The night was calm, the kind of calm that hides storms behind it. Jackim sat in his glass office overlooking the glowing city. The skyline of Sue City twinkled like a thousand silent witnesses to his rise — and now, possibly, his fall. His phone buzzed again for the fifth time in ten minutes.
"Boss," Kelvin's voice broke through, low, hesitant. "We need to talk. It's about Marcus."
Jackim's fingers froze mid-air above his keyboard. Marcus the same manager who had been with him since the early days, the one who once skipped meals just to help close a deal. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and whispered to himself, "Don't tell me it's what I think."
Kelvin didn't answer. The silence was enough.
Jackim stood, walked to the window, and stared at his reflection. "Come to my office," he said quietly.
A few minutes later, Kelvin entered, looking uneasy. He placed a brown envelope on the table. Inside were printouts, transfer receipts, and one screenshot — the kind that made your stomach drop.
Two million dollars, gone. Leaked data from BragTech's encrypted servers — gone.
And all fingers pointed to Marcus.
Jackim's chest tightened. He wasn't angry. Not yet. He was tired.
Kelvin looked down. "Boss, I don't get it. The guy was doing well. Big salary, bonuses. Why would he—"
Jackim raised his hand to stop him. "Because sometimes people don't steal out of hunger. They steal because of emptiness."
He sank into his chair. His heart thumped in slow, heavy beats. The betrayal didn't just sting — it reopened every scar he'd ever healed. The system inside his mind buzzed faintly, almost nervously, like it, too, didn't know how to comfort him.
System alert: Corporate theft detected. Suggested response: punishment.
Jackim chuckled bitterly. "Even you want blood, huh?"
Kelvin looked confused. "Boss?"
"Nothing," Jackim said, waving him off. "Where's Marcus now?"
"Still in his apartment. He hasn't shown up today. Maybe he knows you found out."
Jackim stood. "Then let's go to him."
They drove through the city quietly. Kelvin kept glancing at him, trying to read his expression. Jackim just stared out the window, watching streetlights slide past like ghosts of broken trust.
When they arrived at Marcus's apartment, the man was already sitting on the balcony, half-drunk, eyes red and swollen. Empty whiskey bottles lay scattered like fallen soldiers.
He looked up as Jackim stepped out of the car. "You came," he said weakly. "I thought you'd send the police."
Jackim said nothing. He walked over and sat opposite him.
"Why?" That one word carried weight heavier than gold.
Marcus stared at the floor. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
Marcus laughed bitterly. "Try you? The man who has everything? Cars, houses, women, fame? You don't understand what it feels like to watch someone you started with rise so high that you can't even see their shadow anymore."
Kelvin clenched his fists, but Jackim raised a hand to calm him. "Go on," he said softly.
"I was loyal, Jackim. I worked night and day. I stayed late. I believed in BragTech more than myself. But one day I looked around, and everyone was calling you the legend, the prodigy. Nobody even remembered who built the first system model — I did." His voice cracked. "I didn't sell you out for money. I did it to feel like I mattered again."
Jackim exhaled slowly. "And now? Do you feel like you matter?"
Marcus's eyes watered. "No. I feel empty."
Silence. The night wind whispered through the balcony rails.
Jackim stood and looked up at the stars. For a long moment, he didn't speak. Then he said, "You know what hurts most? It's not the loss. It's realizing that even good people can lose themselves trying to catch the light."
Marcus dropped to his knees. "I'm sorry, Jackim. I didn't mean for things to go this far. They tricked me — The Wheel's men. I thought I was just signing a small deal. I didn't know they'd use it to attack you."
Jackim turned, his voice low. "They always use broken hearts as weapons."
Kelvin stepped forward. "Boss, say the word. I'll handle it."
Jackim shook his head. "No."
Kelvin frowned. "You're letting him go? After all this?"
"Yes." Jackim's tone was calm but firm. "We win nothing by breaking what's already broken."
The system buzzed sharply in his head again.
Warning: Mercy may cost you. System efficiency will decrease by 5%.
Jackim smiled faintly. "Then let it cost me. I'd rather lose numbers than my soul."
He walked away, leaving Marcus kneeling in the dark, crying.
Later that night, Jackim sat alone in his penthouse, the city lights blurring through the glass like watercolor. Kelvin joined him quietly, holding two mugs of coffee.
"You should have fired him," Kelvin muttered.
"Maybe," Jackim said. "But if I destroy everyone who betrays me, who will I have left to forgive?"
Kelvin sighed. "You're too soft sometimes."
Jackim smirked. "And you're too hard. That's why we balance each other."
They both laughed lightly — the kind of laugh that hurts more than silence.
Just then, Jackim's phone buzzed again. A notification from the System appeared:
System message: Unexpected variable detected — Marcus confession uploaded online. Global reaction increasing.
"What the—?" Kelvin leaned in. "He uploaded it?"
Within minutes, Jackim opened his social feed — and there it was: a viral video of Marcus sobbing, confessing everything. He admitted to stealing, leaking, and betraying, but the last words broke the internet:
"Jackim didn't fire me. He forgave me. He said mercy costs more than revenge. The world doesn't deserve men like him."
The video exploded. Millions watched, commented, shared. The narrative flipped overnight — from a betrayal story to a lesson in humanity.
System reward: Emotional Wisdom — Activated.
Jackim read the notification and shook his head. "I didn't do it for rewards."
Kelvin smiled faintly. "Maybe that's why you got it."
A few days later, Jackim held a board meeting. The team was tense, expecting layoffs, restructuring, or worse. Instead, Jackim walked in smiling.
"Relax," he said, setting down his coffee. "Nobody's getting fired today. We're just getting smarter."
A few awkward chuckles broke the tension.
He continued, "Betrayal doesn't mean we stop trusting. It means we start trusting wisely. And mistakes don't define loyalty — redemption does."
People nodded, some even teary-eyed.
Then, with his signature half-smirk, he added, "Besides, I've already upgraded our cyber defense. So if anyone wants to steal two million again, they'll have to go through an army of firewalls and Kelvin's bad jokes."
The room burst into laughter. Kelvin raised his hands. "Hey! My jokes save lives, man."
"Sure," Jackim said, chuckling. "They scare hackers away."
Laughter softened the pain, and for a moment, BragTech felt alive again — not just a company, but a family with scars and stories.
That evening, Jackim went live for a surprise Q&A. Millions tuned in. Comments flooded the screen:
@FaithK: "You're too calm, boss. How can you forgive someone who hurt you?"
@SammyJ: "Man, I wish I had your patience. I'd have burned his laptop and his soul!"
@Lina_L: "Proud of you, always."
Jackim smiled warmly and said, "Forgiveness isn't weakness. It's choosing peace when chaos wants your attention. You brag better when your heart is clean."
The chat exploded with hearts and crying emojis. Even the trolls went quiet.
He ended the livestream with a grin. "Remember, my people, betrayal teaches you who you are — not who they were."
When the lights dimmed and everyone left, Jackim leaned back in his chair, exhausted. He looked out at the city again — the same skyline that once felt like his playground, now just a reflection of endless lessons.
The system spoke softly:
Host, today's mercy increased global reputation by 350%. Do you feel satisfied?
Jackim chuckled quietly. "No, System. I don't feel satisfied. I feel… human."
And for once, the System didn't respond. It just hummed, almost respectfully.
Outside, thunder rolled in the distance. Inside, a man who had everything realized the greatest victory wasn't revenge or profit — it was peace.
He whispered to himself, smiling sadly, "Mercy may cost you, but hate costs everything."
He turned off the lights and walked away, leaving only the soft glow of the city and a lingering sense of quiet redemption.