novelraw Chapter 332 : Talia (2)
Chapter 332 : Talia (2)
A spare magazine I’d quietly prepared in my pocket, in case one day I had to face someone head-on in a battle of capital.
Bitcoin was my secret weapon.
And yet, the reporter was now openly asking about that magazine.
I put on a deliberately awkward expression.
“My personal assets are not something I disclose as a rule…”
But the reporter persisted.
“It doesn’t have to be an exact figure. Even a hint would help. For example, when you first started investing… a lot of people are really curious about that.”
“Hmm. If it’s just that much…”
I pretended to think for a moment before answering.
“First half of last year.”
“Later than I expected?”
“It was around that time when the possibility of cryptocurrency being brought into the regulatory system really started taking shape. That’s when I got in.”
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a lie.
'Officially speaking, that’s when it started.'
In reality, I did begin trading through exchanges last year.
Before that—right after the regression—I was accumulating coins over anonymous OTC routes.
Anyway.
“So… what kind of returns are we talking about?”
“About 500%.”
“500%!”
The reporter’s eyes widened.
Judging from the reaction, this guy had clearly made some nice returns himself.
He looked more invested in coin profits than in Ha Si-heon as a person.
“So… if you had invested 100 million won, that would mean 600 million in one year?”
“Mathematically, yes.”
“But I doubt you only put in 100 million won… Don’t tell me… this is another case where the unit isn’t won, but dollars?”
The reporter tossed the bait casually.
I smirked and bit down willingly.
“Hah, of course not. I didn’t put in anything that absurd. Probably not even a tenth of that.”
“A tenth…?”
His eyes lit up again.
A tenth of 100 million dollars—10 million.
Which, in current exchange, came close to 11.3 billion won.
“So back then, Bitcoin was around $500, meaning…”
He was already spinning numbers in his head.
At this rate, he’d land on the conclusion that I held roughly 20,000 coins.
Of course, that was information I intentionally allowed to leak.
To make sure my asset size was perceived at exactly that scale.
But that wasn’t all.
If someone tracked capital inflows of that size from last year onward, they’d catch a rough outline of my movements.
In other words—I had just handed them breadcrumbs to follow.
The reason was simple.
'Because there’s no point trying to hide it.'
The amount of coins I planned on accumulating was never small.
And in 2017, when market volume was thin, even what I currently held would qualify me as a whale.
And in the crypto world, there were people who specialized in tracking whales—monitoring exchange inflows, wallet clusters, deposit and withdrawal patterns.
'It’s possible some have already found me.'
After all, I was the guy who publicly proclaimed that crypto would rise—a prophet of sorts.
You could argue I brought this on myself, but…
Even if I had said nothing, the outcome wouldn’t have changed much.
A man who predicted countless economic shocks and black swan events, but somehow missed the Bitcoin boom?
That would’ve looked more suspicious, not less.
Anyone watching me would already assume, “Ha Si-heon definitely touched crypto.”
So in a scenario like this, clumsy denials like “I’m not a whale” would only fuel more suspicion.
It was far more practical to admit to being a whale—just a smaller one than the truth.
Thus, I disguised myself as a humpback whale holding 20,000 coins.
That way, those tracking me would conclude: “He’s a mid-tier whale,” and prepare accordingly.
But…
if they met me expecting a humpback—only for 80,000 coins to rise from beneath the surface?
That’d be like readying a harpoon for a humpback, only to realize the thing surfacing was a blue whale.
Anyway.
That was just a small piece of bait, tossed in case it proved useful later.
What I needed to feed the media right now was something else.
“So, did the CURE Fund invest in Bitcoin?”
“No. A fund doesn’t invest purely based on potential returns. Investments that violate management guidelines—even profitable ones—would breach fiduciary duty. And Bitcoin isn’t attractive enough to rewrite those rules.”
“So… are you saying there’s an investment with higher potential returns than crypto?”
“Yes. Right now, the technology I have my eyes on is CRISPR.”
I spent the rest of the interview promoting the technology as aggressively as possible.
“The real money is in infrastructure. Crypto is like buying a car early and flipping it. CRISPR is owning the road every car will drive on—and collecting tolls from all of them. Car prices fluctuate. Toll roads don’t.”
“But… is it really comparable to crypto? It sounds a bit… niche…”
“It’s not even a comparison. CRISPR is gene editing like a word processor edits text. Disease, aging, genetic disorders… it’s a technology that rewrites biological limits themselves. This is essentially owning the operating system for the entire medical industry.”
“Oh! So you’re saying… you’ll be the Bill Gates of medicine?”
Interviews like this led to a wave of headlines.
<“I’ll be the Bill Gates of medicine” — Ha Si-heon declares biotech dominance>
After days of press schedules, the meeting with the government was finally arranged.
The person who came to see me was the Chief of Staff from the Blue House.
“CEO Ha! It is such an honor to meet you in person. A man who has given so much hope to our nation… this is truly a once-in-three-generations honor—!”
He greeted me with an almost over-enthusiastic welcome, then immediately began laying out the cards he had prepared.
“We have extremely high expectations for the ripple effect the National Pension Fund investment will have on Korea’s medical industry. The government is fully prepared to provide support at every level.”
“First, CEO Ha Si-heon will soon be awarded the Republic of Korea Industrial Medal, Industrial Technology Division. We have also prepared an appointment as Honorary Chair of the National Strategic Forum for Future Healthcare under the Ministry of Science and ICT. This will be a role that sets the direction for Korea’s medical industry…”
“Above all else, the President himself would like to hold quarterly closed-door policy discussions with you regarding the future of healthcare. Relevant ministers will be present as well.”
Titles, medals, and even regular meetings with the President.
It was an offer made with considerable effort.
“What I’m telling you here today—each and every part of it—is an unprecedented exception for a foreign national. We had to push hard internally to persuade the opposition.”
But.
When the Chief of Staff added that last line, almost seeking credit, I smiled faintly and replied.
“You really didn’t have to go that far.”
“…Excuse me?”
“I don’t like to burden others. I appreciate the thought alone.”
It was, in effect, a refusal.
For a moment, the Chief of Staff’s expression stiffened.
But from my standpoint, turning it down was obvious.
'You think you can just show up with spoons and call it your table?'
The government’s intention behind the medals and honorary titles was painfully clear.
They wanted to flaunt a tight partnership with me and paint the $70 billion National Pension investment as if it had been a national-level project planned and orchestrated by the government from the very beginning.
A textbook political move—arriving after the meal was cooked and trying to claim credit for the whole feast.
That was the spoon I had just rejected.
To his credit, the Chief of Staff quickly regained composure and continued.
“We designed these proposals with what we believed would benefit you most. It seems our research may have been lacking. Then allow me to ask directly—what is it that you require? The government will review it at the highest level.”
Now that sounded like we were finally negotiating.
“You already know what I want.”
“…Surely you’re referring to CRISPR?”
“Yes. My goal is to bring the technology into clinical application within one year.”
“…As expected.”
His face darkened.
“As far as we know, the technology isn’t ready yet.”
“The technology is something I can solve. What matters is location. Specifically, where this is done. No matter how advanced the tech is, I have no intention of breaking the law.”
He understood.
I was asking for a country where CRISPR wasn’t illegal.
Meaning—pass the legislation to legalize it.
He let out a small sigh.
“To be honest… this is a heavy issue for us. Korea still hasn’t fully shaken off the shadow of the Hwang Woo-suk scandal. And anything involving gene editing is extremely sensitive for the public emotionally.”
“I disagree. I think the public has moved on.”
In fact, that was why I’d mentioned CRISPR repeatedly during the press tour—to test the temperature.
And the result had been overwhelmingly positive.
When the national hero says he’ll turn the National Pension into the Bill Gates of healthcare, who’s going to oppose it?
“Public support is strong. This is the perfect moment to move.”
He paused to collect his thoughts.
“Public opinion matters, yes. But if I’m being completely honest… we also cannot ignore the international community. Gene editing is still an area without global consensus. If we act too fast, we risk being labeled not as a scientific leader—but as a violator of bioethics.”
Then, carefully gauging my reaction, he added:
“Of course, we’re not refusing to support you. The government will assist. It’s simply that… matters of this sensitivity require time and a cautious approach.”
Offering support while stalling for time.
Classic.
'Humans never change.'
They’ll praise you as a national hero when it’s convenient.
But once you actually need them to move, they hesitate and drag their feet.
Still, I nodded as if I understood.
“Of course. I understand the government’s position. I don’t intend to pressure you. It’s just a shame. I wanted to work with Korea, if possible.”
“…Pardon?”
His expression froze.
'If possible.'
Meaning—there were other options.
“Actually, I have a meeting scheduled next week with the Saudi Crown Prince.”
“…!”
His pupils shook.
Yes. Korea wasn’t the only country with a seat at the table.
There was also Saudi Arabia—a nation starving to lead future industry.
'Legislation moves fast there.'
In an absolute monarchy, if the Crown Prince wants it, the law changes immediately.
So then, why did I approach Korea first?
'Because that side… is too fickle.'
In Korea, if you move public opinion, you can move the government.
Because it’s a democracy, they have to care about the public.
In Saudi Arabia, everything depends on one man's decision.
Far fewer variables I can influence.
But that wasn’t the point right now.
“What I’m saying is, I’d prefer to work with Korea. But if it’s not possible… then there’s no choice.”
I added, with a carefully measured troubled expression.
“My only concern is how the press might react. They all expect it to be Korea. If I suddenly partner with Saudi Arabia instead… they’ll ask questions. Why Saudi, and not Korea? And I honestly wouldn’t know how to answer that…”
His face went rigid.
He understood perfectly.
Finally. A reaction.
Yes—human nature is simple.
The moment something is at risk of being taken away, urgency kicks in.
Especially when the consequence could be national public backlash.
“The decision is yours to make. But if your stance changes, please let me know by next week. I have an appointment in Riyadh waiting.”
My calculation was precise.
Within days, the headlines arrived.
They were moving in the direction I wanted.
With that, the most troublesome barriers—national and legal—were cleared.
'Now what remained was only one thing.'
The technology itself.
And this part would not be easy.
CRISPR was currently in the middle of one of the fiercest patent wars in history.
Labs, biotech firms, and institutions were locked in courtroom battles, all claiming foundational IP rights.
'Not impossible to solve… but—'
The problem, as always, was time.
Even if everything moved smoothly, resolving patents and securing technology would take at least six months.
But what if a patient appeared before then?
That was when—
BZZZT!
My phone buzzed violently.
It was David.
'Don’t tell me.'
A terrible premonition passed through me.
I prayed I was wrong.
But—
[Another patient has appeared!]
“…Damn it.”
Another Russian Roulette patient.
And this time—there was still no treatment ready.