CHAPTER 62: PARK AND SONS LAW AGENCY.

"Didn’t expect you to be good with kids," Cho Rin remarked as they left the classroom.

"They’re cute," Suho said with a small smile. And... they remind me of myself. He didn’t voice that last thought. Before coming here, he too had been an orphan or he felt like one at least.

"Come, I’ll show you around."

They walked the halls, finally stopping at the third floor.

"This is the children’s dormitory," Cho Rin said, pushing open a door.

Inside were two battered wooden beds. The legs were cracked, patched together with old nails. The paint was gone; the air smelled of damp wood.

Suho frowned. He’d heard from Cho Rin that the orphanage struggled, but he hadn’t expected this level of poverty.

Silently, his mind shifted inward. System—Can I use funds for charity? His eyes lingered on the beds as calculations began to swirl in his head.

[Before each wealth cycle, the host can take out 10% of the system funds for charity.]

Suho’s eyes lit up when the system panel flashed the message. Charity, huh? Perfect. I lose money, I look noble, and everyone wins.

Of course, his pockets were nearly dry now—less than $100,000 left, already earmarked for the upcoming company team building. No sense burning scraps. Three days until the next settlement. Three days until a fat fund refresh... and ten percent straight into the orphanage coffers.

I’ll bankrupt myself and look like a saint doing it.

Park and Sons Law Agency.

At the same time, downtown, another storm brewed.

Chen Zhang, senior partner of Park and Son, leaned forward on the leather sofa. "Choi Yeji, our firm has treated you well, hasn’t it?"

Choi Yeji adjusted her glasses calmly. "Yes. Lawyer Wu and the others have always taken care of me."

"Then why," Zhang’s voice rose, "why did you deliberately throw the lawsuit? Don’t play dumb. We know your strength—you could’ve won."

Choi Yeji didn’t flinch. "Lawyer Zhang, have you considered how the injured family will live without compensation? I visited the hospital. His wife watches over him day and night. Two little kids, barely in school, waiting for hope."

"He broke rules!" Zhang slammed the table. "Didn’t wear a safety rope. He deserved it. The company gave $100,000 already. What else do you want?"

Choi Yeji sneered. "What safety rope? There weren’t any until after the accident. Everyone in the workshop told me."

Zhang’s tone turned icy. "Choi Yeji, don’t be naïve. The company paid us. We take their money, and we clean their mess. That’s the rule."

"My rule—" Choi Yeji jabbed her chest, "—is never to sell my conscience."

"Fine. Keep your conscience. Leave my firm." Zhang leaned close, eyes cold. "And cover our losses. You owe us."

Choi Yeji stared, incredulous. "Losses? I just wasn’t good enough. That’s all."

Zhang smirked. "Is that what you’ll claim in court? Our little chat was recorded. Cameras everywhere." He pointed up at the lens in the corner. "Plenty of evidence you ’let it slide.’ Think carefully. The world is dangerous."

Choi Yeji’s heart sank. A trap. From her own firm. She stood, voice low. "Thank you for the reminder. I’ll remember exactly how dangerous it is." Then she walked out, spine stiff despite the storm inside.

Monday.

Suho lounged in his gaming chair, waiting. Three days since the orphanage. One day until settlement. Perfect time to stir chaos.

The phone rang—Fen Su (planner at Horny Princess Interactive) sounded exhausted. "Mr. Kim, the equipment set you requested is finished. How should we release it?"

"How did you do it before?" Suho asked casually.

"Lottery system. After enough pulls, players are guaranteed the full set. Usually costs a few thousand dollars."

Suho smirked. A few thousand? Pocket change for those whales.

"Not this time. Change the odds. Lowest possible. The guarantee requires $100,000 worth of pulls. And make sure the probability chart is displayed in big, bold letters. Let them choke on it."

Silence. Fen Su hesitated. "Mr. Kim... if it costs $100,000, no one will buy it. And if we highlight the odds—"

"Exactly," Suho cut him off. "Do it anyway. And once it’s live, put a set directly into my account. I’ll test it myself."

"...Understood." Fen Su exhaled in defeat.

"Oh, and one more thing," Suho added lazily. "Tell the staff—tomorrow afternoon, company-wide team building. Both the game company and the factory. Location later."

Another neat way to torch the last of his funds before settlement.

Wei Wu had been neatly transferred, Wu Yu was harmless, and Lee Wonho was obedient. The business department had no teeth left. Everything was moving exactly as he planned.

Kim Suho had been patient for a week. He’d eaten his vegetables (moved Wei Wu out of Sales), picked his teeth (reduced work hours), and now, finally, it was dessert time.

He sank into the gaming chair, booted Horny Princess Online, and checked his avatar. The new set from Fen Su looked intentionally boring—no neon wings, no dragon aura, just matte steel with mean edges. But the stats? Cruel. Numbers so high they could file taxes.

Plain outside, predatory inside. Just like a good audit, he thought, flexing his fingers.

The wilderness map loaded. No monsters. Which meant only one thing: patrols. Chen Cong’s guild had spread out like mall cops with delusions of grandeur.

You waited a week? Cute.

A ring of IDs closed in. A pop-up yanked him into guild chat.

Laozi Jiu Jiujiu: Boy, you finally came. Brother Hao’s been waiting.

Suho typed three words:

Xueluo: Fight. Don’t talk.

Chat dissolved. Swords and spells lit the sky.

Suho stepped in.

One slash. The first elite crumpled into bright debris.

"Ah. Instant noodles," Suho murmured, carving through the second, third, and fourth. With the new set, his avatar moved like a rumor—fast, sharp, and fatal. The guild formation buckled. Their buffs popped like soggy bubble wrap.

Thirty seconds later, the wilds were quiet enough to hear the wind pathfinding.

Suho opened local chat and left a sticky note:

Xueluo: Kneel or uninstall.

Then he logged out with the smug serenity of a monk who’d just keyed someone’s car in silence.