The smell of old grease and industrial bleach was the only cologne Lu Chen had worn for three years.
He was currently on his hands and knees in the kitchen of The Grand Emerald, a five-star restaurant where a single appetizer cost more than Lu Chen made in a month. He wasn't a guest; he was the night-shift janitor, the man responsible for scrubbing the stains the day crew ignored.
"Faster, you useless dog! The floor still looks like your face—trash!"
Manager Zhao, a man with a neck as thick as a ham and a heart twice as cold, kicked Lu Chen's plastic bucket. Grey, soapy water splashed over Lu Chen's worn-out sneakers, soaking his socks.
Lu Chen didn't flinch. He didn't even look up. He just gripped his scrub brush tighter.
"I'm talking to you, loser!" Zhao barked, stepping on Lu Chen's hand with his polished leather shoe. He ground his heel down. "I heard your sister got kicked out of her private ward today. They moved her to the hallway because you couldn't pay the $5,000 maintenance fee. Sad. Maybe if you begged me properly, I'd lend you a few cents."
Lu Chen's eyes darkened, but he kept his voice steady. "The floor will be done in five minutes, Manager Zhao."
"Don't bother," Zhao sneered, checking his gold-plated watch. "You're fired. I don't like your energy tonight. Leave the mop. Get out. And don't expect your final paycheck—consider it a fine for the 'emotional distress' your ugliness causes my customers."
The kitchen staff laughed. A few waitresses whispered as they passed by.
"Is that the guy whose fiancée dumped him for the son of the Real Estate mogul?"
"Yeah. Imagine being so poor that your girlfriend leaves you via a text message sent to your boss's phone."
Lu Chen stood up slowly. He wiped his wet hands on his stained apron. He didn't look like a man who had just lost his job and his sister's hospital room. He looked like a man counting seconds.
In his mind, a clock was ticking.
11:59:45 PM.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old, battered Nokia phone. The screen was so scratched it was hard to read.
"What's that? You're checking the time to see when the soup kitchen opens?" Zhao mocked, stepping closer, his breath smelling of expensive cigars and cheap ego. "Get out before I have security throw you into the dumpster where you belong."
11:59:55 PM.
"Five seconds," Lu Chen whispered.
"Five seconds for what?" Zhao laughed. "To cry? To beg?"
11:59:59 PM.
12:00:00 AM.
The three-year vow was complete. The "Trial of Poverty" imposed by the Lu Family Elders had officially ended.
Suddenly, the silence of the late-night kitchen was shattered. Not by a voice, but by a sound that shouldn't exist in a place like this.
Brrr-Zzt! Brrr-Zzt!
Every single smartphone in the kitchen—from the chefs' iPhones to Manager Zhao's gold-plated device—began to chime simultaneously. It was the emergency alert sound usually reserved for earthquakes or tsunamis.
Zhao pulled out his phone, annoyed. "What is this? A government test?"
He looked at the screen. His eyes bulged. It wasn't an alert. It was a notification from the city's banking union.
[URGENT]: A Level-SSS Black Gold Account has been activated in this district. All local financial systems are temporarily frozen for synchronization. Global Priority: 1.
"Level SSS?" Zhao stammered. "There are only five of those in the world..."
Before he could finish, the heavy double doors of the restaurant were kicked open. A line of men in black tactical suits marched in, forming a corridor from the entrance to the kitchen. They weren't local security. They were high-level private guards, the kind that protect presidents.
A man in a silver suit walked through the corridor. He was the CEO of the city's largest bank, a man Zhao had only seen on television.
The CEO ignored the managers, ignored the chefs, and walked straight through the puddle of dirty water. He stopped in front of Lu Chen, who was still wearing his janitor's apron.
The CEO bowed so low his forehead almost touched the greasy floor.
"Young Master Lu," the CEO's voice trembled with a mix of fear and reverence. "The three years are over. Your personal assets of 900 billion dollars have been unfrozen. The Lu family's private jet is idling at the airport. Your sister has been moved to the Presidential Medical Suite. We await your first command."
The kitchen went deathly silent. The only sound was the drip of the leaky faucet.
Lu Chen took off his apron and dropped it onto Manager Zhao's polished shoes. He looked at the man who had spent the last year tormenting him.
"Manager Zhao," Lu Chen said, his voice cold enough to freeze the air. "You said I was trash."
Lu Chen turned to the CEO. "Buy this restaurant. Buy the building. Buy the land it sits on. I want it done in sixty seconds."
The CEO tapped his tablet once. "It is done, Young Master. You now own The Grand Emerald and the surrounding shopping plaza."
Lu Chen looked back at Zhao, whose face was now a ghostly shade of white, his knees shaking so hard he could barely stand.
"Now," Lu Chen said, pointing to the bucket of grey, soapy water on the floor. "The floor looks a bit dirty, doesn't it? Manager Zhao... start scrubbing. If there's a single spot left by sunrise, I'll make sure you never work in this hemisphere again."
Lu Chen walked out of the kitchen, his tattered sneakers leaving wet footprints on the floor he now owned. Behind him, he heard the sound of a man hitting the floor, sobbing and begging for mercy.
The King had returned. And he was just getting started.