In order to maintain the balance of Horny Princess Online, the following changes will roll out:

Launching a series of free equipment, obtainable only through grinding. Their stats match noble gear at each level, but drop rates will nosedive the higher you go.

To help older and newer players stuck at low levels, we're boosting early-game monster XP so people can actually catch up without aging ten years.

Adding new classes: swordsman, hunter, orc, etc. Each comes with unique skills and talents. Team combos will matter, whether you like it or not.

Compensation for noble players: multiple new costume sets. Purely cosmetic—flashy outfits, sparkly skill effects, and custom animations. You'll look fabulous, but your stats won't change.

Chen Cong sat in his villa, scrolling the announcement with narrowed eyes.

"Oh. So they're slowly phasing out the whales. Even if you're rich, you might not be the strongest anymore."

He rubbed his temples. "Great. I want to spend money on gear, and I literally can't. That's a first."

Still, his schemer's brain kicked in. If he hoarded gear now, when old veterans came back, demand would skyrocket. He could resell at absurd markups.

Of course, if no one came back, his stockpile would rot like expired milk.

He smirked. "Fine. If it rots, it rots. Worst case, I use it myself. Best case, I become the Wall Street of gear. Either way, I win."

For once, he was actually excited.

Wu Yu adjusted his tie like a man heading to exile. "Luo Yuan, Cai Jing, and I are off for twenty days of training. You're the only salesman left, so all the performance pressure is on you. I've got a few clients sniffing around—follow up, and you might land orders."

Luo Yuan gave a solemn nod, like Wu Yu was bequeathing him a family sword. "Don't worry, Brother Yu. I'll hustle."

The truth was, Wu Yu didn't understand why salespeople were going to learn about machine tools, but if it was Mr. Kim's order, it had to have some hidden genius behind it. And hey—training came with a travel allowance. His base salary was already a cushy 6,000 dollars a month with zero commission requirement. Even if he slacked, he'd be fine. But he wouldn't slack—Mr. Kim trusted him, and that meant more than money.

Outside, the bus idled. The workshop trainees were already there. Suho himself stepped out of the building, coffee in hand, nose still twitching from last night's sneezes.

"Heading out?" he asked casually.

Wu Yu counted heads. "Yes, sir. Eight from the workshop, plus Cai Jing and me."

"Good," Suho said, lips twitching at the irony. Finally—some peace in the business department. He added, "Don't worry about lost commissions. The company will compensate you separately."

Wu Yu blinked. "Wait, on top of the travel allowance?"

"Allowance is for travel. Compensation is for the fact you're not doing sales. Two different things."

Wu Yu and Cai Jing both bowed slightly. "Thank you, Mr. Kim!"

"Yeah, yeah. Get on the bus before I get emotional." Suho waved them off with exaggerated impatience, though inside he was thinking, "Best twenty days of my life incoming."

Four hours later, the minibus groaned to a stop outside a sprawling campus. Wu Yu and the others shuffled off, blinking in the afternoon light.

A balding middle-aged man marched up with the confidence of a tour guide who'd given the same speech a hundred times. "Welcome! You must be the Steel Cup trainees. I'm Zhao Yang, your host. Training starts tomorrow, but first—we feed you and show you the dorms."

He puffed out his chest. "Our cafeteria? Best in the region. People from other factories sneak in just to eat here. And no, we don't call security—we take it as a compliment."

The trainees looked at each other, half-amused, half-hungry. Wu Yu whispered to Cai Jing, "If the food's actually good, I might just move in permanently."

Cai Jing deadpanned, "You'd miss the cafeteria drama back home."

Wu Yu shrugged. "True. Nothing beats a fight over microwaved fish."

They followed Zhao Yang inside, the promise of free meals softening the dread of twenty days of training.

The morning at Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory started out deceptively calm—birds chirping, sewing machines humming, and Suho trying to enjoy a lukewarm cup of coffee that tasted like existential dread.

He'd barely settled into his office chair when Cho Rin appeared with a clipboard like she was auditioning for the role of "Angel of Bad News."

"Mr. Kim," she said, "the training bus just arrived at Changling CNC. Zhao Yang, the manager there, says everything's ready."

Suho nodded. "Good. At least someone's punctual. Unlike our vending machine, which has been out of Snickers for three weeks." He took a sip and muttered, "That's the real tragedy."

Wu Yu and Cai Jing shuffled out of the bus with the other eight employees. They'd been on the road for four hours, long enough for Wu Yu to start questioning every life choice that had led him here.

The first thing to greet them was Zhao Yang, a balding man with the swagger of someone who thought cafeteria food was a personality trait.

"Welcome to Changling CNC!" he boomed. "Our park covers sixty thousand square meters—dorms, canteen, workshops, you name it. And trust me, our cafeteria is legendary. Even workers from other factories sneak in."

Cai Jing whispered to Wu Yu, "If other people are sneaking in, that means it's either amazing or laced with MSG."

Wu Yu shrugged. "MSG never killed anyone. Boring food has."

Zhao Yang led them past spotless halls lined with motivational posters. One read: 'A Machine Is Only as Good as the Man Who Panics Beside It.'

Wu Yu paused. "Comforting. Really inspires confidence."

Cai Jing deadpanned, "You panic next to machines for free. Now you'll get paid for it."

Suho was half-leaning on his desk, scrolling through spreadsheets that looked more like punishment puzzles than financial records.

"Perfect," he muttered, "with Wu Yu and Cai Jing gone, sales will slow down. The system can finally breathe. It's like sending two overachievers to summer camp."

Across from him, Lee Wonho poked his head in. "Mr. Kim, we've recycled the old machines. The company paid us 100,000 dollars. Should I log it as a win?"

Suho gave him a look. "A win? It's like finding a twenty in your laundry. You're happy, but you're also annoyed you forgot it in the first place."

He sighed and scribbled on the budget sheet. "Fine. It balances with the training subsidies. Net zero. Perfectly balanced, like Thanos's bank account."

Meanwhile, Fen Su was rallying the troops like he was launching a space shuttle.

"Team! Today we finalize the balance update announcement for Horny Princess Online!"

The devs were slumped in their chairs, caffeine-deprived and already traumatized by his pep talks.

One timid hand rose—Zhao Wenbo. "Sir, we already posted it last night."

Fen Su blinked. "We did?"

"Yes," Zhao said, yawning. "The one with free replacement gear, buffed early XP, new classes, and prestige costumes."

"Oh." Fen Su adjusted his tie like he'd meant that all along. "Excellent! Then… we'll just… celebrate that!"

Silence.

"Woo?" he offered weakly.

Someone clapped. Someone else coughed. Someone in the back whispered, "Kill me."

Chen Cong sat cross-legged on his expensive leather sofa, staring at his in-game stash of dragon-slaying equipment. He had eight pieces, two duplicates, and six unique. His face looked like a man who'd bought half a jigsaw puzzle at full price.

"These drop rates are malicious," he muttered. "I want to spend money, and I can't. Who designs this torture?"

He scrolled to the announcement again. Free gear for everyone. Boosted XP. Prestige cosmetics.

His eyes lit up. "Wait… if old players come back, demand skyrockets. If I stockpile gear now and resell later…" He grinned. "I become Jeff Bezos with swords."

He laughed manically for a few seconds, then stopped, staring into the middle distance. "Or… all this rots in my digital closet. Either way, I've committed."

He patted his screen like it was a pet dog. "Don't fail me, my little investments."

That night, workers who hadn't gone to training were sneaking into the new dorms like kids touring Disneyland.

"Bro, the lights are so bright I feel like I'm on TV."

"This shower pressure? Better than my apartment at home."

"Is this… Is this mattress memory foam? It remembers me? I'm not ready for that kind of relationship."

Jiang Cheng proudly showed his wife around. "See? Couple's room. Double bed. Mr. Kim really thought of everything."

Wang Juan blinked, still in disbelief. "Are you sure this isn't for executives?"

"Nope," Jiang Cheng said, puffing his chest. "For us. All of us. Now keep the cafeteria spotless, or I'll personally mop it with your apron."

She smacked him lightly on the arm. "You'd trip over the mop in five seconds."

Everyone laughed, the dorms buzzing with energy like a college freshman orientation, except with older backs and better air-conditioning.

The moment Zhao Yang left the dorm, Wu Yu found himself staring at the room like a man touring a budget motel right after scrolling through Airbnb photos of a luxury suite.

Two bunk beds. A wardrobe that looked like it had already given up on life. A single buzzing ceiling light that screamed fluorescent depression.

Yesterday, they had toured the new dorms back at Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory—air conditioning, flat-screen TVs, private bathrooms, and thick mattresses that practically hugged you back.

Now, standing in Changling CNC's dorm, Wu Yu could only think: I miss Mr. Kim. I miss him so damn much.

One of the workers flopped dramatically onto the top bunk. "I miss the garment factory's cafeteria on day one."

Another chimed in, clutching his blanket like it was an heirloom. "I miss the first day the company turned on the air conditioning."

A third sighed wistfully. "I missed the dorms before I even moved in."

They all looked at Wu Yu, waiting for his contribution to the pity parade.

Wu Yu shrugged, deadpan. "I miss Mr. Kim… on literally any day." He added silently, And I miss running business deals instead of playing Factory Survivor.

The room fell into collective silence, broken only by the squeak of the ancient bed frame whenever someone shifted.

Later, Zhao Yang returned to herd them like tourists on a bad package tour.

"Alright, team, let's get you familiar with the workshop. The training hall is over here. Production lines—there. Canteen—the biggest pride of our company. We even get people from other factories sneaking in for a meal!"

He puffed his chest as if running a decent cafeteria was equal to winning a Nobel Prize.

Cai Jing muttered under his breath, "So basically, this is Disneyland… but for rice."

Wu Yu gave him a side-eye. "Shut up, I'm starving. MSG is my new religion."

The group trudged along as Zhao Yang kept bragging about square footage like it was a TED Talk. By the end of the tour, the only thing that impressed anyone was how not impressive everything was.

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