A few days ago, I ran into my ex, and she suddenly leaned in and asked me, “What are you doing in the crypto space now?”

I felt a chill down my back and stammered, “Well... I'm doing... everything.”

She got even more excited: “Ah! Are you working on projects? You've launched several coins, right!”

I weakly replied, “No... not really.”

“Oh~ Then you must be trading meme coins? Punt, Trump, and the like!” Her eyes sparkled.

“Not that either...” I stared intently at my shoelaces, wishing I could burn a hole in the floor with my gaze.

“Uh... Are you working for a KOL agency? I heard this round is all about KOLs!” She was trying to guess.

“Not an agency...” My throat felt tight, and my voice sounded like a scratched record.

She fell silent for two seconds, then suddenly widened her eyes: “You’re not running a trading desk at an exchange, are you? That’s really impressive!”

I squeezed my thigh and squeezed out a response like a mosquito: “No... not that.”

The air suddenly became quiet.

Her smile gradually faded, and her voice turned cold: “Then what are you doing?”

“I’m... I’m trading options.” My voice trembled.

The entire corridor fell into silence, with only the sound of the wind echoing. Her expression cracked: “Oh... you mean that options trading that not many people play?”

I nodded vigorously, my ears burning hot.

The onlookers whispered among themselves, their gazes complex, as if they were watching someone live-streaming a bargain at a vegetable market with a top-end phone. She awkwardly smiled: “Well, that’s... not too bad, right? Better than just playing around?”

I covered my face, tears of shame seeping through my fingers.

“We do options trading quite well!” I cried out in explanation, “You can trade directions, trade emotions, and you can even trade volatility. No matter if the market is bullish or bearish, you can make money!”

The crowd let out subtle snickers, and I hugged my arms tightly, tears blurring my vision.

At this moment, the volatility surface had skyrocketed to the sky at number 8: another round of emotional explosions.