Morning at the Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory was different. Usually, the courtyard smelled like fabric dye and burnt soy sauce from Wu Yi's cooking experiments. But today? The air was thick with incense, frying oil, and… was that the faint sound of a marching band?

Kim Suho woke up to shouting outside his office window.

"Lift the banner higher! It must blot out the sun with Boss Kim's smile!"

"Paint those cheeks rosier! He must look approachable yet authoritative!"

He pulled the curtain aside and nearly screamed. The courtyard was packed—employees, their families, and even random neighbors from the industrial park had shown up. A giant banner hung between two dorms with his face blown up to godlike proportions. The slogan underneath read:

"DAY OF SUHO — OUR MIRACLE BOSS."

Suho pressed his forehead to the glass. "This isn't a company. This is a cult with overtime pay."

By noon, long wooden tables stretched across the courtyard, loaded with food. Wu Yi, the chef, stood proudly in an apron that read "Cookin' for Suho." He was ladling steaming braised pork into bowls, surrounded by employees chanting like monks at a temple.

One seamstress bowed before Suho as he reluctantly sat at the head table. "Boss Kim, please, taste first. Your chopsticks bless the meal."

He raised the chopsticks like they were radioactive. "Listen, I'm not a king. I don't need to bless anything. Just eat before it gets cold."

But Wu Yu slammed a ladle onto the table. "Nonsense! Boss, your first bite sets the fortune for us all!"

Suho sighed, popped a piece of pork into his mouth, and muttered, "Fine. Blessed. Go nuts."

The courtyard erupted into cheers. Plates clattered, drinks poured, and for a moment it felt like a harvest festival.

Cho Rin leaned over with her notepad, deadpan as always. "Congratulations, sir. You've successfully invented the world's first HR-approved religious holiday."

After the feast, the employees staged a play. On the makeshift stage, two young workers acted out the legendary "Sports Meeting" from months before.

One man, wearing a fake belly made from stuffed fabric scraps, waddled in pretending to be Suho. He handed out oversized prop gifts to the crowd while narrators shouted, "Behold! The Benevolent Boss!"

The crowd clapped, laughed, and cried. Suho buried his face in his hands. "I look like that?!"

Cho Rin scribbled notes. "Correction: you look worse. He's flattering you."

Wu Yu burst into tears mid-performance. "Boss, you changed our lives!" He leapt onto stage, hugging the fake-Suho actor, then turned to the real one, sobbing. "And you! You changed my life! I will follow you forever!"

The employees followed, chanting in unison:

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

Suho muttered into his sleeve, "If one more person calls me miracle boss, I swear I'm defecting to another company."

At sunset, the moment came. A giant tarp was pulled away to reveal the statue—five times life-size Suho, immortalized in marble, one hand raised as if blessing the factory, the other clutching a T-shirt.

The craftsmanship was terrifyingly accurate. The scowl on his face was so lifelike it made him want to apologize to himself.

Fireworks went off. Employees cheered. Even Park Lee Mau from the industrial park showed up, clasping his hands like a pilgrim.

"Mr. Kim," Park declared, "this statue will be a landmark. People will come from other factories just to bow before it."

Suho twitched. "That's not a compliment."

But his voice was drowned out by applause.

While Suho was being deified offline, Horny Princess Online was on fire.

The guild war between [Haoshangtian] and [Lingyan Pavilion] had escalated into a full-scale economic arms race. Credit cards were melting. Banks flagged unusual activity. One analyst on CNBC muttered, "We may be witnessing the first MMORPG-induced financial bubble."

In last night's battle alone:

Chen Cong bought another ten sets of $100,000 noble gear, handing them out like Halloween candy.

Du Ziteng responded by recharging an entire million, outfitting his guild until even their pet dogs had golden armor.

Spectator donations to watch the fight topped Twitch's front page.

The world boss Black-Armored Turtle was killed so many times that environmental NGOs started fake petitions about "digital species extinction."

Back in his office, after enduring a day of forced worship, Suho slumped in his chair. The latest report lay open on his desk:

Funds: +20,000,000 (single day).

His hand shook. His voice cracked. "Twenty… million… in one night."

Cho Rin knocked, peeked in with her usual calm face. "Congratulations, sir. You're now richer than the GDP of several small island nations."

Suho looked up at her, eyes hollow. "Do you realize what this means? No matter what I do—no matter how stupid, how ruinous—I only get richer. I'm not a boss anymore. I'm a… a money god."

Cho Rin sipped her coffee. "Correction: you're a reluctant money god. Which only makes people worship harder."

He collapsed onto the desk, groaning. "I just wanted to go bankrupt. Why is that so hard?"

And outside, under the glow of fireworks, the statue of Suho gazed down with marble contempt, silently mocking him for ever thinking he could lose.

The morning after the "Day of Suho," the Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory courtyard looked like a battlefield. Empty plates, confetti, streamers, and at least three unconscious employees still clinging to bottles of rice wine decorated the ground.

Kim Suho staggered into the sunlight like a man who had just survived an assassination attempt, shielding his eyes. His marble statue glared back at him, majestic and unbothered, while pigeons had already claimed its shoulder as a perch.

He rubbed his temples. "One day of worship and I'm already hungover on applause. If this keeps up, they'll start writing a New Testament about me."

Cho Rin appeared behind him, notebook in hand, looking terrifyingly well-rested. "Too late. I found employees in the dorm last night arguing over which of your speeches should be canon."

Suho stopped dead. "…Canon? What canon? I don't have speeches."

She flipped open her notebook, reading in a dramatic voice: "'Work is just suffering with snacks on the side.' That's from last week when you yelled at the vending machine."

He turned crimson. "That wasn't philosophy, that was me trying to get peanuts!"

At 9 a.m., Wu Yu gathered workers in the canteen like a preacher before Sunday mass. He stood on a chair, waving a printed screenshot of Suho's frowning face.

"Brothers! Sisters! Today we meditate on the great words of our boss: 'Don't bring me profits, bring me invoices!'"

The employees hummed in agreement, like monks chanting sutras.

One raised his hand. "Brother Wu, what if my department makes a profit by mistake?"

Wu Yu slammed the paper down. "Then you confess your sin! And you beg Boss Kim for forgiveness! Only losses bring us closer to his vision."

The crowd murmured, some wiping tears.

Suho, hiding in the doorway, wanted to scream. Instead, he whispered to Cho Rin, "They're literally turning fiscal incompetence into a religion."

She nodded without looking up from her notes. "It's more consistent than Christianity."

Word spread beyond Steel Cup. Neighboring factories started sending "delegations" to pay respects. By noon, a group from the plastic shoe factory marched into the courtyard carrying fruit baskets and chanting, "Praise Boss Kim, breaker of profits!"

Park Lee Mau tagged along, bowing so low his forehead almost dented the pavement. "Mr. Kim, we come in peace… and also to borrow your cafeteria recipes."

Suho waved them off. "You can keep your fruit, just don't build statues."

The shoe-factory foreman grinned. "Too late. We already commissioned one. Twelve meters high. Solar-powered spotlight on the face."

Suho's jaw dropped. "Solar… what?!"

The chaos hadn't slowed. The guild war between [Haoshangtian] and [Lingyan Pavilion] had escalated into what gaming journalists were now calling The Millionaire's Cold War.

Players logged in just to watch credit cards detonate in real time. Guild members strutted in golden armor so bright it caused eye strain. Someone even joked that the only endgame boss left was inflation.

On social media, hashtags like #DragonSlayerRichKids and #SwipeToWin trended worldwide.

CNBC ran a segment: "Horny Princess Online: The Stock Market You Can Swordfight In."

Back at Steel Cup, Suho stared at the latest report with the hollow eyes of a man reading his own autopsy.

Funds: +35,000,000 (single day).

He dropped the paper like it was radioactive.

Cho Rin poked her head in. "Report delivery, sir."

"Don't. Say. The number."

"Thirty-five million—"

He covered his ears. "Lalalalala!"

She leaned against the doorframe. "You know, most CEOs would be ecstatic. You're the only man who looks like someone just gifted him thirty-five million dead rats."

He shot up from his chair. "Do you understand? I am drowning in success. I wanted bankruptcy! Bankruptcy is clean. Dignified. Romantic, even! Now I'm just a… a… Jeff Bezos with worse hair!"

Cho Rin jotted in her notebook. "Add 'envies Bezos' to the employee newsletter."

He groaned. "That was sarcasm, Rin!"

That evening, Wu Yu and the employees painted a mural on the canteen wall. It depicted Suho descending from the sky, one hand scattering receipts, the other crushing gold bars into dust.

Below it, bold letters proclaimed:

"Blessed are the bankrupt, for theirs is the kingdom of Suho."

When Suho saw it, he nearly fainted. "That's not even… that's not… how is this my life?!"

But the employees knelt before the mural, whispering prayers like: "Boss, grant us debt," and "Deliver us from profit."

Even Cho Rin smirked. "Congratulations, sir. You're officially a deity. Shall I order robes for everyone?"

Suho sat on the ground, clutching his head. "No. Robes mean cult. And cults mean documentaries. I'll be played by Nicolas Cage in twenty years."

She thought for a second. "Not a bad casting choice, actually."

The chapter closes with Suho, lit by the glow of his unwanted marble statue, whispering into the night:

"Please… just one bankruptcy. Is that too much to ask?"

And somewhere, the system chuckled, flashing his account balance:

Funds: +50,000,000.

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