Whales are the bosses. They sit quietly, consume their own, but when they start to move, the whole market shakes like a bed during a collective rise. Their fins are broad, movements slow, but every deal they make is like a hammer strike on a fence. You think you’re trading, but they’ve already categorized you as a hamster who came to the zone in new sneakers.
The exchange is like a prison yard. Everyone seems to walk around freely, but everyone is under scrutiny. The moment you place an order, you're already targeted. First, the small jackals come — bots that grab crumbs before you can blink. Then the big players come out, and you realize: your ass is about to get messed up, and you'll even thank them for it.
In the market, there is a concept of 'correction.' For the newbies, it's like if the supply manager forgot to bring the gruel — panic, hysteria, tears. And for the whales, it's just 'Tuesday.' They calmly take their pieces while you fuss around, getting squeezed at the lowest levels.
Whales act quietly. They don’t need to run around yelling: 'Correction! Bottom! Moon!' They just place a candle that wipes everyone out. Have you seen how sharply the market falls? It's not just numbers; it's someone's hope, broken in a minute. And then it rises just as quickly, and the whales laugh. For them, this isn't a market; it's a circus, and you’re the clown here for their amusement.
Newbies in the zone are like hamsters. They come in, pumped up by YouTube videos, believing in easy money, and then they get smeared across the order book by the first pump. These hamsters think they can outsmart the market. But the market is like the elder in the house — always right, even when it's wrong.
The irony is that you can rise. But only for a couple of minutes, to then fall even harder. That's how the zone works. And if you're here, know this: only a few make it out whole from the zone.
Traders are a separate caste. Those who have already gone through a couple of scams, burned on futures, lost their deposits, but still returned. They are not interested in dreams of Lamborghinis. They sit behind charts like in a prison, looking at the candles and thinking when they can at least eat normally.
But the most absurd thing is the shitcoins. Imagine a used piece of soap that was sold to you claiming it's a diamond. That's a shitcoin. You believe it will grow, you hold onto it despite the mockery, and then it falls by 90%. But you don’t give up because giving up in the zone is weakness.
And what’s the outcome? Did they mess you up? Yes. But the zone teaches patience. Here, every liquidation is a lesson, every candle is an experience. Those who stay afloat become part of the system. And those who break leave this market forever, leaving behind only memories and screenshots of their deposits.