Symbolic as a holy ground of the stock market, the Ilhyeon Securities Myeong-dong branch was packed to the gills with people today, no different from any other day.

But today was a little different from usual.

The people who normally sat before the quote board were today crowded up against the teller windows, cigarettes dangling from their lips.

"What do you mean, no? Why not?"

"Sir, once you've bought a stock, there are no refunds."

"That's what I'm asking—why is there no refund!"

The man slammed his fist down on the counter.

Bang, bang.

"Give me my refund!"

"Sir, stocks… there's no such thing as a refund."

"What do you mean, no such thing? Department stores give refunds—what makes you people so special that you won't refund me? You think you're that important?"

The teller tried to calm the customer, at a loss. "Sir, it's not that—a stock is something whose price fluctuates by the moment…"

"Ah, I don't know, I don't care. Refund me. Give me back my 10 million won."

Shaking his head as if he couldn't be bothered to hear any of it, the man threw a tantrum, demanding the teller refund the stock he'd bought at the price he'd bought it.

The next window over, a similar scene was playing out.

"Sir. If my husband finds out about this, I'm really dead. Please, just give me my money back."

A woman with a baby on her back clasped her hands toward the teller. "I only bought it because Chang-su's mom next door said I could make money. I didn't even know what this company does."

"Ma'am, no matter how you plead…"

"Please. Please, just give me the money back. It's what we saved for our jeonse deposit. If I lose this, my husband really might kill me."

With people demanding their money back by sheer brute insistence, the Ilhyeon Securities tellers could do nothing but flounder, unable to move one way or the other.

But over at another window, a scene was unfolding that would make even this seem a mercy by comparison.

"You people sold…