03:00 AM SAGA
Old Chen stared at his phone screen, his fingers hovering above the buy button, trembling slightly.
It was a deep night three months ago. He’d come across a post: SAGA— a new coin in the chain game track. The current price was 0.025 USDT, with a market cap of less than twenty million. The poster sounded absolutely certain, saying it was the next hundred-bagger.
At that time, Old Chen had just made some profit on BTC, and his account had 80,000 U in it. He thought, I’ll just try with 20,000 U—if I lose, it won’t hurt.
So he opened the trading page and entered the buy amount. Right as his finger was about to land, his cat jumped onto the desk and knocked over a cup of water.
He scrambled to wipe the table. The phone screen went dark.
When he finally calmed the cat and picked up his phone again, SAGA’s price had already risen from 0.025 to 0.028. He hesitated, thinking it had only gone up a bit—he’d buy on a pullback.
The next morning, SAGA was already at 0.032.
He opened the K-line chart, staring at that nearly vertical green candle. His heart itched and raced at the same time. The group chat was in chaos—everyone was shouting “Go, go!”
He clenched his teeth and chased in at 0.033, buying 60,000 U.
The moment he finished buying, the price suddenly started to pull back. 0.031, 0.029, 0.027. The voices in the group changed—from “charging ahead” to “running.”
Old Chen’s palms were soaked with sweat. He locked onto the order book and kept repeating to himself: Don’t sell. Don’t sell. This is a shakeout.
When the price fell to 0.026, he almost cut his loss. But he remembered all the coins he’d missed before: he hadn’t bought PEPE, he hadn’t bought BONKE. Every hesitation had left him regretting so much he couldn’t sleep. This time, he told himself he had to hold on no matter what.
Then SAGA began to rebound.
From 0.027 to 0.030, he let out a long breath. From 0.030 to 0.035, he started to laugh. When the price broke 0.038, his account’s unrealized profit was already over 10,000 U.
That night, SAGA surged to 0.041. His 60,000 U turned into 180,000.
He didn’t sell. The group’s voices changed again: Target 0.1. Target 0.5. One dollar.
Old Chen felt like he had finally caught fate’s hand this time.
But the market never gives people a second chance to feel proud.
The next day, SAGA fell all the way back from 0.041 to 0.030. His profit slipped away between his fingers like sand. He consoled himself: it’s just a pullback. It’ll go back up.
Now SAGA is at 0.03581. His unrealized profit has 20,000 U left, but he hasn’t slept well for three days. Every time he opened the app, he told himself to wait a bit longer—wait, and it’ll rise back.
Old Chen finally understood a truth: in the crypto world, the hardest part isn’t buying, and it isn’t selling—it's knowing when to leave during the climb.
He turned off his phone and held his cat in his arms. The cat purred, blissfully unaware of the madness of this world.
Maybe being a cat is happier than being a crypto person.
#SAGA #合约爆仓 #cryptocurrency
Old Chen stared at his phone screen, his fingers hovering above the buy button, trembling slightly.
It was a deep night three months ago. He’d come across a post: SAGA— a new coin in the chain game track. The current price was 0.025 USDT, with a market cap of less than twenty million. The poster sounded absolutely certain, saying it was the next hundred-bagger.
At that time, Old Chen had just made some profit on BTC, and his account had 80,000 U in it. He thought, I’ll just try with 20,000 U—if I lose, it won’t hurt.
So he opened the trading page and entered the buy amount. Right as his finger was about to land, his cat jumped onto the desk and knocked over a cup of water.
He scrambled to wipe the table. The phone screen went dark.
When he finally calmed the cat and picked up his phone again, SAGA’s price had already risen from 0.025 to 0.028. He hesitated, thinking it had only gone up a bit—he’d buy on a pullback.
The next morning, SAGA was already at 0.032.
He opened the K-line chart, staring at that nearly vertical green candle. His heart itched and raced at the same time. The group chat was in chaos—everyone was shouting “Go, go!”
He clenched his teeth and chased in at 0.033, buying 60,000 U.
The moment he finished buying, the price suddenly started to pull back. 0.031, 0.029, 0.027. The voices in the group changed—from “charging ahead” to “running.”
Old Chen’s palms were soaked with sweat. He locked onto the order book and kept repeating to himself: Don’t sell. Don’t sell. This is a shakeout.
When the price fell to 0.026, he almost cut his loss. But he remembered all the coins he’d missed before: he hadn’t bought PEPE, he hadn’t bought BONKE. Every hesitation had left him regretting so much he couldn’t sleep. This time, he told himself he had to hold on no matter what.
Then SAGA began to rebound.
From 0.027 to 0.030, he let out a long breath. From 0.030 to 0.035, he started to laugh. When the price broke 0.038, his account’s unrealized profit was already over 10,000 U.
That night, SAGA surged to 0.041. His 60,000 U turned into 180,000.
He didn’t sell. The group’s voices changed again: Target 0.1. Target 0.5. One dollar.
Old Chen felt like he had finally caught fate’s hand this time.
But the market never gives people a second chance to feel proud.
The next day, SAGA fell all the way back from 0.041 to 0.030. His profit slipped away between his fingers like sand. He consoled himself: it’s just a pullback. It’ll go back up.
Now SAGA is at 0.03581. His unrealized profit has 20,000 U left, but he hasn’t slept well for three days. Every time he opened the app, he told himself to wait a bit longer—wait, and it’ll rise back.
Old Chen finally understood a truth: in the crypto world, the hardest part isn’t buying, and it isn’t selling—it's knowing when to leave during the climb.
He turned off his phone and held his cat in his arms. The cat purred, blissfully unaware of the madness of this world.
Maybe being a cat is happier than being a crypto person.
#SAGA #合约爆仓 #cryptocurrency