William leaned back on the sofa, gazing at the intricate and exquisite light fixture on the ceiling, his mind racing.
Events were unfolding even more complexly and rapidly than he had anticipated.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s pervasive surveillance was like a Sword of Damocles hanging over his head.
Peter Parker's impending awakening of superhuman abilities presented a huge opportunity, but also came with immeasurable risks.
Each factor was like a piece placed in a complex chess game.
They constrained and influenced each other, constantly stirring the direction of the future.
"It seems that merely possessing an information advantage and business acumen is far from enough in this perilous World, teeming with powerful individuals," William muttered to himself.
"I still need greater strength, more trump cards to ensure my own safety and influence the situation at critical moments.
Otherwise, I, this butterfly flapping its wings, might not even make it to the harvest season before being swallowed by the storm."
William Rodriguez stared at the dazzling number on the system interface.
Claim Points: 20 points.
He was initially given 50 points, but after a flurry of operations, he looked back and saw only twenty-five points remaining.
Oh, no, it was twenty.
"Why does this business keep losing money?" William scratched his head, his expression calm, but his mind was already racing.
His face, usually adorned with a "professional smile," was a bit stiff now.
"High risk, high reward, but the reward hasn't arrived yet!" William ranted internally.
Although he had gotten a bunch of abilities for free, without points, he couldn't even protect himself.
William slapped his own face, feeling a bit of pain.
He wasn't an insurance salesman; he was a philanthropist "losing money to gain a reputation"!
"No, I can't tolerate this!" He abruptly sprang from the chair.
He wasn't the type to sit idly by, especially since he had the grand goal of becoming the "King of Sales."
These 20 claim points, in his eyes, were practically a red card warning for "underperforming."
"Let's get to work! Everyone, let's get to work!" William mumbled, adjusting his new suit while picking up his briefcase.
He walked to the window, pulled open the blinds, and the sunlight, carrying the unique hustle and bustle of New York, rushed in.
The skyscrapers gleamed coldly under the sun, as if silently mocking his precarious claim points.
"In this day and age, who among us workers isn't striving for a meager living?" William chuckled self-deprecatingly, then resumed his "outwardly calm" salesman demeanor.
After two days of living like a rich man, William decided to strike out again.
His mind was already calculating today's "client roadmap."
"Hell's Kitchen? Hmm, there are many 'accidents' there, so great client potential.
It's just a bit life-threatening."
"Fortune favors the bold; you can't catch a tiger cub without entering the tiger's den," William encouraged himself.
"If I don't turn these 20 points into 200 today, I won't go back..."
He didn't finish his sentence, swallowing it back.
What if he really couldn't do it?
That would be so embarrassing.
He straightened his tie again, looked into the window glass, and flashed a standard, eight-toothed professional smile.
He picked up his briefcase and strode out the door.
Today, he had to do something "big"...
The New York sunlight, once it turned into the Hell's Kitchen territory, seemed to carry a hint of hesitation and stinginess.
The moment William Rodriguez stepped out of the taxi with his briefcase, a mixed scent of dampness, rust, cheap food, and an indescribable despair assailed him.
He instinctively tightened his tie.
"Nice place," he complimented dryly, his peripheral vision warily scanning a few loitering figures at the street corner.
The buildings here were like weathered veterans, with peeling paint and layered graffiti; behind every window, an untold story, or trouble, might be hidden.
His 20 claim points danced like a little devil in his mind, reminding him of the importance of this trip.
If he didn't find new sources of income soon, this "King of Insurance" would have to buy bankruptcy insurance for himself first.
"Clients, where are you...?" William adjusted the professional smile on his face, a smile that looked somewhat out of place, even a bit... punchable, against the backdrop of the surroundings.
His "Danger Prediction (Basic)" buzzed in his mind like a diligent radar, constantly giving off subtle warnings, though its range was only five meters.
Muffled arguments came from the alley on the left, the sound of breaking glass from the building on the right upstairs, and a drunk man staggered towards him not far ahead.
"The business density is indeed high," William subtly shifted his feet, avoiding the drunkard's outstretched hand with an extremely natural posture, while mentally giving a high score to the "accident rate" of this place.
He didn't rashly enter the bars or apartment buildings that clearly housed vice.
Instead, he slowly strolled along the relatively wider street.
But his gaze was as sharp as an eagle's, searching for potential "policies."
His "Mechanical Induction (Intermediate)" was also quietly at work.
Electronic devices within a fifty-meter radius appeared as translucent structural diagrams in his eyes.
The ATM fan on the street was too noisy, the neon sign of a certain shop had poor contact, and its flickering frequency indicated it was not far from its demise.
This information was temporarily useless for selling insurance, but it significantly strengthened his sense of control over the environment.
"Hmm?" William's gaze lingered on a storefront called "Old Joe's Boxing Gym."
Boxing gym?
This place was a fertile ground for "accident insurance"!
The boxing gym's door was ajar, and the sounds of "thump, thump, thump" and heavy breathing emanated from within.
William took a deep breath, straightened the hem of his suit, and put his "professional, reliable" expression back on his face.
Fortune favors the bold; today, it starts here.
He pushed the door open, and a strong smell of sweat and leather rushed towards him.
The gym was small, and the lighting was dim.
Several punching bags swayed under creaking iron chains.
In the corner ring, two burly men were fiercely sparring, making dull thudding sounds.
William's appearance was like a drop of clear water in a hot oil pan; the sounds in the gym paused for a moment.
Several boxers, resting, covered in sweat, muscles bulging, cast unfriendly glances at him.
The salesman was a bit disappointed.
No system prompt meant there were no clients in the boxing gym.
Just as William was about to leave, the gym door was pushed open again, and a man in a leather jacket and sunglasses walked in.
The man in sunglasses glanced at William, and that look almost made the hairs on William's back stand on end.
He walked directly to the coach and whispered a few words.
The coach's expression changed slightly, and he nodded.
"Danger Prediction" instantly gave a strong warning—this person was very dangerous! Not the danger of a street thug, but a truly blood-soaked, real danger.
[Ding! Potential client "Bullseye" detected!]
[Target characteristics: Possesses extraordinary precise throwing ability, paranoid and antisocial tendencies, currently in a state of mild 'burnout' (lack of stimulating tasks recently, emotional fluctuations), target has self-destructive tendencies.]
[System suggestion: Can try selling "Occupational Risk Accident Insurance (High-Risk Occupation Edition)" or "Mental Health Mutual Aid Insurance (Antisocial Personality Special Edition)".]
Holy crap!
Bullseye?!