The cursor blinked on the screen, steady and patient.
Min Jae-Hyun leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, staring at it like it might somehow change the situation if he waited long enough.
It didn't.
No matter how many times he refreshed the page, no matter how many guides he skimmed through, the answer stayed the same: he couldn't invest online.
Not yet.
Most of the big platforms needed you to be eighteen. Some even older. Even if he tried to lie about his age, he didn't have a card linked to an account that could move money the way he needed.
He was stuck.
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Of course," he muttered under his breath. "Nothing's ever easy."
But he didn't let the frustration sit for long.
If one door didn't open, he just needed to find another.
He typed slower this time, narrowing his search.
Manual investments. Physical brokerage firms. Walk-in offices.
It was rare these days, but not impossible. Some of the old-school places still accepted in-person investments, especially the smaller ones.
It didn't need to be fancy. He didn't have enough money to make anyone rich off commissions. He just needed someone who would let him put a few notes down and open an account.
It took a while.
A lot of dead ends.
A lot of outdated websites.
But eventually, he found it.
"Haemin Brokerage Services", tucked into a nearby district only a few bus stops away, or a manageable walk if he didn't mind stretching his legs.
They accepted walk-ins.
Minimum deposits were low.
Perfect for someone like him, just starting out.
He pushed back from the desk, the chair scraping softly against the worn floorboards.
It wasn't much.
Maybe it wouldn't change anything overnight.
But it was a step.
And right now, a step was all he needed.
The day was a little warmer than he expected when he stepped outside.
The sun hung heavy overhead, bright and a little blinding against the cracked sidewalks and faded shop signs.
The buildings in this part of town leaned a little too close to each other, like tired old men trying to hold each other up.
It wasn't glamorous.
It wasn't comfortable.
But it was home.
Jae-Hyun adjusted the straps of his backpack, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, and started walking.
He passed by the usual faces, the old woman who ran the vegetable stand on the corner, the two boys kicking a half-deflated soccer ball against a rusted fence, the tired-looking man smoking a cigarette outside the convenience store.
Nobody looked at him twice.
Nobody ever did.
He walked past laundry lines strung between balconies, the faint sound of a radio playing somewhere overhead, the smell of street food lingering in the breeze.
The world felt smaller here.
Like dreams didn't grow very big before they withered and died.
But Jae-Hyun kept walking.
One step.
Then another.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just steady.
He didn't need anyone to notice him.
He didn't need the world to cheer him on.
He just needed to keep moving forward.
The brokerage office was tucked between a dentist's clinic and a rundown real estate agency.
The sign hanging above the door read "Haemin Brokerage Services", the paint faded but still proud.
He pulled the door open, a small bell chiming overhead.
Inside, the space smelled faintly of printer ink and old carpet.
A couple of chairs lined one wall, a small water dispenser sat untouched in the corner, and behind a clear plastic divider, a woman in her late thirties tapped absently at a keyboard.
She looked up when he entered, her fingers pausing mid-tap.
For a moment, she seemed to size him up—fifteen years old, plain clothes, no parent trailing behind.
Her smile was polite, if a little wary.
"Hello there. Can I help you?" she asked.
Jae-Hyun walked up to the counter, trying to keep his hands steady.
It wasn't fear—more like adrenaline buzzing under his skin.
"I'd like to open an account," he said.
The woman blinked. "You're opening it yourself?"
He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn't laugh or dismiss him. Instead, she pulled a few forms from a drawer and set them down on the counter between them.
"Alright. If you're under eighteen, we need your guardian's approval. A custodial account. One of your parents will have to sign off on it."
Jae-Hyun nodded again. "I understand."
He pulled the envelope from his jacket pocket and set it on the counter.
The money inside felt heavier than it should have.
It wasn't much.
But it was everything he had.
As he reached for the pen she offered him, something flickered across his vision.
Not strong, not overwhelming — just a faint shimmer.
A glow above the woman's head, words floating gently in the air.
He blinked, and the information sharpened.
[Name: Seo Yeon-Joo]
[Affinity: Water – Dormant]
[Potential: 42 / 100]
[Condition: Healthy – Mild Fatigue]
He almost dropped the pen.
The Eyes of God.
It was subtle, blending into the background unless he focused—but it was there. Constant. Quiet.
He forced himself to look back down at the papers, focusing on filling them out.
Name.
Address.
Date of Birth.
When he slid the finished forms back over to her, Yeon-Joo checked them carefully, then gave a small nod.
"Looks good. Now, about the guardian confirmation..."
She pulled out a simple office phone, lifting it toward him.
"Give me a number to call, please. We just need verbal consent for now."
He hesitated for half a second, then rattled off his mother's cellphone number from memory.
Yeon-Joo dialed quickly, tapping her nails against the counter as it rang.
Jae-Hyun shifted his weight from foot to foot, heart thumping harder than it needed to.
"Please pick up, please pick up..."
After three rings, someone answered.
"Hello?" His mother's voice, tired but kind.
"Good morning, ma'am. This is Seo Yeon-Joo from Haemin Brokerage Services," the woman said politely. "I have your son here with me, and he's requested to open a custodial investment account. We just need to verify that you're aware and consent to it."
A short pause.
Jae-Hyun held his breath.
Then, softly, he heard his mother laugh—a small, surprised sound.
"Ah, Hyun-ah... always so serious. Yes, I give my permission."
Yeon-Joo smiled faintly and finished confirming a few quick details—ID number, contact information, relationship.
When she hung up, she looked at him with a different expression. Not mocking. Not patronizing. Something closer to... respect.
"Alright," she said, setting the phone aside. "You're all set."
She slid a small, thin booklet toward him—a temporary record until the official documents arrived.
"Now, how would you like to invest the funds?"
Jae-Hyun straightened his shoulders a little.
"I'd like to purchase shares in HanulTech," he said clearly. "As much as my balance will allow after fees."
Yeon-Joo didn't argue.
She nodded, pulled up a basic trading screen, and tapped a few keys.
"HanulTech... current price is ₩1,820 per share," she said. "After brokerage fees, you'll be able to purchase about thirty shares."
"That's fine," he said immediately.
She completed the transaction, printed the receipt, and handed it over.
Jae-Hyun took it carefully, his fingers brushing the warm paper.
Thirty shares. It sounded small.
But it wasn't.
It was the beginning.