Morning light poured into Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory, but the factory didn't feel like a workplace anymore. It felt like… a temple.

The courtyard buzzed with employees sweeping up yesterday's confetti like acolytes preparing for another sermon. Wu Yu stood proudly at the center, wearing a towel as a makeshift priest's robe. He raised a stapler above his head like it was a holy relic.

"Brothers! Sisters! Rejoice, for today we continue the sacred teachings of Boss Kim!"

The workers cheered like they'd just been promised a four-day weekend. Someone banged two empty paint cans like drums, and another waved a mop like a flag.

Kim Suho, meanwhile, was crouched behind his office blinds, peeking out in horror. "They're doing morning prayers again. To me. I told them to fix the button machine, not canonize my lunch orders!"

Cho Rin, balancing a coffee cup with infuriating calm, didn't even look up. "Well, yesterday you shouted, 'Whoever profits again, may the gods strike you down.' They took it literally. To them, you are the god."

Suho pressed his forehead against the glass. "I meant it as sarcasm. Sarcasm! Not scripture."

Rin smirked. "You should know by now. Around here, sarcasm is doctrine."

By midday, reports rolled in from other factories in the park.

The shoe factory had finished their twelve-meter solar-lit statue of Suho, and the plastics plant had gone one better—theirs had animated water fountains spouting out of his marble eyes, "tears of compassion for the bankrupt."

Suho slapped the reports on his desk. "I look like a crying messiah! Who's paying for all this?!"

Rin: "Technically… you are. They billed it as 'regional morale initiatives.' Finance signed off because you didn't check the invoices."

His scream shook the office windows. "I paid to idolize myself against my will?!"

Meanwhile, the digital world wasn't calmer.

[Haoshangtian] and [Lingyan Pavilion] had escalated their feud into what players were calling the Gucci War. Screenshots flooded the internet—armies of avatars so glittery with $100,000 gear that their combined light made the server maps look like daybreak.

Game journalists declared, "Horny Princess Online is no longer a game. It's Wall Street with fireballs."

One streamer went viral after fainting live on camera when he calculated that just one guild skirmish that night had burned through nearly ten million real dollars in gear.

Even national newspapers picked it up:

"A Tale of Two Wallets: How a Fake Fantasy War Just Outsold Real Defense Budgets."

Back in Horny Princess Interactive's office, Fen Su clutched the fresh report like it was gospel.

"Another two million in just six hours," Zhao Bowen announced, practically glowing.

Fen Su pushed up his glasses, voice reverent. "It's clear now. Mr. Kim is orchestrating something greater than games. He isn't building a company… He's building a philosophy. A vision of inequality, mirrored perfectly in code. A living satire of capitalism."

Zhao Bowen gasped. "So the noble gear at $100,000 isn't greed. It's… art."

They both sat in silence for a moment, nodding slowly like monks who had just discovered enlightenment in a tax return.

Meanwhile, the supposed "philosopher-CEO" was pacing his office like a cornered animal.

"Art?! It was a cash grab joke! I thought no one in their right mind would buy noble gear! Now they're treating me like I'm the Picasso of poverty!"

He slammed the report down so hard his tea spilled.

Cho Rin calmly slid a napkin toward him. "Well, you always wanted to leave a legacy. Maybe this is it."

Suho froze. "Legacy? Rin, they'll put me in history books under 'Accidental Billionaire Cult Leader.' I'll be a case study next to Enron!"

Rin scribbled in her notebook. "Not a bad course title: 'From Bankrupt Dreams to Billionaire Reality: The Suho Paradox.'"

By evening, Wu Yu had composed a company hymn. The workers stood in the canteen, fists raised, singing off-key:

"Oh, Boss Kim,

Deliver us from profits,

Rain down invoices,

And free us from sales quotas."

They swayed as if possessed. Someone even played it on an accordion.

Suho burst into the canteen, waving his arms. "No! Stop singing! I'm not a prophet—I'm a guy who hates balance sheets!"

They stared at him in awe, mistaking his rage for divine ecstasy. Wu Yu whispered, voice trembling, "Even his anger is a blessing…"

The workers fell to their knees.

Suho slapped his forehead. "Oh my god. I'm running a sweatshop and a cult at the same time."

The chapter ends with Suho sitting at his desk late at night, surrounded by reports glowing with numbers too large to comprehend. Outside, his statue's spotlight illuminated the courtyard where employees were still chanting his name.

He whispered into the darkness:

"Why… why won't anyone let me fail?"

And the system answered in neon letters across his monitor:

Funds: +75,000,000.

Kim Suho had spent the night pacing his office until his legs ached and his tea went cold. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard it—the chorus of his employees outside, chanting like monks:

"Boss Kim, breaker of profits, spender of funds,

Deliver us into glorious loss!"

He groaned into his hands. "I just wanted a failing T-shirt company. Instead, I'm leading the Church of Bankruptcy."

Cho Rin walked in with her usual deadpan expression, balancing three folders and a steaming cup of coffee. "Correction: a very well-funded church. Revenues climbed another three million overnight. Also, someone spray-painted your face on the cafeteria wall. With angel wings. And a halo."

Suho's head snapped up. "A halo?!"

Rin nodded like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Yes. Golden. Glitter. Imported spray paint. We had to reimburse them for supplies."

"Imported spray paint?! They filed an expense claim for graffiti of my face?"

Rin flipped open a folder. "Approved under 'employee morale.'"

Suho staggered back like he'd been stabbed. "I'm literally financing my own sainthood."

Meanwhile, Horny Princess Online was spiraling into full-blown economic insanity.

The global gaming community now referred to it as "The Millionaire's Arena." Twitch streams were filled with footage of guilds dressed in ten-million-dollar equipment, clashing in battles so shiny viewers had to dim their screens.

Game forums howled in disbelief.

"Why grind when you can just remortgage your house?"

"My guild's healer has better gear than my country's army."

"This isn't pay-to-win anymore. It's pay-to-conquer."

One viral clip showed Du Ziteng recharging half a million mid-battle while laughing like a warlord. "Another swipe for the Pavilion!" he shouted, his avatar glowing like a disco ball in hell.

The headlines poured in:

"Fantasy Game Economy Surpasses Small Nations' GDP."

"Parents Furious: Kids Using College Funds on Noble Gear."

"Who is Kim Suho? The Mystery CEO Behind the World's Most Expensive Joke."

At Horny Princess Interactive, Fen Su gathered his team around the projector. The slide read:

"Mr. Kim's Philosophy: Poverty by Design."

He pointed dramatically at the chart showing noble gear sales skyrocketing.

"Do you see? This isn't random. This is genius. Boss Kim is teaching the world a lesson: wealth buys shortcuts, but true victory requires spirit. He isn't running a game company—he's conducting social commentary!"

The employees leaned forward, whispering like disciples. Zhao Bowen scribbled feverishly in his notebook. "It's… it's like a digital Confucius."

Fen Su's voice trembled with awe. "We are not mere employees. We are apostles."

Applause broke out. Someone actually cried.

Back at the factory, the cult had upgraded its rituals.

The cafeteria now hosted "Profit Confessionals." Workers lined up to kneel in front of a cardboard cutout of Suho, confessing sins like

"Forgive me, Boss Kim, for I sold three extra boxes of T-shirts yesterday."

"Forgive me, for my cousin bought one of our jackets and liked it."

Wu Yu, acting as high priest, tapped each on the shoulder with a mop handle. "Your penance: waste one spool of thread and praise Boss Kim twice before lunch."

Suho walked in mid-ceremony and nearly fainted. "A mop handle?! That's my scepter now?!"

They all gasped and bowed. Wu Yu whispered reverently, "He blesses us with his presence."

"Bless?! I was just looking for the restroom!"

That afternoon, Cho Rin dragged him into a video conference with overseas investors.

The screen lit up with faces in suits. A man with a British accent leaned in. "Mr. Kim, the markets are buzzing. They're calling you the Messiah of Monetization. Your design philosophy is being compared to Adam Smith, Karl Marx, and Steve Jobs simultaneously."

Suho blinked. "My philosophy? It was a joke! The noble gear was supposed to scare players away, not attract billionaires!"

The investors clapped. "Brilliant humility! Playing the fool to increase mystique. A true masterstroke."

Suho slammed his forehead on the desk. "No! I'm not playing the fool; I am the fool!"

They cheered louder.

As dusk fell, the factory courtyard blazed with floodlights. The employees had erected another statue overnight—this one depicting Suho heroically strangling a golden dragon labeled "Profit."

Workers gathered in silence, candles in hand. Wu Yu led the chant:

"Down with profit! Praise the spender! Long live Boss Kim!"

Suho leaned out his office window, screaming, "Stop immortalizing me in stone! It's tacky!"

They gasped in unison. Wu Yu fell to his knees. "Even his critiques are divine wisdom…"

Cho Rin sipped her coffee. "Careful, Mr. Kim. Keep yelling and they'll carve that into the next statue's base."

Alone in his office, surrounded by glowing reports, Suho whispered:

"I'm not a prophet. I'm not a genius. I'm just a guy who wants to be broke…"

But outside, the chanting grew louder, echoing across the industrial park like a hymn.

And on his computer screen, the system smugly updated:

Funds: +150,000,000.

Suho buried his head in his arms. "I'm going to die rich, aren't I?"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.