CHAPTER 68: “IKA CHICAGO,”

"I... understand, Mr. Kim. And the price? Shall I set it at another hundred thousand?"

"No." Suho’s grin widened. "This time it’s not for sale. Put it as wild monster drops. And crank the explosion rate down. Lowest possible. The kind where even a saint praying for ten years wouldn’t get a ring."

"...Understood." Fen Su swallowed.

After hanging up, Fen Su sat frozen at his desk.

At first he thought Suho was drunk on the morning’s three-hundred-thousand-dollar recharge, planning to squeeze the rich whales again. But no—Suho didn’t even want the gear in the shop this time.

"Why?" he muttered.

Sure enough, normal mortals like him couldn’t hope to fathom Mr. Kim’s galaxy-brain foresight.

He sighed and called over Zhao Bowen.

"Brother Su, looking for me?" Zhao strolled in casually. They had been drinking buddies back before Suho bought the company, so formality wasn’t a thing between them.

"Yeah. Mr. Kim wants another gear set. Higher stats than the last. Put the same team back on it and get it done fast."

"What? Another set? Already?" Zhao blinked. "Mr. Kim must be striking while the iron is hot to make a fortune!"

Fang shook his head. "Nope. He doesn’t even want it in the shop this time. Only as a monster drops."

"...Why would he do that?" Zhao frowned.

"I don’t know. Don’t ask. Just do it." Fang leaned back, belly still aching from the last team-building feast. "Anyway, when Mr. Kim gives orders, we just follow."

Back in his clothing company office, Suho opened a notebook and started scribbling numbers like a possessed accountant.

Eight million system funds sat in his balance. He had sixty days to burn it all. Otherwise, poof—gone.

First rule: charity. Ten percent automatically earmarked. Eight hundred grand, easy. He circled it. "That’ll go to Rin’s orphanage. Beds, desks, clothes, food. Santa Suho is coming."

Next: Horny Princess Interactive upgrades. Thirty workstations—forty grand each. About $1.3 million gone. Toss in new air conditioners, a snack lounge, and ridiculously overpriced green plants? round it up to $1.6 million.

Advance wages—$600,000. Because nothing made employees worship you more than payday arriving before payday.

Subtotal: three million gone.

That left five million.

But wait—there was also that $400,000 still owed from a renovation order. Meaning he actually needed to spend $5.4 million.

Suho groaned. "Spending money is harder than earning it. Who knew?"

He tapped his pen. Commuter buses. At least a million for the vehicle, plus a professional driver. He made a note: ask Choku, who used to drive trucks, to recommend someone.

Employee sports festival? Venue rental, games, prizes—computers, phones, fridges, whatever. Budget half a million.

He sat back. "Alright, that’s most of it. The rest we’ll burn flexibly. Maybe golden toilets for the office."

Feeling proud, he stretched. "Now, first stop: charity."

He checked the clock. One o’clock. Perfect.

"Rin-ah, grab your bag. We’re heading out."

Suho and Cho Rin climbed into the company’s black business van. Son Choku was already waiting in the driver’s seat, hands steady on the wheel.

"Boss, where to?"

"IKA Chicago," Suho said. "We’re buying beds and desks for the orphanage kids."

Cho Rin blinked beside him. "Boss, are you really doing this?"

"Of course. Those kids shouldn’t have to sleep on busted planks and write homework on wobbly tables. Order them all new stuff. The earlier it’s delivered, the earlier they can live like humans."

Cho Rin smiled quietly. To outsiders, Mr. Kim was a ruthless businessman. To his employees, he was the unpredictable boss who could force you to down lobster and red wine till you cried. But to orphans... he was the man who bought new beds just because he could.

Son Choku glanced in the rearview mirror. "IKA Chicago, huh? Biggest place in Chicago. Good choice. Quality is guaranteed."

Suho leaned back with a smug grin. "Of course. For my money, only the best."

IKA Chicago, Chicago.

The shopping guide beamed like she’d just found a whale in the mall. "Sir, this bed is made of pure solid wood, is environmentally safe, has no paint, and has no funny smells. Perfect for children!"

Kim Suho squatted down, ran his hand across the bunk bed, tapped the frame, and even sniffed it like some wannabe carpenter. After a long pause, he gave a single nod. "Solid. Real wood. No tricks."

Beside him, Cho Rin watched quietly. She had tagged along thinking Mr. Kim would drag her into some weird company expense again, maybe marble coffee machines or platinum door handles. She didn’t expect he’d be personally choosing new beds for her orphanage kids.

Seeing him crouched there so seriously, poking and prodding a bunk bed like it was a Ferrari, her chest tightened. This boss was dangerous—he had a way of moving people without even realizing it.

"How much?" Suho finally asked.

"Just $9,998 each," the shopping guide said with an enthusiastic bow.

Suho raised an eyebrow. "How many in stock?"

The guide’s eyes lit up. Jackpot. "We have seven right here. If you take five or more, sir, we can even give you a 50% discount."

Suho frowned at the word "discount," his face dark as thunder.

The poor guide stiffened. Did she just ruin the deal?

But then Suho sighed, rubbing his temples. "Forget it. I almost forgot—I’m supposed to spend money. What am I doing getting angry at discounts?"

He glanced at Cho Rin, then turned back to the guide. "I’ll take all seven. And put in an order for one more. Deliver as soon as possible."

Cho Rin gasped. "Mr. Kim! That’s nearly ten thousand dollars per bed. The kids don’t need something this fancy. A few-thousand-dollar bed is already good enough!"

Suho turned, deadpan. "Those ’few-thousand-dollar’ beds are composite board. Formaldehyde. You want those kids’ lungs to pickle before middle school?"

Cho Rin froze. "...ah."

He went on, tone matter-of-fact. "Even in the dorms I built for factory workers, I demanded solid wood. No cheap shortcuts. If adults deserve that, orphans damn well deserve better."

Cho Rin bit her lip. She had never thought about it that way. For a moment she wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. "Mr. Kim... thank you. Then... at least put the bill on my account. I’ll pay it back monthly. Eight beds... that’s only eight months of salary. I can afford it."