Too Big to Fail.

Literally meaning "a great horse does not die," the phrase originated, like many current affairs terms, from the game of Go.

It’s most commonly used in economics. In the case of a massive conglomerate upon which the livelihoods of many depend, the idea is that the government will inevitably intervene to save it—due to the potential ripple effects on society and the economy.

It’s not just a Korean concept. The English-speaking world has its own cynical version: “Too Big to Fail.” Even LTCM, the thorn in Alpha Fund’s side, was bailed out under that premise.

It’s not as simple as saying, “Just ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) let the big corporations rot.” That’s a problem in its own right.

In today’s hyperdeveloped capitalism, if a major firm collapses, all the companies tied to its debt go down with it. This domino effect is a structural issue seen in most capitalist countries—ultimately one of the side effects of credit creation.

But sometimes—just sometimes—an incident occurs so massive that not even the government can intervene.

And capitalism is forced to ask itself what purpose it even serves.

[Breaking News! Hanbo Group Declared Bankrupt... Shockwaves Through the Financial Sector!]

[Reckless Investments, Political-Business Collusion Suspected... Will the Hanbo Scandal Spread to the Entire Economy?]

Not even a full month after the Hanbo scandal broke, Hanbo Group declared bankruptcy. Under normal circumstances, they might’ve lasted longer—but the conditions had changed.

The Thai baht crash, often cited as the opening shot of the East Asian financial crisis, originally happened six months after the Hanbo crisis in Korea. It meant that structural problems in Korea’s economy and the global trend arrived simultaneously.

In my previous life, the Korean economy was already teetering from the Hanbo crisis, and the baht collapse was the final blow. This time, the sequence was reversed. The East Asian crisis had already begun—of course a single conglomerate couldn’t withstand it.

“...Wow, they really went under. Weren’t they ranked like 14th in the business world?”

Seo Ji-yeon turned her head from where she was leaning diagonally on my lap. I stroked her long hair and replied.

“They inflated their size as much as they could, and they were still only 14th. Compared to our Daehwa Group, it's heaven and earth.”

Naturally, the impact on Korea would be significant. ₩5 trillion is a huge amount—even for me. Losing it overnight says it all.

“Mm... I don’t get it. Why can’t they just manage their businesses safely...?”

“That’s because chaebol chairmen are people who survived pressing a button with a 50% chance of death ten times in a row. Of course they believe they’ll succeed the 11th time too.”

There’s arrogance in believing what worked before will keep working. But older people rarely change how they think.

It’s an amusing phenomenon. Wasn’t there a saying that people keep getting promoted until they become incompetent? That’s exactly it.

“Ugh, now I’m scared I’ll end up like that too. Someday people might call me a clueless old spinster boss who only got promoted through connections....”

“That’s fine. If you become incompetent, I’ll demote you myself. You can idle away in some cushy position and collect a salary.”

I patted her head again, like a show of generosity. A woman’s hair has a certain softness that feels nice to the touch.

“How supportive,” Seo Ji-yeon sighed, lips pouting.

“Or you could go carve out your own space like Si-hyun. Wait, are you already doing that?”

Her reputation as Eugene Seo, a young venture capitalist in Silicon Valley, had grown quite big. It was getting risky enough that I was considering scrapping her cover identity.

“The dotcom bubble has to pop soon, so start tying up those loose ends over there and come back to Korea. I’ll be heading to the U.S. now anyway.”

“The U.S.? I thought you were focusing on Korea...”

“I’ll be joining Alpha Fund—formally, at least.”

“...Aren’t you still underage, young miss?”

I smiled faintly and shook my head.

“It’s fine. By U.S. standards, I’m already an adult.”

In Korea, I wouldn’t be a legal adult until January 1st, 1998. But in the U.S., where adulthood starts at 18, I was considered one as of January 1st, 1996.

By their standards, I was already legal. Most of the formalities had already been handled. With enough money and power, even a minor can masquerade as an adult. If something’s legally sound, then there’s no problem at all.

“Normally, Grandpa wouldn’t have allowed it... but now it doesn’t matter. I’ve got his approval.”

I didn’t care about the performance record needed for a promotion. From my position of actual control over Alpha Fund, I could sweep in all the results I wanted.

‘Finally, I can breathe.’

Thinking that I could finally shed one layer of the suffocating social and legal restrictions that had bound me—it felt good.

***

September 1996.

Through a few loopholes and a bit of clout, I joined Alpha Fund.

“It feels strange seeing you in the office like this. Looking forward to working with you.”

“Mm-hmm, same here. Didn’t we meet before? Let’s not be so formal.”

“Haha, still, it’s different this time. You’ve joined us officially now. Feels like yesterday when Alpha Fund was first founded.”

Ha Yeong-il, holding an MD title, came in person to greet me. That would never happen for a regular analyst—but I wasn’t just anyone.

I had that much money. Legally, I held significant shares in Alpha Fund as a “partner.”

Grinning, I looked around at the people gathered.

“Huh, so many directors. Quite the welcome for a mere analyst. Shall I go click through some Excel sheets?”

“Haha, how could we tie down someone so busy? Maybe we should just give you the title and quietly count the gains? Might be better to build your record after you make associate...”

“Why not just bring her in directly as a partner! We can say we hired a young quant-slash-local liaison to the internal staff.”

Ha Yeong-il listened to the others sucking up, then turned to me.

“What do you think, young miss? Legally, there’s no problem starting at partner level...”

“Ehh, that would draw too much attention. I’m still young, after all... And in our fund, ‘partner’ isn’t exactly a clear-cut rank, is it?”

Ha Yeong-il nodded. Alpha Fund barely even had a defined “partner” role.

“That’s true.”

Alpha Fund’s official ranks were Analyst, Associate, VP, Director, MD, and CEO. The MD role, Managing Director, held a lot of power and—peculiarly—there were far too many of them. That was just the nature of a hedge fund.

My current rank: the very bottom—Analyst. Well, even the chairman’s son starts as a regular employee, right?

“Sigh... What a shame.”

“Yeah, wasting time arguing over job titles at a time like this is kinda tragic. If you were a little older, we’d just give you full authority from the start.”

“No no, I meant it’s a shame I can’t play the rookie analyst and freak out the others.”

“....”

Imagine: the fresh-faced (and cute) first-year analyst turns out to be the founder of the world’s greatest hedge fund. Just thinking about it gives me chills.

Ha, if only I had a bit more time.

***

Korea was on the brink.

Money was creaking from every corner, and the won-dollar exchange rate had shot up from 800 to over 900.

And yet—it endured.

A country with such weight doesn’t collapse in a day. Even Hyunseon Group, ranked 2nd to 4th in industry, didn’t fall during the 1997 crisis—but just before the year 2000.

Before September had even ended...

Following Hanbo Group, Sammi Group, Jinro Group, Samlip, and Daenong Group all filed for bankruptcy.

[S&P Downgrades Korea's Sovereign Credit Rating: AA- → A+]

[Moody’s Lowers Korea’s Credit Rating: A1 → A2. Korean Composite Stock Price Index Falls Below 500...]

[Morgan Stanley Issues 'Get Out of Asia' Report. Dow Jones Plummets Over 5% in One Day]

Within a month, I was promoted to Associate at Alpha Fund for writing a report on the East Asian crisis. I traded money slowly while bantering with the directors.

“Hm, Analyst Yoo Ha-yeon is here.”

– Smirk.

“Mm, not anymore. I was promoted yesterday, remember?”

Another director clapped his knee and scolded him.

“Hey now, she’s Associate Yoo!”

“Oh—right! My bad, VP Yoo Ha-yeon, wasn't it? Sorry—Director Yoo Ha-yeon.”

Even Ha Yeong-il chuckled as he handed me a document.

“So, MD Yoo Ha-yeon, what do you think?”

“Aha, that’s cute.”

They were funnier than I expected.

Still smiling, I casually skimmed the document.

[Indonesian Rupiah Plunges 30%... Country Requests IMF Bailout]

[Bloomberg Estimates Korea’s Usable Foreign Reserves at Just $5 Billion]

Our fund had grown to $150 billion—no, $170 billion.

Ha Yeong-il gave me a serious look and asked,

“Is it time?”

– Tap.

“Hmm...”

The hesitation was brief.

Korea wasn’t quite ready to collapse—not yet.

But a great fund manager should know how to exploit that “not yet.”

And I knew exactly how.

“For the next month, take the opposite position on Korea. Inject $10 billion into the Korean economy through Daehwa Group. Pull out from Southeast Asia and prepare to strike Taiwan.”

After all, the higher you are when you fall... the more it hurts.