Kim Suho sat in the Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory's so-called "executive office," which was really just a slightly larger room with fewer stains on the walls. His chair groaned under him as if it too had seen the report. He pressed the paper flat on the desk, then pressed his face into his palms as though that might make the numbers disappear.
"Cho Rin…" His voice was muffled, halfway between despair and indigestion.
"Yes, Mr. Kim?" she said, carefully placing coffee at his elbow.
"Please… tell me I'm hallucinating. Tell me I didn't just read that Tianlong pulled in over a million dollars in one night."
Cho Rin adjusted her glasses, peered at the report, and then deadpanned, "No hallucinations, sir. Just capitalism."
Suho groaned louder than the chair. "I built this game to fail. It was supposed to bleed money, not rain it down like monsoon season! Why… why do the rich insist on ruining my poverty?"
