CHAPTER 89: “DADDY’S COMING FOR YOU.”

Holiday over, Suho leaned back in his chair, sipping the coffee Cho Rin had brewed, while mentally panicking about the 3 million system dollars still sitting unspent.

A knock snapped him out of it.

"Mr. Kim, I’ve completed the machine inspection," Jiang Cheng announced as he slid in, placing a thick folder on the desk.

Suho raised a brow. "Already? You had the whole weekend off."

"I, uh, combined it with a... shopping trip with my wife."

Suho’s brow furrowed. "So you worked overtime. Without asking me."

Jiang stiffened.

Suho leaned in, lowering his voice to a deadpan whisper: "That’s called... unauthorized enthusiasm. Never again. Understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Kim," Jiang replied instantly, like a soldier caught stealing rations.

Satisfied, Suho opened the folder.

Inside: neat charts, machine specs, attached photos. But Suho ignored all of that. His eyes zoomed straight to the prices.

45,000 dollars. 50,000. 60,000 for the "premium" model.

Suho’s smile froze. That’s it?

Replacing every machine in the workshop came to just over 500,000. Barely half a million. He’d been planning to burn at least 2 million!

This was like going to Vegas and only finding penny slots.

He slammed the folder shut and stared Jiang down.

"These are... cheap," Suho said.

Jiang blinked. "Cheap? Mr. Kim, these are industry standard."

"No," Suho said flatly. "Industry-standard is boring. I need—" he slapped the folder for emphasis—"expensive. Bleeding-edge. Something with more buttons than sense. Can we get machines so overpriced they look like they belong in NASA?"

Jiang’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Suho leaned back, sipping his coffee. "Find me machines that hurt my wallet just by looking at them. Understood?"

Jiang swallowed. "...Yes, Mr. Kim."

Jiang Cheng stood in front of Suho’s desk, looking like a kid about to tell his dad the dog ate the homework.

"Mr. Kim, there are more expensive machines," he said carefully. "But honestly, for our current workshop, the configuration we discussed is enough. Upgrading beyond that is... well, it’s like putting jet engines on a tricycle."

Suho exhaled in relief, then immediately leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Perfect. Replace everything with the jet engines. Go full NASA. I want the fanciest toys in the catalog."

Jiang blinked. "But some of those machines have features we’ll never use. Like... auto-folding technology for a thousand shirt designs per hour, laser-guided seam alignment, and—"

Suho waved him off. "Details, details. Today it’s useless; tomorrow it’s visionary. You don’t get to be Steve Jobs by worrying about practicality. Calculate the bill."

Jiang’s lips moved as he did the math. "If we max out everything... it’s about 1.4 million dollars."

Suho leaned back, disappointed. "That’s it? Not even a solid two million? What is this, bargain bin NASA?"

Jiang winced. "Mr. Kim... Anything more expensive takes up half a football field. Our current workshop couldn’t handle it."

Suho groaned. "Fine. Buy them all. Drag Lee Wonho with you. He loves shopping like an old lady at Costco."

As Jiang shuffled out, Suho tapped his fingers against the desk. Machines weren’t enough. If he wanted to torch through his system funds properly, he needed something bigger. Expanding the factory... yeah, that could eat a fortune. New space, new hires, new headaches. The thought of adding more salesmen made him want to scream into a pillow, but hey—spending was spending.

"Backup plan," he muttered, smirking to himself. "If I can’t blow cash fast enough, I’ll just blow up the square footage."

This time, no screw-ups. He’d already made sure sales wouldn’t collect payments on settlement day, and no one could sneak in expenses without his stamp. Jin Wu couldn’t secretly pawn off old stock again. Suho had prepped everything.

"Eight million," he whispered dramatically. "Daddy’s coming for you."

In the conference room, Director Qi strutted to the podium like a man who’d just discovered hair gel for the first time.

"Two announcements today!" he said, grinning ear to ear. "First—quarterly evaluations are in! And our branch champion is... Wang Yang!"

Scattered applause broke out as Wang Yang walked up, looking like he’d been tricked into winning.

Director Qi slapped an honorary certificate into his hands with one of those fake fatherly smiles. "Keep it up, kid."

Wang Yang peeked at the words "Quarterly Sales Champion" printed on it, muttered a thank-you, and then nearly fainted when a fat red envelope followed. Five thousand dollars cash.

He walked back to his seat, eyes wide like a kid who just got away with stealing cookies.

Director Qi raised his hand again. "Second announcement—Chen Jun just signed a villa order, budget 1.2 million. Which means..." He gave a smug pause. "...he’s the hot favorite for next quarter’s champion."

Applause again.

Wang Yang leaned over, congratulating his senior. "Congrats, Brother Jun."

Chen Jun patted his shoulder, big-brother mode activated. "Don’t get comfortable, Yang. This quarter’s crown is mine. Villas don’t decorate themselves."

Wang Yang forced a laugh, secretly thinking he should start sacrificing chickens to improve his luck. Two easy contracts had dropped into his lap before, but streaks don’t last forever.

Cho Rin marched in, holding a file. "Mr. Kim, staff dorms are almost done. Time for the final inspection."

Suho perked up. "Finally! Let’s see if our employees are about to live in IKEA catalogs or horror movie sets."

When he arrived, the decoration team leader practically bowed. "Mr. Kim, everything’s cleaned up. Ready for acceptance."

Suho inspected randomly—beds lined up, wardrobes shiny, TVs mounted, and even the air conditioners were humming like obedient pets. He checked a few more rooms, and everything looked spotless.

"Alright, wrap it up," he said, satisfied.

But back in his office, Suho spun in his chair, frowning. Something still bugged him.

The dorms looked good, yes. Too good, actually. Shiny new rooms meant one thing: more ways to spend money.

He snatched up the phone and called Lee Wonho.

"Wonho," he said, dead serious. "How fast can we make those dorms more expensive?"

Lee Wonho came into the office with the look of a man who knew he was about to be volunteered for something ridiculous.

"Mr. Kim, reporting for duty. What’s the damage this time?"

Suho leaned back in his chair, hands steepled like a budget Bond villain. "You’re going with Jiang Cheng tomorrow to buy the machines, right?"

"Yes, sir. We’ve already lined it up with the supplier. Check, pay, ship. Very standard. No surprises."

Suho’s grin widened. "Oh, there will be surprises. While you’re at it, pick up... a few daily necessities."

Wonho blinked. "...Like what? Toothpaste? Socks?"

Suho shook his head dramatically. "Floor scrubbers. Fully automatic, with washing, mopping, and suction. One in every dorm room."

Wonho’s face went pale. "Mr. Kim, those things cost thousands each. We’d basically be giving every worker their own robot maid."

"Exactly!" Suho slapped the desk. "You think I want employees wasting time with a broom like peasants? No. I want them resting. Well-rested employees produce more shirts and fewer excuses. Plus..." His eyes twinkled. "...they’re expensive."

Wonho muttered, "We could just buy mops—"

"NO MOPS," Suho cut him off like a dictator banning fun. "Floor scrubbers. Gigabit internet. Network cables everywhere. I want the dorms so connected you could livestream a wedding in the shower."

Wonho sighed, already picturing his arms full of receipts. "Alright, Mr. Kim. Floor scrubbers and internet for all."

As soon as Wonho left, Suho did a little mental math. Between the scrubbers and wiring, that was at least a hundred thousand dollars. Not bad. A baby step closer to torching his 1.6 million balance.

He was about to reward himself with some gaming time when Wu Yu popped his head through the office door, grinning like a kid who just got away with murder.

Suho groaned. "How much this time?"

Wu Yu chuckled nervously. "Only 100,000. Oh, and Cai Jing got another 100,000. So... 200,000 total. Small potatoes."

Suho pinched the bridge of his nose. I burn a hundred grand, and this idiot brings in double like it’s a hobby.

Wu Yu shuffled closer. "But hey, silver lining—business is booming!"

"That’s not a silver lining. That’s a noose," Suho muttered. Then louder: "Congratulations, Wu Yu! As a reward, you’re now... morning exercise captain."

Wu Yu blinked. "What? But I’ve got clients tomorrow morning. I can’t roll into a meeting sweaty."

Suho leaned forward with mock gravity. "Wu Yu, corporate culture is more important than deodorant. Lead the run. Then sell stuff."

Wu Yu plastered on a smile that screamed, "Help me." "...Yes, Mr. Kim."

As he left, Suho glared at his computer. He couldn’t even relax with a game anymore. Not while these "anti-bone disciples" were turning his spending spree into a profit marathon.

Suho sat in Fen Su’s office, arms folded. "1.6 million. Spend it."

Fen Su adjusted his glasses. "Mr. Kim... even if we max out the servers and models, that budget won’t be touched. And slowing development to burn cash doesn’t really—"

"Slow work makes fine work!" Suho cut in, slamming his hand down like a prophet at a pulpit. "We’re making a high-quality game. Besides, if the budget goes over, just funnel the money into the other titles."

Fen Su winced. "That... could delay everything."

Suho smirked. "Perfect. Delays mean more money spent. More money spent means... I sleep at night."

Fen Su stared at him like he’d just confessed to arson.

"Look," Suho added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "your last boss lost money with your plans. So if we’re going to lose money, let’s lose it in style. Make it expensive."

There was a long, awkward silence. The kind that would’ve been followed by a camera zoom on The Office.

"...Understood, Mr. Kim," Fen Su finally muttered.