"Man, Mr. Kim's factory is still better," one whispered.

"Yeah, this feels like… punishment."

"Bro, this is like when you leave a girlfriend who treats you too well and end up dating someone who makes you pay for Wi-Fi."

Wu Yu just nodded grimly. Twenty days. Just twenty days.

Inside the conference room, Fen Su stood at the head of the table looking like a general who had just survived a war with spreadsheets.

"Everyone—thank you for your hard work these past two weeks!" He said, his voice cracking slightly from too much instant coffee.

The devs stared back at him with eye bags so deep they could store luggage.

It turned out, after Suho's "genius plan" (read: complete accident), the team had gone full martyr mode. They'd been sneaking home to work overtime voluntarily. Voluntarily.

Why? Because, as one team leader put it, "Mr. Kim treats us like humans. That's rare."

Fen Su almost teared up. "Mr. Kim changed the rules, and you all… chose to work harder. That's… beautiful."

Zhao Wenbo raised a hand. "Yeah, but if he finds out we worked overtime, he's going to blame you, Director Fang."

"WHAT?!" Fen Su's voice cracked again. "I never told you to—"

All three team leaders smiled in eerie unison. "Don't worry, Director Fang. We understand overtime."

Fen Su froze. "…What does that mean?"

They just kept smiling.

Still, results spoke louder than his panic. In just two weeks:

Replacement gear finished and released.

Early-level XP was buffed, making new and returning players level like speedrunners on caffeine.

A brand-new class—the Swordsman—was added. High attack, high speed, defense like wet paper. Basically, the Dark Souls choice for masochists.

A raid boss was introduced, so tough it required full teams. Drop rates were juiced enough to keep grinders foaming at the mouth.

Players were thrilled. Surveys came back positive. The forums hadn't called for anyone's execution in a week.

The conference room erupted into applause when Fen Su announced, "No more secret overtime! We've stabilized Horny Princess Online!"

Everyone clapped. Some clapped like they were free men at last.

Fen Su finished strong: "Director Wei and I will treat everyone to dinner tonight. Free food—on us!"

Cheers, laughter, relief. Someone whispered, "Better be more than noodles."

When the room cleared, only Fen Su, Jin Wu, and Zhao Wenbo remained.

Fen Su cleared his throat. "Now that the basics are done, I'll reassign half the team to new projects. Director Wei, Manager Zhao—you two handle Horny Princess Online."

Jin Wu frowned. "I don't even like games. I'm still learning how to not die in the tutorial."

Zhao Wenbo jumped in. "Don't be modest. You suggested lowering drop rates, and it saved the game. That was critical."

Jin Wu sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. But if players start calling me 'Patch Notes Jesus,' I quit."

Fen Su turned serious. "Should we update Mr. Kim?"

Jin Wu thought for a moment. "Not yet. If he hears the game is profitable again, he'll uninstall his entire life. Let's wait until profits are stable, then present it as good news. No sudden moves."

The others nodded. Everyone silently agreed: Suho could not know. Not yet.

Back at the training dorms, Wu Yu rolled onto his thin mattress, groaning.

One bunkmate whispered, "I miss the factory dorm. I miss the first time the air conditioner didn't sound like it wanted to kill me."

Another sighed, "I miss the first cafeteria meal when no one judged me for taking three trays."

Wu Yu buried his face in the pillow. I miss Mr. Kim on literally any day.

And somewhere, back at Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory, Suho sneezed. Again. At Horny Princess Interactive, Jin Wu strolled through the studio floor like a teacher trying to catch students napping. He spotted one developer half-slumped over his monitor, fingers twitching on the keyboard as if he were coding in his dreams.

Jin Wu muttered to himself, "Yep… that's the look of a man who's been sprinting overtime marathons while pretending it's voluntary."

He scanned the room. Everyone was "working," sure—clicking, typing, dragging windows—but the vibe was less startup energy and more post-apocalypse survivors waiting for canned beans.

He sighed. Loudly. The kind of sigh that wanted an audience.

The devs didn't even flinch. They were too tired to care.

Mr. Kim needs to know about this, Jin Wu thought. These people bled their free time to revive Horny Princess Online. And now? They're walking zombies. Heroes, but zombies. Hero-zombies. That should be a movie.

He adjusted his glasses, rehearsing in his head how he'd tell Suho without sounding like he was tattling.

Meanwhile, in a university dorm, the sound of keyboards clacked like machine gun fire.

"Damn it, hold aggro! The boss is chewing my face off!"

"Do you even know how to play Swordsman? I've seen toddlers dodge better!"

"I'm dead. Nanny, where's my heel?!"

Duan Mingyuan yanked his headphones off and groaned. "This boss's HP bar is a war crime. We're not beating it."

"Not true," another roommate snapped. "It's Huzi's fault. Man clicks like he's filing taxes."

"Exactly," the third roommate chimed in. "Look at us—we've been single for twenty years. Our hand speed is legendary. Smooth as butter."

They all smirked at Huzi, who just leaned back in his chair with smug grace.

"You clowns keep mocking me? Fine. I was going to let my girlfriend introduce her roommate to one of you, but forget it."

Instant panic.

"Brother Hu! We were joking!"

"Hu-ge, you're a god among men!"

"Your swordsman is so good, I'll duel anyone who disrespects it!"

Huzi folded his arms, enjoying the backpedal. "Mm. Thought so."

Then one of them blurted, "So, uh… sister-in-law and her roommate… maybe dinner sometime?"

Huzi raised an eyebrow. "I'll ask. But they're stressed about internships. Their clothing design got rejected by some big-name company, and they're scrambling to find a new one."

That got Duan Mingyuan thinking. "What if you bring them into Horny Princess Online? They play with us; we've got a full squad. Eight people—maybe we can finally kill that damn boss."

Huzi nodded slowly. "I'll ask… but don't hold your breath."

"Fair," Duan sighed, then perked up. "Still… this game's actually fun now. No pay-to-win, good drops, and sometimes you hit the jackpot selling gear."

The clacking resumed, louder than before.

Back at Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory, the business department was… bleak.

Luo Yuan sat in his chair, staring at his empty sales report like it had personally betrayed him.

In the two weeks since Wu Yu and Cai Jing left for training, Luo Yuan had landed exactly one order. A measly 100,000 dollars.

He had been pounding pavement, running to clients, and begging for contracts. Meanwhile, his seniors used to stroll into the office, smile once, and walk out with signatures.

He rubbed his temples. What am I doing wrong? Am I cursed? Did I offend the god of business?

Self-doubt wrapped around him like a weighted blanket. He sighed. Loudly. No one applauded.

In the boss's office, Kim Suho leaned back in his chair like a king with nothing left to conquer. Cho Rin slid in with a steaming cup.

"Mr. Kim, your coffee."

He accepted it with exaggerated grace. "Ah, nectar of the gods."

The past two weeks had been heaven. No Wu Yu barging in with new contracts. No Cai Jing waving papers like a used-car salesman. Only one order had come in—from poor, desperate Luo Yuan—and Suho had easily redirected that to Lee Wonho for fabric purchases.

"This," Suho muttered to himself, "is what peace feels like."

Boredom, however, crept in. He opened his phone, scrolling through short video apps like a man looking for meaning in memes.

"Thanks to Brother Feng for the private jet gift! Mwah!"

"Thanks to Brother Hu for the Lamborghini!"

Suho's eye twitched. "I have never hated the word 'brother' more."

His wallet whimpered when he checked his balance. Post-sports-meet prizes had padded him into millionaire status, but streamer donations were a black hole. Ten thousand dollars here, ten thousand there—and still he couldn't keep up with the whales.

He was about to close the app when a thumbnail caught his eye:

"Hello, everyone. I'm Zhou Nan, your friendly neighborhood game blogger. Today, I want to talk about a classic game."

Suho leaned forward. A game review. Perfect. He couldn't touch Horny Princess Online anymore—too risky—but maybe there was another digital money pit worth falling into.

The blogger's voice dripped with drama.

"This game was once wildly popular. But after a string of updates turned it into a pay-to-win hellscape, players fled in droves. It became a ghost town, fading into obscurity."

Suho smirked. "Yeah, sounds familiar."

Zhou Nan leaned closer to the camera. "I'm sure you've guessed it already. The game is…"

"That's Horny Princess Online," the blogger on screen announced dramatically.

Kim Suho nearly spat out his coffee. Horny Princess?

He leaned toward the screen like it had just cursed at him. "Wait, what? Did this clown just recommend that train wreck?"

The blogger, blissfully unaware, kept going:

"Some people might say this game is dead; nobody plays it anymore—"

"Yeah," Suho muttered. "That would be me. I said that. Repeatedly."

The blogger soldiered on, smiling way too much. "But! Recently, it's had some major changes. All equipment is now obtainable for free; just farm monsters!"

Suho rubbed his temples. "Great, they turned my expensive failure into a soup kitchen."

"Best of all," the blogger continued, "there's a Dragon-Slaying set—super rare, super valuable. Studios are paying over 10,000 dollars for just one piece!"

Suho froze. Ten… thousand?

Onscreen, the blogger grinned like Santa Claus on payday. "Of course, drop rates are low. One guy farmed a month straight and still didn't get a single piece!"

The comments section exploded on the side of the video.

User1: "The game's trash; don't play it. I'm farming gear for myself; don't steal my hustle."

User2: "Tried it, rolled swordsman, skills are SICK. But my fingers cramped. Warning: not for people with arthritis."

User3: "Confirmed. My roommate dropped a piece, which instantly sold for 15,000 dollars. He's buying us hotpot tonight."

User4: "Blogger's an idiot. This game sucks. Unsubscribed."

Suho scrolled, his mood souring by the second. Most of the comments weren't hate—they were excited.

He slumped back in his chair. "Fantastic. The one game I've been trying to bury is suddenly making a comeback… again."

He glanced at the settlement timer in his system window. Less than ten days. His carefully orchestrated "financial disaster" was supposed to be smooth sailing. Now? Horny Princess was being reborn like a phoenix with a side hustle.

Inside, he screamed. What did Fen Su and Jin Wu do? Who gave them permission to Frankenstein my corpse of a game?

Suho reached for his phone, thumb hovering over Fen Su's number. He pictured himself yelling, 'Why is there a swordsman class? Why is there a world boss? Who asked for teamwork?!'

But then he hesitated. Calling now would just tip them off that he was paying attention.

He slid the phone back into his pocket, jaw tight.

Cho Rin peeked in, holding a folder. "Mr. Kim, are you alright? You look like someone told you the factory got repossessed."

Suho shot her a haunted look. "Get Brother Son. Tell him to warm up the van. We're going to Horny Princess Interactive."

He stood, straightened his jacket, and muttered like a man about to confront the world's worst group project.

"I need to see what these lunatics are doing… with my own eyes."

Inside Horny Princess Interactive, the air was thick with tension.

Kim Suho sat back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He stared at Fen Su, Jin Wu, and Zhao Wenbo one by one like he was auditioning them for a crime lineup.

Not a word from him. Just silent, judgmental staring.

The three men stood stiff as boards. Fen Su wiped his forehead like he'd just run a marathon. Zhao Wenbo tried not to yawn. Jin Wu? He looked like he was preparing a legal defense in his head.

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