On the first day back after the New Year break, I returned to find my workstation gone—replaced by two large trash bins sitting side by side.

"Josh, even though you've been with the company for ten years, you still have to comply with company arrangements.

"You were supposed to be reassigned before the holiday. We held off so you could enjoy your New Year. You should be grateful."

As he spoke, my boss pointed toward a corner beside the restroom. There sat a set of low, worn desk and chair—something that looked like it had been discarded by an elementary school.

I set my bag on it. The desk wobbled twice, then collapsed outright.

Amid the muffled snickers around me, I didn't argue or make a scene. I simply looked at the boss, calm and steady.

"You don't have to go through all this trouble to force me out. I'll resign now. I'll forfeit the compensation—just process it as quickly as possible."

His eyes lit up, though his face feigned regret.

"Since you've made up your mind, there's not much I can say. But the Vespere chip you've spent ten years developing belongs to the company—you have no right to take it with you.

"Oh, and when you handle the paperwork, don't forget to pay for that cup of coffee in your hand. It's an employee benefit. As an outsider now, you'll have to cover the cost."

I nodded and signed the termination agreement without resistance.

But the moment I stepped out of the company, I activated the self-destruct program embedded deep within the chip's core.

All of this started on New Year's Eve.

That night, I got a last-minute emergency call from my boss, Zachary Simmons. I set down my half-eaten bowl of food and, under the disappointed gaze of my whole family, rushed back to the office for overnight overtime.

I worked from the eve of the New Year straight through until four in the afternoon of New Year's Day, finally squashing the critical bug and getting the entire system running flawlessly.

As soon as the fix was done, Zachary waddled over, his belly still full from the feast, and lazily tossed a box of cold, soggy takeout onto my desk.

"Tough night, Josh. Haven't eaten yet, right? Here, have something quick."

Then he fished out a crumpled ten-dollar note and slapped it into my hand.

"This is your overtime pay. Take it home and get a meal for your wife and kids. Tell them it's on me!"

I stared at the note for a few seconds before murmuring, "Thank you."

By the calendar, this year marked my tenth at Dalton Technology.

Ten years ago, I'd just finished my PhD at a prestigious overseas university when my college dormmate Zachary called.

"Josh, I just started a tech company, and I need top talent like you! Don't worry—our friendship means my success is yours too. I'll never treat you unfairly!"

Fueled by the promise of our friendship and a heart full of idealism, I turned down a 100-thousand-dollar annual offer abroad and came home to start from scratch with him.

Over ten years, I transformed Dalton Technology from a basement workshop into one of the leading tech giants in Baswort City.

Yet, as the company grew, I stayed stuck in the same place. My title remained the same senior engineer I had been ten years ago. My salary had risen from eight hundred to two thousand.

At the New Year reunion with my classmates, those who graduated at the same time were already earning six-figure salaries.

One of them laughed and asked, "Josh, you were the top of our class, a PhD from a world-class university. Your salary must be tens of times ours, right?"

I opened my mouth but couldn't say a word. I just threw back a shot of strong liquor. The burn went down my throat, leaving bitterness and sting in my chest.

At that moment, I felt the same way I felt now.

Seeing me take the money, Zachary grinned, satisfaction written all over his face. He exchanged a few polite words and, using a phone call as an excuse, turned and left.

I slowly packed up my things, still carrying the hideously unappetizing bag of takeout.

As I reached the ground floor, about to hop on my electric bike to go home, a familiar voice came from the Land Rover parked ahead.

"The new head of the tech department? Didn't I tell you already—it's definitely—"

I froze in my tracks.

Over the past ten years, Zachary had patted his chest countless times and promised me, "Josh, the current director is my uncle. He invested early on, so I can't move him. Once he retires, the director spot is yours—salary doubled, no question!"

I had waited—ten years—thinking the next name he'd call would be mine.

But the next second, he didn't hesitate at all. He announced the name of my intern.

"Brian Leeman! Personally handpicked from Kings University. Strong abilities, has carried major projects multiple times—absolutely no problem.

"More importantly, he's the younger brother-in-law of the chairman of Genting Group. Him joining us is already a huge concession—we cannot afford to slight him!"

It was like a thunderbolt had split my skull.

On the other end of the line, the HR manager's hesitant voice came through, "But Sir, Josh has ten years at the company. His experience and skill far exceed Brian's. Couldn't you reconsider?"

"No need to consider anything," Zachary interrupted sharply, with contempt in his tone. "Josh can work, yes—but he's too introverted. Keeps his head down doing tech, can't manage people at all."

"But… what if Josh is unhappy?" the HR manager asked.

"And what if he is?" Zachary sneered, his voice cold and cutting.

"He's from out of town, no connections, no roots. Just bought a tiny, run-down apartment last year, drained his savings, and carries a 300-thousand-dollar mortgage. His wife and kids depend entirely on him. People like that? They're stable as a rock. Hit him with a stick and he wouldn't even dare walk away!"

He slammed the steering wheel, punctuating his words like a judge hammering a gavel.

"It's settled! Programmers live off their youth. Josh is thirty-seven—other companies would have optimized him years ago. I can give him a meal; that's as generous as it gets!"

The streets on New Year's Day were cold and empty.

Each of his words hammered into my chest like poisoned nails, striking the softest, most vulnerable parts of my heart. Ten years of blood and sweat, poured out completely. I had thought we were at least friends, that he would acknowledge my effort and loyalty.

I never imagined that, in his eyes, I had always been nothing more than a convenient tool—a cheap, obedient long-term laborer he could exploit at will.

I had given my life to him, and it had become his charity.

The Land Rover roared off, kicking up dust. Its exhaust stung my face, making me cough violently, my eyes watering and burning.

The takeout bag slipped from my hand, hitting the ground with a soft thud, rolling into the dirt, never to be retrieved.

That night, after coaxing my child to sleep, I hesitated, then told my wife everything.

I had expected her gentle nature to urge patience, to compromise for the sake of the family.

Instead, her eyes were red, and she smashed a cup across the counter.

"This is outrageous! Honey, you're resigning after the New Year—we're done with this!"

I tried to calm her softly. "Maybe… even if I'm not made a director, he might at least give me a raise…"

"Do you really think so?" she choked back tears, clutching my hand tightly.

"If he respected you, the raise would have already happened. Why else would he make you work all day on New Year's Eve for only ten dollars?

"We're not taking this humiliation! Even if we can't find another job immediately, I'll support you!"

Looking into her determined, unwavering eyes, the weight I had carried for ten years finally found an anchor.

That night, I opened a job app for the first time in a decade and clumsily began filling out a resume.

Ten years ago, fresh out of my PhD, I hadn't even sent a single resume. Zachary had called me home with one word: "Bro."

I never imagined that ten years later, I would have to start over from scratch.

I assumed that, given my age and the timing over the holiday, I wouldn't get much response.

But the next morning, my phone exploded with notifications.

Two or three hundred unread messages flooded my phone—all from HR departments of well-known companies across the country, and even a dozen overseas giants.

The one that surprised me most was Genting Technology.

Before I joined Dalton, Genting had always led our country's chip industry. Over the past ten years, the chips I developed had hit the market one after another, and Dalton had snatched a huge number of orders from Genting. Conservatively, we had cost them billions in losses.

By all logic, they should have wanted nothing more than to see me gone. Yet here they were, extending an olive branch?

As I sat there in disbelief, my phone vibrated. A local, unfamiliar number was calling.

I answered, and a calm, warm voice spoke.

"Hello, I'm Greg Ramsay, CTO of Genting Technology. May I have the honor of inviting you for afternoon tea?"

Greg was approaching fifty, yet carried himself with the vigor of someone much younger. His body bore the traces of regular exercise, his eyes were bright, and there wasn't a hint of the usual arrogance one expects from a big-company executive.

Within three sentences of meeting, he got straight to the point.

"Josh, to show our sincerity, I'm giving you three conditions.

"First, you join as Director of the Technical Department, with full access to the highest-security labs. All company tech resources will be at your disposal. Research budgets require no approval—just expense them. No upper limit.

"Second, the company has prepared a 210-square-meter luxury flat for you in Roscoe City's financial district, in a top-tier school zone, plus a Maybach for commuting.

"Third, your monthly salary—"

He smiled and held up five fingers.

I was still reeling from the first two offers. Instinctively, I said, "Five thousand?"

Greg froze, then raised an eyebrow, a half-amused, half-exasperated smile on his face.

"Of course not. Fifty thousand. That doesn't even include year-end stock bonuses and guaranteed annual incentives starting at one million.

"Josh, you're revered worldwide in the chip field. How could you think you're only worth five thousand?"

I couldn't believe my ears and laughed in disbelief.

"At Dalton, I make two thousand a month, and my annual raise never exceeds two hundred."

Greg's smile vanished instantly. His expression darkened.

"I was curious why Dalton's cornerstone suddenly wanted to leave. Now I see—it's Zachary, blind to talent, treating a key contributor with utter neglect!"

He stood, gripping my hands with warmth and sincerity in his gaze.

"Josh, past or present, you are indisputably the top expert in our country's chip industry. I speak for Genting Technology, and for myself personally, when I sincerely invite you to join us. If you accept, I—your CTO—will step aside without hesitation. No obstacles, no conditions."

My chest tightened—not because of the jaw-dropping offers, but because of the unhidden admiration and respect in his eyes.

Ten years with Zachary had never given me a glimpse of anything like it.

Greg didn't pressure me for an immediate answer. He simply exchanged contact information and told me to take my time.

Back home, I recounted the surreal experience to my wife. She held our child in her arms, burying her face in my chest, tears of joy streaming down.

We agreed to finalize my resignation at Dalton first, then respond to Genting officially.

Time passed quickly, and soon, it was the first day back at work.

I slung my worn, faded backpack over my shoulders and rode my electric bike to the office, as usual. Everything looked the same, but I knew nothing was the same anymore.

I stopped at the pantry to brew a cup of coffee, resignation letter already written and tucked safely in my bag. I walked forward, head down, oblivious to the strange glances from colleagues.

It wasn't until a foul, pungent smell invaded my nostrils that I jerked my head up.