A Wall Street Genius's Final Investment Playbook-Chapter 331 : Talia (1)

CRISPR.

A technology that can precisely cut and reassemble specific sections of DNA in any desired pattern.

Often referred to as “genetic scissors,” this was nothing short of a revolutionary invention.

If used correctly, it could correct only the defective parts of a genome—just like fixing typos in a document without rewriting the entire file.

In other words, CRISPR was hailed as a technology with limitless potential.

It offered a path to curing countless genetic disorders that humanity had been powerless against for centuries.

However.

Ironically, that very potential became the biggest obstacle to CRISPR’s commercialization.

Radical change always meets resistance.

And CRISPR was no exception.

—Are humans trying to play God?

If genetic editing becomes possible, we’ll enter an era of designer babies tailored to personal preference.

It could become a society that only selects “superior genes,” like the Nazis once dreamed of.

Religious groups condemned it as a sin to “tamper with God’s creation,” conservatives labeled it a “dangerous technology that could erode human identity,” and even progressives raised concerns that genetic enhancement would widen the gap between social classes.

The backlash was fiercer than expected.

Even in my past life, CRISPR remained trapped in labs, with clinical trials delayed over and over again.

Sure, opposition alone can be ignored if you’re willing to push through.

But this wasn’t just about public opinion.

‘In the U.S., using this technology on humans is illegal.’

The moment I applied CRISPR to an actual patient, I would become a criminal.

Because the law explicitly prohibits its use in humans.

In the United States, any application requires FDA approval…

But in 2015, Congress outright banned the FDA from even reviewing clinical trial applications involving human embryo gene editing.

This wasn’t regulation.

This was a seal.

In other words: don’t even think about seeking approval for CRISPR.

Which meant that if I wanted to bring CRISPR into real medical treatment, I’d have to do it in a country that didn’t legally ban its use…

'And there aren’t many of those.'

First, the U.S. was out.

As I said, religion held too much influence, political polarization was severe, and changing federal law would take forever—if even possible.

So then, China?

Normally, this is the country people bring up in conversations like this.

But even here, I hesitated.

In my previous life, a Chinese scientist created the world’s first gene-edited babies the very next year.

He was promptly arrested and sentenced to prison.

China could have celebrated it as a national achievement.

Instead, they publicly condemned him and made an example out of him.

Why?

Because even China saw CRISPR as an ethical minefield they didn’t want to step on.

Which left only one answer.

'Korea. First, speed checks out.'

Korea is a presidential system.

If the Blue House decides and the ruling party moves, laws pass at terrifying speed.

Especially when public sentiment is aligned—legislation can move at nearly supernatural velocity.

Korea has shocked the world with how fast it can pass bills.

When MERS paralyzed the country in 2015, the Infectious Disease Prevention Act was amended in just seven days.

And in 2016, the THAAD deployment skipped hearings and environmental assessments entirely—finalized in a matter of days.

Of course, even in Korea, laws don’t always move that quickly.

There were conditions.

First: the political will and power structure.

Right now, post-impeachment, the opposition dominates—meaning if the administration wants it, legislation can be fast-tracked.

Second: public support.

And at this moment, I had overwhelming public support.

The man who saved the pension system with $70 billion.

The person who leapfrogged Japan to put Korea at the heart of global finance.

The visionary promising a biotech golden age.

Both conditions were already cleared from the moment I started.

There was no reason it wouldn’t be Korea.

'Why sit on something this good?'

#

That’s why—between frenetic schedules—I decided to fly to Korea.

Officially, it was a business trip to “discuss future investment strategies with Korea’s National Pension Service, a key strategic investor.”

The moment I saw NPS CIO Pyo In-hwan again, his face was practically glowing with excitement.

“At last, the National Pension is getting the respect it deserves! Frankly, the way we were treated before was absurd! The world’s largest pension fund being treated like it didn’t exist—how did that even make sense?”

That was the very first thing out of his mouth when we sat down.

Pyo In-hwan didn’t stop talking for a while.

The topic, overwhelmingly, was how dramatically the NPS’s standing had changed.

In short—major investment banks like Goldman Sachs were now showing up first, offering premium deals, and he couldn’t be happier.

Clearly, he’d been bottling this up for a long time.

Then.

“This is the moment to overhaul the internal structure of the NPS.”

He lowered his voice.

“I want to expand the fund’s ability to make decisions based purely on profitability, without needing approval from the Fund Management Committee.”

His goal was clear.

To sever the political chains that had shackled the National Pension for decades.

Until now, every major investment needed committee approval.

And that committee?

A playground for politicians who knew nothing about investing.

A place where political optics mattered more than returns, and votes outranked logic.

As a result, the NPS had always been forced to act at the government’s direction.

But now, everything had changed.

Thanks to the $70 billion investment win, the board had flipped entirely.

Pyo In-hwan’s personal influence—and the NPS brand itself—were soaring to historic heights.

His eyes said it plainly:

“If not now, then when?”

“Of course, whether the government will tolerate it is another question,” he added, a shadow crossing his face.

“Based on recent movements from the Blue House… it looks like they’re gearing up to claim this investment success as their own political achievement. As if it was their strategy all along.”

He locked eyes with me.

He clearly wanted me on his side.

I only smiled.

“Well,” I said, “I think the future matters more than who did what in the past.”

My answer was simple.

I would side with whoever benefited me most.

He understood perfectly.

“The government will reach out soon,” he said. “They want a direct meeting with you.”

“I figured,” I replied.

In fact, that was the real reason I bothered getting on a flight to Seoul for something that could’ve easily been a video call.

To negotiate directly with the government.

Anyway.

After wrapping up the meeting with the National Pension Service, the real schedule began.

And that was media.

The moment news broke that I was in Korea, interview requests exploded.

The top three national broadcasters, cable networks, newspapers—everyone wanted an exclusive with Ha Si-heon.

Despite an absurdly tight schedule, I carved out time to meet them all.

But with one condition.

“As I mentioned beforehand, the interview is exactly five minutes. I can’t spare more than that.”

Barely enough time for three or four questions at best.

As expected, journalists’ questions landed in three main categories.

The first was patriotism.

“How does it feel to have become Korea’s national hero?”

For these, you have to sound humble and slightly uncomfortable.

“A hero? That’s too much. I only presented the opportunity. It was Korea that had the courage to take it.”

“Was CIO Pyo In-hwan’s role decisive?”

“We heard there was support from the Blue House behind the scenes…”

They wanted to identify the hidden hero who backed the national hero.

But since I hadn’t cut a deal with the government yet, this was a question I couldn’t answer.

Sensing that, Gonzalez—standing beside me—interjected with theatrical timing.

“2 minutes and 12 seconds.”

A reminder that time was almost up.

I put on a mildly apologetic expression.

“Unfortunately, this topic alone would take longer than five minutes to explain properly. I’ll address it in detail when time allows. What I can say is that this was not something achieved by me alone.”

And just like that, the tough questions were deferred to “a future official statement.”

Which, of course, was the entire point of the five-minute limit.

Thankfully, there weren't many sensitive questions.

Most of them were just… trivial.

Things like:

“What did you grab during your doljabi (first birthday fortune grab)?”

Completely useless TMI.

“What’s your morning routine like?”

“Any lucky charms, superstitions, or rituals you stick to on important days?”

“Do you have a favorite number or color?”

These were the questions of parents dreaming maybe their kid can be the next Ha Si-heon, searching for any detail they could imitate.

So I answered with whatever came to mind.

“I heard I grabbed cash. Actually—cash in one hand and a tray in the other. But that probably cancels out, right?”

“I start my day with a small dessert. My brain doesn’t work well without sugar…”

“I don’t believe in superstitions, but my favorite number is 1. As for colors, I lean toward black.”

The answers were trivial.

But the questions were relentless.

The five minutes were long over, but the one person who was supposed to be tracking the time—Gonzalez—was sitting there wide-eyed, listening like a fanboy.

'Are you even checking the clock?'

Whatever.

The third category of questions was about investment advice.

“You predicted Bitcoin’s rise. It’s already up 300%.”

In my past life, 2017 had been Bitcoin’s explosive year.

It started the year below $1,000 and peaked at $19,497 in December.

That’s a 1,900% annual rise—an unprecedented rally.

And in this timeline, the surge was even more aggressive.

Because after my conversation with Masayoshi earlier this year, where I alluded to Bitcoin’s breakout potential…

Retail investors had flooded the market, reacting to every word I said.

“Do you think this rally will continue?”

“Yes. This surge isn’t driven by speculation alone. It’s structural. In a low-interest environment, institutional capital is pouring into Bitcoin due to lack of alternative investment options. Once mainstream infrastructure is fully established, adoption will accelerate even further.”

That wasn’t a lie.

But I also knew the truth.

The rally had an expiration date.

Next year, it would crash back into the $3,000s.

“I’m investing on a 10-year horizon. But that doesn’t mean the current momentum will last all 10 years. In the short term, regulatory risk could trigger a severe winter.”

A subtle hint toward an exit strategy.

Because guiding my followers safely out only deepened their loyalty.

And that loyalty would later become a powerful bargaining chip when dealing with the government.

“Mr. Ha, have you personally invested as well?”

“Well…”

“So how much did you invest?”