Kim Suho didn't sleep. How could he, when his phone wouldn't stop buzzing like an angry beehive?

Every notification was another headline:

"Boss Kim's Economic Model to Be Studied at Harvard Business School."

"Is the Messiah of Monetization a Prophet, a Genius… or Both?"

"Church of Bankruptcy Gains Followers in Ten Countries."

He rubbed his eyes, muttering, "I just wanted to lose money. Instead, I invented an international religion."

Cho Rin walked in balancing her laptop. "Mr. Kim, bad news."

Suho groaned. "Stop calling it bad news. It's always profits in disguise."

She adjusted her glasses. "Fine. Unwanted developments. The United Nations just invited you to give a speech on 'Responsible Global Economics.' They think Horny Princess Online is a model for wealth redistribution."

Suho slammed his head into the desk so hard the stapler rattled. "Wealth redistribution?! I'm redistributing my sanity into the void!"

Meanwhile, back at the Steel Cup factory, the employees had upgraded their workshop.

The cafeteria now had "Profit Confession Booths," complete with curtains and candles. Workers lined up to whisper their sins:

"Forgive me, Boss Kim, I accidentally negotiated a discount on cotton."

"Forgive me, I mended a shirt too well."

"Forgive me, I told my cousin our jackets were affordable."

Wu Yu, now dressed in a knockoff priest's robe made from leftover fabric, solemnly absolved them. "Go forth and waste three rolls of thread. Boss Kim forgives you."

Suho walked in halfway through and froze. "Why are you wearing a tablecloth?"

Wu Yu bowed deeply. "It is not a tablecloth. It is the Robe of Expenditure."

Suho pointed a trembling finger. "It still has a ketchup stain on it!"

The room gasped. Someone whispered, "Even his critiques are revelations."

Across the ocean, universities were scrambling. Professors wrote papers with titles like

"The Theology of Spending: A Case Study in Horny Princess Interactive."

"Kim Suho and the New Capitalism."

"From Bankruptcy to Beatification: The Holy Path of Profitless Growth."

One panel on CNN showed an economist pounding the table. "Don't you see? Boss Kim has achieved the impossible! He's monetizing anti-monetization! He is capitalism's final form!"

Another panelist adjusted his tie. "Or he's just an idiot with lucky timing."

The moderator frowned. "In that case, how do you explain the global GDP spike tied directly to his game?"

The economist shot back, "Even idiots can be prophets."

By afternoon, Cho Rin found Suho in the corner of his office, curled up like a discarded napkin.

"Mr. Kim," she said flatly, "they're calling you the Prophet of Paycheck."

He groaned into his knees. "I don't want to be a prophet. I want to be poor."

"Too late. Your face is trending on TikTok as the 'Saint of Spending.' There are remixes of your sighs set to EDM."

Suho sat up, horrified. "My sighs?!"

She nodded. "Number one on Spotify Korea. Three million streams."

He threw a stapler at the wall. "Why does everything I touch turn into revenue?!"

Cho Rin shrugged. "Some men are born great. Some achieve greatness. And some trip, fall, and land in a pile of money."

That night, the servers of Horny Princess Online nearly exploded.

The two rival guilds—Haoshangtian and Lingyan Pavilion—announced a "Final Showdown." Each side recharged another million.

The battlefield was chaos: fireballs, lightning, and avatars so decked out in noble gear they looked like glowing Christmas trees. Spectators joked the screen needed sunglasses.

One commentator screamed, "This isn't a fight—it's a financial arms race!"

By dawn, the system reported: Revenue: +5,000,000.

Suho nearly choked on his instant ramen. "Five million?! In one night?! That's not a game; that's a stock market with swords!"

At sunrise, Suho stumbled to the window, watching the employees march into the courtyard, holding banners that read:

"Boss Kim, Guide Us to Greater Losses!"

"In Debt We Trust."

"Profit is sin. Wasting is holy."

He buried his face in his hands. "I can't stop this. I'm a cult leader with a stock ticker."

And somewhere in the shadows of his office, the system whispered gleefully:

Funds: +155,000,000.

Kim Suho woke up to the sound of drums.

Real drums. Outside his apartment.

He dragged himself to the window in his pajama pants and saw a parade marching down the street. Students in bright yellow T-shirts, each carrying a banner that read in bold black letters:

"In Boss Kim We Trust!"

A brass band blared what sounded suspiciously like the Horny Princess Online login theme, only slower, like a hymn.

"Great," Suho muttered, rubbing his temples. "I'm the pope of poverty cosplay."

Cho Rin knocked once, then barged in, holding her tablet. "Bad news."

Suho groaned. "Let me guess. I'm Time Magazine's Man of the Year."

She squinted. "Close. They're debating between you and a rescue dog from Ohio."

"Put me second," he said flatly. "The dog deserves it more."

By noon, he was summoned to a "friendly meeting" at the Ministry of Finance. "Friendly," in government terms, meant, "We want to interrogate you but with coffee."

The minister, a stiff man in a gray suit, slid a stack of papers across the table. "Mr. Kim, explain this."

Suho glanced at the charts. All of them showed profit spikes, stock surges, and one alarming graph titled

'Gross National Happiness Index – Correlation with Boss Kim's Facial Expressions.'

He blinked. "Why is my sigh on a government chart?"

The minister tapped his pen. "Because every time you sigh, ten thousand players recharge more money. We're considering taxing your breathing."

Suho's jaw dropped. "You want me to file—what? A respiratory income report?"

"Yes," the minister said coldly. "And your cult… what is it called? The Church of Bankruptcy?"

"It's not my cult! They made it themselves!" Suho shouted, waving his arms.

"Regardless, their tithe collections are destabilizing local banks. Do you realize the damage you're causing to fiscal policy?"

Suho leaned forward, desperate. "Sir, listen to me. I'm not a financial genius. I'm an idiot. I've been trying—trying—to lose money for months."

The minister studied him for a long moment, then whispered, almost reverently, "Remarkable. The man who destroys wealth… by accident."

"Stop admiring me!" Suho yelled.

At the factory, things had escalated into full-blown religion. The dorms now had confessionals, choir practice, and incense made from burnt cotton scraps.

Wu Yu had upgraded his "Robe of Expenditure" into a full three-piece priest's outfit stitched from rejected fabric. He was even carrying a mop like a staff.

He stood at the cafeteria podium, preaching. "Brothers, we must not chase efficiency! Profit is the enemy! If you mend a shirt too well, you sin against Boss Kim!"

The workers cheered, holding their thimbles high like goblets.

Suho stormed in, waving his hands. "Stop it! I'm not holy; I'm just unlucky!"

The employees dropped to their knees in synchronized awe. One whispered, "Even in denial, he teaches us."

Suho facepalmed. "Kill me now."

Meanwhile, across the globe, world leaders were taking notes.

In the White House, the President leaned back in his chair. "So you're telling me this Korean guy spends money like a drunk raccoon, and now his GDP is outpacing ours?"

His advisor nodded. "Yes, sir. We recommend appointing a Secretary of Wasting."

In the UK, Parliament debated a motion: "Should we adopt the Kim Doctrine: Deficit by Design?"

One MP shouted, "If he can turn debt into faith, why can't we?"

In Switzerland, banks reported a surge in accounts labeled "Kim Fund," holding billions transferred by confused cultists who believed saving money offended Boss Kim.

Back in Horny Princess Online, the two rival guilds escalated their insanity.

Haoshangtian dumped another two million into noble gear. Lingyan Pavilion countered with three. The battlefield was so flashy it gave one spectator epilepsy.

Commentators shouted into their mics:

"This isn't war—it's the Met Gala with swords!"

"Look at that! Someone just recharged their mortgage!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, the GDP of small nations is being spent on digital capes!"

By dawn, the servers reported:Revenue: +10,000,000.

Suho spat out his morning coffee. "Ten million?!" He grabbed his phone, shaking it. "System, tell me this is fake. Please. Lie to me!"

The system, smug as ever, whispered in his ear:Funds: +166,000,000.

Late that night, Suho sat in the empty factory courtyard, staring at the glowing neon sign: Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory.

He muttered to himself, "I'm not a leader. I'm not a prophet. I'm just a guy who wanted to bankrupt a system."

From the shadows, the employees appeared, holding candles. Their voices rose in unison:

"Boss Kim, Guide Us to Greater Losses!"

Suho dropped his head into his hands. "Why does failure feel so much like success?"

Somewhere, the system chuckled:

Settlement in 3 days. Good luck, Host.

Kim Suho woke up to find his face on the front page of every newspaper in the country.

Not just the business section.

Not just the tech pages.

No—front page. Every paper.

"LOCAL FACTORY BOSS TURNS GLOBAL ECONOMY UPSIDE DOWN."

One headline screamed: "Saint or Menace? The Billionaire Who Can't Stop Spending."

Another went softer: "Kim Suho—Prophet of Poverty, CEO of Chaos."

Suho slapped the papers down on his desk. "I can't even be mysterious? At least villains in dramas wear masks."

Cho Rin peeked in with a fresh pot of coffee, eyebrow raised. "Boss, look on the bright side. At least they didn't call you 'Daddy of Debt.'"

Suho buried his face in his hands. "That's worse! Now they'll start using it."

By noon, his phone buzzed. Caller ID: United Nations Headquarters.

Suho nearly dropped the phone. "What is this, a prank? Next you'll tell me the Pope wants me to MC Sunday Mass."

He answered reluctantly.

"Mr. Kim," said a stern voice with a faint French accent, "the Secretary-General invites you to New York. Immediate summit. Your activities are… destabilizing global markets."

Suho blinked. "Destabilizing? I run a T-shirt factory!"

The voice cut sharp. "Sir, five nations just restructured their budgets to copy your 'spend to lose' doctrine. Argentina renamed their treasury 'Project Kim.'"

Click. The line went dead.

Suho slumped back in his chair. "Great. I'm the international mascot of bankruptcy."

Meanwhile, back at the Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory, the cult had officially gone corporate.

The dormitory walls were plastered with banners: "Glory to the Losses!"

The cafeteria menu had been renamed:

Braised Pork of Bankruptcy

Rice of Ruin

Soup of Strategic Spending

Wu Yu, in his mop-staff priest garb, now gave full sermons after lunch. "Brothers! Sisters! We do not fear red ink! We bathe in it! Profit is but a temptation—and Boss Kim is our shield!"

The workers banged their trays in rhythm, chanting, "Praise the Deficit! Praise the Deficit!"

Suho walked in mid-chant, froze, then spun on his heel. "Nope. Not today. Not dealing with this."

At the same time, Horny Princess Online had devolved into an arms race.

The [Haoshangtian] guild had dropped another five million into noble gear. Not to be outdone, [Lingyan Pavilion] retaliated with seven.

The battlefield looked less like a video game and more like a luxury car expo with extra fireballs.

Commentators were losing their minds:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the GDP of a small island nation has just been spent on magic cloaks!"

"We are watching fiscal policy evaporate in real time!"

"This isn't a guild war. This is Wall Street with swords!"

By dawn, system reports hit new insanity:Revenue: +50,000,000 in one night.

Suho spat out his morning coffee so hard it sprayed Cho Rin's skirt.

She froze. "Boss… did you just baptize me with caffeine?"

"Fifty million." Suho's hands trembled as he held the report. "That's not revenue. That's… national debt with wings!"

The system chimed smugly: Funds: +216,000,000.

They dragged him to New York the next week.

Suho shuffled into the UN General Assembly hall, still in his wrinkled suit from the flight. Rows of diplomats in headsets stared at him like he was a nuclear bomb wearing shoes.

The Secretary-General adjusted his mic. "Delegates, we present to you… Mr. Kim Suho. Known globally as the Saint of Spending."

The hall erupted in polite applause.

Suho waved weakly. "Please. Stop clapping. I'm just a guy who can't budget."

The US delegate leaned forward. "Mr. Kim, explain how your T-shirt company and online game are creating more liquidity than our stimulus package."

Suho shrugged helplessly. "I tried to go bankrupt. People wouldn't let me. They kept… buying things."

The Russian delegate slammed his fist. "It's a capitalist trick! Reverse psychology on a global scale!"

The French delegate sighed dreamily. "Non, it is art. His failure is performance."

The Chinese delegate muttered, "We should adopt this Kim Doctrine. Finally, a way to keep our citizens happy while losing money."

Suho raised both hands. "No doctrine! No plan! I'm not Sun Tzu—I'm just tired!"

The Secretary-General leaned forward. "Mr. Kim, you don't understand. We need you. The world needs you. To teach us… how to lose money without collapsing."

Suho stared, horrified. "I'm not a teacher! I barely graduated accounting with a 2.0 GPA!"

Applause thundered through the hall anyway. Translators whispered his name into a hundred languages. Outside, protestors and worshippers clashed with signs: "MAKE KIM OUR TREASURER" vs "STOP THE PROFIT MESSIAH."

That night, back in his hotel, Suho sat on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Cho Rin sat across from him with takeout fries, watching him unravel.

"They're going to make me a saint," he muttered. "Or a dictator. Or both."

Cho Rin chewed a fry thoughtfully. "Well… better a saint than a dictator. At least saints get nice statues."

Suho groaned and pulled a pillow over his face. "Why does everyone insist on making me historic when all I want is to be broke?"

The system dinged softly in his ear:

Settlement in 2 days. Funds: +250,000,000.

Suho screamed into the pillow.

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