Kim Suho leaned back in the cracked office chair across from Park Lee Mau, swirling the untouched tea like it was a glass of expensive whiskey. The bitter truth was, he didn't even like tea—but he knew managers loved pouring it. "Keep up appearances," as he called it.
"Poor management. Lost too much money. Couldn't keep the workshop," Park Lee Mau was saying, his tone equal parts smug and casual.
Suho's eyes lit up like he'd just spotted a clearance sale. Poor management? Losing money? He wanted to jump over the desk, grab Maode by the collar, and scream, "Teach me your ways!"
Instead, he nodded gravely, his face carved into the perfect mask of businesslike concern. "Ah, yes. Very tragic." His inner monologue, however, was pure envy:Lucky bastard. All I get are employees making surprise profits behind my back.
Park Lee Mau led him through the two-story warehouse. Dust floated in the beams of light like it was auditioning for a documentary on factory nostalgia.
