PK leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, but the air around him felt heavy.
He looked at the manager and spoke calmly.
"Do you still want to work here?"
The question was simple. Too simple.
The manager frowned.
"What do you mean?"
PK's gaze locked onto him, steady and unblinking.
"Because once I buy this hotel," PK said evenly, "your position—your future—will depend entirely on my mood."
For a brief second, doubt flickered across the manager's face.
Then he laughed, loud and dismissive.
"You're still dreaming," the manager said arrogantly. "This hotel will never be sold. Not to you. Not to anyone."
PK didn't argue.
Instead, a slow, evil smile crept across his face.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't threatening.
That made it terrifying.
"Good," PK said softly.
He stood up, adjusted his coat, and looked down at the manager as if he were already beneath him.
"Then go and tell your boss," PK continued.
"Tell Mr. Root that I want to buy Royal Leaf."
The manager's eyes narrowed.
"And when he laughs," PK added, his smile widening just a fraction,
"come back and tell me exactly what he says."
He took a step forward.
"After that," PK said calmly,
"I'll decide what to do next."
The manager felt a chill crawl up his spine.
PK turned without another word and walked out of the private dining hall, his footsteps unhurried, his confidence absolute.
Behind him, the manager stood frozen—unable to tell whether he had just met a madman…
…or the beginning of a disaster for the Root family.