A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 312: The 100-Billion Race (8)
"100 million… in dollars?"
"Yes, I will donate 100 million dollars."
The principal looked as though his system had crashed. There were several seconds of silence. Then, all of a sudden, he whipped out his smartphone and, with trembling fingers, began tapping on the calculator.
"One, ten, hundred, thousand… one billion, ten billion…?"
His lips, which had been counting, halted for a moment. The principal looked up at me.
"Th-this is… 1.13 trillion won… is that correct?"
This… This is the power of capital. The tone he had used just moments ago—like he was addressing some distant junior—now naturally carried a sense of respect.
"Yes, it should be roughly that amount."
"B-but this scale…! With this kind of money, we could build one hundred schools… no, we could buy an entire district…!"
"In the United States, donations of this size are not uncommon. In fact, I’ve made similar donations to several other institutions."
It wasn’t a lie. The only difference was that in America, donations of this scale came with tax benefits—but this time, it was pure loss, money that would simply evaporate.
Honestly, just thinking about it made my insides twist. It felt like holes were being punched through the walls of my stomach. Not metaphorically—there was genuine, physical pain. Because of my ‘condition.’
However, I clenched my teeth and endured it.
‘This is an investment.’
In other words, this was the first seed I was throwing. With this 100 million dollars as the bait, I would reel in hundreds of billions from the National Pension Fund—ultimately, the full trillion. Hesitating here would be like knowing Bitcoin was about to skyrocket, but refusing to invest because you didn’t want to part with the one million won in your account.
That logic helped dull the pain a little. I took a breath and continued speaking.
“However, I’d appreciate it if this could be handled as quietly as possible.”
Total nonsense. With this kind of money moving, there was no way it would be handled quietly.
“B-but… a donation of this scale cannot be processed quietly.”
“Is that so? I had hoped it might be possible, given your abilities as principal…”
“I’m terribly sorry, but we too have our procedures…”
Public schools are under the jurisdiction of the Office of Education, so they cannot receive donations directly. The Office receives the funds first, then distributes them to each school. And with a sum this large, it wouldn’t be strange if the superintendent himself came running.
He already knows what’s going on, of course. Bureaucrats never quietly exchange money. There would be a grand donation ceremony, a plaque of appreciation, photo sessions, press releases… The full administrative course meal awaited.
“I would really prefer to avoid that kind of attention.”
“For the sake of educational development, this must be widely publicized! We need to spread positive influence…”
I insisted to the end on a “quiet donation,” but in the face of the principal’s earnest plea, I nodded as though I could no longer refuse.
“I understand.”
“A-are you truly… alright with this?”
“Yes, it can’t be helped.”
It meant I was allowing publicity.
“However, I may not be able to attend the plaque ceremony due to scheduling issues. I’m only in Korea briefly on business, so adjusting my plans to the superintendent’s schedule might be difficult…”
Normally, events at the superintendent’s level take weeks to arrange. I had no intention of waiting that long.
“Th-the superintendent says Friday is fine!”
It was lightning-fast. Well, it was 100 million dollars. Forget the superintendent—his grandfather ought to sprint over barefoot.
***
Two days later, the news broke.
<Ha Si-heon Donates 113 Billion Won to Alma Mater… Largest Educational Donation in Korean History>
<The Legend of Wall Street Returns After 20 Years… Bearing a 113 Billion Won Gift>
<Principal of Bangwon Elementary Says, “I Thought It Was 100 million Won… But It Was Dollars.” Behind Ha Si-heon’s Donation—‘Shocking’>
It was the official signal announcing my return to Korea. The response was explosive.
—Ha Si-heon? That Ha Si-heon? He’s in Korea? Since when?
—Wow, I thought it was 100 million won, but it was in dollars lol this is world-class
—That donation amount is insane… I get dizzy just counting the zeros
—While the higher-ups only talk about patriotism, this guy is patriotizing with dollars
—Cultural Heritage Administration, do your job. Why isn’t Ha Si-heon already declared National Treasure No. 1?
—The Republic of Korea possesses Ha Si-heon!
After all, the best kind of guest is one who never arrives empty-handed. And the best gift, unquestionably, is cold, hard cash.
Of course, not everyone viewed it positively.
—Is it just me who feels uneasy while everyone else is moved…? 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮
—The donation is great, but the timing is…
—Political season + massive donation = ……????
However, such objections lost strength in the face of that overwhelming figure: 113 billion won.
—If it’s a trillion won, shouldn’t we at least give him a small city?
—He deserves his own city-state lol
—If you want to criticize 113 billion, make sure you’ve donated at least 10 billion first
This is the power of money. A modest sum cannot sway the human heart—but overwhelming wealth can create goodwill where none existed before.
What’s more, while this was labeled a “donation to my alma mater,” in reality the funds would flow through the Office of Education into the entire educational system. In other words, every school in Korea would benefit.
In a country where people stake their lives on education, who would dislike someone improving the school their child attends?
—At this rate, they could put a massage chair in every classroom lol
—Isn’t Korean beef going to be on the lunch menu now?
—They’ll probably hang an original Van Gogh in the art room lol
Normally, when someone donates, people react vaguely with, “Oh, that’s nice,” and move on. But if you personally benefit from the donation? The emotional temperature changes entirely.
“Not a bad start.”
With this, the narrative that I was some parasite who made money on Wall Street only to come back to strip Korea dry was effectively pushed aside. Interest and goodwill toward me skyrocketed.
Requests for interviews and appearances poured in from every media outlet.
<Ha Si-heon Declines All Interviews… Says ‘Does Not Wish to Add Confusion During Impeachment Crisis’>
I politely refused every request. Because if I appeared in the media now, excited and eager for attention, it would inevitably be framed as “a publicity stunt for political gain.”
But does that mean I had no intention of showing my face at all? Hardly.
‘There are ways to appear without stepping into a broadcasting station or sitting down with a reporter.’
Just in time, the weekend approached. I picked up a candle like any ordinary citizen and headed to Gwanghwamun.
The heart of the impeachment protests—where tens of thousands had gathered. Cameras and smartphones filled the air. Having already become the talk of the nation thanks to the 113 billion won donation, I now appeared in the single place in Seoul where the most eyes were gathered.
The result?
“Wait… isn’t that… Ha Si-heon?”
“It’s him! It’s really Ha Si-heon!”
“Could I get a photo—no, even just a handshake!”
In an instant, chaos erupted. People surged toward me. I quickly apologized and slipped out of the crowd.
And the next day—
<[Exclusive] Ha Si-heon Makes Surprise Appearance at Candlelight Protest>
<‘We Must Stand Together in Difficult Times.’ Ha Si-heon Spotted at Gwanghwamun Protest>
Once again, I dominated the headlines. However…
“Why stop here?”
The proposal started to crank the pitch even higher.
“Now is the time! With demand for Ha Si-heon exploding, it’s time to supply what people want—directly to the citizens!”
Jane’s idea was simple.
“Don’t go to TV studios—go out into the streets.”
After that, I popped up all over Seoul, generating a flood of “sighting stories.” Social media was soon plastered with posts bragging about chance encounters with me, and the press missed none of them, turning each into an article.
They looked like this.
“‘Koreans run on rice’… Ha Si-heon spotted having dinner with a convenience-store lunchbox.” (Conversations while I ate menus recommended by customers at a convenience store I happened to visit.)
“Ha Si-heon: ‘For office workers, this is it.’ Even on Wall Street, I wish we could get pork cutlets and spicy pork stir-fry at lunchtime…”
I’d show up at diner-style lunch joints, chatting with office workers about things like, “I love pork belly, but I’m afraid if I say it too loudly the price will go up globally,” and “On rainy days, it has to be scallion pancakes,” lines that resonated with ordinary Korean sentiments.
“Ha Si-heon sighted on Subway Line 2! ‘At this hour, the subway’s faster.’”
“Ha Si-heon: ‘Even after traveling the world, Korea’s public transit is the best.’”
When a Wall Street heavyweight who had just donated $100 million to his alma mater praised the packed subway—“Cleaner and faster than New York”—the shoulders of those watching via SNS and news reports lifted with pride.
“Ha Si-heon spotted helping an elderly person on station stairs… ‘Korea is a country of filial piety.’”
“‘So he’s not just rich’… Heartwarming subway story about Ha Si-heon goes viral.”
Even a small act—helping an elderly person hauling luggage on the subway—was instantly reproduced as a feel-good story. Headlines like “A Korean who doesn’t forget filial piety even on Wall Street,” “A heart worth more than 113 billion won,” lined the portals one after another.
It was a bit much, admittedly. Shaky telephoto shots taken from afar, hastily recorded videos, obvious paparazzi-style snaps secretly taken. These raw materials added a sense of authenticity. As a result, the whole stream of information wasn’t consumed as something I had seeded on purpose, but as “citizen journalism” independently uncovering scoops.
By this point, Jane seemed thrilled—her eyes a little wild—as she escalated the instructions.
“Absolutely no cliché politician courses! Don’t you dare go to Gwangjang Market or a gukbap joint!”
“Our target is Gen MZ! You need to seep naturally into their daily lives!”
“Convenience stores, cafés, subways… you want to plant the expectation that they might bump into you anywhere!”
Soon, an online “Ha Si-heon sighting map” appeared. Posts marked where I’d shown up and tried to predict my next stop.
“‘Finding Ha Si-heon’ syndrome… trending among MZs?”
It even reached the point where spotting me became a kind of game. According to articles, there was a visible increase in young people scanning their surroundings with smartphones at the ready.
Of course, coverage about me wasn’t limited to a simple “sighting game.”
“Who is Ha Si-heon, the legend of Wall Street?”
“First Korean among Time’s ‘100 Most Influential People of the Year’ cover features.”
“Ha Si-heon’s AI portfolio expected to near 400% returns… ‘What’s the next target?’”
“Wall Street titans kneel before Ha Si-heon…”
Articles poured out reviewing my performance. They dug into my past results to reaffirm how impressive I was. Especially striking were the pieces emphasizing that “no one has achieved results like this in just three years” and that the unprecedented conqueror of Wall Street was—remarkably—a Korean.
In plain terms, it was a swelling “national-pride” narrative.
But then came a line of doubts.
“So why did Ha Si-heon come to Korea? It’s not for sightseeing.”
“Didn’t he say in a past interview he was an orphan? So he didn’t come to see family.”
“A guy who earns hundreds of billions a year didn’t just drop by for fun…”
Fair points. On Wall Street, where trillions move daily, I’m the kind of person who hates to be away even for a day. So why would someone like that suddenly show up here, at this moment?
But I was refusing all formal interviews. So the citizen-sleuths with time to spare got to work.
—Wait, didn’t he say in the convenience-store article he was here ‘on business’?
—Right, lol—he did tell a citizen he was here for work.
—Then what kind of work??? Curiosity exploding.
That one line lit the fuse. What kind of business brought Ha Si-heon to Korea? Detectors burning with curiosity started back-tracking my movements.
“The week before last he was in Canada.”
“Last week—Singapore…”
“A friend in finance says both places have massive sovereign wealth funds, so odds are high he was raising capital…”
“So Korea too? Wait, doesn’t he often pop up around Namsan? No way…”
Thanks to the sightings I’d carefully scattered, the chase went smoothly. Following the breadcrumbs led to…
“Whoa.”
“Whoa… the National Pension Service?”
“If that’s real, that’s insane.”
“So Ha Si-heon came gunning for our National Pension?”
If the sequence had been even slightly off, this could have drawn fire: “In this political climate, you came to siphon off public money?”
But now?
I was the down-to-earth guy strolling quietly among citizens. The big spender who tossed out 113 billion won as a homecoming gift. Above all, the proven Korean talent who posted 400% returns in three years.
Thanks to the image I’d carefully built, hope outweighed suspicion.
“Will he solve the National Pension depletion problem?”
The National Pension was everyone’s concern. We’re talking about the very pension that would fund our own old age. Reality, though, was grim. With low birthrates and an aging population, depletion by 2050 had become a foregone conclusion.
To make matters worse, the state-capture scandal had exploded. Trust had cratered to the point of no return amid suspicions that precious retirement funds had been used merely to prop up a chaebol merger.
In that situation, if a vetted Korean from Wall Street—one who had just donated 113 billion won without hesitation—took the helm?
Public opinion was already on my side.
“At this level, I think the groundwork is sufficient.”
Mission one—securing the crowd’s support—was complete. Only the meeting with the National Pension remained. They were still silent on their end, but there was no longer any reason to wait.
This time, I called the National Pension Service myself.
“This is Ha Si-heon. I’d like to speak with the CIO.”
“Ah… is this CEO Ha Si-heon? One moment, please.”
The secretary’s voice wavered a little. Soon, the call was transferred.
“Yes, this is Pyo In-hwan.”
Pyo In-hwan. The NPS CIO took the call himself. After a brief exchange of formalities, I got straight to the point.
“I’m scheduled to depart in two days. Is it truly impossible for you to find time?”
“As I said, it’s not that we’re uninterested. But in the current political climate, we cannot make any investment decisions.”
“I understand. Even so, I had a reason to reach out personally.”
I paused for a moment, then laid my real card on the table.
“It’s unlikely, but I worried whether my recent activities might have influenced your decision.”
“If by ‘recent activities’ you mean…”
“I was at Gwanghwamun over the weekend.”
“If that affected your decision in any way, please don’t misunderstand. I make it a rule not to mix politics with investing.”
Let’s review the situation. The National Pension is under suspicion of being a puppet of the Blue House. Now, in the midst of that, a star fund manager from Wall Street came with a good proposal and got turned away at the door. Then it turns out that star fund manager was spotted at the candlelight protests.
Put those facts together maliciously, and it yields a conclusion the NPS can’t simply ignore—something like, “NPS rejected Ha Si-heon, a supporter of impeachment, for political reasons.”
Judging from the roughening breath on the other end of the line, he understood the risk exactly. Lowering my voice a notch, I asked again.
“Are you sure you want to refuse a meeting with me?”
