As Lee Shin was driving Chae Dong-ha crazy with nothing but his facial expressions, they finally arrived at the auction house.
Gathering gazes.
Without even a speck of exaggeration, every single gaze was drawn to Lee Shin.
People stared at him through the holes in his mask, their eyes locked onto him.
Lee Shin even had the leisure to wave at everyone with his trademark harmless smile.
“Would you like to hear an explanation of the auction house rules?”
“It’s fine. But we have something to discuss among ourselves. Could you give us some privacy?”
“Understood.”
The staff left, their faces full of regret, and only after Chae Dong-ha turned his head back and forth to make sure no one was watching did he grit his teeth.
Lee Shin smiled faintly at the sight and opened his mouth.
“Why are you pouting again? Cute.”
“Pouting?! You call this pouting?!”
“Whoa, whoa, calm down. I came here with a plan. Hand me that catalog.”
“Boss!!”
Sitting cross-legged on a high-end carbon-black sofa, Lee Shin opened the catalog.
“Socrates once said, ‘Know thyself.’”
“Why is Socrates suddenly coming up?”
“Don’t you know about self-awareness? I know myself well. Do you think I’d have a strategy that even an SSS-rank commander like you can’t think of?”
“Well… that’s true, but…”
“Actually, a few did come to mind. Tee-hee.”
“Are you kidding me?!”
What rhythm was he supposed to dance to?
Chae Dong-ha was fuming.
But Lee Shin kept his eyes on the catalog, speaking in a relaxed tone.
“I know my limits, and I know my strengths. Strategy and tactics—I’m just good at them, not the absolute best.”
“What does that have to do with shopping?!”
“Oh, it’s starting.”
“Boss!!”
“See for yourself.”
“Arghhh!!”
The moment Lee Shin winked and made Chae Dong-ha’s blood boil, the lights in the auction house went out right on cue.
The stage lights came on, and the host—wearing an A-line suit that revealed her figure—greeted the audience and stepped forward.
After a short greeting, the auction finally began.
The first item was a mink coat.
“The first round is our warm-up round. As always, it’s an unidentified item. It could be anything from normal to unique! The chance is yours—test your luck!”
In other words, it was a gamble.
Would it be a normal item worth only a few million won, or a unique item worth as much as several houses?
But people hesitated at the sight of the mink coat’s heavily pearled design—something only a nouveau riche auntie would wear.
Even if performance is important, when it’s an item worth billions, appearance still matters at least at a basic level, even if not for showing off.
In that sense, this mink coat was a fail.
As interest waned and the mood cooled, the host skillfully rekindled the atmosphere.
“To add a bit more explanation—our skilled appraisers have concluded that this item is unappraisable. That means… it could be a fairly high-grade item, don’t you think?”
“Oooh…!”
Exclamations popped up here and there at this important information.
Item grade and appraisal difficulty tend to go hand in hand.
The design was tacky, but if the host was telling the truth, this was undoubtedly a high-probability gamble.
They now had a reason to throw money.
Eyes that had cooled moments ago now gleamed brightly.
Everyone gripped their paddles, ready.
“Let’s start light at 10 million won.”
At the host’s signal, paddles shot up in rows.
20 million, 30 million, 70 million, and—80 million! 100 million!
The price soared rapidly, and the hot energy filled the auction house.
But with Lee Shin’s sudden move, that heat cooled instantly, as if it were all a lie.
“1 billion.”
Lee Shin, the wallet warrior, had arrived.
“1 billion. Are we not proceeding?”
________________________________________
Why was he suddenly reminded of the old days?
Back when he crammed himself into a packed morning bus to get to work. Looking back, he had really worked like a dog.
Every day, overtime after overtime after overtime… when his body screamed, “I’m dying here! I’m going to die!” and sent warning signals, he’d laugh it off—“Hehe, I don’t know what you’re talking about”—and endure it with caffeine as his painkiller.
His useless boss, instead of just staying quiet if he had no skills, busied himself making all sorts of trouble, forcing him to give up weekends to clean up the mess. Come to think of it, even then, he was called away from gaming to handle work. The more he thought about it, the more pissed off he got.
Anyway, after shortening his lifespan like that, his monthly salary was barely around 3 million won.
But now, in just two hours since the auction began, Lee Shin has spent over 4 billion won.
3 million? No, even with 6 million a month, it would take a lifetime to save that much, and here he was burning it in only two hours.
Lee Shin felt a bit strange.
Many people had told him:
There are many things more valuable than money, that too much money can actually make you unhappy, that happiness can’t be bought with money.
And that’s exactly why it felt strange.
“If I put it plainly—this is a subspace quiver holding 500 throwing daggers.”
“500 million!!”
That was all nonsense.
…Holy sh*t, this is insane.
________________________________________
At some point, the auction house had grown cold.
“Five bottles of ‘Viper’s Amplification Potion.’ For those who don’t know about the viper, let me briefly explain…”
“200 million.”
The son of a sound mid-sized company and the son of a certain guild master.
“Now, the next item we’re introducing is also famous. The luxury necklace for all magic professions, the ‘Pearl Eye Ring Necklace’…”
“500 million.”
An elderly local figure and a city council member obsessed with material gain.
“A bracelet that increases internal mana circulation, notable for being a paired set…”
“300 million.”
All the big names in Busan were here, keeping their mouths shut. Not daring to say a word.
There were many reasons why they came to this place.
Simply because the item they wanted was up for auction.
Or to be included in the community formed by the sense of privilege this place offered.
Or perhaps, with a partner at their hip, to casually throw around sums that a salaryman could never dream of in his lifetime, and to satisfy their vanity with remarks like, “Wow, that’s amazing, boss,” or “So cool, oppa!”
But
When it comes to having an eye for people, it’s similar for everyone — and anything worth getting, Lee Shin would take first.
Sense of privilege? Community? Lee Shin didn’t even acknowledge such things, and even if he knew, he wouldn’t care in the slightest.
Next comes vanity…
It’s always the lacking, half-baked ones who covet such things.
The eldest grandson of the Lee family. Born into the most prestigious of conglomerates — a royal family among tycoons.
Lee Shin himself was, by his very existence, a display of vanity.
That was the concept of the “Lee Shin” character created by the only long-time player in this world — Lee Shin himself.
“300 million!”
“600 million!”
“One billion!!”
Know thyself.
Lee Shin knew himself better than anyone.
In this world, he was the perfect manual.
Without even needing to check a status window, he knew the grade, options, and hidden “stories” behind those items inside and out.
It was that same Lee Shin who was convinced that Mountain King was an SSS-grade commander.
If he said “the best” instead of “the highest,” it meant that truly, the best was the limit.
If this were a game interface, it would mean there were no other choices available.
At least, not when it came to “strategy and tactics.”
If so—
The approach needed to change.
Not strategy or tactics, but my own — Lee Shin’s own — method.
The themes Lee Shin held, the strengths Lee Shin possessed.
Along with his extraordinary charm, another weapon he had.
That was—
The overwhelming wealth that came from this limitless black card.
“700 million!!”
And so, when everything was over and he walked out of the auction house, Lee Shin had secured an amount of 15.7 billion won.
“…This is unbelievable. So this is what shopping means.”
“How’s the ‘spec shopping’? Pretty fun, right?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s fun, but I am looking forward to it.”
“Looking forward to what?”
“To see what we’ll shop for next.”
“Hehehe. You can look forward to it.”
Whatever you imagine, it will be more than that.
The Rolls-Royce, kissed by the morning dew, was leaving the black market.
________________________________________
Gwangil Middle School.
At the far end of the classroom, where laughter and chatter were grouped together, sat one boy.
“Hey, your boyfriend’s over there.”
“Wanna die?”
“Kekeke, did you see it? That clip of him tripping over? It was hilarious.”
A small frame with hunched shoulders. Shaggy hair and dopey glasses.
Sitting in a dim corner where even light didn’t reach, exuding gloom in a bright classroom — his name was Park Su-bin.
He was the hottest topic in the Mir Guild right now, the rookie receiving the most attention — and trouble.
“What’s his confidence based on? Trying to be a hunter with talent like that? Should just study instead.”
“He can’t even study.”
“Still better than Trip-boy, don’t you think?”
“I guess so.”
“Kekeke.”
“Snrk.”
Envy and jealousy, contempt and ridicule.
Park Su-bin buried his head in his desk, trying his best to shut out all the ill-willed gossip.
It was just as it appeared. In this classroom, Park Su-bin had no allies.
No — aside from his family, Park Su-bin had never had allies at all.
From birth, he had been pathologically timid.
At an age where instinct came before reason, and strength before law, someone timid from birth was the perfect prey.
Through elementary school, middle school, even after his awakening, he was continuously bullied.
“Hey, but wasn’t he pretty famous? I heard he awakened super early, and tons of guilds came for him. So why’s he like this?”
“Kekeke, I know that one. That idiot stuttered in the interview and got speech-banned.”
“Some people spend hundreds a month on cram schools just to awaken, and some useless bastard like him awakens for free. The world’s really unfair.”
“Even if I awakened now, I’d do better than him. Am I right?”
Park Su-bin hated his own timidity.
When an opportunity came, he couldn’t say a single word, couldn’t seize it — he despised that weakness.
And the fact that he didn’t have the courage to say to those mocking him, “What makes you so great, then?”
He hated all of it to the point of death.
Maybe that was why, when Lee Shin came to him one day and extended his hand, he took it.
— “Your potential is real. I can see it.”
He was confident. Overflowing with self-assurance.
An appearance so unreal that even comic book characters couldn’t compare, and eyes shining with certainty — dazzling beyond measure.
A person overflowing with human charm.
The complete opposite of his inadequate self.
Park Su-bin thought—
If I take the hand of this dazzlingly radiant Lee Shin… maybe I can change too…?
Though afraid of being hurt again, Park Su-bin instinctively knew. This—this hand extended by Lee Shin—was the last chance to change his maggot-like life.
So he gathered courage and took the hand.
He squeezed out every bit of strength and gave his all.
[ Mir Guild’s ‘Park Su-bin’ — succeeded in debuting at 16 as the youngest ever. However, still… ]
• Park Su-bin (Rating: 1.8)
Completely unprepared. A defensive mage who can’t even put up a proper shield.
Closer to a trainee than a promising prospect. Practically unnecessary. No idea why they forced his debut…
The result was failure.
Only more ridicule. Nothing had changed.
So it really can’t be done. I really am only this much.
The moment his last, desperate best collapsed, Park Su-bin broke. He fell off the cliff’s edge.
Now, he had nothing left.
Park Su-bin’s eyes were being dyed in darkness.
•
•
But at that moment a light appeared in Park Su-bin’s eyes.
“Boy, are you in despair?!”
“!!”
The side of a truck parked by the front gate after school swung open, and with cheap dry-ice smoke came a childish entrance music you’d only hear in a comic: “Jjaga-jjaga~!”
What the—what is this?
Kids rushed toward the truck with their phones out.
“Hey, the lights, the lights, quick!”
“Hold on, give me a sec… found it!”
Sparks crackled, and cheap lights illuminated—
Through the smoke, I make my appearance!
“I, Lee Shin, have come to save you!”
Light returned to Park Su-bin’s monochrome eyes.
The light…of astonishment.
