No — I shouldn't judge a person by appearances alone.
"Our CEO has no interest in money, you see. This investment is entirely for your sake, CEO Han Minsu."
Scratch that, scratch that.
That is a one-hundred-percent scammer.
Because nobody has no interest in money.
If someone tells you they have no interest in money, be careful.
They're the type who couldn't care less about pocket change and go insane over the big money.
I looked a bit further into that future.
In the future where he takes the investment, this man hands over 51% of his equity six months later — and his expression was not good.
No, not just "not good" — he was destroyed.
Sitting alone in a corner of the office, staring blankly out the window, tears rolled down his cheeks.
"If only I hadn't signed that contract......"
After confirming his regret, I looked at the future where he refuses.
Time flew forward. His complexion wasn't great, but his face still held on to hope.
Then about two months later, a new investor appeared before him.
This time, the person was completely different — and the contract went without saying.
"Please review it at your leisure and decide when you're ready."
The person offering the investment spoke with an easygoing expression — night and day compared to the previous one.
That's right.
People who talk your ear off during the contract process or pressure you into signing are almost always scammers.
They have something to hide, so they lure you with sweet words to cover it up and clamp the shackles on.
In the end, he signed with the new investor, shook hands, and smiled.
"If I were you, I wouldn't take it."
At my words, the chat buzzed.
― Oh, that's direct
― He saw something again?
― What is it, what is it?
― Scammer?
"I'm seeing something bad."
― Is it okay to say that outright?
― Oh, what are they going to do, sue? lol
― Ahem! We've got that badass truth-based defamation charge!
― Doesn't that mean you're admitting he's a scammer? lol
― You can still get hit with defamation charges
― He's got no honor to defame
"The contract has a 51% equity clause, right?"
"How did you know?!"
"The clause where if even one condition isn't met, the equity transfers."
"That's right. But the other party said to just trust them......"
"You shouldn't."
The one thing in this world you must never trust is someone who tells you to trust them with nothing but words.
Unless you want life on hard mode, the best thing to do is filter them out or cut them off entirely.
"If you do what that person says, your company will be gone in six months."
"......For real?"
"Yes. So turn it down."
"But I only have three weeks of capital left — if I refuse......"
He trailed off, saying he wouldn't even be able to pay his employees. But there was no other way.
Right now, the only option was to hold on.
The difference between holding on with hope and without it, though — that was everything.
"Just hold out for two months."
"Two months?"
At my words, his voice finally cracked.
"Two months on three weeks of capital?"
"I know it'll be hard right now, but you have to hold on. There's a way."
I told him to sell any unused equipment and be honest with his employees about the situation.
"Tell your employees everything. And tell them that a good investor is coming within two months."
"......Will they believe me?"
I looked into his future again — I saw him bowing his head before his employees and confessing everything.
"I'm sorry, everyone......"
As he poured out his heart, starting with one employee, then two, every single one of them nodded.
"Boss, if something like that was going on, you should've told us sooner."
"Exactly. Let's start by selling the equipment we don't use and push through!"
"Never thought I'd be doing unpaid labor in my life, but make sure you pay us back with salary AND a bonus later!"
"And don't worry! We've got unemployment insurance!"
"These young people really are different......"
Watching his employees rally together, my lips curved up.
"Trust them. Not me — trust your employees."
Trusting me and trusting his own people were two different things.
"Go out and land outsourced contracts yourself, CEO. Pound the pavement if you have to."
"Outsourced work...?"
"Even small jobs. Stack enough of those and you can survive two months."
"......Will an investor really come within two months?"
"They will."
Because I saw it.
Whether he believed me and followed through — that was Han Minsu's call now.
"CEO Han Minsu."
"How do you know my name... no, never mind."
"It's fine."
The silence that followed was long and heavy, but then his voice came through.
Compared to before, the trembling was gone — replaced by the steeled resolve of someone who'd made their decision.
"I'll do it. I'll refuse and hold on."
"You can do this, CEO. I'll be cheering you on."
"Thank you."
Click.
The sound of him leaving, and I turned to check the chat.
"Phew. That's already two sessions done."
― Lol, Jinwoo, you really are a fortune teller
― Will that company actually survive?
― He said it would
― Make sure to leave a review
― I'll leave a review in two months
[Viewers: 171]
Twenty more had joined in the meantime.
"Alright, moving right on to the next one! This viewer's session is free, so I'll pick randomly!"
― Here we go!!!!!!!!
― What? I was waiting in line
― I knew that would happen so I didn't bother lining up!!!
― You're not getting picked anyway
― Bit much?
Let me see.
I started scanning the viewer list, and scenes flickered past one by one.
From what looked like a cram school, to the banks of the Han River, to a highway.
Then.
My hand stopped on one nickname. An ordinary studio apartment, maybe?
A pot of ramyeon sat on a gas stove, and boxes of cup noodles were stacked up.
A resume lay open on the desk, with the photo slot empty.
'Job seeker?'
Since I was unemployed myself, the proportion of job seekers among my viewers was remarkably high.
Should I be happy about this, or sad?
Hard to say.
Looking closer at the scene, beside the resume was an envelope — still sealed.
The sender was...... his father?
That's been sitting there a long time.
A thin layer of dust had settled on the envelope.
"I'll go with this person."
― Who?
― What's the nickname?
― What kind of person?
― Is it me!?
"PackOfRamen, come into Daincode. Password is 1004."
Click.
A beat of silence, then the sound.
"Hello......"
The voice was low and dry — mid-twenties, maybe?
I couldn't tell if he was just drained or if this was normal for him.
Let me see — is the worry about employment?
"Job hunting's been tough, hasn't it?"
"Y-yes, it has!"
"About two years now. Business administration major?"
"Yes, yes! I even scored 895 on the TOEIC, but I still can't find a job."
I looked deeper into the studio apartment — inside the desk drawer were certificate passes.
Besides TOEIC, there was a computer skills cert, Korean history, and word processing.
He'd diligently prepared his credentials, but the letter on the desk nagged at me.
Sent by his father, still unopened, dust and all.
"When did that letter arrive?"
"......What letter?"
"The one on your desk. From your father."
"How did you... no, you really are the real deal. The letter came six months ago."
Six months ago, and he still hadn't read it?
"It's been over six months and you haven't opened it."
"No......"
I looked into his future — the man was sitting in an interview room wearing a suit.
His expression was stiff, but when the interviewer asked something, he answered with everything he had.
And the result?
He passed.
At a major company, no less — though it took some time.
About three months?
The problem was the scene that followed — the man clutching the letter, tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry...... I'm so sorry, Father......"
His anguished, desperate weeping confirmed, I opened my mouth.
"You'll get a job. A big company, too."
"Really?!"
"Yes. It'll take about three months. So read that letter now."
"The letter...?"
"Before it's too late."
He hesitated, reaching toward the letter, but in the end couldn't bring himself to pick it up.
"Do I really have to read it now...? Can't I read it after I get hired?"
"No."
At my firm voice, he flinched — but what could I do?
Better to face it now than regret it later.
"Read it now. Right now."
He reluctantly picked up the envelope, took out the letter, and read it. Inside was handwritten text.
A letter penned by his father himself. Not long.
I'm sorry. And I worry whether you're doing well. — Father.
"Call your father."
"......Why?"
"Because it's more important. More than getting a job."
At my serious tone, the viewers were typing cautiously, bewildered.
― Why? What happened?
― Did something happen to him?
― Jinwoo's voice is way too firm right now
― Did he see something?
He needed to call his father right now.
If he didn't.......
"I was going to contact him after I get hired......"
"By then, it'll be too late."
The chat went completely silent.
The viewers must have picked up on it too — no one was typing.
I looked into his future again.
After getting his acceptance notice and reading the letter, he received a call from someone and rushed to the hospital — but he was already too late.
His father lay in a hospital bed, and the man collapsed beside it, grasping his father's hand.
A hand gone cold.
I pulled my gaze from that scene and told him once more.
"Call him right now."
"Wh-why are you so urgent?"
"Your father is very ill."
"......What?!"
"He's in very bad shape right now. If you wait until after you get hired, it could be too late."
Silence followed.
A very long silence — I couldn't tell how much time had passed.
Then his trembling voice came through.
"F-for real?"
"Yes. So call him this instant."
"I, uh......"
"Just go to your hometown right now. Before it's too late."
"Understood!"
"Take your father to the hospital while you're at it."
"Yes, yes!"
Click.
The sound of the viewer leaving, and the chat slowly came back to life.
― What just happened?
― Is his father really sick?
― PackOfRamen, please call him right away
― He hasn't read the letter in six months
Reading the chat, I thought of the person whose future I'd just seen.
Lee Hajin.
Please, don't be too late.
***
Lee Hajin got off the bus and sprinted toward his family home.
"Hah...... hah......"
He'd barely exercised while preparing for job interviews, and his stamina was shot — but right now, that was the last thing on his mind.
The shaman everyone in the online communities was calling the real deal — Kim Jinwoo — had told him.
Go, before it's too late.
At the same time, regret surged in like the tide.
Six months.
Six months of leaving the letter in the drawer, unable to open it.
Why had he kept it this whole time without reading the letter his father had written by hand?
The contents swirled in his head as he ran.
Why hadn't he read it sooner?
Why hadn't he called sooner?
......The reason was something Lee Hajin knew better than anyone in the world.
He'd planned to show up as a son worth being proud of — after landing a job.
"Hah...... hah......"
He tore through a narrow alley, threw open the familiar front gate, and burst inside — but the house was silent.
No, surely not...?
THUD — his heart dropped, and he rushed inside to find a thin man lying in a room.
"Father!"
It was Lee Hajin's father. He was far thinner than before, and the color had drained from his face.
But his eyes were alive — his father stared at Hajin in surprise.
"Not a single call, and you show up out of the blue. What's going on?"
"Father, are you sick?!"
"It's nothing."
Cough, cough.
Hajin could barely stand still watching his father cough, but the old man rose from his spot and walked toward his son.
And a lump formed in Hajin's throat.
Since when had he become this frail?
"Have you eaten?"
"No......"
"Then wait just a bit. I'll fix something up."
Hajin watched his father's retreating back, then closed his eyes. A tear fell to the floor.
"Why is a grown man crying?"
"Father......."
"Yes."
His father had come to his side before he knew it, and wiped the tears from his face with his hand.
"Have you been well?"
"......Yes."
"Then that's all that matters."
That was the end of the conversation between father and son, but Hajin knew perfectly well.
That this was the most affection his father was capable of expressing.
"Father, let's go to the hospital."
"What hospital? I'm perfectly fine."
"No, you need to go. Right now."
His father flinched at his son's unusual firmness.
This was his meek son, who'd never once stood his ground in his entire life.
Hajin's trembling but resolute eyes carried more weight than any scolding, and his father finally nodded.
"Let's eat first."
"Let's eat out for once. Your son will treat you to something nice."
"You brat."
Hajin took his father outside, hailed a taxi, helped his father into the back seat, and climbed into the passenger seat.
"Cheongmyo Hospital, please."
A short while later.
When the taxi stopped in front of the hospital, Hajin helped his father out.
"Hajin."
"Yes."
"Thank you for coming."
That single line from his father hit him right in the chest.
He couldn't say a word in reply — just gripped his father's arm tighter and walked into the hospital.