Three days later,
nicknamed "The Dev Dungeon" by its inhabitants, hummed with a chaotic energy. Mountains of ancient paper had been shoved into corners, replaced by wobbly desks and mismatched chairs salvaged from forgotten corners of the building. Whiteboards, procured from dubious sources, already bore the scars of intense brainstorming sessions: coffee ring stains mingled with elaborate, unfinished doodles of dragons fighting spreadsheets.
At the center of it all stood Su Yu, basking in the glow of a projector he had… tactically acquired… from a perpetually underfunded NGO office down the street. He beamed at his assembly of twenty bewildered student-interns, his eyes gleaming with the unholy light of pure, unadulterated ambition.
Su Yu (grinning like a charismatic cult leader):
"Alright, my glorious HSE warriors! Phase two is complete – we have a base, we have personnel! Now, for Phase Three: Creation! It's time to make a game! Not just any game, mind you—a cultural phenomenon! A digital masterpiece that will echo through the annals of gaming history! We will build an empire that makes those bloated AAA studios weep into their billion-dollar budgets, and we'll do it without spending even 1% of what they waste on executive lunches!"
He dramatically slammed a thick, brightly colored book onto a nearby table, narrowly missing a half-eaten cup of instant noodles. The title screamed: "Game Development for Rich Kids Who Failed Art School."
Su Yu (pointing with unnecessary intensity):
"To achieve this monumental task, we must organize! We shall divide ourselves into specialized departments! Like the legendary guilds of old—think Riot Games, FromSoftware, CD Projekt Red! We too shall embrace the glorious suffering required to forge true greatness!"
A collective groan rippled through the assembled students, but Su Yu, lost in his own hype, didn't seem to notice. He began pacing, assigning roles with the arbitrary authority of a benevolent dictator.
(The Birth of Departments in the Dev Dungeon)
1. Game Design Department:
"You!" Su Yu pointed at the Shy Girl, who immediately tried to shrink behind her laptop. "With your deep understanding of fictional angst gleaned from those CEO novels – you shall lead Game Design! Conceptualize! Innovate! Turn pain into gameplay!"
Tasked with: Core concept, mechanics, progression.
Process: Huddled around sticky notes plastered onto a dusty windowpane, trying to decipher Su Yu's caffeine-fueled ramblings ("Make it relatable! Like tax audits, but fun!") into actual game mechanics.
Their Brainchild: "Office Worker Simulator: Ascension RPG" – Rise from unpaid intern to CEO by battling toxic bosses, navigating treacherous office politics, and surviving mandatory team-building exercises. Key features included a rapidly depleting 'Sanity Meter,' 'Caffeine Rush' power-ups, and randomized 'Backstabbing Co-worker' events.
2. Art Department:
"And you," Su Yu indicated the K-pop obsessed student whose corner was already adorned with posters of idol groups, "your aesthetic sensibilities are clearly… vibrant! You shall head the Art Department! Make it beautiful! Make it stylish! Make it monetizable!"
Tasked with: Character design, environments, UI assets.
Tools: A cracked version of Photoshop that crashed every hour, Clip Studio Paint trial version, and an unhealthy reliance on Pinterest mood boards.
Style Guide: Aiming for the polished anime aesthetic of Genshin Impact combined with the moody atmosphere of Hollow Knight, resulting in character designs that looked suspiciously like K-pop idols cosplaying as depressed office drones.
3. Programming Department:
Su Yu nodded towards the silent programmer already hunched over a keyboard, surrounded by a fortress of three power banks and empty energy drink cans. "You, my friend, are the engine! The code wizard! Lead the Programming Department! Bring our digital dreams to life, one line of syntactically perfect code at a time!"
Tasked with: Engine wrangling (Unity), feature implementation, bug creation (and occasional fixing).
Process: A constant, silent war waged against cryptic error messages, merge conflicts on GitHub that threatened to unravel reality, and the omnipresent guidance of Stack Overflow comment sections. Sleep was optional; coffee was not.
4. Sound & Music Department:
"That student with the flute!" Su Yu gestured towards a young man humming an anime theme tune. "Your musical soul resonates! You are now the Maestro of the Sound & Music Department! Compose! Record! Make our players feel the crushing weight of impending deadlines!"
Tasked with: Soundtrack, sound effects.
Tools: A trial version of FL Studio, Audacity for questionable audio editing, a plastic cup tapped rhythmically for percussion, and a vast library of "royalty-free" YouTube samples of dubious origin.
Inspiration: Aiming for the emotional depth of Undertale meets the catchy vibes of Persona 5. Early track titles included: "Ballad of the Broken Printer," "Midnight Crunch Time Lo-fi Beats," and the boss theme "Performance Review Panic Attack."
5. Narrative Department:
"You!" Su Yu locked eyes with the CEO novel reader girl again (distinct from the Shy Girl). "You understand drama! Intrigue! Unrealistic workplace romances! Lead the Narrative Department! Craft a story that will make players question their life choices!"
Tasked with: Storyline, dialogue, world-building (within the confines of a single office building).
Inspiration: A potent blend of high-stakes visual novels, convoluted K-Drama plot twists, and the shared trauma of surviving internship interviews. The emerging storyline involved a plucky young intern uncovering a sinister corporate conspiracy involving embezzled coffee funds and a potentially haunted water cooler.
6. QA (Quality Assurance) Department:
"And the gamer!" Su Yu pointed at the student who had previously complained about ranking up. "Your skills in exploiting game mechanics are legendary! You are now Head of QA! Find the bugs! Break the game! Ensure our suffering is playable!"
Tasked with: Testing, bug reporting, occasionally finding exploits Su Yu might later sell as "premium features."
Initial Report: After just an hour with the barely-functional tutorial level, he reported finding exactly 42 bugs, ranging from clipping through walls to the player character spontaneously combusting when interacting with the coffee machine. He declared this "Surprisingly stable, actually. A miracle."
7. Marketing Department:
Finally, Su Yu turned to the gossip-loving student who seemed permanently attached to their phone. "You understand the masses! The trends! The memes! You shall command the Marketing Department! Create hype! Generate buzz! Make us go viral before we even have a functional demo!"
Tasked with: Social media presence, promotion, damage control (preemptively).
Tools: Canva for questionable graphic design, leeching off neighboring companies' Wi-Fi, and an encyclopedic knowledge of TikTok trends.
Strategy: A multi-pronged attack involving strategically "leaked" concept art (drawn hastily on napkins), manufacturing fake controversies, creating viral dance challenges related to office drudgery, and prepping Su Yu for a potential "heartfelt apology video" to generate sympathy clout if things went south.
With the departments loosely formed and vaguely understanding their impossible tasks, Su Yu hopped onto a wobbly chair, striking a pose reminiscent of a revolutionary leader addressing his troops before a final, doomed charge.
Su Yu (voice ringing with passion):
"Remember, team! Every giant started small! Even Blizzard was once just a few nerds in a garage! Even the great Hideo Kojima was once merely a man with a vision and an exceptionally wild haircut!"
The programmer, without looking up from his screen, deadpanned:
"Technically, he's still a man with vision and a wild haircut."
Su Yu:
"Precisely my point!" he declared, completely missing the sarcasm. "He persevered! And so shall we! Now—go forth! TO CODE! TO ART! TO QUESTIONABLE SOUND DESIGN! TO GLORY!"
And with that, the chaotic, underfunded, and wildly ambitious engine of HSE Limited sputtered to life in the heart of the Dev Dungeon.
Three Week Later,
The second floor, "The Dev Dungeon," no longer merely resembled a chaotic workspace; it had fully ascended into the Platonic ideal of a LAN party hosted by sleep-deprived engineers on the brink of a collective meltdown. Mountains of empty pizza boxes formed precarious leaning towers, threatening to collapse under their own greasy weight. The air hung thick with the scent of stale coffee, nervous sweat, and the faint, lingering aroma of despair.
Interns were scattered throughout the landscape of wobbly desks and stacked filing cabinets. Some were slumped over keyboards, drool glistening on their chins, lost in brief, precious comas. Others stared blankly at flickering screens, their eyes circled by dark rings that spoke of countless sleepless nights fueled by instant noodles and existential dread. A few, however, were still furiously typing, fingers flying across keyboards with manic intensity, fueled by sheer willpower and possibly hallucinogenic levels of caffeine – their very lives seemingly dependent on fixing that one last critical bug before the inevitable crash.
Presiding over this tableau of youthful burnout and digital creation stood Su Yu. In stark contrast to the surrounding entropy, he looked disturbingly refreshed, clad in a crisp, freshly ironed shirt that seemed immune to the office's pervasive grime. He surveyed his troops like a battlefield commander inspecting soldiers after a brutal, yet somehow successful, siege.
The Shy Girl, now Lead Game Designer by default and sheer terror, approached him hesitantly, clutching a trembling tablet.
"Ch-Chief Su..." she stammered, avoiding direct eye contact. "The demo build... it's... well, it exists? Mostly? We managed to cobble together three playable levels, sir. Though, the final boss is currently represented by a large, untextured cube labeled 'Angry Manager Placeholder,' and... uh... the player character has developed a habit of asserting dominance by striking a T-pose whenever the jump button is activated..."
From across the room, the Lead Programmer, who hadn't blinked in what seemed like hours and communicated primarily through resigned sighs, spoke in a flat monotone without looking up from his screen:
"The T-pose signifies the player's inherent superiority over the flawed physics engine. It is an intentional feature demonstrating artistic interpretation. Minimal viable product parameters have been met." He followed this with a shrug that conveyed profound indifference.
Su Yu's eyes gleamed. He clapped his hands together sharply, the sound echoing through the tense room.
"Flaws? Details! Minor imperfections!" he declared, dismissing the concerns with a wave of his hand. "Perfection is the stagnant pond where ambition goes to die! That T-pose? It's not a bug, it's avant-garde! It's subversive! It's a statement on the human condition! Release it!"
He swept his arm wide, encompassing the entire chaotic operation.
"Unleash 'Office Worker Simulator: Ascension RPG' upon the unsuspecting digital world! Steam Early Access! Itch.io! Upload it to obscure forums! Hell, burn copies onto pirated USB drives and hand them out discreetly in internet cafes if you must! I want the name HSE Limited whispered on the lips of every gamer, blogger, and bewildered parent by dawn!"
(Su Yu's Internal Monologue):
"Let the forums rage! Let the critics scream about bugs! Let them mock the T-posing hero! Free marketing! Every outraged comment, every bewildered stream, every mocking meme only spreads our name further! Genius!"
The Marketing Student immediately started typing furiously on their phone, likely drafting a social media post spinning the T-pose as a "bold, intentional design choice challenging gaming conventions." The Gamer Kid (QA Lead) muttered something about finding speedrun exploits using the T-pose glitch.
The rest of the interns looked at each other, a mixture of horror, exhaustion, and a strange, Stockholm Syndrome-esque flicker of excitement in their eyes. They were really doing it. They were releasing this beautiful, broken mess into the wild.
Su Yu beamed, radiating confidence that bordered on clinical delusion. "This, my friends," he announced, "is not just a demo release. It's the first shot fired in the revolution!"
While the programmers wrestled with the eldritch horrors lurking within their own code, the Marketing Student, fueled by lukewarm instant coffee and the intoxicating scent of potential internet fame, went into what could only be described as full goblin mode. Channeling the spirit of a thousand underpaid social media managers, she unleashed her creation upon the unsuspecting web:
> "Tired of your soul being crushed by spreadsheets? Does your boss communicate primarily through passive-aggressive sighs? Do you dream of yeeting the office printer out the window? THEN WE HAVE THE GAME FOR YOU!
> Experience 'Office Worker Simulator: Ascension RPG' – the only game where surviving a pointless meeting grants more EXP than slaying a dragon! Dodge flying coffee mugs! Decipher cryptic emails! Ascend the corporate ladder or die trying (metaphorically... probably)!
> Download now! Because corporate hell has never looked this… pixelated and buggy!
> #WorkSucksTheGame #HSE_Ascend #SuYuKnowsSuffering #T_Pose_For_Dominance"
>
But tweets alone wouldn't conquer the world. With cunning worthy of a spy novel protagonist, she located a small-time streamer known for playing bizarre indie games. The bribe was executed with surgical precision: a sacred offering of three packs of premium spicy beef-flavored instant noodles and a hastily generated, possibly-not-entirely-legitimate digital key to the game.
Miraculously… it worked.
That evening, the streamer went live, initially bewildered, then rapidly descending into shrieking hysterics as their pixelated intern avatar accidentally triggered an office-wide sprinkler malfunction while trying to make coffee, T-posed aggressively at a middle-manager NPC, and ultimately set the perpetually jammed printer ablaze. They dodged flying TPS reports like Neo dodging bullets.
The live chat exploded:
> "LMAO IS THIS A REAL GAME OR A FEVER DREAM?!"
> "DID THAT NPC JUST GASLIGHT THE PLAYER ABOUT MEETING MINUTES?? #Relatable"
> "The T-pose jump… it's… beautiful… I feel seen."
> "This is more stressful than my actual job. 10/10."
>"My soul left my body when the printer caught fire. Peak game design."
> "Forget Elden Ring, THIS is the true test of endurance!"
>
Against all odds, propelled by morbid curiosity and the streamer's infectious breakdown, the game garnered a shocking 100 downloads within the first hour. To HSE Limited, this wasn't just a number; it was a sign from the heavens, a validation of their caffeine-fueled suffering.
(BUGS REBORN AS GLORIOUS FEATURES)
While the players were experiencing the chaos, Su Yu, ever the opportunist, was performing alchemy. Mere mortals saw bugs, glitches, and programming oversights. Su Yu saw… untapped marketing potential. With the wisdom of a seasoned charlatan, he immediately began rebranding the chaos:
* That majestic, physics-defying T-Pose executed upon jumping? An error? Blasphemy! Su Yu swiftly decreed it the "Assertiveness Aura," a powerful manifestation of the employee's inner dominance, temporarily stunning lesser colleagues (and occasionally clipping through walls).
* The sudden, inexplicable rain of coffee mugs cascading from the ceiling that sometimes plagued players? Clearly not a rendering glitch, but the meticulously implemented "Boss's Unpredictable Mood Swing" dynamic weather event, keeping players on their toes.
* The bizarre bug causing dialogue to sometimes auto-skip or play at hyperspeed? Obviously, this was the immersive "Corporate Urgency Simulation™," designed to mimic the frantic pace of modern business where crucial information is often missed!
He personally updated the non-existent patch notes (scribbled on a whiteboard) with these glorious "feature" explanations.
And then, the feedback began to trickle in, echoing from the digital trenches where brave players battled pixelated middle managers:
A poignant review from user "KarenFromHR69":
"I… I don't know how to feel. This game mirrored my existence with terrifying accuracy. I wept openly at my desk during the 'Performance Review' boss fight. I ragequit so hard after the 'Team-Building Exercise' mini-game that I accidentally threw my ergonomic mouse across the actual office. My real boss saw this display of raw passion and, mistaking it for 'proactive initiative,' promoted me on the spot. Thisgame changed my life. 10/10, would endure soul-crushing simulation again."
Another, from "BugEnjoyerSupreme", offered a more philosophical take:
"Five stars. Is 'Office Worker Simulator: Ascension RPG' a game, or is it a highly elaborate, interactive cry for help from a team of profoundly traumatized developers? Honestly, who cares? The T-pose jump is peak performance art. The dialogue skipping bug perfectly captures the feeling of every meeting I've ever attended. It's not just a game; it's a mood. Inject this beautifuldisaster directly into my veins."
The buggy, broken, barely-held-together demo, born from chaos and instant noodles, was somehow… resonating. People weren't just playing it; they were feeling it. Su Yu watched the download counter tick slowly upward, a predatory gleam in his eyes. The revolution, however strange, had begun.
After Month
***Okay, let's integrate that meeting report into the ongoing narrative, maintaining the chaotic energy and Su Yu's unique leadership style:
(Scene: HSE Limited HQ – One Month Post-Launch)
One month had passed since the buggy, T-posing masterpiece known as "Office Worker Simulator: Ascension RPG" had been unleashed upon the unsuspecting internet. The second floor, formerly the "Dev Dungeon," hadn't magically transformed into a sleek tech office, but the mountains of pizza boxes had been slightly condensed, and the air smelled marginally less like despair and more like… well, slightly fresher despair, perhaps with a hint of cheap air freshener. Twenty student interns, bearing the haunted eyes and caffeine tremors of survivors, were gathered for their first official All-Hands meeting.
Su Yu, radiating an aura of 'I definitely didn't just learn how to use this thing five minutes ago,' fiddled with the ancient projector—the one borrowed indefinitely from the NGO downstairs. The machine occasionally emitted alarming sparks, causing the interns nearest to it to flinch reflexively whenever Su Yu gestured too emphatically. Finally, a flickering, slightly distorted image appeared on the dusty wall.
PROJECT STATS (PRESENTED WITH MAXIMUM DRAMA AND MINIMAL SAFETY)
Su Yu: "Behold, my glorious warriors! The spoils of our first campaign!"
The slide displayed:
REVENUE BREAKDOWN (Figures Subject to Creative Accounting)
* Expenses:
* Game Dev Software (Mostly Trial Versions & Hope): ¥80,000
* Fuel (Pizza, Instant Ramen, Tears, Surprising Amount of Hand Sanitizer): ¥60,000
* 'Internal Verification Costs' (Definitely Not Fake IDs): ¥20,000
* Rent (This Glorious Floor of Dreams): ¥10,000
* Net Profit (After Su Yu's 'Management Fees'): ₹4.3 lakh
A collective gasp went through the room. The Japanese Yen expenses juxtaposed with the sudden appearance of Indian Rupees in the profit line caused visible confusion.
The Shy Girl (Design Lead, nervously adjusting glasses) tentatively raised her hand. "Uh, Chief Su... why are the expenses in Yen but the profit is in Rupees?"
Su Yu waved a dismissive hand, nearly causing the projector to short-circuit. "Ah, international finance! Very complex currency conversions, global market synergy, blockchain... things! The important part," he declared, pointing dramatically at the bottom line, "is this! Four-poikt-two lakh Rupees! Generated from pure code, pixelated suffering, and your beautiful, sleep-deprived brains!"
He hopped onto a precarious stack of unused keyboards, using it as a makeshift stage, beaming down at his bewildered team.
Su Yu (CEO, Eternal Hustler, Master of Questionable Economics):
"My friends! My family! My beloved interns! Do you realize what we have achieved in a mere thirty days?! We conjured more wealth than the average graduate hopes to see in three years! We didn't just make a game; we crafted a digital mirror reflecting the glorious absurdity of corporate life! We transformed the mundane hell of office work into a playable paradise of shared trauma!"
The Shy Girl nodded, a flicker of pride battling with her inherent anxiety. "We... we also received several emails detailing how the 'Angry HR Auntie' boss fight triggered genuine PTSD in some players. So, realism achieved, I suppose?"
The Marketing Goblin chimed in excitedly, scrolling through her phone. "And we're still trending under #WorkSucksTheGame and #SuYuSimulator! The T-pose is officially a meme! Someone in Germany drew fan art depicting the player character as a sentient stapler yearning for freedom! Engagement is through the roof!"
The Coffee-Addicted Programmer, looking paler and more translucent than usual, slowly raised his head from his mug of tar-black coffee. "Can... can I please sleep for approximately 48 consecutive hours now, Chief?"
Su Yu's smile widened, predatory and full of boundless energy.
"Sleep? Sleep is for the weak! Sleep is for those who haven't tasted the intoxicating nectar of success! No, my friend! We don't rest now! Because Phase Two... begins today!"
A collective groan, deep and resonant, echoed through the Dev Dungeon. It was the sound of twenty souls realizing their suffering was far from over.
"PHASE TWO?!"
Ignoring the palpable wave of dread, Su Yu dramatically produced a sheet of paper, poorly laminated and slightly sticky, slapping it onto the wall next to the sparking projector. The title, written in aggressive marker pen, read:
"Office Worker Simulator: REBORN™ – Expansion Concepts (Mandatory Fun Initiative)"
Su Yu: "Behold! The future!" He began outlining the glorious new features:
* New Soul-Crushing Levels: "Prepare to navigate the treacherous labyrinth of the Corporate Espionage Department! Survive the endless night in the Midnight Overtime Dungeon! Face ultimate judgment in The HR Gauntlet of Grievances!"
* New Playable Character: "Introducing the 'Mysterious Intern with a Hidden Rich Backstory and Suppressed Rage Issues'! Unlock their tragic past and unique passive-aggressive skills!"
* Multiplayer Mayhem: "Team up in 'Co-Op Startup Survival Mode'! Will you collaborate to meet impossible deadlines, or strategically sabotage your friend's coffee order to steal that virtual promotion?!"
* Gacha System Monetization!: "And finally, the key to true financial glory! A revolutionary gacha system for... office supplies! Pull for the Legendary Golden Stapler (+5 Morale)! The SSS-Rank Ergonomic Chair of Eternal Back Pain! And the Mythical Broken Coffee Machine that has a 0.01% chance of actually dispensing coffee!"
The interns stared at the list, then at Su Yu, then back at the list, their expressions a perfect blend of horror and unwilling fascination. Phase Two sounded even more insane than Phase One.
Su Yu beamed, oblivious or perhaps energized by their despair. "The foundation is laid! Now, we build our empire!"
Location: An opulent penthouse suite perched atop the city like a crystal palace, boasting floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a god's-eye view. Inside, elegant silk drapes shimmered, imported orchids bloomed with arrogant beauty in priceless vases, and at least twelve artisanal scented candles remained untouched, their potential for serenity utterly ignored. Amidst this curated perfection, Linling stood—a vision of icy beauty, draped in designer wear that cost more than a small car, her face a mask of perfect fury. Her diamond-encrusted smartphone sailed through the air, narrowly missing a Ming dynasty sculpture, before crashing onto a plush Persian rug. It wasn't the first time today.
Linling (teeth gritted, snatching the phone back and dialing with venomous precision):
"One month! An entire lunar cycle! Why is that glacial automaton ghosting me?! Does he think he's cultivating immortality in some mountain cave?! Even the Arctic ice melts eventually!"
She paced the vast living room, her needle-sharp stilettos clicking against the imported marble floor with a force that threatened to crack the very foundations of the building. Her personal assistant, a young woman holding an iPad displaying stock market figures, stood frozen near the doorway, pale and trembling, scarcely daring to breathe lest she attract the storm's wrath.
(THE CALL CONNECTS – OLD MASTER LU'S SERENE VILLA)
Cut to: The sprawling, traditional courtyard villa of the Lu family patriarch. Old Master Lu, clad in a luxurious silk robe embroidered with golden dragons, reclined comfortably on a rosewood chaise lounge. He leisurely sipped steaming, priceless ginseng tea, attended by silent, deferential servants, embodying the picture of untouchable power and leisurely retirement. A discreetly ringing phone was answered by his impeccably dressed butler.
Butler (bowing slightly): "Esteemed Master, it is the Young Madam Lu... calling for the seventh time this morning."
Old Man Lu (eyes still closed, letting out an annoyed sigh): "Ah, the peacock my grandson unfortunately had to marry for appearances. That family's ambition truly knows no bounds. What trinket does she desire now? A new limited-edition handbag? Another yacht? Perhaps she wants me to arrange a private moon landing?"
With the weary reluctance of a king granting audience to a particularly irritating court jester, he finally took the offered phone, his voice instantly adopting the warmth and charm of a tax collector demanding payment.
Old Man Lu (tone dry as desert sand):
"Yes, Young Madam Linling. State your purpose quickly. You surely recall the... terms of this arrangement between our families. It was a transaction for reputation, not a fairy tale. Spare me the melodrama."
Linling (voice sharp enough to cut glass, snapping back instantly):
"Oh, spare me your condescending lectures, Grandpa-in-name-only! I couldn't care less about your archaic notions of 'arranged paper marriages'! Your precious grandson—my supposed husband—has vanished! Evaporated! For one whole month! Not a call, not a text, not even a courtesy notification from his army of assistants that he decided to spontaneously combust!"
In the background of the penthouse, the terrified assistant discreetly tapped her smartwatch, perhaps setting a timer for how long she had before needing to call emergency services for herself.
Linling (jabbing a perfectly manicured finger towards her phone screen):
"One hundred and eighty-two! That's how many times I have called that emotionless statue! Not a single reply! And now I hear through the grapevine that he's officially 'missing'? What colossal joke is this?! Did he finally achieve enlightenment and ascend, leaving his worldly duties behind? Or is he off playing some pathetic Disney prince, wandering through enchanted forests on a quest of 'self-discovery'?!"
Old Man Lu (a slight, dismissive cough):
"My dear child, men of stature often require periods of... solitude. Perhaps he's contemplating market fluctuations. Perhaps he had a sudden urge to wrestle bears. These things happen. Existential dread is a powerful motivator. Now, if you're calling seeking affection, I suggest a pet store. If, however, this concerns financial matters—"
Linling (voice dropping, suddenly cold and razor-sharp):
"I require a substantial donation."
Old Man Lu (blinking, momentarily caught off guard):
"A donation? To what noble cause this time? The 'Foundation for Purchasing Extinct Butterflies'?"
Linling (a dangerous, humourless smile curving her lips):
"To the Su Family. My family. They've encountered... unfortunate circumstances. Their stock requires stabilization. I expect a significant transfer of funds from the Lu Corporation by market close tomorrow. Consider it... an investment in maintaining familial harmony."
A split-second pause hung in the air. Old Master Lu's nonchalant facade momentarily cracked, a flicker of something unreadable – surprise? Calculation? Annoyance? – flashing in his eyes before being instantly suppressed. He mumbled something vague about "consulting with financial advisors" and "unforeseen liquidity issues" before abruptly ending the call with the speed of a startled viper.
Linling stared contemptuously at the now-dark screen of her phone before tossing it carelessly onto a silk cushion.
Linling (muttering to herself, a frustrated sigh escaping her perfect lips):
"How utterly inconvenient. How does that damn frost giant manage to get himself lost? Did someone finally discover the off-switch for that workaholic brain of his? Hmph."
A non-existent breeze seemed to dramatically sweep through the sealed penthouse, catching strands of her immaculate hair. Her eyes narrowed with calculating determination.
"Useless old men, useless husband," she hissed softly. "Fine. If the esteemed Lu family is incapable of locating their own heir, then I, Linling, will personally drag that infuriating block of ice back myself. If only to demand why he ignored my calls."