William, clutching the thirty dollars he had just "earned" as a repair fee from Sal, the pizza shop owner, plus a Deluxe Supreme Pizza big enough for him to gnaw on for two days, felt his life perk up just a tiny bit.
Sal's newly bought second-hand old-fashioned electric dough mixer had been shaking like it had Parkinson's, making all the sauce bottles in the back kitchen dance a collective jig.
William merely pretended to press his ear against the cold casing of the dough mixer.
In his hand, he held a freshly baked hard breadstick, using it as a stethoscope, and tapped it a few times in a serious manner.
Novice Energy Tuning activated!
The dough mixer instantly switched from rock and roll mode to lullaby mode, emitting a steady and satisfied hum.
"William, your craftsmanship is truly amazing! More effective than those professionals in uniform! Here, take this repair fee, plus a Deluxe Supreme Pizza, consider it my treat for your lunch!"
Sal happily handed over the cash and a pizza box larger than William's face.
William, clutching the freshly minted thirty U.S. dollars and gnawing on the Supreme Pizza generously provided by Sal, felt utterly delighted.
Although these thirty dollars plus a pizza were probably a galaxy plus the distance to Alpha Centauri away from his grand blueprint of selling "Universe Armor Scratch Insurance" to Tony Stark.
But at least it was a small step in the right direction.
"A mosquito, no matter how small, is still meat, but constantly eating mosquito meat won't provide enough nutrition."
William walked and chewed, his gaze sweeping over the hurried passersby on the street, like an experienced old hunter searching for his next "quality client."
Just then, his steps paused slightly.
Not far ahead, a man in a New York City power company uniform and a hard hat was tinkering with something on a street-side transformer box, muttering continuously.
"Zzzzt!"
A small string of electrical sparks shot out from a gap in the transformer box, accompanied by a smell of burning.
The power worker jumped back abruptly, almost dropping his tools.
He took off his thick insulated gloves, revealing a blackened palm, with what appeared to be some blister marks on the back of his hand.
Ding! Potential client detected in close proximity!
Target: Maxwell Dillon
System Suggestion: Try promoting "Free Occupational Accident Insurance Trial."
William's eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.
Another "Free Occupational Accident Insurance Trial"?
From Anxiang Duxingzhe (Dark Alley Walker) to the current Maxwell Dillon.
The system always seemed to be guiding him to use these 'zero-cost' trial products as a stepping stone.
Could it be that even for these future 'big shots,' he could only attract their attention with free perks first?
Was the system trying to get him to cast a wide net first, then focus on the big catch?
The client was right in front of him; William didn't have time to delve into the system's deeper meaning.
He quickly shoved the remaining pizza into his mouth in a few bites, then took a big gulp of cola, let out a satisfied burp, and only then unhurriedly walked towards Maxwell Dillon.
"Hey, buddy, looks like you're having a rough day."
William wore a professional, "I understand you" smile on his face, his voice gentle.
Maxwell looked up at the sound, revealing a slightly haggard face, with beads of sweat on his forehead and a hint of confusion and deep fatigue in his eyes.
He glanced at William, then looked down at his hand, blackened by an electric arc, and grumbled, "Damn transformer box, it's like a ticking time bomb. This rotten job will send me to my grave one day."
William took the opportunity to move closer, his gaze falling on Maxwell's injured hand, and asked with concern, "How bad is the injury? Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"No need, minor injury, I'm used to it."
Maxwell waved his hand, his tone revealing a sense of resigned helplessness.
"This job is like this, either getting shocked or getting burned by a damn fuse. Those office workers at the company don't care whether we live or die."
William secretly rejoiced; this client's "pain point" was practically staring him in the face.
He cleared his throat, his tone becoming more earnest: "Brother, you've hit the nail on the head.
For high-risk jobs like yours, the basic labor protection provided by the company is just a drop in the bucket.
If something serious happens, who will guarantee your livelihood?"
Maxwell eyed William suspiciously; this guy who suddenly appeared and was so solicitous didn't seem like a good person.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
he asked cautiously.
"William Rodriguez, a risk consultant who cares about the rights of frontline workers."
William pulled out a simply designed but well-textured business card from his briefcase and handed it over with both hands, "You can call me William."
The business card read "Your Exclusive Risk Butler," with a small line below it: "Providing a solid backing for every extraordinary you. High risk, no worries, a promising future."
Maxwell took the business card, gave it a strange look, and scoffed, "Risk consultant? For whom? Superheroes? I'm no hero; I'm just an unlucky electrical repairman."
"Heroes are not judged by their origins; everyone who diligently performs their duties and silently contributes deserves respect," William said earnestly, his expression so sincere he could run for community representative.
"Moreover, my clients are precisely those 'special risk groups' who are overlooked by the traditional insurance industry."
He paused, lowering his voice with a hint of mystery: "For example, professionals like you, who often deal with high voltage and are constantly at risk of accidents."
Maxwell's expression softened somewhat; William's words had touched the hidden grievances and worries about the future deep within him. "What exactly do you want to say?"
"I want to say that I have a 'Occupational Accident Protection' specifically tailored for situations like yours."
William struck while the iron was hot, pulling out his phone to show Maxwell, with basic terms already pre-set.
"Look, for personal accidents caused by electric arc burns or equipment malfunctions, like the one just now, we can provide claims."
"Really?" A flicker of imperceptible light flashed in Maxwell's eyes.
"That's right," William smiled genially.
"You just need to sign this electronic agreement, authorizing us to record any occupational injuries you might incur.
Once an accident that meets the terms occurs, for example, your hand, take a photo and upload it. Once the system approves it, you can immediately receive a consolation payment."
He pointed to Maxwell's hand: "In your current situation, if you sign, I estimate it could compensate you at least a hundred U.S. dollars, enough for you to buy a few good ointments and have a good meal."
One hundred U.S. dollars was not a small sum for the financially struggling Maxwell.
He was somewhat tempted, but the wariness honed by years of hardship still nagged at him: "How can there be such a good thing in the world? Free? What do you gain from it?"
He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing William, "How does your company make money?"
"We gain reputation and data."
William explained, without batting an eye, "As an emerging risk management company, we need real cases to refine our claims model.
Every small 'accident' of yours is valuable data for us.
Of course, in return, we will give you tangible compensation.
This 'trial insurance' is how we enter the market, allowing clients to first experience our sincerity and strength."
He pushed the phone forward: "Sign it, it doesn't cost a cent, and if you're unlucky again, you'll still get some compensation. There's no loss for you, right? Consider it?"
Maxwell stared at the phone screen in William's hand, which clearly displayed the words "Free Occupational Accident Insurance Trial Agreement" and a prominent "Agree and Sign" button.
His Adam's apple bobbed, and his blackened hand unconsciously clenched into a fist.
One hundred U.S. dollars… He hadn't had such an easy opportunity to earn a hundred U.S. dollars in a long time.