The silence in Mr. Park's living room stretched, thick with the unspoken implications of the notebook. Mr. Park, a man whose life had been built on numbers and verifiable facts, stared at the precise figures and startlingly accurate predictions, his mind struggling to reconcile them with the quiet ten-year-old sitting across from him. He finally looked up from the meticulously filled pages, his gaze intense.
Mr. Park's Skepticism and Min-jun's Prepared Explanation
"Min-jun-ah," Mr. Park began, his voice soft, almost a whisper, "this… this is extraordinary. It's the work of a seasoned analyst, someone with years of experience. Where, son, did you learn all this?" His tone was gentle, devoid of accusation, steeped only in genuine bewilderment.
Min-jun had anticipated this question. He met Mr. Park's gaze, his expression unruffled, his response delivered with the practiced ease of a story he had refined countless times in his mind. "My father," Min-jun began, a touch of solemnity entering his voice, "he taught me the basics of numbers, of how the world works, even before he… passed. He always said numbers held secrets, if you knew how to listen." He paused, letting the filial connection resonate. "After he was gone, I found myself drawn to them. I started noticing patterns, Mr. Park, patterns others don't seem to see. It's like a puzzle, and I can see the pieces fitting together before they actually move. I've been reading everything I can find at the library, studying economic journals and financial reports. The more I read, the clearer the patterns become."
He finished with a slight, innocent shrug, a gesture that perfectly conveyed a child's natural curiosity and a nascent, innate talent. His calmness, his profound maturity, and the subtle invocation of his late father, whom Mr. Park deeply respected, perfectly sold the narrative. Mr. Park, a man who valued intellect and integrity, found himself wanting to believe. The explanation, while extraordinary for a ten-year-old, was just plausible enough to be attributed to genuine genius, a prodigy born of loss and an insatiable thirst for knowledge.
"Patterns, you say," Mr. Park murmured, still sifting through the layers of the impossible. "And these patterns tell you which way the market will move?" There was still a flicker of doubt in his eyes, a need for tangible proof.
Min-jun nodded. He reached for the morning's newspaper, which lay folded on the coffee table. He picked it up, flipping to the stock market section with practiced ease. His finger, small and precise, landed on a specific, unassuming listing: "Shin-A Manufacturing Co., Ltd."
"Mr. Park," Min-jun stated, his voice firm and unwavering, "this company's stock, Shin-A Manufacturing, is currently trading at ₩3,500. Before the end of next week, due to an unannounced factory contract they will secure with a major electronics firm on Thursday, their stock will rise by at least 15%, possibly more." He looked up, his dark eyes holding an intense conviction. "The news isn't public yet, but it's a certainty."
He had chosen a domestic stock, easily verifiable, with a short timeframe. This was a low-stakes, high-impact demonstration, designed to be undeniable.
"This is not a game, Min-jun-ah," Mr. Park said, his voice tinged with a fatherly concern, but also a growing curiosity.
"I understand, Mr. Park," Min-jun replied, his voice devoid of childish impatience. "And I am not playing. This is why I ask for your trust. Use a small amount of your own money, Mr. Park. Whatever you are comfortable losing. If I am wrong," his voice was level, resolute, "I will never bother you with such matters again. You will never hear another word about my 'patterns.' But if I am right, then you will know."
The offer was compelling. The risk to Mr. Park was minimal, a sum he could afford to lose. The reward, if Min-jun were truly as he claimed, was potentially life-changing. More than that, Min-jun's unwavering confidence, his calm and collected demeanor, disarmed Mr. Park's remaining skepticism. A child who was so certain, so willing to put himself to the test, was either delusional or genuinely gifted. And Min-jun was clearly not delusional.
The next few days were a quiet agony for Mr. Park. He placed a modest sum into Shin-A Manufacturing, the smallest investment he could make to truly test Min-jun's claim. Every morning, he devoured the financial news, scrutinizing every report, every whisper. He called his old contacts, but no one had heard anything about Shin-A securing a major contract. Doubt gnawed at him, but Min-jun's serene conviction echoed in his mind.
Min-jun, meanwhile, remained utterly unperturbed. For him, the outcome was already a foregone conclusion. He spent his time calmly delving deeper into the Omni-7's archives, researching the optimal points to exit the Dell investment, identifying other promising sectors, and even beginning to explore the future of education and technology. The test with Mr. Park was a mere formality, a necessary step in his meticulous plan. He was already ten steps ahead, his mind a labyrinth of future strategies.
Then, on Thursday morning, the news broke. A major electronics conglomerate, "Hana Tech," announced a lucrative, long-term manufacturing contract with Shin-A Manufacturing. The news sent shockwaves through the market. Shin-A's stock, already trending slightly upwards, soared. By the end of the day, it had closed at ₩4,130, an astounding 18% increase from its value when Min-jun had recommended it.
Mr. Park called Min-jun's home late that afternoon, his voice trembling with a mixture of shock, exhilaration, and disbelief. "Min-jun-ah! Did you… did you see? Shin-A! It's unbelievable! You were right! Exactly right!"
That evening, Mr. Park, dressed in his neatest suit, arrived at Min-jun's apartment. He carried a small, solemn bouquet of white lilies for Min-jun's mother, but his gaze was solely for Min-jun. He sat on the edge of the sofa, looking at the boy not with the fond indulgence of an elder, but with a profound, almost fearful awe. His years of experience, his disciplined mind, had just witnessed the impossible.
"Min-jun," he said, his voice hushed, "I don't know how you do it, son. I truly don't. It defies explanation. But I believe you." He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Min-jun's, resolute. "I will be your hands. Tell me what you need. My accounts, my knowledge of the markets, my discretion—they are at your disposal. What do you need me to do?"
The pact was sealed. Not with a handshake, but with an unspoken understanding that transcended their age difference and conventional roles. In that quiet living room, under the soft glow of the evening lamp, a ten-year-old boy and a retired accountant formed an unlikely alliance, bound by an extraordinary secret and the shared pursuit of a meticulously planned future. The first step towards Min-jun's mastery of time had been taken.