When I got home from work, I suddenly received a video push alert on my phone.

The title was written in an eye-catching font.

[I earn only $3,000 a month, but my boss forced me to participate in a team-building activity that costs an average of $30,000 per person. Will you want this good fortune?]

The thumbnail featured Cynthia's face, which was filled with unwillingness.

My heart sank sharply as I clicked on the video. The opening was a promotional video of a six-star hotel in the Madiles, but it was edited with a depressing black-and-white filter and accompanied by sad music.

The caption emerged.

[The boss's empty promise sure looks tempting.]

The scene switched to Cynthia's workstation, where a regular form was zoomed in on.

The caption that followed wrote: [Unfortunately, I am just an employee who wants to get off work in peace.]

Then came a close-up of her on the verge of tears, captioned: [I was told to use my precious weekend to attend a large group performance. I am speechless.]

She cleverly twisted the concept of "extra paid leave" into "using her weekend."

Finally, she griped to the camera, "I don't need the Madiles. I just want to sleep in on weekends. Anyone who wants that kind of luxury can take it."

The comments section predictably blew up.

[Gen Z should live this carefree! Tell us the company name, we will make it go viral!]

[I cannot stand these self-righteous bosses! Let me make it clear, my job is to work, not attend team building.]

[You said exactly what I was thinking. Who with social anxiety enjoys team building? Give me back my downtime!]

I was so livid that my hands and feet turned icy cold.

Three days of paid leave turned into "using their precious weekend."

A top-tier reward of $30,000 turned into "kidnapping."

The next morning, the atmosphere at the company was off.

Several employees surrounded Cynthia, commenting on her boldness while their faces expressed their excitement at the spectacle.

Larry even led her into my office.

As soon as Larry entered, he said with feigned concern, "Mr. Sander, please don't be angry. Though Cynthia's actions are extreme, they do reflect what many young people feel. Why don't you go along with public opinion?"

Cynthia stood off to the side, arms crossed, wearing a smug expression. She waved her phone. "Mr. Sander, look at this. This is the voice of the people and the trend of the times."

I replied indifferently, "Company traditions and rules won't change because of anyone's unreasonable demands."

Cynthia scoffed. "Traditions? Traditions are meant to be broken. If you don't find a way to satisfy everyone, I can't guarantee you won't be trending nationwide tomorrow."

I had barely finished speaking when my assistant burst through the door with a ghastly pale face. "Mr. Sander, bad news. Cynthia's video is trending!"

I refreshed my phone. Indeed. What disappointed me even more were the anonymous comments under the video, the IP addresses of which were all located in our office building.

[Oh, who can argue with that? They called it a luxury trip, but the hotel they stayed in last year wasn't even as big as my bathroom.]

[Perks? Just empty promises. The budget was $30,000. Even $3,000 is considered enough for that dump.]

These lies made me dizzy. They wanted the company's lavish perks while simultaneously trying to shift the risk onto the intern, fantasizing that they could just cash out the trip if things blew up. Their refined yet greedy selfishness shattered the kindness I had for years.

Looking at the two smug individuals before me, I suddenly felt everything utterly pointless.

Overnight, my company transformed from a company that everyone else envied into a heartless factory that was subject to full-scale criticism.

The company's name and my photo were plastered all over. Insulting messages and harassing calls bombarded my phone, making it buzz like crazy on my desk.

[Cold-hearted capitalist, may your company go under tomorrow!]

[The company that exploits its workers has been reported to the labor authorities!]

The public relations manager, sporting dark circles under his eyes, handed me an urgent PR plan.

His voice strained, he urged, "Mr. Sander, we need to address this now! Write up an official statement immediately and lay out all the facts!"

Rubbing my throbbing temples, I gazed at him. "If we release a statement now, it won't be a calm explanation but a defensive excuse, flaunting wealth to the public, which will only stoke more outrage."

The manager froze. He opened his mouth but could not utter a word.

When emotions overwhelmed reason, no facts could stir even a ripple.

I was wrong. I thought someone would choose to believe me as long as I treated people with sincerity.

Yet, as I scrolled through that viral video, a new anonymous comment rose to the top, boosted by countless likes.

The familiar tone made me almost certain it was from another employee of the company.

[Stop trying to cover it up. I work here. This so-called paid leave is just a trade-off for our hard-earned annual leave! If we object, our boss makes things tough, and we're all too scared to speak up!]

I stared at that comment, my mind reeling. It was not anger; it was a profound weariness and revulsion.

I could almost picture who typed those words. Maybe it was that same old employee who had thanked me just last week.

This comment crushed my last glimmer of hope like a boulder. With a more vicious lie, it twisted the company's only goodwill into a conspiracy.

Below, countless people claiming to be "employees" agreed with this sentiment.

A memory flashed through my mind—the celebration at the farmhouse when the company had just made a profit. Everyone's smiles were genuine then.

I pondered, realizing I had not skimped on perks for any of my colleagues. Yet, all I received was betrayal from everyone. They took my kindness for granted and did not think twice about stabbing me in the back for that paltry "cash bonus."

It turned out that the facade of respectability I had painstakingly maintained was just a self-deluding joke.

The public relations manager was still anxiously urging me, "Mr. Sander, if we don't speak up soon, our partners and investors won't stop calling us!"

I wearily waved my hand, pushing the contingency plan aside. "No need. Prepare a new announcement." My voice was frighteningly calm.

I stood up and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

Several media vans were already parked downstairs.

I chuckled self-deprecatingly. I did not lose to Cynthia; I lost to my own foolish trust.

From that day on, I, Samuel Sander, vowed to be just a businessperson. A businessperson focused solely on profit, not on relationships.

I picked up my phone and dialed my assistant's internal line. "Notify all employees to gather in the main conference room tomorrow at 9 AM sharp to discuss the final optimized plan for this year's team-building activities."

On the other end of the line, my assistant's voice hesitated. "Mr. Sander, are we... compromising with them?"

"No." I looked out the window at the media waiting for their chance and uttered, "It's time to make them pay for their greed."

The next morning, the company's spacious conference room was packed.

The atmosphere buzzed with excitement and eagerness, not like a crisis meeting but more like a reward sharing session.

Cynthia and Larry were sitting in the front row, surrounded by a group of young colleagues.

Larry boasted, "I told you Mr. Sander is soft-hearted. As long as we unite and make a big fuss, he will surely compromise! "

Cynthia was even more smug, even secretly livestreaming with her phone.

The title of the livestream was particularly eye-catching.

[Everyone, witness how Gen Zs reorganize the workplace and how we take welfare back from capitalists!]

At 9 AM sharp, I walked into the conference room.

Everyone instantly fixed their gaze on me. There were gloat, gossip, and anticipation.

I walked up to the front of the stage and bowed deeply. "Sorry."

A murmur rippled through the audience before thunderous applause exploded.

In Cynthia's livestream chat, the screen was instantly flooded with comments like "The boss apologized!" and "Good job, Gen Z!".

I straightened up, observing the smug faces in the audience. "Due to my stubbornness and conservatism, I neglected everyone's emphasis on personal time and caused you all immense inconvenience. I sincerely apologize to everyone here."

The applause grew even louder.

Larry even stood up and shouted, "Mr. Sander, to admit one's mistakes and correct them is a great virtue!"

Cynthia proudly pointed the camera at me, as if showing off her spoils.

I waited for the applause to subside before changing the subject. "To truly return freedom and choice to everyone, I've decided to make a disruptive adjustment to this year's team-building plan after one night of careful consideration."

Everyone held their breath, their eyes filled with greedy anticipation.

I looked at them and announced my decision word by word. "Firstly, from today onward, the company will completely abolish the team-building trips tradition that has continued since its establishment."

The meeting room was instantly filled with cheers.

I ignored their reactions and continued to announce my second decision. "Secondly, to make up for you and support your independent travel, the company will instead provide each current employee with a $500 independent travel allowance to express our highest respect for freedom!"

The entire place fell silent at the end of my remark.

Cynthia's phone, which had been livestreaming, dropped to the ground with a bang, and the screen shattered.

The subsidy for a luxury trip to the Madiles plummeted from an average of $30,000 per person to $500. The stark difference caused their brains to crash directly.

I added expressionlessly, "This is the precious freedom that everyone has fought for with all their might, even at the cost of damaging the company's reputation. You're free now."

I connected my phone to the projector. The screen displayed the real-time stock price chart of the parent company. The sharp, precipitous red line was shocking. Next to it were pop-up windows of various financial news.

[Influenced by the controversial mandatory team building, Ambitions Group's corporate culture is questioned. Its stock price plummeted 15% at the opening of the stock market!]

Everyone's expressions quickly shifted from astonishment and shock to undisguised panic and despair. They sabotaged their own careers.

Cynthia was the first to jump up, her voice sharp and piercing. "Wasn't the team-building budget $30,000? Why is the travel allowance only $500? You are truly evil!"

I looked icily at her. "You threatened the company's survival with public opinion, causing the stock price to plummet and the company to be financially strapped. This is the consequence of your foolish actions."

I scanned the anxious faces in the crowd. "Our market value dropped by $300 million in just half a day. The board insists I root out the issue causing this crisis within 24 hours. If not, we'll have to resort to Plan B: cutting 30% of our workforce to balance costs and steady the stock price."

I paused and looked at their deathly pale faces. "Now, tell me who that virus is."