By midnight, the world announcement pinged again and again:

[Lingyan Pavilion] has captured the Leviathan's Pearl!

[Haoshangtian] retaliates and kills the Crystal Hydra!

[World Event: Eternal Phoenix awakens!]

Streams hit record highs. Casual players stopped grinding entirely just to watch the spectacle. Comment sections were flooded:

"These guys are literally burning houses to win pixels."

"I'd sell my cousin to be in one of these guilds."

"Imagine explaining to your accountant why you recharged a million for a turtle boss."

Horny Princess Interactive's servers groaned under the weight of battle and money alike.

Back at Horny Princess Interactive, the dev floor looked like a church. Fen Su stood at the front, gesturing passionately at another chart.

"Comrades, look!" He pointed at the graph showing the sudden spike to three million in revenue. "This is not luck. This is Mr. Kim's divine hand at work!"

Zhao Bowen hesitated. "Or… it's just two guild leaders being insane?"

Fen Su whirled on him. "Silence, heretic! Mr. Kim created the system. He foresaw this chaos. He designed noble gear not as equipment, but as a mirror of society. Wealth vs. labor. Privilege vs. grind. Life itself!"

The room erupted in applause, though most of it was nervous.

Someone whispered, "Should we ask Mr. Kim for more direction?"

"No!" Fen Su barked. "His silence is part of the design. We must interpret his vision ourselves."

While Fen Su declared Suho a prophet, the man himself was slumped over his desk back at Steel Cup, forehead pressed to a report.

"Three million…" he muttered. "In what world is this normal? I'm trying to go bankrupt, and these lunatics are making me rich faster than Amazon."

Cho Rin entered with two cups of coffee. She slid one toward him. "You look like you aged ten years overnight."

"I have," Suho groaned. "And if this keeps up, I'll age into a skeleton before I see red numbers."

She sipped her coffee, unfazed. "So what's your next move?"

Suho sat up, eyes gleaming with madness. "Simple. We triple the workshop staff. Hire every unemployed person in a five-mile radius. Feed them meat, cake, and velvet chair seating until the system collapses under wage expenses."

Cho Rin blinked slowly. "You're the only CEO I've ever met who hires more people as a strategy to lose money."

"Exactly," Suho said, pounding the desk. "This is my genius."

Kim Suho slammed his fist onto the table so hard the stapler bounced. "Triple the staff! I don't care if they know how to sew, dance, or juggle flaming torches. If they can breathe, they're hired."

Cho Rin lowered her notepad, blinking slowly. "So… the hiring requirement is… respiration?"

"Yes," Suho declared. "Optional bonus points for having ten fingers, but we're flexible."

The next day, the gates of the Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory looked less like an industrial workplace and more like a Black Friday sale. Word had spread across the district: Mr. Kim was hiring. Generously. Desperately. Stupidly.

Lines curled around the block—young men in knockoff sneakers, grandmas with sewing kits, and even a guy who claimed his only skill was "loud whistling."

Suho strutted in front of the crowd with a megaphone. "Welcome, welcome! No resumes, no interviews, no tests! If you can stand upright for more than five seconds, congratulations—you're management material!"

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Cho Rin muttered, "At this rate, he's going to accidentally solve unemployment."

Suho raised his megaphone again. "Oh, and every new hire gets free lunch. Meat. Daily. And not just a little meat—you'll leave the cafeteria sweating animal fat."

Someone in the crowd yelled, "Do you need grandmas?"

"Yes!" Suho pointed dramatically. "Especially grandmas. Nothing burns funds faster than generous pensions and medical leave!"

The HR desk collapsed under the stampede of applicants. Within hours, Steel Cup had tripled its workforce.

By the next week, the new cafeteria was open. It was so large it required floor maps like an airport terminal. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Velvet chairs lined endless rows of mahogany tables. A hired pianist sat in the corner, playing dinner music for workers eating their fifteenth helping of braised pork.

"Boss," the foreman whispered nervously, "the workers… they're eating too much. We're going through fifty pigs a day."

"Good," Suho said, sipping his soup like a Roman emperor. "Let them gorge. Let them bankrupt me one pork belly at a time."

The pianist missed a note. Suho slammed his spoon. "Keep playing! If the mood isn't luxurious, how can the workers digest properly?"

That night, Cho Rin sat at her desk surrounded by payroll ledgers and expense sheets. Numbers spiraled across the pages like a horror novel.

"Mr. Kim…" she said cautiously, walking into his office. "Our monthly wage bill just tripled. Add in the cafeteria upgrades, the cake budget, and the pianist, and… this might actually work. We might finally hit negative."

Suho spun in his chair, grinning like a madman. "Finally, the sweet embrace of loss. I can almost taste it."

But before the taste could linger, Shen Rou—her arms stacked with folders—stormed in.

"Mr. Kim, emergency!"

Suho's grin froze. "What is it now?"

She slammed the folders onto his desk. "Sales reports. Wu Yu and Cai Jing's training ended early. They came back with… record orders. Two hundred thousand dollars each. This month alone."

Suho's jaw hit the desk. "WHAT?!"

Cho Rin slapped her forehead. "Of course they did. You tried to bury your best salespeople in training, and they just got sharper."

Suho staggered to his feet, pacing like a man betrayed by gravity. "Why? Why can't they just… fail like normal employees? Do they not understand my dream?"

As if the universe itself were conspiring against him, news broke the next morning: the guild war in Horny Princess Online had hit legendary status.

Du Ziteng and Chen Cong were locked in an arms race so absurd it made the Cold War look like a tea party. Each day, they recharged another half-million, buying noble gear sets for entire guild squads.

The world chat was chaos:

"I think these guys are literally buying the GDP of small countries."

"The server lagged because of how much cash was recharged in a single minute."

"My guildmate just cried watching this. He said he's uninstalling. Said his wallet feels ashamed."

On streaming platforms, millions tuned in to watch the two guilds clash over raid bosses. Viewership was so high, commentators were hired to provide live play-by-play:

"And there goes Prince Teng, dropping another meteor spell! Ooooh, Rich Man counters with a triple heel rotation—absolutely disgusting use of money right there, Kevin."

Back at Horny Princess Interactive, Fen Su was in full preacher mode again, standing before the dev team like Moses with a PowerPoint.

"Do you see?" he thundered. "Mr. Kim foresaw this duel. He knew players of wealth would clash like titans, funding our coffers beyond imagination. This is not just a game. This… is destiny!"

Zhao Bowen raised a timid hand. "But sir, what if they run out of money?"

Fen Su smirked. "Rich men never run out of money. They only run out of shame."

The room nodded, half in agreement, half in fear.

Meanwhile, Suho sat in his office at Steel Cup, staring at the newest report: Daily revenue—$1.5million.

His hands trembled. His lips quivered. Finally, he buried his face into his arms and groaned.

"Mom sells batches… They've weaponized capitalism against me."

Cho Rin peeked in. "Sir, the workers are asking if we can add lobster to the cafeteria rotation."

Suho sat up slowly, eyes bloodshot, hair sticking up. "Fine. Lobster. Truffles. Imported wine, too. If this world insists on making me rich… then I'll go down drowning in champagne."

Kim Suho had a headache that felt like it was sponsored by the gods of irony. He sat at his office desk with the new factory contract open before him, the ink still fresh on his signature. The plan was simple—rent a massive workshop, drown his system funds in rent and overhead, and finally claw his way into the glorious pit of bankruptcy.

Yet instead of losses, the universe had gifted him a report with numbers so large they made his eyeballs twitch. One point five million dollars. That was Tianlong's overnight revenue. He pressed the paper flat on the desk as though squashing it might lower the numbers.

Across from him, Cho Rin set down a cup of coffee. She was careful not to make eye contact, as though dealing with a lion whose paw was stuck in a trap.

"Sir," she said softly, "you've been staring at the same report for… three hours."

Suho snapped his head up, dark circles under his eyes. "Do you know what it feels like to be betrayed by your own genius? To invent a prank weapon, only to find out it's become Excalibur for rich idiots?"

"I… can imagine?" Cho Rin offered.

"No, you can't. You've never accidentally created a money-printing machine. I tried to build a sinkhole, and instead I discovered an oil field. Do you realize how insulting that is?"

Cho Rin sipped her coffee slowly, letting silence fill the room. It wasn't worth explaining that most bosses would cry tears of joy at revenue like this. Suho wasn't like most bosses.

The day only worsened when Shen Rou barged in without knocking. "Mr. Kim, the workers are demanding lobsters. They say braised pork isn't festive enough anymore."

Suho stared blankly. "Lobsters?"

"Yes. Lobsters." Shen Rou slapped the request onto his desk. "Also truffles. And maybe wine. They've been comparing photos of other companies' canteens online, and apparently we're falling behind."

For a long moment, Suho said nothing. Then, with the gravity of a man signing a death warrant, he stood.

"Fine. Lobsters. Truffles. Wine. Throw in caviar if it speeds up financial ruin. I want this cafeteria dripping in luxury. When an employee leaves the dining hall, I want them waddling under the weight of saturated fats and shame."

The next week, Steel Cup's cafeteria was transformed into something closer to a royal banquet hall. Chandeliers sparkled. Ice sculptures gleamed. Bowls of lobster tails overflowed beside silver trays of foie gras. A violinist replaced the pianist, because Suho decided nothing screamed "wasteful" like a live string quartet playing while factory workers gnawed on crab legs.

Cho Rin wandered through the scene in stunned disbelief. Workers who had once grumbled about stale rice were now swirling wine glasses and debating whether the duck was roasted properly.

"Mr. Kim," she muttered under her breath, "you're either going to bankrupt this place or get Michelin stars for the staff cafeteria."

While Steel Cup drowned in excess, Horny Princess Online blazed hotter than ever.

Chen Cong's guild [Haoshangtian] and Du Ziteng's [Lingyan Pavilion] had escalated their spending war into something grotesque. Every night, they faced off in the wilderness, unleashing entire arsenals of noble gear like generals burning gold just to prove who had the bigger army.

Streams of the battles were topping charts. Tens of thousands watched live broadcasts of men in their thirties screaming into headsets while flinging half a million dollars' worth of magic spells across digital landscapes. Commentators broke down every move as if it were chess played on Wall Street.

"And there goes Prince Teng, deploying his third meteor in a row—yes, Kevin, that's another two hundred grand right there. The man plays like his credit card has no bottom."

Chen Cong countered with shield rotations so tightly choreographed they looked like ballet. His guild spammed consumables that cost more than small cars, healing through damage that would have flattened anyone else.

When the dust cleared, neither side had truly won, but both had charged another fortune. And the game's revenue counter ticked ever higher.

At Horny Princess Interactive, Fen Su stood before the development team, eyes blazing with the fire of a zealot.

"This is what Mr. Kim foresaw!" he declared, slamming his palm onto the table. "This isn't just a game anymore—it's an ecosystem of fate. Rich against rich, wallets against wallets. A mirror of life itself, where privilege battles privilege, and the poor look on in awe."

Some developers nodded, too terrified to disagree. Others scribbled notes as though they were in a theology lecture.

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