The top priority now was digging up all the undiscovered gold.
In other words—those hidden geniuses who had talent but lacked the training or skill to realize it.
And ideally, they'd be people already struggling with something—only then could Kuroba Akira strike while the iron's hot.
Become their savior. Their miracle. Their god, even.
As the saying goes, "There's no shortage of people who add flowers to a brocade, but how many will offer charcoal in a snowstorm?"
Help given at someone's lowest point was help they'd remember for a lifetime—and a debt they'd never be able to repay.
I'm not just the bro who stuck by you when times were hard—I'm the one who pointed you down a golden path paved in stardust. That kind of favor? Maxes out the goodwill meter instantly.
And from there, all Akira needed was for them to have even a shred of decency. A drop of kindness deserves a spring in return, right? That was how he'd start mooching off his very own freshly cultivated, steaming-hot soft meal.
The real question was—how many "thighs" did he need to hug before he could live his dream of lying flat?
Akira had once heard a theory: If everyone in the world gave you just one yen, you'd be a billionaire overnight.
What he was doing now... wasn't so different.
If each person he helped ended up wildly successful and gave him, say, ten million yen—then with just ten people, he'd have a hundred million.
Sure, to a certain Wang-surnamed uncle, a hundred million might be just a "small goal," but to Akira, it was the ultimate endgame. Enough to lie down and never work again.
Of course, a hundred million yen was about 220 million yuan. If ten people were footing the bill, each of them would need to give him 22 million.
That was roughly the total career income of your average salaryman in Japan.
And if they only made a few million a year, or even ten million—well, no way they'd hand over that kind of cash.
Money makes things messy. Even blood brothers can fall out when finances get involved.
But what if 220 million yen was pocket change to them?
In other words—it all depended on how thick a thigh Akira could latch onto.
Not all geniuses were created equal.
So far, Akira had seen talents ranked from E up to A—five tiers in total.
There was an S-tier above A, but it was extremely rare. So far, he'd only seen one person with that kind of top-tier talent.
He'd caught a glimpse of it on TV a few days ago—some big-name figure in the country was waving to a crowd, and on his palm was the glowing mark: [Oratory S].
Akira knew you didn't get to that level just with talent. Still, charisma like that—on par with a certain small-mustached dictator—had clearly played a huge part in his rise to power, helping him amass allies and popularity.
Which meant: someone with an S-tier talent had the potential to rise to the very top of their field.
Akira wasn't delusional enough to think he'd meet that kind of person. But he did want to aim for people with at least B-tier talents. Anything lower just wasn't worth the time.
After all, the lower the talent, the longer it'd take them to get famous and make money. And that would delay Akira's soft meal—its flavor would be worse, and the stewing time would be way too long.
I want to lie down as soon as possible.
Ideally, he'd reach that state by the time he graduated high school. No one wanted to face the nightmare of graduation equals unemployment.
To sum it up: More thighs, and thicker thighs!
And if worst came to worst—well, even just hitting that hundred million yen goal wouldn't be too bad. Stick it in the bank, live off the interest, and that's a lifetime taken care of.
So here's the real problem—where was he supposed to find high-talent individuals who hadn't yet realized their potential?
Baby-stage rich women, basically.
Reading the talent on someone's right hand was easy enough—you just had to get close. Akira had never met anyone whose talents exceeded the space of one palm.
But reading the left hand—the skill proficiency level—was trickier. A single palm could only show three skill lines at once, and even ordinary people could learn way more than that.
Take the class rep, for example. A fifteen-year-old genius with over a dozen skills—just checking her left hand took a while.
Which meant that, to confirm someone's proficiency, he'd need a chance to hold their left hand and examine it up close.
And that's where it gets complicated.
Was he really going to start a fortune-telling booth?
But Akira wasn't out to read palms for fun. If a bunch of ordinary people showed up, it'd just be a waste of time.
Besides, he didn't actually know how to read palms, didn't study psychology, and couldn't sweet-talk people to save his life. That fortune-telling booth? Might get shut down on day one.
Not to mention—he still had to go to school. No time to run a roadside con.
So in the end, the most realistic method was still: spot someone with talent, strike up a conversation, and look for a chance to examine their left hand.
"Looks like I'll have to learn how to flirt…"
Akira wasn't exactly socially anxious, but he wasn't some extroverted social terrorist either. He'd never chatted someone up in his life. No experience whatsoever.
Damn it—making an introvert play extrovert… Even mooching has a high entry barrier!
He couldn't help but envy people with social talents.
If he had a skill related to eloquence, he'd probably be able to master flirting in no time.
Take the class rep's [Academic Ability A], for example—that was one talent Akira seriously coveted.
If that kind of talent worked outside of academics, maybe it could help him pick up social skills fast too.
Even if it only worked in school, it was still insanely powerful. It meant less time wasted studying—and no need for tutoring.
Akira wasn't aiming to get into some prestigious university, but doing well in school would probably make Kobayakawa-sensei less stressed.
After all, in his past life, he'd already been a card-carrying wizard in training. Everything from high school? Long since returned to the teachers.
That said, he'd actually done pretty well in school back then. Got decent marks in the college entrance exams and even got into a respectable university.
But so what?
You get good grades, get into a good college, land a decent-paying job—and then what?
Work yourself into an early grave with endless overtime?
Akira had already walked that road in his last life.
So picking up the books again… just didn't appeal anymore.
He didn't want to repeat that empty, effort-filled path.
Still… flirting, huh? Not his strong suit, but maybe he'd give it a shot.
He remembered stumbling across some dumb video a while back—something about how even hot guys only had a 5% success rate when hitting on girls. So what really mattered was how often and how you tried.
People generally found gentle approaches more acceptable than sleazy ones.
Sure, shallow flirting might attract girls who just wanted a fling, but Akira wasn't trying to score dates. He was more like a talent scout.
Given that, if the girl really was a hidden genius, he'd need to build a good relationship with her. First impressions were critical.
And he couldn't let his intentions show too early—people would get suspicious, maybe even hostile. So the ideal opener was one that didn't raise red flags or make things awkward.
Individual differences mattered too. Outgoing, flamboyant types were more receptive to jokes and off-color remarks. Quiet, steady types—not so much.
The class rep, for instance—definitely a normie. Great social skills. Could handle teasing without blinking…
"…Huh?"
All of a sudden, Akira startled himself.
That video about flirting? He'd watched it ages ago, totally bored. Most of it had slipped his mind. So why could he remember it so clearly now?
Was his memory always this sharp?
What really struck him was how clear his thoughts were. Like his brain had been scrubbed clean—brand new and running smooth.
He raised his hands, switching the milk drink from right to left. Slowly, he opened his right palm.
And then, he gave a rueful smile.
"Ha… So the real cheat finally activates, huh."
Where his palm should've been empty, a glowing word appeared—something Akira had never had before.
[Academic Ability A]
Kuroba Akira could copy talents.