Zhao Bowen raised his hand. "That… we can finally get ergonomic chairs?"

"No!" Fen Su thundered. "It means Mr. Kim is ten steps ahead of us. The noble gear at $100,000 each? A metaphor for class struggle. The free grindable items? A metaphor for perseverance. This game isn't just entertainment—it's sociology."

The staff clapped like he'd just announced free lunch. Someone yelled, "All hail Mr. Kim!"

Fen Su pressed a hand over his chest, eyes misty. "We must not let our prophet down. Tonight, overtime is voluntary."

Everyone groaned but still nodded. They'd stopped questioning how their boss—who hadn't logged in once—was somehow a legend.

Back in the industrial park, Suho marched Cho Rin straight into Park Lee Mau's office like a general invading enemy territory.

"Manager Park!" he barked, startling the poor man mid-sip of tea. "Show me the biggest, emptiest, most financially ruinous workshop you've got. And don't hold back on the rent—I want it expensive enough to make my accountant faint."

Park Lee Mau blinked. "Mr. Kim, are you… sure? Most people negotiate lower rent."

Suho waved dramatically. "Negotiation is for cowards. I embrace the abyss!"

Cho Rin scribbled again, muttering under her breath. "Abyss… rent… fainting accountant…"

Park Lee Mau led them outside and pointed at the hulking two-story warehouse. Dust shimmered in the sunlight like it was trying to advertise despair.

"This one's two thousand square meters. Used to be a furniture factory until, well, poor management."

"Poor management," Suho whispered reverently, almost tearing up. "My spirit animal."

He marched inside, ran his hand along the wall like he was caressing a lost lover, and declared, "Perfect. I'll sign immediately. No inspections. No bargaining. Just give me a pen and a receipt that makes my wallet cry."

Park Lee Mau stared. "You… really want it that badly?"

"Yes. The more useless space, the better."

Cho Rin whispered to herself, "If there's a God, please let this building have termites."

HornyPrincess's wilderness was chaos incarnate. [Haoshangtian] and [Lingyan Pavilion] clashed again, fireballs and swords colliding like fireworks. Spectators swarmed, and livestream chats exploded:

"Prince Teng is back with a vengeance!"

"Tuhao Brother recharged again?!"

"This isn't a game anymore; it's Wall Street PvP!"

Chen Cong roared in guild chat: "Another half million dollars—fight like your credit scores depend on it!"

Du Ziteng typed back coolly: "Cute. I already spent a million. Try harder."

The world boss respawned mid-battle, and both guilds turned on it like hyenas on a steak. Servers lagged, streamers screamed, and someone swore they saw a player spend $10,000 just to respawn faster.

By morning, the game's revenue sheet glowed with another +1,000,000 dollars.

Cho Rin walked into Suho's office the next day holding the report like it was radioactive. "Mr. Kim… another million."

Suho's pen snapped in half. Ink sprayed across the desk. "Another WHAT?!"

"Million."

He staggered to his chair, collapsing like a man twice his age. "At this rate, Horny Princess Interactive will be richer than Apple. I wanted a sinkhole, not a volcano of cash!"

Cho Rin gently placed tissues on the desk. "Should I… schedule you a therapy session?"

"No. Schedule me a bulldozer. We're breaking ground on the new workshop tomorrow."

She muttered as she left, "At this point, I don't know if you're running a company or auditioning for a sitcom about bankruptcy."

The next morning, the industrial park echoed with the sound of drills, hammers, and one very distressed CEO.

Kim Suho stood at the edge of the construction site, hands on his hips, watching as workers started measuring, hauling, and tearing down walls like they were auditioning for a demolition derby.

"This," Suho declared to Cho Rin, "is how you lose money with dignity."

Cho Rin shaded her eyes from the morning sun, staring at the half-demolished factory. "Mr. Kim, forgive me for asking, but… dignity? Where? All I see are bills."

"Exactly." Suho's grin was manic. "Bills are dignity. A man is only as noble as the size of his financial disaster."

The foreman, a burly guy with a cigarette dangling from his lips, shuffled over with a clipboard. "Boss, quick question. Are you sure you want air conditioning installed on both floors?"

"Yes," Suho said immediately.

"Even though it's autumn?"

"Yes."

"Even though half this place will probably never be used?"

Suho slammed a hand on the clipboard. "Yes! I want the kind of air conditioning that makes penguins shiver. If my employees aren't wearing sweaters indoors by summer, then I've failed as a leader."

The foreman blinked. "You're… a strange man."

Cho Rin scribbled in her notebook: Mr. Kim's Life Goals #42: bankrupt via HVAC.

Inside Horny Princess Interactive, Fen Su gathered the dev team for another emergency meeting. The whiteboard now had "+2,000,000" written on it with a giant smiley face.

"My comrades," Fen Su said, pacing like a motivational speaker who'd inhaled too much caffeine, "our prophet has done it again."

Zhao Bowen raised his hand timidly. "Uh, Brother Fen, are we sure Mr. Kim… knows about this?"

Fen Su smacked the whiteboard marker on the table like a gavel. "Of course he knows! He planned it. Every dollar is part of his grand scheme. Look at the noble gear: one hundred thousand dollars each, balanced perfectly with grindable alternatives. Who else could design such poetry?!"

Another employee whispered, "I heard he doesn't even play games."

Fen Su spun on his heel, eyes blazing. "That's because he doesn't need to. Mr. Kim plays life itself."

The room fell silent, half-inspired, half-concerned. Zhao Bowen just wrote "Buy ergonomic chairs?" in tiny letters in the corner of the board.

In the Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory office, Suho leaned back in his chair, watching dust motes dance in the sunlight. His head pounded.

"Two million in profit," he muttered. "If this keeps up, I'll be Forbes' Man of the Year before I manage to lose a cent."

Cho Rin peeked in with a folder. "Sir, the new workshop blueprint arrived."

He groaned. "Good. Please tell me it's extravagant."

She flipped open the folder. "Two floors, two thousand square meters. Each floor has bathrooms, showers, AC, and a staff lounge. Plus a cafeteria extension with capacity for two hundred workers at once."

Suho perked up. "Two hundred? Too small. Double it. I want a cafeteria so large it feels like a stadium. People should get lost between the rice counter and the soup station."

Cho Rin pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mr. Kim, why are you so obsessed with cafeterias?"

"Because food is the enemy of profit. Free meals will eat me alive." He slapped the table. "Three dishes per worker. Meat every day. If I don't hear complaints about cholesterol within a month, I'll consider this a failure."

Cho Rin wrote: Mr. Kim's Doom Plan: Death by meat budget.

While Suho plotted his culinary downfall, Horny Princess Online was staging its own apocalypse.

The guild war between [Haoshangtian] and [Lingyan Pavilion] had reached legendary proportions. Streams titled "Millionaire Mayhem" topped charts. Players who couldn't afford to fight showed up just to spectate.

Chen Cong roared in voice chat, "Brothers, I don't care if you sell your grandma's jewelry. Spend! Spend until the servers melt!"

Du Ziteng, calm as a monk in chaos, replied, "Pathetic. I recharged another million this morning. Money is my sword."

The world announcement scrolled nonstop:

[Haoshangtian] has slain the Black-Armored Turtle!

[Lingyan Pavilion] has slain the Blood-Fanged Dragon!

[World Boss: Shadow Leviathan has spawned!]

Both guilds raced to the new boss like Wall Street brokers on Black Friday.

And by dawn? Another $1,000,000 appeared on Horny Princess Interactive's revenue sheet.

Cho Rin didn't even bother knocking this time. She barged in, waving the report. "Mr. Kim! Another million!"

Suho let out a sound that was part scream, part wheeze, and part dying walrus. He slid out of his chair and lay flat on the floor.

"Why," he whispered at the ceiling, "does the world insist on making me rich? I wanted to be a beautiful disaster, not a financial role model."

Cho Rin crouched down. "Mr. Kim, do you want water? Or maybe a therapist? Or a shovel for your grave plan?"

"None of the above," Suho said weakly. He sat up, eyes wild. "We double the workshop budget. More machines. More workers. More… expenses."

Cho Rin raised an eyebrow. "And when the board asks why?"

Suho grinned. "Simple. Tell them I was possessed by the spirit of capitalism's opposite."

Perfect. Let's dive straight into Chapter 5. I'll keep it long, human-like, layered with humor, and dripping with the awkward, satirical tone we've been carving out.

The clamor of hammers, drills, and shouting workers had already turned Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory into something resembling a half-built theme park. If Disney World was "the happiest place on earth," Suho was dead set on making Steel Cup "the most financially irresponsible place on earth."

Kim Suho stood on a pile of cement bags like a general surveying the battlefield. His arms were crossed, his tie was loose, and his face wore that deadly combination of exhaustion and smug determination.

"Listen up!" he shouted to the foreman and the twenty or so laborers waiting below. "From today forward, we operate on three principles: extravagance, excess, and… extravagance again. If you don't feel like we're wasting money, you're not doing your jobs."

The foreman scratched his head. "Boss, you're saying… you want us to… overbuild?"

"Yes." Suho pointed dramatically at the skeletal outline of the new cafeteria. "That mess hall should be so large that when a worker gets up for seconds, he returns to find his children have graduated college. I want people getting lost on their way to the soup counter. Confused. Starving. Wondering if they should leave breadcrumb trails."

The workers exchanged looks. One muttered, "This guy's insane."

But Suho wasn't finished. "And don't forget the chairs. No cheap plastic stools. I want velvet cushions, imported if possible. Dining should feel like Versailles, not a roadside diner."

Cho Rin, dutifully scribbling in her notepad, muttered under her breath, "Velvet chairs… in a factory cafeteria. Fantastic. Can't wait until spilled soup turns this place into a museum of stains."

By noon, Suho had summoned the catering contractor. A plump, cheerful man in a grease-stained apron waddled into the half-finished cafeteria with a menu booklet thicker than a phone directory.

"Mr. Kim, I hear you want to upgrade your meal plan?"

"Upgrade?" Suho slammed his palm on the table. "No. I want culinary bankruptcy. Three dishes, one soup, and meat every day. Braised pork, fried chicken, and beef stir-fry. If a worker leaves the table without chest pain, we've failed."

The contractor blinked. "Sir, do you understand how much that will cost?"

"Good."

The man chuckled nervously. "Other factories survive on cabbage and pickles."

Suho leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Cabbage and pickles are the enemy of my destiny. This factory will drown in cholesterol if it kills me."

Cho Rin coughed politely. "Sir, it will kill you. You're the one who eats here too."

Suho waved her off. "A small price for glory."

The contractor, already seeing dollar signs, nodded eagerly. "Very well. Meat every day, soup richer than a stock market boom, and snacks twice a week."

"Snacks?" Suho asked, intrigued.

"Yes. Dumplings, steamed buns, maybe even cake."

Suho's jaw dropped. "Cake? In a factory? That's… beautiful." He wiped an imaginary tear. "Fine. Make it cake. Big ones. Frosting thick enough to patch drywall."

While Suho planned the most artery-clogging cafeteria in history, the guild war in Horny Princess Online spiraled further out of control.

[Haoshangtian] and [Lingyan Pavilion] had stopped fighting monsters. Now, they were fighting each other directly in the wilds—hundreds of players clashing in a spectacular explosion of fireballs, swords, and insults typed in all caps.

"NOOBS, YOUR GUILD IS TRASH."

"CRY HARDER, RICH BOY."

"WHO NEEDS SKILL WHEN I HAVE A VISA?"

Du Ziteng, seated in his plush suite, calmly recharged another $500,000 like he was buying groceries.

Across the city, Chen Cong was sweating bullets, reloading his bank account as if the fate of humanity depended on it. His wife popped her head into the room. "Honey, why is the mortgage account empty?"

"Guild pride," he answered solemnly, as if that explained everything.

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