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PREVIEW
... st, in his half-dreaming haze, he thought he was back in high school being tortured by morning assembly. But as his senses sharpened, he realized the voices weren’t reciting the national anthem.
They were chanting his name.
"Kim Su-ho! Kim Su-ho! Mir-a-cle Boss!"
He bolted upright, hair disheveled, shirt half-buttoned, socks mismatched. It didn’t matter—outside his office window, the courtyard of Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory looked like a religious revival.
Employees ...
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