Drip.
A single drop slides down the edge of a trembling leaf. It falls—splat—onto the shoulder of a black business suit.
The man wearing it doesn't flinch.
A blue bracelet on his wrist reflects the towering glass building behind him, where a bold sign declares:
"Today Is the Day."
Today is the day, Lu Siyan thinks.
The beginning of the end.
The glorious, melodramatic collapse of my demon-king dad's capitalist empire.
Unfortunately, the universe—as usual—has other plans.
Nearby, a half-drunk security guard squints.
"Ayo, sus dog. Go away."
Lu Siyan's eye twitches. "You disgusting man," he mutters, venomous. "You'll regret this."
Before he can monologue like a tragic antihero, a commotion erupts.
Other guards rush over, drawn by barking and the rumor of the new boss's arrival.
Too many people.
Too many eyes.
Time to vanish.
Lu Siyan stumbles back, aiming for mysterious grace.
"I'll see you again," he declares, finger raised like an anime villain.
Then he runs.
Five seconds later, panting, he bursts back.
"…Wrong way."
Then he runs again.
---
He ducks into a narrow alley, dodging a delivery drone, a suspicious pigeon, and—most importantly—eye contact.
He pushes open the grimy door of a café named Bitter Beans. It smells like burnt ambition and overpriced lattes.
A barista with too many piercings and not enough energy glances up.
"One Americano. Extra angst," Lu Siyan says, collapsing into a booth like a disgraced prince.
(He has no idea what an Americano actually is. It just sounds like what tragic protagonists drink.)
The barista blinks. "We don't serve emotions. Size?"
"…Large."
Nearby, interns from his father's company argue about a mysterious new CEO.
Lu Siyan sinks lower, sipping with the solemnity of a funeral guest.
Today was supposed to be the start of my vengeance arc, he thinks bitterly.
Instead, I'm hiding in a café like a rejected C-list drama lead.
Click.
Two wine glasses clink nearby. A man in a dress shirt with a "Dark Lu Corp — R&D" badge slumps against a wall.
"Why did I lose… to an intern and a girl?" he mutters, broken.
Lu Siyan stabs a straw into his cappuccino like it's a silent execution.
He sips, slow and bitter. Eyes glazed.
"Another youth shattered," he muses,
"by my father's smiling fangs."
He imagines that smile—sharp, sweet, and forged in boardrooms. A grin beta-tested on broken minds.
The kind that says, "Trust me," right before it sells you a lifetime of regret.
Lu Siyan straightens his suit. Smooth steps. Bright eyes.
He's not just walking—he's ascending.
Clink.
A wine glass drops.
"RUN!" someone screams. "The old boss is here!"
Wine arcs through the air—red, slow, apocalyptic.
Screams. Shoving. Chaos erupts like pigeons fleeing a grenade.
The glass shatters at Lu Siyan's feet.
The receipt printer beeps—once.
A bill curls from the machine like a tongue of prophecy.
Lu Siyan doesn't flinch.
He just walks.
---
At the corridor's end, beneath glowing LU CORP letters, a slogan beams down with divine irony:
"Innovation and You."
He unsheathes a black access card like a blade of sarcasm.
LU SIYAN, it reads.
Beep.
The doors hiss open.
Inside: a buzzing office. Nervous energy, whispers, and caffeine jitters.
He strides to the front desk. The receptionist is mid-gossip.
"Didn't you hear? That new girl crushed the arrogant R&D guy! Even the PR Department supports her!"
Lu Siyan freezes. Vein twitching.
"No more female empowerment arcs," he mutters. "My mom's rants are enough to last twelve lifetimes."
He knocks the desk—sharp, annoyed.
The receptionist turns. Beautiful. Healing smile. Dangerous.
"How can I help you, sir?" she asks, sweet as cyanide.
"Do you know Mr. Chu?" he asks flatly.
A glint enters her eyes. "And the reason for your visit?"
Lu Siyan scowls inwardly. NPC dialogue. Disgusting.
"It's confidential," he snaps.
Her smile dips—slightly. "Name, sir?"
He flicks his card onto the desk like a royal decree.
She makes a call. Nods.
"You're good to go."
He pockets the card with exaggerated elegance and strides away.
Behind him, someone mutters, "Man… I was so drunk yesterday. Celebration day and all…"
The elevator doors close.
Lu Siyan's composed face crumbles.
He makes faces. Pure agony. Existential frustration.
"Where the hell is Chu Hang hiding? I need startup funds for my glorious failure company. I'll lose money so hard, even the economy will cry."
Ding!
A screen flickers to life.
---
LOSS DEBATE SYSTEM
We give money… for failure.
Lu Siyan stares. Then exhales like a villain finding religion.
"Finally," he whispers.
"My revenge begins—with failure as my sword."
Ding.
Elsewhere, elevator doors open.
A coin spins through the air.
Clink… clink… clink…
Lu Siyan walks a sterile hallway, flipping it from hand to hand like it's his soul.
Clink. Clack.
His face is calm.
Inside? Pure panic.
Please don't fall, he chants. If this drops, my nose will fall into my ancestors' graves…
The coin flips—too high—nearly hits the ceiling light.
Eye twitch.
That's it. If this drops, I'm legally changing my name to Disgraceful Failure No. 9.
Clink.
Caught. Barely.
He exhales. Straightens his tie. Composure restored.
Coin clenched in fist, he walks forward.
---
In a dim office stacked with unopened reports, a man in his thirties spins in a chair. Nameplate: Chu Hang — Secretary-General.
He stops. Blinks.
Steam curls from a cracked porcelain cup.
Lu Siyan flicks a paper onto the desk.
"Young Master?" Chu Hang jumps. "Why are you here?"
Lu Siyan smirks.
Finally. The demon-king's lapdog.
Chu peers at the document. One bold name stands out:
HFE LIMITED
He signs it without question.
"You've come at the right time," Chu says. "Our new CEO arrives today."
Lu Siyan nods. "Yup. I know."
> Dad… I'll dismantle your empire. Piece by piece. With failure as my currency.
And interest… collected in chaos.
He turns, coat fluttering like rebellion incarnate.
Chu slumps. "If this kid burns the company down, I better at least get stock options…"
Slurp.
"…Wait. What's the full form of HFE?"
---
Back in the elevator, the coin flips again.
But this time, it's smooth. Deliberate.
Lu Siyan's face is calm—too calm.
Like a man walking into war… as both general and casualty.
Ding.
The doors part.
She enters.
Slim. Pale. Emotionless.
A glacier wrapped in silk.
A crowd trails behind her.
"Ma'am," an assistant stammers, "Secretary Chu has been informed. Lu Corp welcomes you."
She says nothing. Keeps walking.
She brushes past Lu Siyan.
He turns slightly, murmuring:
> So… this is my fiancée?
His eyes catch the delicate curve of her arm beneath her sleeve.
Click.
The coin flips one last time.
A glint beneath it:
HFE — Heavenly Falling Enterprise
Lu Siyan catches the coin. Smirks.
> Perfect.
Let's drag the heavens down with us.
Tap. Tap.
Her heel strikes the polished elevator floor — sharp, impatient, sovereign.
A glint flashes off the engagement ring on her pale finger — white-gold, knife-edged, a crown masquerading as jewelry.
Three secretaries orbit her like nervous satellites. One steps forward, arms trembling as she presents a document.
"Ma'am… we've reviewed the contract. As per the terms, Lu Corp now falls under your leadership, Miss Su."
Linling doesn't look at them. Her gaze remains fixed on the glowing numbers above the elevator doors.
Only when the doors ding open does she flick her eyes to the papers — then forward.
Beyond the threshold sits Chu Hang at a desk smothered in scattered files, a coffee cup stained with the sick yellow of stale ambition.
He stands abruptly, brushing the mess into a semblance of order like a student jolted awake during roll call.
"Young Madam," he says, placing the documents before her with ceremonial reverence. "You've finally arrived."
She sighs.
Su Linling.
That name lands like a death sentence in her skull.
On the outside: silk composure.
Inside: a face smashed against the walls of silent outrage.
> First that dirtbag at the entrance… now this microwaved office clerk giving me orders?
> Can't a girl just sip oolong on a velvet throne and fake responsibility?
> No. Of course not.
> My family wants me to work like a cow, then breed like one too — with that walking germ of a fiancé.
Clink.
The engagement ring knocks against the desk.
She stares at it. Cold. Silent. Calculating.
A smile curls her lips — elegant, unreadable. It doesn't touch her eyes.
"Show me the numbers," she says.
"Do you have ice cream for a glacier?"
Lu Siyan licks his popsicle like he's interrogating a suspect. The ice-cream vendor doesn't respond—just sweats harder.
A breeze flutters a lime-green flyer past them. Lu Siyan tracks it with a squint.
Then he sees it.
A pigeon.
Cautious. Paranoid. Looking left, then right.
Then it takes off.
> "Even this filthy bird knows to be careful," Lu Siyan murmurs.
His foot clamps down silently on the ice-cream cart's wheel.
The vendor flinches, his hands trembling.
> "If I get caught," he thinks, "I'm dragging this bastard down with me."
Lu Siyan licks his ice-cream again, lost in thought.
Su Linling's face blooms in his mind.
His gaze dips — to the elegant collarbone, pale skin like untouched porcelain.
Lower. Curves. Slightly too tight pencil skirt.
> "Big…" he breathes, a bit too intoxicated.
BUMP!
Brain freeze.
Like a divine punishment.
He grabs his head in agony.
Then turns to the vendor with a smile—sharp, deranged.
> "Did you frost this with your hate?"
The vendor says nothing. Just contemplates murder.
Lu Siyan finishes the last lick, then—
Flick.
The wooden stick arcs into the dustbin with surgical grace,
like an assassin sheathing a blade.
"HEY! THAT'S THE SUSPICIOUS GUY FROM EARLIER!"
A slurred voice pierces the calm.
Lu Siyan's eye twitches.
He turns—
That same half-drunk bodyguard, now with backup, pointing like he's discovered a national traitor.
"I told you!" the man yells.
"That popsicle-licking freak! He was loitering near the CEO flyers!"
A wave of security starts to approach, murmuring and squinting.
The ice-cream vendor panics.
> Nope. Not today. I'm not getting cuffed for 35 rupees.
With a sudden grunt, he shoves Lu Siyan straight onto the ground—
Face-first into the dust.
"TRAITOR!" Lu Siyan gasps, muffled.
The vendor hops onto the back of the cart, grabs the handlebars like a war chariot, and yells:
"FOR ICE AND FREEDOM!"
He charges.
AT LU SIYAN.
The wheels screech like a B-grade heist getaway.
The ice-cream umbrella flaps in the wind like a pirate flag of treason.
Lu Siyan rolls—barely—just as the metal cart blasts past, one centimeter from breaking his nose.
A mango bar flies off, landing splat on his back like a posthumous tribute.
"YOU MADMAN!" Lu Siyan screams, scrambling upright.
"WE WERE COMRADES!"
The vendor doesn't look back.
Just screams into the wind:
"DOWN WITH GLACIERS!"
---
In the background, the drunk guard stares, baffled.
"...Was that part of the plan?"
Security halts, uncertain whether to chase Lu Siyan, the ice cream cart, or their own regretful career choices and some were eager to conclude 35 rupees is more important.
Lu Siyan lies face-down on the concrete, motionless. His hair: tragically windswept. A mango bar melts on his back like the last remnant of a heroic era.
The half-drunk bodyguard staggers over, squinting like a detective in a crime drama with a low Rotten Tomatoes score.
He kneels. Two fingers to the wrist.
"…No pulse," he murmurs. "He died as he lived. Dramatically."
BLAM!
The guard crumples.
Gasps echo.
LU SIYAN RISES. Eyes blazing. Shirt rumpled with rage.
Clenched in his fist: a popsicle stick—angled at the fallen guard's Adam's apple like a sugar-coated threat.
"Go down," Lu Siyan hisses. "Or the whole stick goes in. Mango flavor."
The half-drunk guard stares, heartbroken.
"…Noooo," he gasps, like the end of a doomed romance.
Instantly—
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Guards hit the ground. Weapons tossed like bad crypto investments.
Lu Siyan swipes an antique rifle with theatrical flair, twirls it (poorly), then turns—coat fluttering, warlord of melodrama—and bolts.
Silence.
A beat.
One young guard frowns. "...Wait, why'd we let him run away with that old rifle without any—"
A hand clamps over his mouth.
His senior speaks, eyes blank with insurance fraud wisdom.
"Shh. Just business. You wouldn't understand."
Around them, murmurs:
"Is this a 10x insurance clause moment?"
"Totally. The 'armed emotionally unstable heir' policy."
"Tell HR we need hazard pay. And therapy. And cake."
On the ground, the half-drunk guard raises a trembling hand.
"Don't forget… a pack of mango mayhem for me…"
Eyeing at a signboard
["Mango Mayhem™ – A Taste of Power.
Only at Lu Corp."]