Last March, when Bitcoin just touched that $73,000 ceiling, a post-95s internet celebrity dropped a bold line in his livestream: "When even my mom starts asking how to buy crypto, that's when this bull market is over."

Back then, the guy had 300,000 followers aping into all kinds of shitcoins. At his peak, his portfolio ballooned to $25 million. The comments were filled with rocket emojis, and his ego was through the roof. He even made a pledge live: "If I hit $100 million, I'll streak on stream!"

In April, as soon as missiles started flying in the Middle East, Bitcoin instantly got slashed by 20%. Those meme coins? They evaporated on the spot. That $25 million shrank to $90,000 in three minutes. It happened in the blink of an eye.

That night, he cut his livestream, posted a farewell note from a burner account, and had to be dragged back from the rooftop by friends. When he sobered up, he found he owed the platform $4 million. Now he’s back in his hometown delivering food, grinding out 300 orders a day. Ironically, he still has that "to the moon" sticker on his helmet.

Later, someone asked him how he felt about it. He just said, "The funniest thing is, you said you'd take everyone to the moon, but you ended up getting vacuumed dry first."

This year, the market is hot again, and there are still people in livestreams shouting all in. That guy just takes off his helmet, wipes his sweat, and mutters a curse.

People who’ve really been through the ups and downs in this space will never urge you to jump in—they'll only remind you to have your exit plan ready. Leverage feels like a rocket when it’s good, but when it blows up, there’s nothing left—not even dust.