Suho whipped around, staring like she’d grown two heads. Did this girl just try to hijack my system charity funds?
"Cho Rin." His voice grew stern. "I’m not buying these for you. I’m buying them for the kids. And this money isn’t even mine. It’s the company’s charity fund. That ans it belongs to everyone—Steel Cup, Horny Princess Interactive, every single worker. If you want to ’repay ,’ then do your job well and help run the company. That’s it."
Her cheeks burned. She bowed her head, ashad. She had only thought about her little orphanage. Mr. Kim was already thinking about building a charity fund to help anyone who needed it.
"...I understand." She looked up again, eyes shining. "Then I’ll work even harder. If the company prospers, more people can be helped."
Suho rolled his eyes inwardly. Work harder? I just wanted to buy so beds, not recruit you into the Salvation Army. But he kept quiet and turned back to the trembling shopping guide.
"Write it up."
"R-right away, sir!" The guide practically sprinted to the counter. A minute ago she thought the woman had sunk the deal. But now—eight bunk beds, paid upfront? She was going to hit her commission target for three months.
She returned with the bill. "Please fill in the delivery address and ti, sir."
Suho scribbled it down. "Tomorrow morning. Install everything properly. If sothing’s crooked, you’ll hear from ."
"Yes, yes, of course!"
Suho didn’t stop there. He bought a double bed for Grandma Wu, then ordered a stack of children’s tables and chairs. By the ti he dragged Rin and Choku out of IKA Chicago, they had receipts longer than a novel.
"Choku," Suho said as he climbed into the van. "Next stop, the sports equipnt company. Rubber flooring, slides, swings—the works. The kids are getting a real playground."
Cho Rin just sat quietly, still stunned. She thought her boss only cared about burning money, but here he was, making sure no kid ever inhaled formaldehyde in their sleep.
By the ti they were done, over $200,000 was gone. And Suho still had more than half a million in charity funds left earmarked for the orphanage. Enough to cover expenses for months.
At 4:30, Suho glanced at the ti. "Choku, no need to return to the office. Head ho."
"Yes, Mr. Kim."
He turned to Rin. "And you?"
"I’ll get off at the subway ahead," she said softly, pointing to the entrance.
The van rolled to a slow stop. But just as Rin reached for the handle, Suho suddenly called out—
"Wait."
Inside the van, late afternoon.
Cho Rin’s hand was already on the door handle when Suho stopped her.
"Tomorrow, you’re not coming to the office in the morning," he said casually, as though announcing the weather. "The new beds will arrive at the orphanage. You’ll be there to receive them. The company’s charity fund transfer should hit your account tonight—make sure it gets handed over to Grandma Wu tomorrow."
Rin blinked. "Mr. Kim, you an... ?"
"Yes, you." Suho leaned back like a mafia boss giving orders. "Also, swing by the passenger car market tomorrow. Write down every commuter bus model, price, and option you see. Hand the report later—I’ll review it."
He already had the plan forming in his mind: if the clothing factory workers had to trek all the way out to the edge of Chicago every day, they’d burn out. A proper shuttle bus wasn’t just a convenience—it was an investnt in efficiency.
Rin’s lips tugged upward unconsciously. This was the first ti he had handed her a task that sounded like sothing an actual assistant should do. Not running around fetching fruit beer or delivering envelopes—but procurent research, real work. She nodded firmly. "Understood, Mr. Kim."
The car humd along through traffic.
"Choku," Suho turned to the driver, "didn’t you used to drive big rigs? Do you know anyone who’s handled a commuter bus before? The company will need a driver."
Son Choku perked up. "Mr. Kim, I do. A brother of mine has more than ten years’ experience driving long-distance buses. Reliable guy. The bus company fired him last year, saying a passenger complained."
Suho raised a brow. "A complaint?"
Choku hurried to wave it off. "Don’t misunderstand. No safety issues. The bus company wanted cheap labor—fired the old hands and hired fresh kids at half the pay. That’s all."
Suho nodded slowly. "What’s he doing now?"
"Security guard. Barely scraping by."
"Good," Suho said. "Contact him tonight. If he’s clean, we’ll recruit him."
Choku grinned from ear to ear. "Don’t worry, Mr. Kim. With steady pay and benefits, he’ll bite your hand off to join."
"Oh, right," Choku added, "what salary do you want to set?"
Suho paused. He hadn’t thought of that detail. Choku’s salary was already $8,000 a month. If the new guy got the sa, it would feel unfair—Choku was an old soldier, tested and loyal. Then inspiration struck.
"Offer $8,000 for the new driver," Suho said. Then he smirked. "And as for you, Choku—starting next month, you’re at $10,000."
Choku nearly swerved the van. "Mr. Kim! No, no, no—I can’t accept that! Eight thousand is already more than enough. My wife still tells I don’t deserve it. If I go ho with ten, she’ll faint!"
"This isn’t about deserving," Suho replied with a sigh. "It’s about rules. A company has to reward rit. You’re solid. Reliable. A salary increase is deserved. Don’t argue with , or I’ll raise it to twelve just to shut you up."
Choku laughed so hard he almost cried, shaking his head. "Mr. Kim, you really are..." He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Suho leaned back, staring at the passing old-town streets. Sotis he really wondered: was he lucky to have such loyal people... or cursed, since they seed allergic to spending money?
Evening, Chicago University.
In the girls’ dormitory, Cho Rin sat at her desk, staring at her phone. Her roommates were scrolling ssenger, chatting, and laughing. She was frozen.
On her screen, the transfer notification blinked at her like a neon sign. Six digits.
Half a million dollars.
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