Kim Suho leaned back in the cracked office chair across from Park Lee Mau, swirling the untouched tea like it was a glass of expensive whiskey. The bitter truth was, he didn't even like tea—but he knew managers loved pouring it. "Keep up appearances," as he called it.

"Poor management. Lost too much money. Couldn't keep the workshop," Park Lee Mau was saying, his tone equal parts smug and casual.

Suho's eyes lit up like he'd just spotted a clearance sale. Poor management? Losing money? He wanted to jump over the desk, grab Maode by the collar, and scream, "Teach me your ways!"

Instead, he nodded gravely, his face carved into the perfect mask of businesslike concern. "Ah, yes. Very tragic." His inner monologue, however, was pure envy:Lucky bastard. All I get are employees making surprise profits behind my back.

Park Lee Mau led him through the two-story warehouse. Dust floated in the beams of light like it was auditioning for a documentary on factory nostalgia.

"This place is a full 2,000 square meters," Maode explained proudly. "Right on the path to your canteen too. Convenient for the workers."

Convenient. That word hit Suho like a punch to the gut. Convenient meant employees might actually enjoy themselves. Enjoying themselves meant higher morale. Higher morale meant profits.

He coughed into his fist. "Yes, yes… too convenient, really. Almost suspiciously convenient."

Cho Rin, standing behind him with her notepad, tilted her head. She'd long since given up trying to decode Suho's logic. He could talk about floor tiling like it was a military campaign.

Suho tapped the wall with fake confidence. "This will do. Let's sign."

Park Lee Mau blinked. He hadn't even pitched half his sales spiel yet. Usually landlords had to beg tenants to take these oversized factories. But here was Kim Suho, nodding like he'd just found the last piece of cake at a buffet.

"Mr. Kim, it's settled? Just like that?"

"Mm." Suho brushed imaginary dust off his suit. "Why waste time pretending to hesitate? Time is money, after all."

Inside, his brain was screaming, "Perfect!" I'll pay a huge deposit right before system settlement and nuke my funds in one go. A money sink disguised as leadership.

As they were leaving, Park Lee Mau slapped his forehead theatrically. "Ah, one more thing, Mr. Kim. Good news!"

Suho's stomach dropped. That phrase was cursed. Anytime someone said "good news," it meant another invisible profit ambush.

"What… news?" he asked cautiously, narrowing his eyes like a cat facing a cucumber.

"Your Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory did great with our last batch of uniforms. My boss loved them. Now he wants 2,000 autumn work clothes. Consider it already yours!"

Suho's face twitched. Yours? That word felt like a death sentence. He pictured warehouses stacked with unsellable branded clothing, a dream come true. But no—this was an actual order. Money inbound.

He forced a polite smile. "Ah… Manager Li. Unfortunately, tragic news. Our humble factory is no longer walking the crowdsourcing path. We are pivoting—yes, pivoting—into self-production and brand creation. Revolutionary, really. Orders? Ancient history."

Park Lee Mau looked shocked, then sighed. "A pity. I had hoped to build closer ties. Still… congratulations, Mr. Kim. May your brand rise to glory."

He even clasped his fist like they were at a martial arts tournament. Suho returned the gesture, nearly gagging at the word "glory."

That night, Horny Princess Online lit up like Vegas on free vodka night. Two rival guilds—[Haoshangtian] and [Lingyan Pavilion]—clashed in the wilderness.

Chen Cong sneered at his keyboard. "Eight dragon-slayer pieces. That's enough to crush you."

Du Ziteng typed back with the smug energy of a man reloading his credit card. "Eight? Cute. I just pulled ten sets of $100,000 noble gear. Can you compete?"

Spectators flooded the server. Fireballs, swords, and egos collided in an explosion of pixels. It wasn't just a fight—it was a luxury fashion show disguised as a battle.

By morning, the system reports were in: Tianlong had cleared a million dollars in revenue overnight.

In Horny Princess Interactive's office, Zhao Bowen burst in like he'd just won the lottery. "Brother Fang! Good news!"

Fen Su adjusted his glasses. "What good thing makes you so excited?"

"The guild war. Both leaders charged half a million each. Our single-day revenue hit one million!"

Fen Su froze. Then he whispered with awe, "So… this was Mr. Kim's plan all along. To create noble gear as a gateway for the rich, but balance it with free grinding for the poor. Life itself, reflected in a game. He is… a genius."

Meanwhile, across town, Kim Suho sat slumped in his chair at Steel Cup, staring at the same report.

His inner voice: Mom sells batches. I designed that noble gear as a joke! Who in their right mind spends a million in one night?!

Cho Rin peeked in with coffee. "Everything alright, Mr. Kim?"

Suho slammed the report onto the desk. "Alright? The game just printed more profit than my entire business department combined. Do I look alright?"

She blinked. "…Should I put the coffee down… or run?"

"Both."

Suho buried his face in his hands. "Why does everyone insist on making me rich?"

Somewhere in the distance, the system whispered smugly: Funds: +1,000,000.

Kim Suho sat hunched over his desk at Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory, the one leg of his office chair wobbling like it was plotting his assassination. The game report lay spread open, mocking him with its glowing numbers: +1,000,000 dollars.

He dragged a hand down his face. "Fantastic. My game just out-earned Wall Street. All I ever wanted was bankruptcy, but nooo—the universe insists I become Jeff Bezos with worse hair."

Cho Rin peeked in, coffee cup trembling in her hand like she was approaching a tiger. "Mr. Kim, should I… congratulate you? Or call an ambulance?"

"Neither. Just pour that coffee on my grave when I collapse." He pushed the report away as if distance might erase reality.

She hovered in the doorway. "You're… really upset about the million?"

"Upset? Cho Rin, if making money were a crime, I'd be serving five consecutive life sentences right now. My one true dream—financial ruin—keeps slipping through my fingers like an ex who moved to Canada."

In the glass-walled meeting room, Fen Su adjusted his tie like he was preparing to give a TED Talk. Zhao Bowen sprinted in, holding the revenue sheet aloft like Moses with the stone tablets.

"Brother Fen! We've done it! One million in a single night!"

The entire office buzzed with applause, designers high-fiving like they'd just cured cancer. Fen Su, however, nodded with solemn dignity.

"Yes… of course. This was all Mr. Kim's plan. To give the nobles a golden gate and the common players a dirt path beside it. A game that mirrors life itself—unfair but balanced. He is… a prophet."

The staff clapped harder. Somebody actually shouted, "Long live Mr. Kim!" like they were pledging allegiance to a dictator who handed out snack stipends.

Fen Su looked out the window, imagining Kim Suho standing tall in a storm, cape fluttering—when in reality, Suho was currently face-down on his desk muttering, "Mom sells batches, Mom sells batches," like a broken record.

Back at Steel Cup, Suho groaned. "If the game keeps printing money like this, the system will fail my settlement. I need a money sink. A bottomless pit. A… workshop expansion."

Cho Rin scribbled dutifully on her notepad, though she was 90% sure he was just venting. "So… another building?"

"Yes. Something enormous. Something wasteful. Two thousand square meters, minimum. With air conditioning powerful enough to cool the Arctic. And I'll hire workers by the hundreds. They'll eat me alive in wages."

She blinked. "That… sounds like a solid growth plan."

"Growth? No, Cho Rin. It's called sabotage." He leaned forward dramatically. "I am not a businessman. I am a demolition artist. My canvas is money. My masterpiece—debt."

The silence stretched. Then Cho Rin coughed into her hand. "Should I… put that on the company vision statement?"

"God, no. HR would hang me."

In Tianlong, the aftermath of the guild war spread like wildfire. Forums exploded, streams replayed the battle with dramatic soundtracks, and new players flooded in like moths to a neon light.

Chen Cong strutted around in his dragon-slayer gear, posting screenshots like a proud dad. Meanwhile, Du Ziteng dropped another 500,000 dollars like it was loose change in his couch cushions.

The world boss respawn timer ticked, and every guild prepared for round two.

Back in his office, Suho smacked his forehead against the desk. "Perfect. Now the game's a global sensation. Why do I feel like I accidentally invented crack cocaine?"

Cho Rin quietly slid the coffee closer to him. "At least your employees are happy?"

He groaned louder. "That's the problem! Happy employees mean profits. Profits mean settlement failure. Settlement failure means… me, crying in the shower."

Kim Suho's forehead rested against the cool surface of his desk like he was hoping unconsciousness would erase a million-dollar problem.

"Mr. Kim?" Cho Rin whispered like she was afraid to wake a sleeping bear. "You've been… uh… face-planting the table for twenty minutes. Should I call a doctor? Or a carpenter?"

Suho groaned into the wood. "Neither. Call an undertaker. Tell him to dig me a grave with extra room for my financial dreams."

Cho Rin scribbled that down, unsure if it was an actual instruction. She was starting a secret notebook titled Mr. Kim's Despair Poetry.

He shot upright suddenly, eyes bloodshot but burning with determination. "I've figured it out."

Cho Rin flinched. "Figured what out? Your tax returns? How to boil water without burning it?"

Suho slammed his fist onto the game report. "If the game keeps spitting out millions, I'll drown it in a deeper hole. A hole so wide it makes the Grand Canyon look like a pothole. Cho Rin, we're expanding the workshop."

Her jaw dropped. "Expanding? You mean… like a second building?"

"No. Bigger. Grand. Monstrous. A workshop so oversized that people will ask, 'Why does a T-shirt company need a small airport?' and I'll say, 'Because debt is beautiful.'"

Cho Rin blinked. "You're calling this… sabotage?"

"Yes! Brilliant sabotage. The kind of sabotage future CEOs will study in business school under "What Not To Do." He leapt from his chair, pacing the office like a mad scientist. "Two thousand square meters. Hundreds of employees. Wages, meals, benefits—I'll bleed money faster than Vegas tourists at a blackjack table."

Meanwhile, at Horny Princess Interactive, the staff still buzzed like they'd discovered the cure for boredom. Fen Su stood in front of a whiteboard where someone had doodled "1,000,000 DOLLARS" in red marker surrounded by hearts.

"Comrades," he said, steepling his fingers. "Do you understand what this means?"

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