Sal was indeed a warm-hearted person.
His booming voice, within two days, had spread William's 'divine skill' throughout the neighborhood. First, the fried chicken shop owner next door came knocking, carrying a frying pan spitting sparks. Then, Mary, the aunt from the laundromat, tearfully complained that her dryer wasn't working again. William had virtually become the unofficial 'Energy Fire Brigade Captain' of this street.
The incident with Sal's pizza shop freezer, go through his big mouth's embellishment, had been exaggerated into a bizarre tale of 'the mysterious kid taming a crazed machine with his bare hands'.
"Hey, William, this is Old Jim. His precious coffee machine has been on strike lately. Take a look!"
Sal, with an unlit cigar in his mouth, led William boisterously into a bakery filled with the rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread.
Old Jim was a short, stout man with graying hair and a flour-dusted apron. He looked at William with the same suspicion Sal had when they first met.
"Him? Sal, you're not kidding, are you? This is an Italian import, a delicate treasure."
William said nothing more, walking over to the half-dead coffee machine that was only emitting a faint 'sizzle'.
He closed his eyes, activating Novice Energy Tuning.
There was a clear blockage in the energy flow at a certain node of the steam heating pipe, like energy conduction was impeded by scale or some other impurity.
He opened his eyes and pointed to an inconspicuous valve connection: "Here, the energy can't pass through, leading to insufficient heating. It might need cleaning or a small part replaced."
He had no tools, but his "skill" allowed him to directly manipulate the energy threads that ordinary people couldn't perceive.
William placed his palm gently over that spot, his mental energy carefully permeating, attempting to "flush" the blockage.
This was much more delicate than repairing a freezer's relay, more like using a gentle but continuous stream of water to clear a tiny pipe.
A few minutes later, a faint 'pop' sound came from inside the coffee machine, followed by the 'hissing' of steam refilling.
The indicator light changed from dim red to bright green.
Old Jim was dumbfounded. He leaned in to sniff, then pressed the switch, and a burst of hot steam gushed out.
"My God... this... that's it?"
He turned to William, his suspicion completely gone, replaced by surprise and a hint of awe, "Young man, you are simply... sent by the Coffee God!"
"Twenty bucks."
William held up two fingers, his voice calm.
The energy consumption within him was minimal, but seeing Old Jim's almost jumping excitement, he realized that this small effort was like a lifeline to these small shop owners.
"Worth it! So worth it!" Old Jim cheerfully paid, even forcing a freshly baked croissant into William's hand, "Try my baking, it's fresh out of the oven!"
No sooner had he spoken than the owner of the corner bookstore poked his head in, looking distraught, saying his precious fan wasn't turning again. Immediately after, the girl from the flower shop also ran over, holding her broken sprayer.
The old fan at the corner bookstore, which was used to survive the summer, whirred like a tractor and would occasionally stop.
William adjusted the chaotic energy flow inside the motor, making it quiet and smooth again, charging only fifteen bucks.
The humidifier sprayer at the neighboring flower shop had a clogged nozzle, preventing effective energy atomization.
William "cleared" it and charged ten bucks.
He even took on a "big job"—the owner of a small laundromat came to him, saying her industrial dryer's heating efficiency was getting lower and lower, and customers were complaining their clothes weren't drying.
After inspection, William found that the energy circuit of the heating coil was aging, causing some energy to dissipate.
He spent nearly an hour, sweating profusely, to re-"calibrate" and "strengthen" those energy pathways. Although he couldn't make the aged parts brand new, he at least restored 70-80% of their efficiency.
This time, he charged fifty bucks.
After a few days, William's pockets gradually swelled.
The banknotes, carrying various scents—ink, coffee, flour, and even a faint floral aroma—accumulated in his hands, forming a heavy, warm current.
He felt the thick wad of cash in his pocket, and his stomach no longer felt the initial pangs of hunger. Watching the people come and go on the street, the rootless feeling of drifting in his heart also lessened slightly.
Standing at the street corner, watching the setting sun lengthen his Shadow, for the first time, he felt a hint of reality in the ground beneath his feet, no longer so ethereal.
That evening, William counted his earnings from the past few days: a total of five hundred eighty-five U.S. dollars.
The first thing he did was find his landlord, Glenn, and hand him a neatly organized stack of banknotes.
The next morning, William, with the remaining money, went to a seemingly decent clothing store in town.
He didn't pursue fashion but chose two sets of durable, well-fitting, and understated khaki work pants and dark shirts, plus a dark blue jacket.
When he changed into his new clothes and stood in front of the mirror, he was somewhat surprised himself.
The young man in the mirror still had that lean frame, but his eyes held less of the initial bewilderment and more of the composure gained from bustling through the streets and alleys.
The well-fitting clothes made him look much more capable, no longer the somewhat disheveled and confused figure he was when he first arrived.
These past few days as an 'energy consultant' had filled his wallet a bit, but what gave William more peace of mind was that he seemed to have found a way, understanding how to proceed step by step in this crisis-ridden city.
This money temporarily freed him from relying on vending machines, and he could even occasionally go to the pizza shop and order the cheapest Margherita pizza to reward his growing appetite.
"New look, new beginning." William forced a somewhat standard professional smile at his reflection in the mirror.
However, when he pulled up the system interface and saw that line of numbers, his composure faded a bit.
["Current remaining claim points: 35 / 50."]
"This is truly... a sweet burden."
William sighed. This ability was useful, but the points were strictly limited. Without them, even if he was full of energy, he couldn't find new 'patients,' which meant cutting off his supplies.
These points in hand were precious. He had to be like a hunter eyeing the fattest rabbit, waiting for the right moment to 'strike'.
In the following days, William continued to move around the district as an "energy consultant" during the day, but his scope expanded considerably.
He was no longer confined to Sal's street but consciously explored areas with relatively chaotic Public Security and a higher likelihood of breeding "street vigilantes."
He would go to old libraries to read recent community newspapers, or in some mixed-crowd bars, he would prick up his ears to listen to the idle chatter of the locals.
The information was scattered, mostly speculative rumors.
Until this afternoon, in a nearly bankrupt comic book store, he caught an interesting detail while listening to the owner complain.
"...That guy called Slingshot Kid seems to have messed up again recently.
I heard his precious Slingshot jammed again, letting a thief get away, and he was chased by a patrol officer for half the street. How embarrassing..."
The owner was a middle-aged man with thick-rimmed glasses, shaking his head as he tidied dusty comic books.
"Slingshot Kid?" William calmly picked up a comic with a flashy cover and asked casually, "Sounds like a... kid?"
"Indeed, probably just a high schooler.
He's mysterious, wears goggles and a hood, and his Slingshot is quite intimidating, capable of firing various strange projectiles—smoke bombs, tear gas, sticky bombs... but it's not very reliable, breaking down every other day."
The owner was clearly a well-informed person, "Last month, his Slingshot even misfired, leaving him hanging on a clothesline all night."