A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 311: The 100-Billion Race (7)

I need to secure massive capital from a sovereign wealth fund. The problem is that this capital is fundamentally different in nature from ordinary money.

Funds composed of taxes and pensions—“the people’s money”—are, by their very nature, extremely sensitive.

Of course, sovereign wealth funds have invested in me before... But this time is different. The fund I have designed is a monster worth 100 billion dollars. It is an unprecedented scale with a structure never tested, not even in theory.

If I had to draw an analogy, it would be like a “200-seat passenger bus.” A vehicle no one has ever ridden, with no guarantee of how safe it is. And I want to inject the people's money into that experimental vehicle? Not just a small portion—but to the maximum extent?

One wrong move, and the headlines would write themselves: “Gambling away citizens’ hard-earned retirement funds on a foreign speculator’s casino.”

If it spreads that far, the sovereign fund will withdraw their commitment to me immediately, no matter what was promised. That is the worst-case scenario I’m facing. Naturally, I have to prevent such a disaster before it even has the chance to form.

And so, I hired a professional.

“First, you need to shed the Wall Street image. Just being ‘from that world’ can brand Sean as a greedy capitalist.”

The one offering this serious advice was Jane. She is the “reputation strategist” I hired. A specialist in designing and managing the public image and brand of high-profile individuals. Jane was a powerhouse in this field. From global conglomerates to international sports stars, pop icons, prominent politicians, and even royalty—every single one of her clients possessed extraordinary status and prestige.

For reference, I was able to hire her thanks to an introduction from Gonzalez...

‘I have to admit, he can be useful in situations like these.’

In truth, I had been wanting to bring in a proper reputation strategist for a while, but the capable ones all politely refused, saying, “My schedule is fully booked managing existing clients.” However, as luck would have it, Gonzalez was one of those “existing clients,” which allowed us to bring Jane in immediately.

Of course, Gonzalez also attached a condition.

— I will be accompanying you.

Well, that was a small price to pay. After all, Gonzalez has no real responsibilities at Pareto—he’s basically an idle surplus employee.

Anyway.

Jane was enthusiastic from the very beginning.

“First, we need to start spreading ‘sightings.’ People instinctively feel affinity toward celebrities they’ve personally encountered. They believe that experience increases their own social value.”

And so, I followed the route Jane designed and headed out into public spaces. The goal was to stage “chance encounters” with the general public.

The method was simple. I would stand at a famous tourist location, and a planted agent would casually approach, saying something like, “Excuse me, are you Mr. Sean? Wow, I’m a huge fan!” with just the right amount of excitement.

That would draw the attention of nearby people, and anyone who vaguely remembered my face would pull out their phones to look me up. Either way, the result would be the same. People would gather, stirred by the thrill of having just “spotted a celebrity.”

Jane explained the psychology clearly.

“Sean is famous, yes, but unlike actors or singers, he’s not someone who interacts directly with the public. In most situations, ordinary people hesitate to approach first. So we are lowering that psychological barrier for them.”

I wasn’t sure how effective that would be. But the results exceeded expectations. Every spot I visited attracted dozens of people. In fact, it became too much of a problem because the crowds were overwhelming. And I’ve never enjoyed tightly packed crowds to begin with.

Not to mention, safety was also a concern.

‘There’s no way all these people are fans of mine.’

I’ve accumulated a fair amount of karmic baggage in my life... Especially since my reputation for “toying with China” had become infamous, Singapore—with its high Chinese population—put me slightly on edge. Unlikely as it was, I couldn’t completely rule out the possibility of someone pulling a knife in a crowd.

Normally, my large security team would stay close, but right now, we were staging a “natural encounter.” To stay in character, the bodyguards stayed several steps away in plain clothes. Meaning, I had to rely on myself for protection.

Fortunately, nothing happened. But an unexpected trial awaited.

“Hm, the response is beyond what I predicted. Maybe it’s because your looks are helping? This might be a good time to take it a step further.”

That was Jane’s midterm assessment.

“At this rate, we can go beyond simply dissolving negative sentiment and push for a pro-working-class image! And to do that, this place is essential—local hawker centers!”

A hawker center is a Singapore-style open-air food court. It’s not that I dislike the lively vibe or the charm they have. In fact, I could even say the warm atmosphere has its appeal.

However. The issue was hygiene. No matter how well-managed, such places cannot be compared to indoor restaurants. I ordered chicken rice and sat on a plastic chair...

The chair was sticky. A chill ran down the back of my neck, and my mind went blank.

‘It’s fine, it’s Singapore... it’s just the humidity, the humidity…’

I desperately repeated the mantra and forced myself to look away... But the table was covered with fragments and unknown stains, clearly left by the previous customer.

‘There’s no helping it.’

Hawker centers have no dedicated cleaning staff for the common areas.

‘Disinfect…’

My instincts urged me to pull out sanitizing wipes. But at that moment, reason slammed the brakes. All of this was for the sake of projecting a “man of the people” image—if I started wiping everything down obsessively, the result would be catastrophic in terms of public perception.

So, maintaining a calm facade with great effort, I hurriedly shoveled the chicken rice into my mouth—

‘…It tastes good.’

It was unexpected. The tender chicken melted softly, releasing a clean, savory broth, and the ginger sauce cut through the richness with bright clarity. The rice, cooked in chicken stock, glistened with moisture yet maintained individual grains, releasing a toasty aroma with every bite.

But despite the satisfaction of flavor, the stains in my peripheral vision continued to gnaw at my nerves. In the end, I finished the chicken rice at the maximum speed of my life and cleared the mission. And as soon as I returned to the hotel, I immediately reached for digestive pills.

However, the effort paid off. Online, vivid eyewitness accounts began to pour in:

> Saw Sean in person today! My friend asked, “Who’s that? A K-pop star?” and I said, “No, that’s the guy who wrecked the Chinese stock market.” I only listed facts, but she thought it was fiction-level crazy.

> He was really humble? When I asked his secret to success, he said, “I’m just overrated because I talk fast” …Sir, those words alone have the GDP of a small country...

> Was jogging in the Botanic Gardens when he cheered me on with a “You got this.” Apparently he bombs economies but still cares about individuals.

> Saw him eating chicken rice at my local hawker. His eating speed was insane. It wasn’t cosplay—his immersion was real.

The reactions were overwhelmingly positive. Many posts praised my “humility” and “humanity.”

“Authenticity…”

Pierce twisted his lips as he scrolled through the posts.

“I’ve wondered for a while now—have you had acting training?”

“It was sincerity, nothing more.”

“And that ‘sincerity’ is why you’re rummaging for antacids right now?”

Normally, I would have snapped back at him, but today, I honestly didn’t have the energy. Pierce’s expression then turned serious.

“Still, the reaction is milder than expected. Compared to the shockwaves you usually cause, this is downright gentle. Are you okay with that?”

If this had been New York or Silicon Valley, a single sighting would have blown up the entire internet. Compared to that, this was indeed tame.

But I smiled calmly.

“This level is exactly what we want.”

“Is that so?”

“Each type of fuel has its own use. Just like gasoline and firewood have different purposes.”

Singapore is firewood. It burns gently and steadily. It was never meant to explode all at once. The real fuse I had prepared was somewhere else.

“What about Korea?”

Pierce had been making continuous attempts to contact the National Pension Service, but there had been no progress.

‘Well, that’s only natural.’

The National Pension Service was currently at the center of a massive scandal for voting in favor of a conglomerate merger that helped solidify a family’s control of management succession. The chairman had been arrested, the CIO was under investigation, and the conglomerate head himself was being questioned.

“I don’t see any signs that the situation is calming down…”

In this state, there was no chance the National Pension Service would move. For the time being, any attempt would be futile. Which meant there was only one option left.

“It doesn’t matter. We proceed as planned.”

“As planned?”

Pierce looked puzzled. I slowly loosened my stiff neck and answered.

“It’s fine. Once I show up in Seoul, they’ll have no choice but to meet me.”

“In… this situation?”

“Yes. The only difference is whether they come to the table willingly, or get dragged there.”

***

The next day. I arrived in Seoul.

“It’s been a long time.”

It had been about twenty years since I last returned. Or thirty years, if I include my previous life. I couldn’t help but feel strangely sentimental.

“Where will you be going? There’s no set schedule at the moment…”

The reason I came to Korea in the first place was to persuade the National Pension Service. But right now, they would be busy dealing with the fallout, so it would be better to give them a few days to breathe.

In the meantime, I decided to focus on other matters.

“First, we begin with groundwork.”

I glanced toward Jane. I needed to secure public support in Korea as well. Of course, as a former Korean national, I already had a decent reputation and public image...

But attracting investment was an entirely different matter.

‘Above all, the timing couldn’t be worse.’

Korea was in the middle of a political storm. The more chaotic the household, the more guarded it becomes toward outsiders. If I wasn’t careful, I could be trapped in a narrative like, “He disappeared for twenty years, only to show up now during turmoil to grab money and run.”

“The first appearance is crucial. In an ideal scenario, we’d frame it as ‘the proud son of Korea returns in glory,’ with the media celebrating your homecoming. But…”

Now was not the time for that kind of atmosphere.

“In a situation like this, if you appear too much in the media, you’ll be criticized as a distraction tactic deployed by the administration.”

Jane raised a finger to emphasize her point.

“But if you come in quietly, that’s even worse. Later, when you start fighting for attention, people will say you’re desperate and calculating.”

“There’s only one conclusion. Your entrance must be overwhelming—yet not as a cold-blooded Wall Street shark, but as a warm, human figure.”

Jane laid out several plans. My decision had already been made.

“We go with money.”

“Pardon? Money? But your Wall Street image…”

“Hiding my identity as a financier would be a lie. I hate hypocrisy. Besides, nothing asserts overwhelming presence better than money.”

“Hm… you make it sound so simple.”

Jane pressed her fingers against her forehead. After a moment of contemplation, the familiar spark lit up in her eyes.

“Fine. At the very least, it’ll be interesting. There’s no precedent for this kind of move.”

She already had the look of someone running simulations in her head. Or rather, she looked excited—thrilled, even.

And so, the first location Jane chose was… my old elementary school. In Korea, my only formal education was up to elementary school.

“That actually makes it perfect! Education is politically neutral, and a ‘alma mater’ symbolizes your roots! It emphasizes your identity as a Korean! And since it’s an elementary school, it feels even more pure!”

However.

The neighborhood of my childhood… was unrecognizable. I remembered having to walk past residential houses to reach the school. But the houses were gone, replaced entirely by towering forest-like apartment complexes. There wasn’t a trace of my memories left—not even the skeleton of what once was.

More surprising still… There was a massive banner hanging over the school gate.

“The place where the legend of Ha Si-heon began — Bangwon Elementary School.”

“The pride of Bangwon, reaching out to the world.”

“…?”

When I went to the principal’s office, I was shocked to find that the same principal from my childhood was still there. Even more shocking—he remembered me.

“Oh my, isn’t this our Ha Si-heon! You’re the one who turned the stage into a battlefield spinning tops after class… the floor was full of holes, and no matter how many times I scolded you, you never listened…”

“...That... happened?”

My memories were hazy. The principal suddenly stood up.

“Have you forgotten? Then seeing it yourself will jog your memory!”

The enthusiastic principal led me to the platform in front of the schoolyard. There were indeed small holes in the ground. They were even preserved under glass, and next to them was a gleaming metal plaque.

“Ha Si-heon’s Top Arena.”

“The birthplace of the rotational force that shook the world.”

“Haha, we even changed the school motto. ‘Do not fear destruction! Destruction is the mother of creation!’ You demonstrated that principle with your own hands! Just imagining future students gazing upon these marks fills me with pride!”

Anyway. It was finally time to get to the point.

“Yes, I would like to donate to my alma mater—for the sake of my juniors and the future of this school.”

The principal’s face lit up.

“Haha! As expected! The legend of Bangwon is indeed different! So then, for the young dreamers of Bangwon, just how much love are you planning to bestow?”

This was the moment. My first card to stamp my name into history upon my return after twenty years.

I answered calmly.

“Ten million.”

“Oh, indeed. Ten million… how generous…”

He said the words, but his expression stiffened slightly. And from the faint disappointment in his tone, I could tell exactly what he was thinking. He wasn’t saying it out loud, but the feeling was clear enough: For someone of your fame, that’s rather modest, isn’t it?

I added, briefly:

“Of course—ten million dollars.”