The humidity of the Korean summer hung heavy in the semi-basement room. The air smelled of damp concrete and the mosquito coil burning in the corner.
Min-jun sat hunched over the computer, the blue light of the CRT monitor illuminating his face. His eyes were red, dry, and focused with the intensity of a diamond cutter.
On the desk lay the bank book containing ~19.4 million won. To his grandfather, that money was a fortune. To Min-jun, it was... adequate.
It was enough to survive. It was enough to pay tuition. But it wasn't enough to kill a dragon. To take down the Daegwang Group—a conglomerate with a market cap of 40 trillion won—he needed asymmetric warfare. He needed an asset that didn't just grow; he needed an asset that exploded.
He needed Bitcoin.
Min-jun opened the browser. He didn't go to a stock portal. He typed in a URL that, in 2010, was visited by fewer people than a local church website.
bitcointalk.org
The page loaded. It was a simple Machines Forum (SMF) layout. Basic text, ugly borders, zero design.
Min-jun navigated to the "Marketplace" section.
He scrolled past the threads. “WTB 100 BTC for $5 via PayPal.” “Selling a logo design for 50 BTC.”
And then, the legendary thread. He found it archived a few pages back. May 22, 2010. User: laszlo. “I’ll pay 10,000 bitcoins for a couple of pizzas.. like maybe 2 large ones so I have some left over for the next day.”
Min-jun stared at the post. 10,000 BTC for $40 worth of pizza. Price per coin: $0.004.
"I missed the bottom," Min-jun whispered, feeling a twinge of professional regret. "I missed the pizza bottom."
It was now June. The price had spiked. Thanks to a Slashdot article, Bitcoin was trading at a staggering $0.08.
It had gone up 2000% in a month. To a normal investor, this was a bubble. To Min-jun, looking back from 2025 where one Bitcoin traded for over 100 million won ($80,000 USD), $0.08 was still free.
"Grandpa," Min-jun called out softly.
Byung-ho was asleep on the floor, snoring. He grunted, rolling over. "Water?"
"No. I need the credit card. The one with the VISA logo."
Byung-ho sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Credit card? It has a 500,000 won limit. Why? Are you buying games?"
"I'm buying the future," Min-jun said. He didn't have the energy to explain blockchain hashing algorithms to a man who still had trouble using the TV remote.
"Is it... is it illegal?" Byung-ho asked, squinting at the screen filled with English text.
"No. It's just... invisible."
Min-jun took 500,000 won (approx $450 USD) from their cash pile. He deposited it into his father's bank account (which he had access to) and paid off the credit card bill instantly to clear the limit.
Then, the hard part. Buying Bitcoin in 2010 was a quest. There were no exchanges. No Coinbase. No Upbit. You had to find a miner, trust them, send them money via Paypal or Western Union, and hope they sent the digital coins to your wallet address.
It was the Wild West.
Min-jun found a user named "SmokeTooMuch" on the forum. Selling 5,000 BTC. Price: $400 USD via Western Union.
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Min-jun did the math. $400 for 5,000 BTC. $0.08 per coin.
"Grandpa, we need to go to the bank tomorrow. We need to send a Western Union transfer to America."
"America?" Byung-ho's eyes widened. "Why are we sending money to Yankees? Is it a scam? It's a scam, isn't it?"
"It's an investment. Like the Kia stock."
"Kia makes cars!" Byung-ho argued, fully awake now. "I can kick the tires of a K5. What is this 'Bit-Coin'? Can you eat it? Can you wear it?"
Min-jun turned in his chair. "Grandpa. Do you know Cyworld?"
"The thing your cousin uses? With the little avatars?"
"Yes. In Cyworld, people buy 'Acorns' (Dotori) to buy clothes for their avatars. Those acorns aren't real, but people pay real money for them. Bitcoin is like Acorns. But instead of buying clothes for an avatar, you use it to buy... freedom."
"That makes no sense," Byung-ho spat. "Acorns are useless."
"Exactly. But what if there were only 21 million Acorns in the entire universe, and no one could ever make more? And what if you could send those Acorns to anyone in the world without a bank?"
Byung-ho stared at him. He didn't understand the economics. But he understood scarcity. "Only 21 million?"
"Yes. And right now, nobody wants them. So I'm going to buy them all."
June 21, 2010. Shinhan Bank.
The teller looked at the Western Union form. Receiver: [REDACTED], USA. Amount: $400 USD. Purpose: Service Payment.
"Is this for a relative?" the teller asked.
"Yes," Min-jun lied smoothly. "My uncle in Chicago. Birthday gift."
The transaction fees were exorbitant. Min-jun watched the cash disappear. He returned home and emailed the receipt code to the forum user.
Then, the wait. One hour. Two hours.
If the seller was a scammer, the money was gone. There was no recourse. No SEC. No customer support.
Ding.
The Bitcoin Core client (v0.3) on his computer refreshed.
Balance: 5,000.00 BTC.
Min-jun let out a breath. He looked at the number. 5,000.
In 2010: $400. In 2017: $100 Million. In 2025: $500 Million.
He was looking at the GDP of a small island nation, sitting on a hard drive that made whirring noises when it got hot.
"Is it there?" Byung-ho asked, peering over his shoulder. "Where are the coins?"
"In the file," Min-jun pointed to the screen. "wallet.dat."
"That's it? A computer file?" Byung-ho looked disgusted. "What if the computer breaks? What if there's a fire?"
"That," Min-jun said, his expression darkening, "is the most important question."
He couldn't leave 500 billion won on a Windows XP machine connected to the internet. He needed Cold Storage. But hardware wallets (Ledger, Trezor) wouldn't be invented for another three years.
He had to go analog.
Min-jun inserted a USB drive. He encrypted the wallet file with a 64-character password he memorized. He copied it. Then he inserted a second USB. Copied it. Then a third.
"Grandpa," Min-jun handed him one of the USB drives. "Wrap this in plastic. Put it in a jar. Bury it in the kimchi pot in the garden."
"Bury it?"
"Yes. It must never touch the internet again. Not until I say so."
Min-jun took the second USB. "I will tape this one behind the wallpaper in my room."
"And the third?"
"I'm going to email an encrypted version to myself, disguised as a school project attachment, to a Gmail account I will never login to again."
"You are paranoid," Byung-ho shook his head. "It's just Acorns."
"One day," Min-jun said, shutting down the computer. "These Acorns will buy Daegwang Group."
Min-jun lay in bed that night, staring at the water stain on the ceiling. He had the Seed Capital (19 Million KRW). He had the Lottery Ticket (5,000 BTC).
But the lottery ticket would take 10 years to mature. He couldn't wait 10 years to start his revenge. He needed cash flow now. He needed to build a business.
He needed to find the "Daegwang Killer."
He closed his eyes and scrolled through the rolodex of companies in his memory. Coupang? Too early, founded later in 2010. Kakao? Founded in 2010. Kim Beom-su was currently launching KakaoTalk.
KakaoTalk, Min-jun thought. The app that killed SMS.
But he couldn't buy Kakao shares. They were private. He wasn't a VC. He needed a publicly traded company that would ride the smartphone wave.
His mind landed on a name. Hynix.
In 2010, Hynix Semiconductor was a mess. It wasn't SK Hynix yet. It was under creditor management, bleeding money, struggling with DRAM prices. The market treated it like a dying dog. Daegwang Group had famously passed on acquiring it, calling it "dead weight."
But Min-jun knew. The smartphone era was starting. The iPhone 4 was launching this month. The demand for mobile DRAM and NAND flash was about to explode. And in 2012, SK Group would buy Hynix, turning it into the second-largest chipmaker in the world.
Hynix is trading at roughly 20,000 won right now, Min-jun calculated. By 2024, it hits 200,000 won.
"Time to go fishing," Min-jun whispered to the dark room.
[ASSET LOG UPDATE]
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Date: June 21, 2010
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Asset: Bitcoin (BTC)
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Quantity: 5,000 BTC
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Cost Basis: $400 USD (approx 480,000 KRW)
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Entry Price: $0.08 / BTC
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Storage: Cold Storage (3x Redundancy)
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Liquidity: Zero (Locked until 2017 Bull Run)