Kim Suho awoke to the sound of chanting. At first, in his half-dreaming haze, he thought he was back in high school being tortured by morning assembly. But as his senses sharpened, he realized the voices weren't reciting the national anthem.

They were chanting his name.

"Kim Su-ho! Kim Su-ho! Mir-a-cle Boss!"

He bolted upright, hair disheveled, shirt half-buttoned, socks mismatched. It didn't matter—outside his office window, the courtyard of Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory looked like a religious revival.

Employees waved banners with his face screen-printed on them. Dormitory workers banged pots like ceremonial drums. Wu Yu, shirtless for reasons nobody questioned, stood on a wooden crate and raised his arms like a preacher:

"Brothers! Sisters! Do you not see? Our boss feeds us wagyu, clothes us with luxury dormitories, and delivers us into the promised land of endless overtime pay without overtime work! Can I get an amen?"

"Amen!" the crowd roared.

Suho slammed his forehead against the window frame. "This is a factory, not a megachurch! I asked you to make T-shirts, not scripture!"

But it was too late. His employees had already elevated him to a mythical figure: the Saint of Unintentional Wealth.

Inside the cafeteria, Suho found Cho Rin scribbling furiously on a notepad.

"Please tell me you're not writing a gospel," he muttered, grabbing her pen mid-stroke.

She blinked innocently. "Oh no, sir. This is just… employee morale literature. Very harmless. Titles like The Ten Commandments of Suho and The Book of Profitable Revelations."

He scanned the paper. Rule #4 read: Thou shalt not question the boss's divine losses, for his losses are greater than thy gains.

Suho's eye twitched. "Divine losses? My losses never even happen! That's the problem!"

"Exactly," she said reverently, as though quoting scripture. "Your inability to fail is proof of higher design."

He almost screamed. Instead, he shoved the paper back at her. "Fine. Publish it. Sell it. Watch it make a bestseller list and dump more money on my head. Why fight destiny when destiny clearly hates me?"

Meanwhile, across the digital battlefield of Horny Princess Online, the world descended into what economists would later call the Recharge Wars.

Two guilds—[Haoshangtian] under Chen Cong and [Lingyan Pavilion] under Du Ziteng—had turned every encounter into a financial arms race.

A normal MMO raid: teamwork, strategy, dodging fireballs.

A Horny Princess raid now: two men reloading credit cards so violently they triggered fraud alerts in three different countries.

"Haoshangtian just recharged another two million dollars! Look at those noble gear glows lighting up the battlefield!" shouted one commentator, his voice cracking like he'd inhaled helium.

"Lingyan Pavilion answers with four million! Ladies and gentlemen, this is not gaming. This is the GDP of small nations detonating in real time!" cried the other, practically weeping.

On Twitch, the stream peaked at 20 million viewers.

On Reddit, memes spread like wildfire:

A photo of Du Ziteng with the caption: Swipe first, ask questions later.

Chen Cong's avatar was plastered with "Credit Card Samurai."

And Suho's own face, Photoshopped onto a golden Buddha, under the headline: The Man Who Invented Religion: Pay-to-Win Edition.

The madness couldn't stay hidden.

By dawn, finance ministries in three countries issued warnings. Too many players had maxed out credit cards, triggering banks to panic. Economists debated on live television whether "Horny Princess Online" counted as a national security threat.

One particularly gray-haired professor declared gravely:

"If Kim Suho's design philosophy continues unchecked, we may witness the first man-made recession triggered entirely by digital underwear skins."

Suho nearly choked on his coffee when he saw that clip. "Underwear skins? I didn't even design underwear skins!"

Shen Rou, scrolling through the news feed, added dryly, "Well, give it a week. They'll probably invent some without you."

That afternoon, Suho sat slumped behind his desk, hands pressed to his temples, staring at the system's latest numbers.

Funds: +75,000,000. Projected: +100,000,000.

Every zero carved another wrinkle into his soul.

"Do you understand," he muttered, glaring at Cho Rin, who'd brought him another coffee, "I was supposed to be a humble loser? A tragic tale of failure? That was the point. Now I'm apparently the messiah of accidental prosperity. It's humiliating."

Cho Rin sipped her own cup. "Some people would call that… a blessing."

He laughed, sharp and hollow. "Blessing? No. This is a curse so strong I could probably sneeze and crash the housing market."

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling tiles like they were mocking him.

"Every failed order turns to profit. Every ridiculous idea becomes a billion-dollar hit. I try to lose, I try to sink, I try to self-destruct—and the universe insists on crowning me king."

For a moment, silence stretched across the office. Then, faintly, from the courtyard, came the chanting again:

"Kim Su-ho! Mir-a-cle Boss!"

Suho buried his face in his hands. "If this ends with me founding a religion, I swear I'll set myself on fire just to prove I can still fail."

But deep down, he knew the awful truth: even that would probably turn into a profitable IPO.

Morning broke over the Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory not with the usual clang of machines, but with the rhythmic banging of hammers and saws. Kim Suho, bleary-eyed from a night of watching his "Horny Princess Online" stock skyrocket like cursed fireworks, stumbled out of his office in pajamas and slippers.

The courtyard was chaos.

Workers dragged marble slabs across the asphalt. A group of seamstresses were chiseling like possessed artists. And at the center, Wu Yu—shirtless again, always shirtless—stood with a rolled-up blueprint in his hands, shouting directions like a general leading an army.

"Hoist the column higher! Remember, the left arm must be extended—Boss Kim must bless the heavens with his open palm!"

Suho froze. "What the hell is this?"

Cho Rin, standing nearby with a clipboard, didn't even look up. "Statue."

"Statue?!"

"Life-size marble monument of you. Well, not life-size. Five times life-size. Wu Yu said it's more impactful if it towers over the dorms."

Suho staggered back. "I forbid this! Take it down immediately!"

But Wu Yu spun around, hair glistening with sweat, eyes wild with zeal.

"Boss! You're awake! Come—lend us your noble silhouette. We're carving your likeness into eternal stone. This factory shall not just make T-shirts—it shall make history!"

Suho tried to resist, but everywhere he looked, his employees were busy enshrining him like a saint.

The cafeteria ladies embroidered his face onto chair cushions.

The janitors painted his portrait onto mop buckets.

Someone had even replaced the motivational posters with slogans like "What Would Suho Do? (Lose Profit)."

It was less a factory and more a Vatican.

In one corner, Shen Rou quietly arranged candles around a golden-framed photo of Suho holding a coffee mug. She bowed her head like she was at confession.

Suho almost fainted. "Shen Rou, not you too!"

She blinked innocently. "Oh, don't worry, sir. I'm just praying for the company's continuous prosperity."

He slammed his palm to his face. "Continuous prosperity is the LAST thing I want!"

Her lips curled into a knowing smile. "And that is why it always comes to you, Mr. Kim. The reluctant prophet is the truest prophet."

"Don't give me Zen riddles! Tear that down!"

But before he could kick over the candles, Wu Yu climbed onto the half-built statue, his arms stretched wide, yelling to the crowd:

"Brothers! Sisters! Our boss speaks in riddles, but his silence is wisdom, and his complaints are blessings in disguise! Praise him!"

The employees erupted into cheers.

Suho nearly collapsed right there.

While Steel Cup was busy building a shrine, Horny Princess Online was spiraling further into economic madness.

The guild war between [Haoshangtian] and [Lingyan Pavilion] had escalated beyond reason. What started as credit card duels had now become full-scale digital arms races.

Haoshangtian guild leader Chen Cong had re-mortgaged two of his villas to fund "emergency gear draws."

Du Ziteng, not to be outdone, liquidated part of his father's logistics company stock to buy another ten million dollars' worth of noble armor.

Spectators flooded in, turning the clashes into the number one most-streamed event worldwide. ESPN even considered covering it like the Super Bowl.

On Wall Street, analysts scratched their heads. "Horny Princess Interactive has achieved something unprecedented," one said. "They've weaponized status anxiety into GDP."

Governments began monitoring the situation. In Korea, parliament debated whether the game was an "addictive threat to financial stability." In the U.S., late-night hosts cracked jokes:

"Ladies and gentlemen, forget oil and gas. The new global currency is apparently… dragon-slayer armor."

Back at Steel Cup, Suho sat in his office, staring at the latest report from Fen Su and Zhao Bowen at Horny Princess Interactive.

Funds: +12,000,000 (single day).

He nearly tore the report in half.

"Do you people understand? I don't want twelve million! I want minus twelve million!" he bellowed at Cho Rin, who stood calmly holding his second coffee of the day.

She nodded politely. "Yes, sir. Which is precisely why you keep gaining."

He wanted to throw the mug at the wall, but he knew somehow the shards would sell as "relics" on eBay and make him richer.

"System," he muttered under his breath. "Why can't I fail? Why can't I lose money like a normal businessman?"

The invisible, smug system whispered in his mind:

[Because, host, you were chosen to be the Messiah of Market Irrationality.]

He clutched his head. "Messiah, my ass. I'm cursed!"

As if to mock him further, that evening Wu Yu barged into the office with grand news.

"Boss! Great news! The employees have organized a festival in your honor. Tomorrow we celebrate the 'Day of Suho.'"

Suho's eyes bulged. "The what?!"

"Day of Suho! We shall unveil your statue, host a factory-wide feast, and stage a reenactment of your divine generosity at the sports meeting!"

Cho Rin added helpfully, "They also plan to print T-shirts with your face. Limited edition. Could sell very well."

Suho slammed his forehead against the desk. "Of course. Another profit ambush disguised as loyalty."

Wu Yu clasped his hands like a monk. "Boss, your resistance only fuels our devotion. The more you deny your greatness, the greater you appear."

Suho groaned. "Then maybe I should embrace it. Tell everyone I want endless riches; see if reverse psychology finally works."

But deep down, he knew: no matter what he said, the universe would twist it into another money-making machine.

By midnight, the courtyard was glowing with lanterns, the statue's marble face half-finished but already bearing Suho's tragic scowl. Employees rehearsed chants, seamstresses stitched banners, and in one dark corner, Shen Rou polished the framed photo of Suho with a reverence that made his skin crawl.

Kim Suho, alone in his office, whispered to himself:

"Fifty chapters. That's all. Just fifty chapters until the end. Surely I can lose it all by then… right?"

But outside, the chanting rose again, unstoppable, undeniable:

"Kim Su-ho! Miracle Boss! Eternal Profit!"

And Suho realized with dawning horror—by the end of this cursed journey, he might not just be rich.

He might be immortal.

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