The Talents of MOAB II

I stood in front of the large board, fresh off the bus, staring up at the bold, neon-lit letters: Welcome to Gangnam. I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. This was it. A new chapter in this bizarre life I had somehow found myself in. I'd hoped for something a bit more dramatic, like escaping to a foreign country, but with my family's financial situation, that was impossible. Not that I could complain; at least they trusted me enough to let me move to Gangnam alone.

With everything I'd earned from my investments, I was reinvesting it all into future startups, the ones that were bound to blow up sooner or later. It wasn't easy, though. Trying to navigate this world's twisted versions of the companies I knew was like solving a puzzle where the pieces didn't quite fit. In place of Amazon, there was Nile. Instead of Google, it was Coocle. And don't even get me started on Pineapple, which was this world's take on Apple. Finding these alternate names felt like a treasure hunt, but I knew they were going to explode in value sooner or later, and I wasn't going to miss out on it.

"New Tube," I muttered to myself, thinking about the startup that was an alternative to YouTube back on Earth. Was that even the real earth, or was it just something out of a different world? After all, I wasn't the main character of whatever this story was—I felt like some side character just trying to survive.

"Shit… my hair's already greying from stress, and I'm only 10."

I sighed again, pushing the thought out of my mind. At least my adult memory was helping me figure all this out. My fingers absentmindedly ran through my hair, and sure enough, I found a grey strand. Wonderful. Nothing says "mature for your age" like prematurely greying hair.

I glanced down at the piece of paper with the address of the apartment my father had managed to find a place to stay for me a place near his childhood friend. No relatives here. No safety net. Just me, a 10-year-old stuck in this weird reality, trying to survive in the middle of Gangnam—a place famous for its luxury, wealth, and powerhouses.

My father didn't want to let me come here at first. Who in their right mind would send a kid to live alone in Gangnam? But after seeing how I'd matured, how I handled myself, and how responsible I acted, they had no choice but to trust me. I was grateful for that, at least. They had given me this opportunity, and I wasn't going to let it go to waste.

But still, a 10-year-old living alone in Gangnam was a weird sight. People around here were used to seeing the rich and powerful, not some kid with a backpack and dreams bigger than this city itself.

I began walking, clutching the crumpled piece of paper as I made my way through the bustling streets. People brushed past me, not giving a second glance. I wasn't special here. Just another face in the crowd. But that was fine by me. I preferred being invisible, for now at least. It gave me the freedom to think, to plan.

The apartment my father had rented was small, nothing luxurious, but it was enough. I looked down at the paper again, trying to memorize the address before stuffing it back into my pocket. My parents trusted me to handle this, and I couldn't afford to screw it up. No mistakes, no going back home with my tail between my legs.

"I've got this," I muttered under my breath, steeling myself for what lay ahead. Living alone in Gangnam was going to be tough, but if I could pull this off, if I could make the right moves with my investments, I could set myself up for life. I was seven years ahead of canon, after all. I knew what was coming, I knew where to place my bets. Now it was just a matter of executing the plan.

But as I made my way through the streets, weaving past the crowds of busy professionals and trendy shoppers, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was standing at the edge of something bigger. Something I wasn't quite prepared for.

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I stood in front of the door, my finger hovering over the doorbell for just a moment before I pressed it. A faint buzz echoed from inside the apartment, and I glanced down at the crumpled piece of paper in my hand once more, double-checking the address. Yep, this was the place. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. This was a new chapter, after all, and first impressions mattered.

As I waited, I ran through everything my father had told me about Mister Richard. He was an old friend of my dad's, someone who had offered to help me get settled here in Gangnam. It wasn't like I had many other options. Living alone at ten wasn't exactly common, and I needed a point of contact to get me through this transition.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, revealing a tall, slightly overweight man in his mid-forties, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back. He wore a friendly smile, though his eyes carried a hint of curiosity as he took me in.

"Hello," I said, my voice a bit shaky but steady enough. "Mister Richard? I'm Doo Lee. My father, Johan Lee, said he had called you about me."

Recognition flickered in his eyes, and his smile widened. "Ah, so you're Doo!" he exclaimed, his voice booming with warmth. "The genius your father's been bragging about!"

I chuckled awkwardly, not sure how to respond to that. Genius? Maybe in a room full of toddlers, sure, but I wasn't quite feeling like one right now. He crossed his arms, still grinning at me like I was some sort of child prodigy.

"Let's see," he said, narrowing his eyes playfully. "What's 9x5?"

"Uh... 45," I answered quickly, mentally relieved that it was an easy one.

Mister Richard nodded, looking impressed but not yet satisfied. "Alright, how about 17x35?"

I paused, doing the mental math quickly. "595," I said after a second, my brow furrowing slightly.

His eyebrows shot up, clearly impressed. "Hah! Good, good," he said, clapping his hands together. "Not bad, Doo. I can see why your father's been talking you up!"

I smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. "Can I get the key?" I asked, ready to get this introduction over with and finally settle into my apartment.

"Yeah, of course!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny keyring, handing it to me. As I took it, he added, "I've arranged your admission at G Middle School. My daughter goes there, too, so you'll have at least one familiar face around."

I nodded, grateful for the gesture. "Thank you, sir," I said, trying to sound as respectful as possible.

"No problem at all. If you need anything, I'm just across the hall," he said with a nod towards the door behind him. "You're all set. Go ahead and check out your new place."

With the keys in hand, I gave him a small bow of appreciation before heading to the apartment next door. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this—living on my own at my age.

I unlocked the door, pushing it open with a creak as I stepped inside. The apartment was small but cozy, the kind of place just right for a single person. The living room was simple, with a couch and a small TV in the corner. The kitchen was tiny but clean, and there was a single bedroom with a decent-sized bed and a desk near the window. I walked around, running my fingers over the countertops, inspecting the bathroom, and opening the closet, which had just enough space for my few belongings.

It wasn't much, but it was more than enough for me. I closed the door behind me and let out a deep breath, finally alone. It felt strange, like the weight of the world was both on my shoulders and yet lifted all at once. This was my new reality—a 10-year-old living in Gangnam, figuring out life in the strangest circumstances.

I threw my bag onto the couch and plopped down next to it, staring at the ceiling for a moment. The silence in the apartment was thick, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. I pulled out my phone, checking the time. There was still a bit of daylight left, and I figured I should probably unpack before night fell.

As I unzipped my bag and started pulling out clothes, I couldn't help but think back to my dad's voice on the phone earlier. He was proud of me—there was no denying that. But there was also a heaviness in his voice, like he knew that this was a lot to put on someone my age. I knew he trusted me, but that didn't mean it wasn't hard for him.

Finally, I escaped from that gangster clubhouse! Now I just have to wait until 2014 and start living life to the fullest.

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BAM BAM BAM! The loud noise jolted me awake, and I rubbed my eyes, cursing under my breath. Someone was kicking my door. Who the hell had the nerve to bang on my door this early in the morning? Still half-asleep, I swung the door open, ready to give whoever it was a piece of my mind.

But when I looked down, there was no towering delinquent or angry landlord. Instead, a small girl with black hair was staring at me. She looked about three feet tall—barely up to my waist—and her stern expression made it clear she was all business.

"What do you want?" I muttered, still groggy and trying to adjust to the situation.

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'what do I want'? My father said I had to pick you up for school," she replied, her voice dripping with impatience.

Oh crap. School. I completely forgot. "Wait here for a sec," I said quickly, slamming the door and rushing back inside.

I tossed my clothes everywhere as I sprinted to my room, grabbing the school uniform from my bed. I started pulling it on, only to realize halfway through that I had forgotten my underwear. Cursing myself, I quickly fixed that, pulling the uniform on properly this time. I rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to wake up and doing a quick brush of my teeth.

I looked around for deodorant but found none. My solution? Mouthwash. Yeah, that's right—no deodorant? Just sprinkle some mouthwash on yourself. Pretty nasty, huh? Trust me, compared to an all-boys hostel dorm, this was nothing. How do I know? Well, in my previous life, my dorm mates and I were practically living like pigs. We'd go weeks without washing, and the room always smelled like a gym locker mixed with socks. That mouthwash trick was a survival skill.

I ran my fingers through my hair, realizing how long it had grown. In this new life, I decided to keep my hair at ear length, and it actually suited me. Maybe all that working out had done some good, too, because I was looking better than I remembered.

"HEY!" I heard the girl shout from outside, impatient again. I rushed back out, locking the door and tossing the key into my bag.

"Ready to go," I said, trying to sound casual.

She turned and started walking ahead without another word, her small legs moving as fast as they could. I had to resist the urge to laugh. She was practically running while I barely had to move at all. Three feet tall with an attitude—this is why I hate kids.

"You look tall for your age," she said, glancing up at me as we walked.

I smirked. "Yeah, I guess," I replied. I've been working my ass off for the past three years. Maybe it's because of that—believe it or not, I even did Gautama training. Today marks the third year, and I know I was sleeping like a log this morning, but I work out at night. It's weird, but you know, it just feels like Batman.

Then, I glanced at my watch. "Wait, what the hell? It's 6:02 in the morning! Classes don't start until 8:00!"

The girl gave me a blank look. "I'm the class representative. I have to clean the class before everyone else arrives."

I blinked, stunned into silence. Who in their right mind drags someone out of bed at 6 AM to go clean a classroom? Just my luck. But then, I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I had bigger plans, right? I'm a future billionaire, after all. A little cleaning wasn't going to break me.

"Alright," I said, mostly to myself, trying to keep my cool. "Just calm down. Think of the bigger picture."

As we continued walking, I couldn't help but think about the absurdity of my situation. A 10-year-old future billionaire, walking to school at the crack of dawn with a class rep who was barely tall enough to reach a light switch. Life sure had a weird sense of humor.

We arrived at the school in no time, and the place was eerily quiet. The classrooms were still dark, and the hallways were deserted. I followed the girl into our classroom, where she immediately started organizing desks and sweeping the floor like a seasoned janitor.

What do I care? I moved toward the protagonist's seat, the one beside the window, and just plopped down.