Kim Suho hadn't slept for two days. Not because of jet lag, but because CNN, BBC, and even Animal Planet wouldn't stop running specials about him.

"The Kim Doctrine: Spend More, Earn More?"

"Saint of Bankruptcy: Can Poverty Save Capitalism?"

"How to Fail Like Kim: Ten Steps to Financial Glory."

He'd flipped channels in his hotel room until 4 a.m., only to land on a documentary about penguins. The narrator intoned solemnly, "Much like Kim Suho, the emperor penguin survives by appearing weak while secretly sustaining the colony."

Suho hurled the remote. "I am not a penguin!"

Cho Rin, curled up on the sofa with a pillow, yawned. "Boss, at this point you're more famous than BTS. Maybe just embrace it?"

Suho glared. "I don't want fame. I want debt! Debt is freedom!"

Back at the Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory, the cult had taken a terrifying new step.

The workers had split into factions.

The Deficit Disciples claimed true holiness came from losing as much money as possible on vending machines and dorm karaoke.

The Balance Sheet Brothers argued spending had to look strategic, or the "Great Boss" (Suho) would punish them with… raises.

And then there were the Cashflow Crusaders, who believed chanting "Praise the Overdraft" three times before bed would bless their bank accounts.

Wu Yu, still their mop-staff high priest, stood on a table in the cafeteria. "Brothers! Sisters! The path is clear. We must show our loyalty by eating three lunches each. Only then will the Great Boss know we are serious about losing."

The canteen aunties cheered. Finally, someone to finish all the braised pork they cooked.

By evening, workers were waddling back to dorms, stomachs bloated but spirits high.

Suho got a video clip of it. He nearly fainted. "They're… inflating themselves to lose money?"

Cho Rin sipped her iced coffee. "Look at the bright side. At least they're too full to unionize."

Meanwhile, Horny Princess Online had gone nuclear.

Haoshangtian and Lingyan Pavilion were no longer battling for honor. They were battling for economic dominance.

Chen Cong mortgaged three office buildings to fund another 20 million recharge.

Du Ziteng sold a family villa in Beijing to outfit his guild with dragon-slayer underwear.

The chat was chaos:

"Bro, my guild just spent our province's education budget."

"No problem, my grandma pawned her jade bracelets. We're winning this war!"

"Guys, my dad's a minister. Can I reroute road funds into gear?"

By midnight, the world boss wasn't even the target anymore. The two guilds were just hurling cash at each other like Wall Street toddlers in a sandbox.

Revenue report: +120,000,000 in 24 hours.

The fallout was instant.

The Nikkei dipped. The Dow trembled. The Bangladesh Stock Exchange crashed for half a day because two guild whales pulled their money out of real-world assets and dumped it into virtual cloaks.

Bloomberg's headline read: "Horny Princess Online Now Larger Than Denmark's GDP."

Suho slammed the report onto his desk. "I didn't invent a game. I invented an economic black hole!"

Cho Rin looked over. "Boss… technically that makes you a Nobel candidate."

Suho laughed manically, half-crazed from sleep deprivation. "If they give me a Nobel Prize, I'll throw it into the ocean just to spite them."

The United Nations wasn't done with him either.

They called an emergency follow-up summit. Suho was dragged back into the assembly hall, hair uncombed, tie crooked.

This time, the seats were packed with religious leaders. Priests, monks, imams, and rabbis—all staring at him like he was a prophet of finance.

The Pope himself leaned forward. "Mr. Kim, is it true that money only has meaning when it disappears?"

Suho flailed. "No! Money has meaning when it pays rent and buys ramen!"

The Dalai Lama smiled serenely. "Ah… suffering through profit. A new kind of enlightenment."

The hall nodded in agreement. Delegates began scribbling notes.

Suho looked at Cho Rin in panic. "They're canonizing me in real time."

She shrugged. "Could be worse. At least nobody's asking you to part seas."

That night, Suho sat on his hotel balcony, staring at the New York skyline. The system hummed mockingly in his ear:

Funds: +370,000,000. Settlement in 1 day.

He whispered to the city lights: "I just wanted to fail. Why am I the most successful failure in history?"

Cho Rin appeared with a paper bag of hot dogs. She handed him one. "Eat. You'll need energy. Tomorrow's the settlement. Either you win… or you accidentally buy Greenland."

Suho took a bite, tears streaming down his face.

Somewhere far away, Wu Yu and the Deficit Disciples chanted under the moonlight:

"Praise the Overdraft! Praise the Great Boss! Profit is sin!"

And the world kept spinning, drunk on his misery.

Kim Suho's phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Not with calls from suppliers. Not even from Cho Rin reminding him to drink water.

No. His notifications were now things like

The Federal Reserve follows you.

The European Union tagged you in a post: "We need advice."

Your mom liked a meme: Kim Suho, Saint of Debt.

Suho buried his face in the pillow. "I can't even get privacy in my nightmares."

Cho Rin barged in, holding her tablet like it was radioactive. "Boss, you should see this."

Onscreen: an article titled "Kim Suho's Ten Commandments of Capitalism."

Thou shalt not save.

Thou shalt not profit.

Thou shalt buy air conditioners in winter.

Thou shalt host employee buffets with lobster, even if thou art allergic. Thou shalt never hesitate to overspend, for hesitation breeds profit.

...

Suho grabbed the tablet and flung it across the room. "I never said any of that!"

Cho Rin shrugged. "The internet said you did. At this point, you could deny gravity, and people would start floating just to agree with you."

Back at the Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory, the cult had reached stage three insanity.

The Deficit Disciples marched through the dorm corridors at dawn, banging pots and chanting, "Debt is glory! Debt is life!"

Wu Yu, still clutching his mop staff, led the parade. "Brothers! Sisters! Today we prove our loyalty! Today we each buy three vending machine sodas and pour them directly down the drain!"

One worker hesitated. "But… isn't that wasteful?"

Wu Yu jabbed his mop like a spear. "Exactly. Waste is sacred!"

And so, rivers of Fanta and Coke flowed into the factory drains.

The janitors nearly had heart attacks. Suho, watching via security cam feed later, collapsed to his knees. "I'm going to get audited for… soda pollution."

Meanwhile, Horny Princess Online had turned into a digital Cold War.

Haoshangtian and Lingyan Pavilion weren't just competing anymore—they were stockpiling guild arsenals like nuclear weapons.

Chen Cong bought out three banks' worth of loans to arm his guild with glowing dragon-slayer warhorses.

Du Ziteng auctioned off his great-uncle's vineyard in France to buy limited-edition "Noble Robes of Bankruptcy +15."

World Chat was chaos:

"My guild mortgaged half a shopping mall for another 50 sets."

"Same, bro. Sold my Tesla for a healing staff."

"Does anyone know if kidneys sell well on eBay? Asking for the guild."

The servers groaned under the weight of all this lunacy. Meanwhile, revenue ticked up another +200,000,000 overnight.

By morning, national governments were freaking out.

Japan's finance minister wept live on TV: "Our young people are selling their cars for armor pixels! How can GDP compete with dragon-slayer boots?"

Germany summoned an emergency session of parliament. "This Horny Princess… it is draining our middle class faster than Oktoberfest."

Even the U.S. President tweeted:

"Kim Suho is either the savior or the destroyer of the global economy. Unsure which. #PrayForWallStreet."

Suho read the tweet, nearly choked on his coffee, and muttered, "Destroyer, dammit. That's the point."

Settlement was one day away. Suho knew he had to obliterate funds before the system calculated.

He stormed into the Steel Cup finance office like a man possessed.

"Cho Rin! Prepare the company card!"

"What for, Mr. Kim?"

"Everything. I don't care if it's imported goldfish tanks or solid diamond staplers. BUY. IT. ALL."

Hours later, invoices piled up:

50 massage chairs for the staff lounge.

A life-size bronze statue of Suho riding a t-shirt cannon.

A company yacht. For a factory located nowhere near the ocean.

10,000 silk ties embroidered with the words 'Poverty Wins.'

Cho Rin rubbed her temples. "Boss, this is… madness."

Suho slammed his fist on the desk. "This is salvation!"

And yet, the world wasn't done humiliating him.

The UN summoned him again. This time, the assembly hall looked like Comic-Con. Delegates had cosplayed as Horny Princess Online characters.

The French ambassador wore dragon-slayer boots. The Canadian delegate had antlers glued to her head.

"Mr. Kim," the Secretary-General said gravely. "We are here to beg. Please… release more noble gear. Our treasuries are ready."

Suho gawked. "Treasuries? You're… using taxpayer money?!"

The hall nodded solemnly.

One delegate shouted, "Take my pension!" Another screamed, "National debt means nothing if we can all be level 160!"

Suho turned to Cho Rin, horrified. "They've gone full MMO junkie."

She calmly adjusted her glasses. "Boss, maybe just sell Greenland while you're at it. Seems on brand."

That night, Suho sat on the roof of the Steel Cup dorms, staring at the stars.

Funds: +600,000,000. Settlement in 12 hours.

He whispered to the night sky, "Just once, I'd like to lose. Just once."

From below, the Deficit Disciples were chanting in unison:

"Glory to the Overdraft! Riches are sin!"

And the world… kept making him richer.

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