“Here’s your money. Please keep it safe.”
Inside the bank, the teller neatly laid out the requested cash on the counter and kindly provided a small envelope for the customer to hold the money.
The amount wasn’t much—only 2,100, along with some coins. A single envelope was more than enough.
The customer counted the money twice before finally relaxing and smiling. After bidding the teller farewell, he left.
The next customer stepped up. Just like before, the teller smiled and repeated her now-instinctive greeting.
What struck her as odd was that this woman, who looked to be in her fifties, also came to withdraw money—and wanted to empty her account as well.
It felt strange, but the feeling passed quickly. She had no time to dwell on it while working, so she continued serving the woman.
A few minutes later, 5,000 in cash was neatly placed on the counter. The customer counted it, muttered something under her breath, then left.
Before the next client arrived, the teller glanced at the other windows. She felt momentarily lost—every counter was handling withdrawals.
The long line gave her little time to think. She turned her attention back to her next customer.
This scene wasn’t limited to the Royal Bank. It was playing out across the capital and its surrounding cities—spreading at an incomprehensible speed.
The little secret circulating among the public was like a cruel joke:
The banks have no money.
Yes, that was the entire rumor—the banks have no money. But as it spread, people instinctively embellished it, adding layers to make it sound more believable.
From lots of people are withdrawing cash, to some banks have run out, to I heard some banks were shut down temporarily, and finally to the banks are going bankrupt.
The rumor didn’t take long to evolve. In just two or three days, it spread like bacteria in a petri dish—rapidly and perfectly.
And this led to a terrifying outcome:
A bank run.
Nothing terrifies a bank more than a run. Take the Baylor Federation for example. If a bank holds deposits totaling one million, it would never keep that entire sum in its vault. Bankers plan to use that money to make more money.
So the question is: how much of that million can the bank use for investments or other operations?
Banks in the Federation are divided by tiers, each with varying reserve requirements. Depending on the region and policies, they might keep anywhere from 50% down to as little as 12% of deposits as a reserve.
In other words, a bank might keep only 120,000 of a million, using the remaining 880,000 for lending or investing. In the strictest case, they’d have to keep 500,000 and could only use the rest.
But there’s a catch: banks often enter mutual guarantee agreements. For example, Bank B might guarantee Bank A’s liabilities. If A experiences a run, B promises to step in and cover withdrawals.
This allows Bank A to push its usage of customer deposits to the limit.
This scenario has happened before. Bank A failed in its investments and collapsed. Bank B refused to honor the guarantee, claiming bankruptcy wasn’t covered. The result? A drawn-out legal battle. Bank A’s majority shareholder served two years in prison.
Of course, they legally walked away with a lot of depositors’ money.
The Gephra Empire’s banking system isn’t much different from the Federation’s. In fact, many of the Federation’s rules were borrowed from Gephra.
Over time, Federation-specific rules replaced the originals, but the roots are shared.
In Gephra, the largest bank is the Royal Bank. Backed by the royal family and holding the national treasury, it has unmatched confidence—and far lower reserve requirements than people think.
But what happens when those reserves are drained?
The bank can’t pay its depositors. It faces catastrophic risk—even bankruptcy.
And when that happens, borrowers won’t rush to repay. Instead, they’ll delay as long as possible, waiting for the bank to collapse—then buy their debt at fire-sale prices.
If you owe the bank a million, you’d normally have to repay the full amount.
But once the bank collapses and liquidates assets, you might buy that debt back for just 300,000 or 500,000—legally saving hundreds of thousands. Anyone with a brain would know what to do.
Now, the bank run had truly begun. Even without the nobility, the common people alone were enough to overwhelm the banking system.
News of the bank runs spread rapidly. TV stations cut into live coverage, causing even more people—previously unaware—to panic.
“The bank is running out of money! People are lining up to withdraw! Get there before it’s too late!”
Interviewed customers were angry, anxious, or desperate, pouring out their emotions to reporters. It wasn’t just them collapsing—so were the viewers watching at home.
“The Finance Minister is finished.” Lynch stared at the long lines on the TV. The situation was now completely clear. He turned to his young admirer. “What’s happening with the financial index on the exchange?”
The youngest Count ran to make a call and returned excitedly. “Mr. Lynch, it’s already dropping—but less than one percent so far…”
“No problem,” Lynch replied, then addressed the others. “A bank run will immediately trigger a sell-off in the financial markets.”
“People will worry they won’t be able to get their money, or that cash will be too tight, so they’ll end their investments early—especially large corporations.”
Lynch lit a cigarette. The young Count eagerly lit it for him, staring at him with adoration.
Though they were about the same age, the young Count acted like a child, while Lynch—through different means—was now shaping the battle between the Prime Minister and the Finance Minister.
To find in your peer the presence of a father figure leaves the deepest impression—a kind of blind reverence.
Lynch thanked him and lingered on the boy’s face a moment. The young Count blushed slightly.
Suppressing the urge to cringe, Lynch looked away. “Previously, the Finance Minister pressured public companies to repurchase shares, pushing up prices to stabilize the market.”
“But that led to something unexpected—these major corporations are now short on cash.”
“As a businessman with multiple companies, I know how strictly we manage liquidity.”
“And by strict, I don’t mean hoarding cash—I mean making sure every cent is spent, as long as it doesn’t hinder operations or emergency response.”
“So these unplanned buybacks pushed them close to their cash limits. With a bank run underway, banks won’t be able to give them large withdrawals. If they want to hedge risk, the only option is to sell stock.”
“All the shares they just bought? They’ll have to dump them. And more—just to survive the looming financial crisis.”
Lynch spoke at length, and the nobles in the room listened intently. Whether they truly understood or were just pretending to, at least they looked like they did.
Anyone with a good memory might have noticed that as time went on, fewer and fewer people were asking questions.
It wasn’t because they had grasped Lynch’s ideas, but rather because they lacked the ability to raise meaningful questions in this field—Lynch was the expert, and they were not.
After a brief pause, during which he sipped some coffee and ate a cloyingly sweet pastry, Lynch continued, “To handle the bank run, the banks will definitely tighten cash flow and might even start calling in some loans.”
“You should know, many companies operate with negative assets. If the banks want to avoid problems—especially the risk of collapse due to an inability to pay out—they’ll need to recover their money.”
“That means some companies are going to face serious liquidity issues. Once the banks pull their funds, these businesses won’t make it to the next payday before going bankrupt.”
“And the next payday is in…” Lynch trailed off, looking at the others.
It wasn’t a hard question. The nobles immediately lit up with the glow of participation, many eager to answer, “Just one week left!”
Lynch nodded, and those who answered felt a genuine sense of joy—not just because they were part of the conversation with Lynch, but because they’d gotten this crucial question right.
People naturally grow attached to anything they’re directly involved in—a strange, unexplainable emotion.
Lynch exhaled slowly. “This game is about to end. Now comes our time to claim the spoils.”
“The Finance Minister will fall. His Majesty will step in. And each of us is about to become much more valuable.”
