"I… understand, Mr. Kim. And the price? Shall I set it at another hundred thousand?"
"No." Suho's grin widened. "This time it's not for sale. Put it as wild monster drops. And crank the explosion rate down. Lowest possible. The kind where even a saint praying for ten years wouldn't get a ring."
"…Understood." Fen Su swallowed.
After hanging up, Fen Su sat frozen at his desk.
At first he thought Suho was drunk on the morning's three-hundred-thousand-dollar recharge, planning to squeeze the rich whales again. But no—Suho didn't even want the gear in the shop this time.
"Why?" he muttered.
Sure enough, normal mortals like him couldn't hope to fathom Mr. Kim's galaxy-brain foresight.
He sighed and called over Zhao Bowen.
"Brother Su, looking for me?" Zhao strolled in casually. They had been drinking buddies back before Suho bought the company, so formality wasn't a thing between them.
