"Wait a minute—where did that starting balance of seven dollars even come from? I didn't have any U.S. currency on me!"
Ma Zhaodi patted his pockets carefully, only to realize that the fifty-some yuan he had stuffed in there after buying cigarettes had vanished.
"Oh, great. And here I thought the system gave me a starter bonus—turns out it was just robbing Peter to pay Paul."
Still, on the bright side, his shirt, slacks, and jacket made him blend in decently well in Gotham. At least he wasn't dressed in anything that screamed outsider.
He sighed and purchased "Basic English Proficiency" and "Local Identity" from the system's store. Without those two, his survival chances in Gotham were basically zero. He also bought "Rapid Health Recovery" and a "Checkpoint."
[System Notice]
"Special Tip: You'll be able to unlock advanced checkpoint relocation features as you progress. Don't be stingy with your checkpoints. You may use up to 20 checkpoint recalls, divided among five different time nodes. Plan accordingly.
Current moment is a Safe Time Node—no danger will appear within the next 30 minutes. You cannot save during this period. Please proceed without worry."
Looking up, Ma Zhaodi saw heavy clouds blotting out the sun. From the faint light, he could tell it was evening, but couldn't tell the exact time. With no other options, he began walking toward the station exit. He remembered spotting a clock tower from the train earlier—if he could find it, he could at least check the time.
After a few steps, his pace slowed.
Just a moment ago, the chatter echoing from every corner of the station had sounded like meaningless noise. But now that he'd unlocked "Basic English Proficiency," those same voices were suddenly clear and fragmented, like overhearing snippets of street conversations back home—his brain just got them.
It was a bizarre feeling, but to someone like Ma Zhaodi, who had barely scraped by on his English proficiency test, it was fascinating. He tried to recall some of the English he'd learned in school and realized the system had patched up his broken knowledge like a clunky but somehow lightning-fast bike—barely functional, but freakishly efficient.
Of course, that was just because he hadn't gotten used to it yet. In reality, both his accent and writing were now close to standard American English. Once he adapted, the beat-up bike would probably upgrade to a smooth electric scooter.
Thinking of his new "local identity," he checked his pockets again—only to find them as empty as his wallet.
After a more thorough search, he realized that all his ID—driver's license, social security card, the works—were stored within the system's "Zero to Hero" starter kit. To retrieve or store them, all he had to do was think about it.
"At least they made this part user-friendly."
Never having seen an American driver's license before, Ma Zhaodi reached into his jacket pocket and, a few seconds later, pulled one out. He examined it curiously for a moment, then stashed it back. Right now, what he really needed was a job. If he didn't find one soon, he wouldn't die at the hands of a gang, terrorist group, assassin, or supervillain—he'd starve to death. Or freeze to death sleeping on a sidewalk.
After all, he had no idea how the homeless survived in the U.S.—and this was Gotham. There were no harmless homeless people here.
Of course, he might end up learning firsthand. It's not like he owned any real estate in Gotham. Becoming homeless wouldn't be surprising at all.
For the record, while some homeless folks in the U.S. could receive welfare benefits—if they'd filed federal taxes and had valid bank accounts—unfortunately, while the system had provided him with an account, Ma Zhaodi had never earned a cent here. No income meant no taxes. No taxes meant no benefits.
As he stepped off the crowded platform, he finally got a good look at the city.
A fine drizzle fell from the sky, veiling the night in a misty shroud. Neon lights glowed along the busy streets as cars and motorcycles raced by. The lower halves of the high-rises around him were bathed in shifting light, while their tops vanished into the dark, only partially illuminated by occasional floodlights that traced the corners of towering structures.
In the distance, factory chimneys belched smoke. Next to them sprawled the slums—rows of run-down buildings with barely any lights. From alleyways came the occasional sound of sobbing, scuffling, or even gunshots. Homeless encampments dotted the area, full of filthy figures huddled in tents under bridges or in abandoned buildings, burning newspapers and old books in oil drums for warmth.
Ma Zhaodi squinted into the distance. Between the flickering digital billboards and garish neon signs, he spotted the clock tower. The time read 9:00 PM.
Definitely too late to find work tonight. He had to survive until morning.
"This starting scenario is absolute bulls**t."
A cold gust of wind blew through the street, laced with fine mist. Ma Zhaodi staggered, shivering, and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. He curled in on himself, racking his brain, but couldn't figure out where he could safely spend the night. Busy streets would have security or cops shooing him away. Quiet corners were more likely to get him stabbed.
"There's gotta be some other option, right?"
He flipped through the system menus and found a store tab. Inside, he could see practically everything—from basic food and knives to special abilities and supernatural artifacts. As for the bottom-tier stuff, he didn't even bother looking. He couldn't afford it anyway.
Only $3 USD were currently usable in the system. Judging by the situation, he was going to be sleeping rough tonight.
As he walked, he browsed the cheapest items available in the store—then suddenly froze.
His driver's license was gone.
"?"
He knew he hadn't returned it to the system. It should've still been in his jacket pocket.
"Still there?"
Ma Zhaodi turned his jacket inside out, frantically searching, but came up empty. Panic began to rise in his throat—until his hand brushed against his pants pocket.
"?"
"…Wait, it's here?"
It took him a few seconds to piece together what had just happened. Sometime in the hundred meters between the train station and here, he'd been pickpocketed by a local.
And apparently, the thief had found nothing but lint—then, out of sheer pity or disgust, shoved his driver's license back into his pants pocket.
He almost laughed. The entire theft had happened without him even noticing a thing.
Still, it was a valuable lesson: a skilled pickpocket might steal your wallet, your watch, or even your phone—but if you're broke, there's nothing for them to take.
As long as he stayed completely penniless, he was untouchable.
If he ever did run into a mugger, they might even take one look at his empty pockets and give him a few bucks out of pity—so he could buy something to eat.