David Chen was a master of a particular kind of corporate alchemy. He could take the pure gold of someone else's labor and transmute it into the leaden weight of their own supposed failure. Having successfully claimed credit for Leo's masterpiece report, David now saw Leo as a high-performance engine he needed to keep under his complete control. The best way to do that was to become the only person Leo could rely on for validation.
The first incident occurred a week later. David assigned Leo a market trend analysis for a new product line. "Just a quick draft, Leo," he'd said with a breezy smile. "Something for the internal review tomorrow."
Leo, as always, delivered excellence. He compiled the data, built a concise 10-slide deck, and sent it to David by the end of the day. It was clean, accurate, and insightful.
The next morning, David called him into his office. The deck was on his large monitor. "Leo, I've had a look at your draft," he said, his tone one of gentle disappointment. "It's a good start, but there are some significant issues."
He pointed to a chart projecting Q4 growth. "This number here… 15%? That's far too aggressive. Where did you get that?"
Leo was momentarily confused. "From the approved financial models, sir. It's the standard projection based on the department's baseline." He was certain he had triple-checked it.
"No, no," David said, shaking his head slowly. "The baseline was updated last week. We're projecting 11.5%. A mistake like this in front of the VP would have been embarrassing. I've corrected it." He clicked to the next slide. "And this conclusion… you've completely missed the strategic implications for the European market. It's the most critical piece of the puzzle."
Leo stared at the slide. The text was different. His original conclusion had been a nuanced take on market entry. This version was a clumsy, generic statement that did, in fact, ignore the European market.
Calm Mind activated, a wave of cool logic washing over his initial confusion. He looked at David, really looked at him. Microexpression Reading kicked in. Behind the mask of mentorship and disappointment, Leo saw it: a fleeting, almost imperceptible gleam of [Smug Satisfaction] in David's eyes as he enjoyed Leo's confusion.
He wasn't correcting mistakes. He was creating them.
This was the game. David would take Leo's work, subtly alter it to introduce flaws, and then "fix" them, simultaneously taking ownership of the final product while positioning himself as the wise mentor cleaning up his subordinate's sloppy work. It was a textbook gaslighting routine, designed to erode Leo's confidence and make him dependent.
The old Leo would have argued, frantically trying to prove his original work was correct, and would have ended up looking defensive and unstable.
The new Leo took a slow breath. "You're absolutely right, sir," he said, his voice a perfect picture of humble contrition. His Poker Face was a flawless mask. "That was a serious oversight on my part. Thank you for catching it. I'll be more diligent in the future."
David's smile became genuine. The engine was under control. "Good. I'm glad you're receptive to feedback. That's what matters."
Leo walked back to his desk, his heart beating a slow, steady, and dangerous rhythm. He sat down, and a notification glowed on his phone's screen.
[Sub-Quest for "The Credit Thief": The Paper Trail] [Description: Your manager is actively altering your work to undermine you. An emotional response is a losing move. A factual response is an execution.] [Objective: Document every instance of manipulation. Create an undeniable record of your original work versus the altered versions.] [New Sub-Skill Unlocked: Digital Forensics (Lv. 1)] [Effect: Allows you to track metadata, version history, and hidden changes in digital documents with perfect accuracy.]
A predatory smile finally touched Leo's lips. This wasn't just a quest anymore. This was a hunt.
He opened his original file. Using his new Digital Forensics skill, the document's metadata unfolded before him like a map: Created: 4:32 p.m. Last Modified by user 'lzhang': 4:33 p.m. He then pulled the "corrected" version from the shared server. Last Modified by user 'dchen': 8:15 a.m.
He ran a comparison. The changes glowed in stark red. The 15% changed to 11.5%. The entire paragraph on his conclusion was deleted and replaced.
He took a screenshot. He saved his original email with the timestamp. He created a new, encrypted folder on his laptop, hidden deep within the system directories. He named it Receipts. He placed the first two files inside.
Over the next few weeks, the pattern repeated itself three more times. A misquoted statistic here, a deleted data table there. Each time, David would call him in for a gentle "correction." Each time, Leo would apologize profusely, his face a mask of earnest gratitude.
And each time, a new set of files would be meticulously documented and added to the Receipts folder. The folder was a testament to his patience. Each file was a bullet, each timestamp a grain of gunpowder. David Chen thought he was managing an employee. He was wrong. He was cultivating a predator.