CHAPTER 87: “UH... MR. KIM? WOULD IT BE OKAY IF I... TOOK A PHOTO WITH YOU?”

"They’re exactly what they say," Suho replied casually. "We couldn’t drag 80 refrigerators into the gym. Employees can redeem them later."

Ye Feng nodded so hard his neck cracked. He wasn’t sure if Suho was a genius, a lunatic, or both.

Suho, noticing Ye Feng’s stunned look, added with a smirk, "What? You expected stress balls?"

The hosts scrambled back into position. Chen Xuan whispered, "Are we sure we’re not at some MLM convention?"

"Shut up, smile, and read the names," Ye Feng hissed.

The award ceremony kicked off.

"The first place," Ye Feng announced dramatically, "is... Wu Yu!"

Wu Yu sprinted to the stage like a kid on Christmas morning. He circled the prize table, pretending to make a tough decision, then immediately grabbed a brand-new phone and a coupon for a laptop. Combined value: over 10,000 dollars.

Wu Yu clutched them like holy relics, then glanced nervously at Suho. "Uh... Mr. Kim? Would it be okay if I... took a photo with you?"

The stadium went silent. Suho sighed, clearly weighing the pros and cons of awkward human contact. Finally, he nodded.

They posed together while the cameraman snapped shots. Wu Yu beamed like he had just won The Price Is Right.

As they shook hands, Suho muttered in his head, "The best thank you would be fewer damn sales orders."

Next up was Xu Yuan, a new hire from Horny Princess Interactive. He shuffled onto the stage like he wasn’t sure if this was real life. He had only been with the company for two weeks.

"I thought this was just a team-building thing," he admitted nervously as he picked his prizes—a tablet and a refrigerator coupon. "Like... paper medals or free snacks."

When the phone and coupon landed in his hands, his jaw dropped. "This... this is real?"

Suho deadpanned from the side: "No, it’s Monopoly money. Go redeem it at the bank."

The crowd roared with laughter. Xu Yuan, cheeks burning, scurried off stage clutching his loot like a raccoon stealing bread.

The ceremony rolled on. One by one, employees came up, each more thrilled than the last. Phones, tablets, refrigerators, TVs—it was like Oprah’s giveaway. You get an appliance! You get an appliance!

Finally, Ye Feng paused dramatically as he looked at the next name on the list. The crowd leaned in, murmuring with anticipation.

"The next award recipient is..."

He let the words hang in the air, milking it for suspense like he was hosting The Bachelor.

The applause in the stadium reached soap-opera levels of drama.

"Our respected CEO Kim!" the host boomed.

The employees roared back in unison:

"Boss is mighty! Boss is generous! Boss is awesome! Boss, we love you!"

Kim Suho’s smile froze halfway through like a screenshot buffering. The "mighty" and "generous" bits were fine—ego fuel, all good. But the last part? Dozens of sweaty men shouting "Boss, we love you!" in perfect chorus? That was less motivational and more like the start of an HR lawsuit.

Dear God, he thought, please don’t let them follow up with ’we want to have your baby.’

He quickly raised both hands like a traffic cop, cutting them off before the chant escalated into... well, something uncomfortable for everyone.

To redirect the energy, Suho casually snatched two of the pricier coupons from the prize pile. Straight to the "small treasury." Smooth.

One by one, employees kept trotting on stage for their turn. Wu Yi got his moment, and Jin Wu did too. Both had signed up for the 50-meter "walk of shame," so naturally, their scores didn’t exactly break records.

Wu Yi, in particular, brought up the rear with a single point. Just one. A man who literally jogged every morning had managed to bomb so hard he finished last.

Suho pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe I should buy him a treadmill as a prize. Or a spine.

Still, when Wu Yi held up his two coupons, tears practically glimmering in his eyes, it was clear—this was his Olympic gold medal moment. The guy whispered like he was reciting a love letter: "First time winning a sports award in my life..."

Suho leaned back, muttering under his breath, "Congratulations." You’re the Usain Bolt of disappointment.

The ceremony wrapped, leaving the employees buzzing like kids high on candy.

Cho Rin slipped over, lowering her voice like she was delivering state secrets. "Mr. Kim, it’s not even four yet. Do you want everyone back at the office?"

Suho gave her a look. "Back... to work? After this?" He gestured at the stadium full of sweaty, gift-hoarding staff. "They’ll be lucky if they don’t nap through Monday. Just... let them go. Rest. It’s the one thing they’re actually good at."

Cho Rin nodded briskly, then turned to shout instructions. The employees erupted into fresh cheers like they had just been pardoned from prison.

Just as Suho thought he was free, another voice called out:

"Mr. Kim!"

It was Jiang Cheng, the workshop lead, jogging toward him with that "please don’t fire me" face.

Suho sighed. "What now?"

"Two of our flatcars are breaking down. Parts are aging. I was hoping to apply for replacements," Jiang Cheng explained carefully.

Suho waved it off. "Just run it through finance. It’s chump change."

But then his mental calculator kicked in: Wait. I still have over three million dollars of system funds burning a hole in my pocket.

He straightened, snapping his fingers. "Actually, hold up. Forget repairing. Replace them. Hell, replace everything. All the machines. Shiny, new, and expensive. Write me the number."

Jiang Cheng froze. "All... of them? New?"

"Yes. Maintenance is for peasants. New toys are for winners." Suho gave a solemn nod, as if he’d just invented capitalism.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened in awe. Clearly, the man had just discovered that his boss’s brain worked on a different level. "Of course, Mr. Kim! I’ll calculate the full replacement cost immediately!"

As Jiang hurried off, Suho exhaled in relief. Finally, a good excuse to burn through cash. Weekends were made for shopping sprees—and this time, the spree was industrial machinery.

On the ride back, Jiang Cheng mulled over engine specs and efficiency ratios. Wu Yu plopped into the seat beside him, eyes gleaming with business-nerd intensity.

"Brother Jiang," Wu Yu leaned in, "can the workshop handle more orders? We’re pushing limits."

Jiang grinned. "Not anymore. The boss just greenlit new machines. Efficiency’s going up by at least thirty percent. Go sell your heart out."

Wu Yu’s jaw dropped. "He already thought of it? Incredible! Mr. Kim is like... two steps ahead of us. Always."

He sat back, starry-eyed. "Other companies give excuses. Ours gives upgrades."

Jiang nodded wisely. "Exactly. Don’t you get it? He’s not just a boss. He’s... a visionary."

Wu Yu sighed like a teenage girl talking about a K-pop idol. Jiang just stared ahead, wondering if maybe Suho was running some kind of cult.

Meanwhile, as the sky darkened, in a cramped college dormitory across town—

"Brothers! Tomorrow, let’s ditch class and relax for once!" A student burst in, hair messy, grin wide.

His roommates didn’t even look up. The room was filled with the click-clack of keyboards and the glow of screens.

He leaned over one monitor and did a double take.

"Wait... is that Horny Princess Online? Seriously? You guys are playing this?"

The roommate just grunted, fingers flying across the mouse.

The first guy threw his hands in the air. "Unbelievable. I’m out here trying to live life, and you guys are farming digital dragons. This is why none of us have girlfriends."

Silence. More clicking.

He groaned, collapsing onto his bed. "Fine. But when you all drop out and end up working for Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory, don’t say I didn’t warn you."