Bonds Deepen

Henry did not look downright shabby, but he was hardly dressed like someone from the upper class.

He had shaved his beard with Heat Vision, but his messy hair definitely hurt his appearance in other people's eyes.

And he had an old backpack slung over his back...

Well, that backpack looked stuffed full. If he had come carrying a flat, empty backpack, he would have looked exactly like someone there to rob the place.

Given Henry's appearance, no bank employee was going to come up and greet him. He did not mind and walked over to the information counter himself. "Hello, I'd like to open an account. What procedures do I need to go through?"

Henry was promptly directed to another small partitioned office, where a sharp-looking Black man in a neat suit was waiting.

"Sir, what can I do for you?"

Though the bank employee spoke politely, the arrogance in his words and expression was impossible to conceal. It was as though he wanted to make it clear that he had risen above his original class.

Henry had not come here to make friends. He placed his old backpack on the table, pulled open the zipper, and revealed bundles of cash inside. "Open an account. Deposit this money. Much obliged."

"We do not accept funds from unknown sources," the bank employee refused outright, his face full of disdain.

Henry was not surprised. Banks had always been sensitive about such matters, especially in the United States.

If illegally obtained money could be easily deposited into the banking system, why would anyone need to launder money? Otherwise, they would let you deposit it, then turn around and freeze it with a court order.

Unbothered, Henry took out several documents. "This was payment I earned working aboard a crab-fishing vessel in Alaska. Here are my employment records, proof of wages, copies of the checks, and proof of payment from the Bank of Alaska. This is my Social Security card."

The employee took the documents from the desk, checked the official seals, and began reviewing them.

He also noticed that the cash in the bag had not been bundled casually. It bore seals from other banks. If it had not been taken in a bank robbery, then it had been withdrawn directly from a bank.

As he worked, he asked, "How much would you like to deposit, sir? What type of account would you like to open? Would you like me to recommend an investment portfolio?"

The disgust in his tone had faded considerably. If he closed an investment deal, he would receive a bonus. His row of white teeth stood out even more against his dark face.

"There's 290,000 in cash here. Put 20,000 in a checking account and the rest in a savings account. I need a checkbook and I want to apply for a credit card. Nothing else."

Henry stated his plans clearly. This was all advice he had gotten from old Tom. That guy's advice regarding Henry usually had some sort of trap buried in it, but his advice on other matters was fairly reliable.

"We need to make copies of these documents. Is that all right?" Though he had failed to sell any investment products, the bank employee still asked politely.

"Go ahead."

The bank employee took the documents to the copier and had a colleague bring over a money-counting machine equipped with counterfeit detection, preparing to count the cash in Henry's bag.

Even though the bills bore Bank of Alaska seals, money was money. Once it had circulated outside, no one would trust that the seals were still reliable, even if the cash had originally come from their own vault.

Fortunately, nothing entertaining went wrong while counting the 290,000 in cash, leaving Henry no chance to slap anyone in the face. After all, when a Kryptonian slapped someone in the face, the result would be that there was no face left. No one wanted to see that.

Opening a bank account did not require a fee, only an initial deposit. The money Henry was depositing was more than enough.

However, the checkbook and credit card application both required additional fees. Henry had to pay those separately.

He already had several thousand in cash on him anyway, so after digging around in various pockets, he managed to scrape together enough. That entire performance made the Black employee handling his case roll his eyes repeatedly.

Keep pretending! Let's see how long you can keep it up!

Once all the paperwork was finished and he had received his debit card, Henry walked out of the bank, looked at the Sun hanging high overhead, and realized he was hungry.

A credit card required the bank to conduct a credit check, so it would not be ready so quickly. Since he did not have a mailing address yet, the bank employee told him to come back and ask again in two weeks.

He should not assume the bank would make special accommodations just because he was a major customer depositing more than 200,000 Dao.

In fact, this was already an accommodation. Otherwise, someone who had not even found a place to live and did not know where to have credit card bills mailed would not even be able to submit an application.

Still, now that he had completed the process of opening a bank account, Henry felt his bond with this world deepen a little more. The vivid sense that he had truly transmigrated surfaced again, so suddenly.

His nearly twenty years of blank, solitary existence before this—if not for the torment of those final few years, he might have forgotten what it meant to be human.

Even though it was the evil of human nature that had dragged him back into this world, Henry had never considered turning dark and taking revenge on the world.

As the saying went, his life had been worthless before transmigrating, and it was still worthless after transmigrating. He had merely transmigrated into a Kryptonian, not a Celestial Dragon. Since he had not taken revenge immediately, what was the point of venting his anger on other people?

Yet during his recuperation in Alaska, what had supported him were still those memories from before his transmigration.

He watched classic old movies that existed in both worlds, hoping to find traces of his former self, traces of the other world.

The unreality of arriving in a new world had never left him. Even battling towering waves on the Bering Sea had not changed that.

It felt like taking a max-level character to slaughter monsters in a beginner village. The waves could not make him seasick, the cold could not freeze him to death, king crabs could not hurt him, and making money was as easy as picking it up. This fucking world was a game.

If the captains had allowed it, Henry could have spent the entire crab-fishing season aboard the boat.

But after arriving in Los Angeles, that feeling of being an overpowered max-level player quickly faded.

Perhaps it was because of the path he had chosen. His Kryptonian abilities were of no use here. It meant he truly had to start from scratch, in an unfamiliar field, doing things he had never done before.

Should he turn back and look for something that would let him make use of a Kryptonian's advantages?

Like robbing banks.

How had he circled back to robbing banks again? But seriously, Henry had never possessed the desire to selflessly help others like an ordinary superhero.

Just look at the miserable lives of all those superheroes in movies, television shows, and anime. It made superheroism seem like a terrible career path.

He did not have some grand belief in dedicating himself unconditionally, sacrificing the small self to fulfill the greater self. At the end of the day, he was just an ordinary man.

In short, whoever wanted to be a superhero could go be one. He was just a slacker Kryptonian.

If anyone wanted to change his worldview, Marvel would have to turn into a wasteland and leave him with no chance to slack off and lie flat!

If a slacker fish wanted to flip over, could it still be considered a proper slacker fish?

Having reaffirmed his resolve, Henry stood beneath the sunlight and felt the power growing within his body. Then he took a deep breath. This was the scent of Los Angeles.

His life had truly entered a brand-new second stage.