'

Clenching her fists tightly, she rallied her courage.

This was the chance she had been dreaming of—the one she had prepared for, day after day, in quiet determination.

All that remained was for the opening bell to ring. Then... she would fight with everything she had.

But her eyes wavered, sliding toward the glass partition next to her.

'What about Elon...? Will he be alright?'

She rose slightly on tiptoe, sneaking a glance.

While she busied herself compiling research reports, reviewing notes from the morning meeting, and fine-tuning her strategy for new energy stocks, Elon just sat there, unmoving, like a frozen statue, staring blankly at his monitor.

Not a flicker of intent in his eyes, not a single motion betraying purpose. He looked for all the world like a rookie, completely overwhelmed, utterly clueless about where to begin.

So it had been just dumb luck last time with that penny stock after all.

'Fine. Once I'm less swamped, I'll head over and help him out.'

After all, she had promised to look out for this newcomer.

The trading floor's atmosphere stretched taut in the final minutes before the market opened. It felt as though the air itself had congealed. Only the faint sound of restrained breathing, the occasional clack of keys, and the subtle drag of a mouse broke the silence.

Everyone resembled sprinters crouched on the starting line, muscles tight, nerves coiled, every sense locked on the split second when the starting gun would fire.

Then it came—

The bell.

The market was open.

In that instant, every trader's eyes sharpened to blades, bodies tense as they lunged toward their screens, ready to strike at their targets.

But not Elon.

He did nothing.

Not out of composure. Not because he was cleverly "waiting for the right moment."

He truly... had no idea what to do.

'Where the hell am I supposed to start?'

If this were a game loot box, he could stare it down until that elusive "feeling" arrived, then click. If it were gambling for rare gear, or looting corpses, the same principle applied.

But stocks? Stocks were different.

Too many factors. Too many variables. Too much uncertainty.

'If I buy this stock now, will it rise immediately? Tomorrow? Who can say?'

In games, you opened a chest, gambled on gear, and the outcome revealed itself instantly—win or lose, feedback was immediate.

Not so with stocks.

'What if I buy one today, only for it to sit still until a year from now?'

And with the market flooded with countless options, he didn't even know where to look first. How could he possibly wait for that elusive "feeling" to descend? It was like searching for a single, specific grain of sand on an endless shore.

"Calm down. Calm down."

Whenever his thoughts tangled into a hopeless mess, Elon always told himself this.

Granted, he had only ever used this trick while gaming... but either way, now was not the time to panic. He had to steady himself. One step at a time.

"They said in the meeting just now... today's main flow is the new energy sector, right?"

He decided to start there. At the very least, he had to look like he was making an effort—something the manager could see.

Taking a deep breath, Elon forced composure onto his face and pulled up the report from the research department.

"Mm..."

He stared at the words and charts on the screen. It didn't feel like reading English at all. It felt like staring at alien script.

The report came with a long list of stocks tied to the day's main flow.

Just as Brock had predicted, almost every single name on that list was glowing red—sliding downward.

"I think the manager said... short in the morning, long in the afternoon? Hedge the risks?"

Short positions, long positions. How exactly was he supposed to do any of that? How did one even manage risk?

If he'd known it would come to this, he should've shadowed Charlotte more closely—asked her about actual operations, built up some real experience.

"But... since they're all dropping, then obviously I can't buy them now, right?"

There were plenty of new energy–related stocks. Yet looking across the list, it was just an endless sea of red. One glance was enough to make his chest tighten, as if buying any of them meant instant ruin.

With that thought, Elon moved to close the list. The ocean of suffocating red numbers only unsettled him further.

But then—

A faint prickling sensation—sharp yet strangely familiar—shot through his fingertip. Like a whisper of electricity, it raced across his skin, flooding his entire body in a single instant.

That feeling... he knew it.

'It's happening...'

Elon froze, halting the motion of his hand, then maximized the very window he had been about to shut.

Holding his breath, he scanned the list again. Slowly. Carefully.

Until, in the middle of all that hopeless red sea, his cursor came to rest on one unremarkable name.

GreenOracle.

A company specializing in recycling new energy batteries.

His throat bobbed as he gulped.

That strange, overwhelming sensation—like a tidal wave of raw instinct—was surging from his fingertip, his palm, his arm.

It felt so vivid. So intense. His body trembled under the sheer force of it.

Yes. This was it. He could never mistake it.

It was the exact same feeling he'd had in games, every single time he cracked open a loot box and pulled out a legendary drop.

But... this stock...

Elon's gaze locked onto the brutal downward curve of its chart. The corner of his eye twitched uncontrollably.

This wasn't just dropping—it was collapsing, practically nosediving straight into a limit-down.

And hadn't the meeting just declared the battery sector high-risk? The strategy was to short, not buy.

At least in the short term, there was zero chance of recovery.

And yet...

That raw, thunderous instinct was screaming at him, 'This is it. No mistake. Choose this one. Buy it.'

'Yeah! What the hell am I scared of?' The thought sliced through his hesitation like lightning. 'Besides... this is just a simulated account, isn't it?"

Relief flooded him.

'Screw it. Just this once!'

Once more, he'd believe in that damned, yet terrifyingly real... instinct.

Click.

The crisp sound of the mouse echoed in his quiet corner.

And in that endless sea of red, Elon no longer hesitated. His right index finger pressed down, hard, slamming onto the button that said BUY.