Chapter 29: The Next Starting Point

The ferry has a convenience store; those hungry and without food can buy bread or cookies. Hot coffee and alcoholic drinks are the most popular.

At night, most people roll up their coats, claim a row of chairs in the common lounge, and lie down to rest.

But those who drove onto the ferry naturally return to their cars to hunker down—at least they don't have to smell other people's socks in the public lounge.

Drinking hot coffee bought from the convenience store wasn't because Henry had ever become addicted to coffee in his life, nor because he wanted a warm drink to heat his body. It was because, compared to alcohol, coffee offered more complex flavors, better for training his super taste and smell.

Red wine was the second-best beverage for taste stimulation, but the ferry's red wine was terrible—like drinking cheap grape juice. Though the coffee quality wasn't exceptional either, it was still far better than that cheap red wine.

As for tea… whether it was because Alaska's available tea leaves weren't high-quality, or for some other reason, tea lacked the richness of coffee.

To preserve the faintly beautiful image tea held in his mind, Henry strongly resisted drinking these inferior teas, worse than the cheap red wine.

Thus, as he savored coffee's rich, layered flavors, stimulating his taste buds sufficiently, Henry pondered his next steps.

Hiding in Alaska for life wasn't impossible, but as a poor guy who'd never left his home country before transmigration, if he'd come all the way to the United States of America and didn't even explore a bit, wouldn't that be a waste?

Though this journey had begun against his will.

Yet he'd wasted nearly twenty years on Russian territory. Though his super brain made learning effortless, his credentials had become a major problem.

No matter what, following the Superman development path—working as a reporter while being Superman—was out of the question.

Notably, though information available in Alaska was limited, on this Earth, Henry had found only references to Captain America and mutants.

But looking at the map, there was no Metropolis, no Central City, and certainly no Gotham City!

That was truly cause for celebration.

The absence of the real Superman was minor; the absence of the plague-bringer Flash and the plague-bringer Batman meant this world's safety had skyrocketed.

Pursuing a white-collar elite path was impossible. Without credentials or connections, there was no upward mobility in American society.

Even aiming for an ordinary blue-collar job—if this world's economic trajectory mirrored his pre-transmigration world—it meant following globalization and becoming the world's factory.

That path implied massive industrial relocation ahead, with labor-intensive industries hit hardest. Only finance, high-tech industries including the internet, and design departments of major corporations and conglomerates would remain.

In other words, even if Henry wanted to work in a factory screwing bolts, he'd face imminent unemployment risk.

Immigrants like Henry, especially extraterrestrial ones, even with American citizenship, had very few job options.

The lowest-tier service jobs were classic examples of low pay and endless headaches. Henry doubted he'd last three days before he couldn't resist punching some obnoxious customer.

Before transmigration, he'd never even been a lickspittle—he was a lifelong virgin. If anyone dared say "the customer is god" in front of him, he'd send that person straight to meet God.

So jobs involving heavy public contact—clerks, teachers, doctors, and the like—were never options for Henry. Neither his present self nor his pre-transmigration self.

The most viable option? Becoming a lab guinea pig. Before scientists decided to kill him, they'd surely feed him well and never let him starve.

…

Joining official law enforcement was no better choice. Loyalty tests alone would make it nearly impossible for an extraterrestrial to gain their trust. He'd likely end up being tricked into a lab as a guinea pig anyway.

Was robbery the only option left?

No wonder American gang problems were so severe. So many people chasing the American Dream came to this land, and after careful accounting, there were simply too few legitimate industries left—forcing them into illegal ones tied to vice, gambling, and drugs.

Don't assume gambling is safe just because it's legal in Las Vegas or Native American reservations. Those who walk out rich aren't ordinary people.

Casinos aren't charities. If someone keeps winning, they first investigate for cheating; if they find no evidence, they politely escort the person out and blacklist them forever.

Sure, you might scrape together tea money from casinos, but treating them like an ATM? You'd get a vivid social education in minutes.

As for Henry's savings: he'd taken four crabbing trips. First trip: 80,000 dollars. Next two: 100,000 dollars each. Last trip: 50,000 dollars.

After cashing out, deducting 6% bank fees, plus expenses, car purchase, and document fees, he now had nearly 300,000 dollars in cash.

But don't assume all this is yours—it hasn't been taxed yet…

The great American government takes its cut; Henry conservatively estimated he'd keep just over half. Exact figures? Ask an accountant or learn tax law yourself.

Yet even this remaining sum, if he didn't waste it, would sustain him for a long time—in a society where a steak cost 5 dollars, a beer 10 dollars, and blue-collar average annual income hovered around 50,000 dollars.

So as long as he avoided drugs, didn't foolishly throw money into Wall Street as a retail investor, and didn't dream of living in a mansion, driving a sports car, or sleeping with beauties, his funds could let him live comfortably in Los Angeles.

Then, when crab season returned, he'd head back to Alaska for a few more trips to replenish his funds.

This lifestyle… sounded pretty good… yeah right!

A person without interest or goals grows increasingly useless. Before transmigration, he'd been slacking, sure—but at least he worked during the day, played video games, watched anime and TV shows at night, and occasionally went to the movies.

In 1990s America, what entertainment did he recognize from his pre-transmigration life?

Jobs's Apple had just sparked the personal computer trend; the internet was still confined to university campuses, not yet widely accessible. The most he could play was BBS.

For gaming consoles, the strongest of this era were Japan's Nintendo Game Boy and Super Famicom.

But for someone accustomed to AAA titles and animated films, 16-bit console games were fine for nostalgia—but utterly insufficient to satisfy his needs.

Whether pursuing this industry as a career or merely as entertainment—especially the former—it circled back to his lack of credentials.

So was his subconscious reason for choosing Hollywood, Los Angeles, as his first stop in America the belief that film and television might be his only possible breakthrough?

He didn't expect to become famous, but at least he'd try something he'd never done before—like standing on a Hollywood set and shouting: "I'll take on ten!"

Hmm, just thinking about it felt thrilling.

New book request: follow, collect, recommend—thank you~~

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(End of Chapter)