After Elena finished taking her call, she returned and offered a quick primer on the oil market.
"Think of financial assets—stocks, bonds. Now think of real assets. Oil and gold are the heavyweights," she began.
She broke it down in simple terms.
Back before the global financial crisis, crude oil was trading at nearly $150 per barrel. Then the crisis hit. Demand crashed, growth slowed, and prices tanked.
But the real shock came later—the shale revolution in the U.S.
Shale oil and gas had always existed, buried in dense rock. But extracting it was expensive and technically impossible—until oil prices stayed above $100 and new tech made it viable. Suddenly, American firms were drilling left and right.
The output was massive. Enough to flip the U.S. from the world's largest oil importer into a serious exporter.
"Do you know the three global benchmark crude oils?" Elena asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Brent from the North Sea, Dubai crude from the Middle East, and West Texas Intermediate from the U.S."
"Correct," she nodded.
"Korea mainly imports Dubai crude, by the way," I added.
Elena continued. "OPEC used to control the game. A legitimate cartel—supply manipulators. That's how we got the first and second oil shocks."
But with U.S. shale flooding the market, OPEC lost grip. Prices spiraled down. The dream of $200 oil died.
"Supply had to be cut," she said. "But oil-producing countries can't agree. Poor nations like Venezuela need high prices to survive. Rich ones like Saudi Arabia can wait it out."
And the kicker?
Shale oil production costs around $45 a barrel. If prices dip under $50, half the industry bleeds out.
"What happens if OPEC fails to reach an agreement again?" I asked.
"WTI is barely holding at $60 now. Another failed meeting, it'll drop below $50. Maybe fast."
"And if they do agree?"
"Oil prices will surge. Markets will explode. But the chance of that happening is very low."
I hesitated.
"But this time… they'll reach an agreement."
Elena looked at me, surprised.
"What makes you say that?"
"I… just think it's time. Maybe it's just a feeling."
She smiled faintly. "Hope isn't the same as a forecast."
Just then, her phone buzzed again.
She stood.
"Work calls. I have to go. Take care of Taejin for me, okay?"
"I've got him covered."
Taejin sulked. "Why does everyone assume I'm the one who needs watching?"
Back in the Car
Taejin was driving us back when the thought clicked in my head like a loaded bolt-action rifle.
The vision.
That hologram. "OPEC Confirms Historic Production Cut."
I stared out the window.
If it was real—if what I saw always comes true—then oil prices were about to skyrocket.
And that meant one thing:
Buy oil. Now.
After everything—the mortar strike, Pinnacle Vault collapse—it wasn't just instinct. It was data. Proof.
This wasn't guessing. This was foreknowledge.
I looked at Taejin.
"Are you planning to invest in crude oil?"
He raised a brow.
"Crude oil? You mean like… for the car? Tank's full."
"Not gasoline. I'm talking about WTI. The commodity."
I explained what I saw. The vision. The logic. The opportunity.
Taejin blinked.
"You're saying OPEC will cut production… so prices will spike… and we should buy in now?"
"Exactly."
He nodded slowly.
"…Okay, but how? You don't just go buy barrels of oil. We don't have a warehouse."
"You buy contracts. Futures. Through the NYMEX."
Back at Taejin's Apartment – Yeoksam-dong
Taejin cleared his desk and fired up his dual-monitor setup.
He opened a browser and pulled up WTI charts.
$60.48/barrel.
Just barely holding the line.
I remembered Dad struggling when oil hit $100+. It affected every business—transportation, chemicals, manufacturing. Crude runs the world.
Taejin logged into his Golden Gate investment account.
He wired me ₩500 million, like we'd agreed. His balance still showed $11.9 million. Of that, roughly $673,000 was mine.
He looked at me.
"So, how much do we buy?"
"$300,000 worth," I said. "Let's stay cautious."
He paused, then said, "Buy mine too."
"How much?"
"Ten million."
"Won?"
"Dollars."
I stared. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Five million, then."
"Still insane."
"This is your 'Oracle Eye' thing, right? Let's put it to the test."
"…Three million."
"No lower."
I sighed. "Fine. Three million."
Taejin executed the orders.
$3.3 million in total.
The average person couldn't imagine handling that kind of money. And here we were—clicking a mouse.
My hand hovered.
Click.
Trade confirmed.
"What now?" he asked.
"Now?" I said, staring at the glowing number on screen.
"Now we wait."
The fate of the market—and possibly everything after—depended on one meeting in Kuwait.
If the hologram was right, I wasn't just a lucky investor.
I was something else entirely.