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CH332 | GSI
🕑 Added 2025-04-26 09:01:40 +0000 UTCAs Choi Ho-geun put down the receiver, Jung Hwan-yeop, still seated, looked at him and asked, watching his expression:
“What did the president say?”
Meeting the eyes of the team members now looking at him with concern, Choi Ho-geun replied with a complicated expression:
“…He said to sell at an even lower price.”
“I knew it! I figured the president would approve it,” Jung said, nodding as if he had expected as much.
Choi continued, looking at him:
“But he didn’t say 750. He wants us to sell the futures at 650.”
“What? 650?”
Jung’s hand froze midair, and his eyes widened in shock.
Yoo Seok-hyun and Hong Jae-hee were equally stunned, while Noh Hee-won—still not fully grasping the situation—glanced around nervously like a clueless extra.
“That’s right.”
Jung responded as if it were outrageous:
“The KLCI is currently at 1,077, and you’re saying we’re selling at 650? Isn’t that way too extreme?”
“Exactly, sir. Honestly, even 750 is already a high-risk move. But 650…” Hong added, shaking his head in disbelief.
Choi Ho-geun felt the same way deep down, but he couldn’t show that in front of his team. He forced himself to steady his resolve.
“Remember how the president said in the last meeting that this crisis would cause the Malaysian stock market to plunge drastically?”
“Yes, that’s why we suggested lowering the sell price to 750 in the first place,” Yoo Seok-hyun replied, prompting Jung and Hong to nod from their seats.
Standing with his hands on his hips, Choi looked at each of their faces and said:
“It seems the president expects the Malaysian market to fall even more severely than we do.”
Jung frowned and stepped in:
“Does he really think it’s going to be cut in half from where it is now?”
“If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have given us that order.”
“Yeah… I suppose that’s true,” Jung muttered, finally falling silent.
Then Yoo Seok-hyun, his face filled with concern, spoke up:
“Do you think that’s actually possible?”
Hong Jae-hee, clearly sharing the same thought, spoke carefully, trailing off at the end:
“It’s already dropped a lot… but to say it’ll fall below 650…”
A brief silence fell over the team.
It wasn’t that they didn’t trust Seok-won—but it was still hard to imagine the Malaysian market dropping that far.
“The Malaysian market’s opening soon. We don’t have time to hesitate. Let’s just follow the instructions for now,” Choi said, clapping his hands to snap everyone out of it.
He turned to Hong Jae-hee and asked:
“The previous orders still haven’t been filled, right?”
“Yes. All orders are still unfilled,” Hong Jae-hee replied after checking the monitor.
Choi Ho-geun gave a small nod, braced his core, and raised his voice with resolve:
“If everyone's too scared to take short positions on the KLCI futures, then we really don’t have any choice, do we?”
“True. If we keep hesitating like this, we might just end up twiddling our thumbs while the opportunity slips by," Jung Hwan-yeop said, clicking his tongue.
“The president told us to sell at 650, but it’s not like he said we must sell exactly at that number. Let’s treat 650 as the floor and try selling above that,” Choi suggested.
“Sounds good.”
“We’re on board, too,” Yoo Seok-hyun and Hong Jae-hee agreed, nodding in unison after Jung.
“Alright then. For starters, let’s go with our original plan and place the orders at 750. We’ll watch how the market reacts and respond immediately.”
“Yes, sir!”
The team sprang into action, quickly placing their sell orders.
“Sell 100 contracts at 750!”
“200 contracts at 750—done!”
While the team members sent out short-sell orders to the Eldorado Fund’s branches in Tokyo and Hong Kong, Choi Ho-geun stood with his arms crossed, staring intently at the monitor displaying the trading activity.
* * *
“They said 750? Jeez… Alright then,” Yoshinori, a futures broker for Goldman Sachs at the Tokyo exchange, said with a bewildered expression as he hung up the phone and jotted down the newly received order on a notepad.
Wearing a green vest, he then called over a colleague who was yelling loudly in front of the pit with other brokers:
“Muto! Hey, come here for a sec!”
Muto, who had been a catcher on his high school baseball team, turned around and quickly returned to the booth.
“New order came in?”
Yoshinori handed him the note.
After reading it, Muto frowned and looked up at Yoshinori.
“Did you write the number wrong?”
“Do I look like someone who’d make that kind of mistake?”
“Well, no… But even with the ringgit crashing, 750 is way too extreme.”
“I think so too, but what can I do? That’s the order they gave us.”
Muto scratched his closely cropped hair with a helpless look.
“Well, whatever. Even if they lose money, we’re just making commission, so it’s not our problem.”
Shrugging, Muto stuffed the note into his pocket and returned to the noisy pit, shouting out the order just as he was instructed:
“Sell 200 KLCI at 750!”
At that moment, all eyes on the trading floor turned to Muto.
“KLCI at 750?”
A broker quickly checked the KLCI index on a nearby computer and furrowed his brows.
“The KLCI is currently at 1,077. Selling futures 327 points below that…?”
“Even if hedge funds are hammering the ringgit, isn’t that pushing it a bit too far?”
A colleague standing nearby responded with a conflicted look.
“Yeah, but if foreign capital in Malaysia starts fleeing en masse to avoid forex losses, it could drop to 750.”
“Hmm… that’s true.”
It wasn’t just those two—most brokers showed interest, but with the heavy downward pressure on the Malaysian market, none were eager to jump in. Everyone just kept watching each other, waiting.
* * *
Daheung Venture Capital.
“Ten contracts filled in Tokyo!”
“Six in Hong Kong,” Hong Jae-hee and Yoo Seok-hyun reported.
Choi Ho-geun, standing with his shirt sleeves rolled up, clicked his tongue in frustration.
He had expected better response, and the actual results were far below what he’d hoped for.
“They're not biting,” Jung Hwan-yeop muttered.
Choi picked up the phone and called the Eldorado Fund’s Tokyo office directly.
“How’s the vibe on the trading floor?”
The Tokyo contact replied in a somber tone:
[There’s interest, but no one’s stepping up to buy. I’m sorry.]
“No worries. Got it.”
After frowning and hanging up, Choi immediately called the Hong Kong office.
But the situation was the same there.
[No matter how loudly we shout the offer, we can’t close a deal.]
“I see…”
Choi hung up and paused for a moment, deep in thought. Then, he bit his lower lip and looked up with renewed determination.
“Put in a new order—set it at 700.”
“What quantity?”
“Same as before. Let’s give it another push.”
“Understood!”
The team responded crisply and moved swiftly—grabbing phones and tapping away at keyboards to issue updated orders.
As Choi Ho-geun crossed his arms and stared at the monitor, the revised orders began to flow onto the Tokyo and Hong Kong exchanges.
“Come on… take the bait this time,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his forearm tightly.
* * *
“Sell 200 KLCI at 700!”
Muto, standing at the pit, threw both arms high into the air and shouted at the top of his lungs.
At his cry, the brokers on the trading floor perked up, murmuring among themselves.
“At 700, it might be worth taking a shot.”
“No way it’s going to drop to half of where it was.”
“Exactly.”
As they all watched each other, caught in a tense standoff, someone finally made the first move.
“Buy 100 KLCI at 700!”
One broker signaled and shouted, and as if a starting gun had fired, the rest lunged in, placing buy orders in rapid succession.
“Buy 30 contracts!”
“55 at 700, buy!”
Surrounded by a swarm of shouting brokers, Muto quickly sold all 200 KLCI futures.
* * *
Back in the Seoul office, tension filled the air. Choi Ho-geun stared nervously at the monitor, unable to tear his eyes away.
A decent chunk of time had passed since they placed the new orders, but there was still no visible change—nothing was being filled.
‘No reaction again?’
His mouth was dry. He was burning up inside.
If these didn’t go through, they’d have no choice but to lower the asking price again—which meant bigger risk and lower profit.
‘And that means we lose on both ends.’
Just as he muttered to himself with a grim expression, the phone rang sharply.
Choi snatched up the receiver, and the Japanese branch contact from Eldorado Fund shouted excitedly.
[All 200 contracts got filled!]
Shocked, Choi looked at the monitor—sure enough, the previously unfilled orders were now all marked as executed.
Just then, Jung Hwan-yeop called out from his seat.
“All contracts in Hong Kong filled too!”
With both markets confirming fills, Choi clenched a fist tightly in triumph.
“I’m placing another order immediately—please process it too.”
[Got it.]
The moment he put the receiver down, Hong Jae-hee raised her voice:
“Malaysia’s market has just opened!”
Choi looked up at the large status board mounted on the wall.
The Malaysian market had plunged immediately upon opening.
[KLCI: 970.33 (▼107.21)]
He’d expected a drop, but seeing it fall over 100 points right out of the gate still made his insides twist.
But he also knew this was the moment where panic could lead to fatal mistakes, so he took a deep breath, steadied himself, and gave the next order.
“Sell another 300 contracts at 700—each of you, now!”
“Yes, sir!”
The team, waiting for instructions, immediately sprang into action, placing new orders.
Choi Ho-geun leaned toward the monitor, feeling a rush of adrenaline heat his head as he watched the screen intently.
Just as he’d instructed, the new orders were quickly appearing on the trading platform—and just as quickly, they were being executed, the volume vanishing in an instant.
Seeing this, Choi’s eyes lit up as he gave the next order.
“Good. Put up another 200 at 700!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Orders placed!”
The gaps left by executed contracts were immediately filled with the new ones.
“Right. We’re going to sell it all off like this.”
But contrary to his hopes, the pace of executions suddenly began to slow—and then stopped altogether.
“What’s going on?”
Choi asked with a hardened expression.
“Looks like the sharp drop is making everyone hesitate again,” Jung Hwan-yeop replied.
Choi glanced up at the large status board again to check the Malaysian index.
[KLCI: 952.43 (▼125.31)]
Tch.
The market was collapsing so fast it looked like even the 900-point level could be in danger. Naturally, participants were starting to pull back and go on the defensive.
Choi clicked his tongue in frustration and turned back to his team.
“How much have we sold so far?”
“From Tokyo, 10 contracts at 750 and 314 at 700. Hong Kong did 6 at 750 and 330 at 700,” answered Hong Jae-hee immediately.
“That’s 660 total.”
It was a significant amount for such a short time, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy him.
Checking the status board again, Choi finally decided to pull out the last card.
“Looks like we have no choice but to go with what the CEO/president suggested.”
Resolved, Choi shouted:
“Slice it into blocks of 100 at 650—keep placing until they stop getting filled. Go!”
A moment later, the new orders appeared on the trading screen. Choi stared at the figures, tension etched across his face.
Only a few minutes passed, but it felt like an eternity.
Then the frozen screen began to move again—and the orders began to execute.
And this time, the speed was on a whole different level.
“That’s it!”
Choi slammed the desk with his palm, still standing, and shouted in triumph.
