Singing a Different Tune

In a city like New York—especially in Hell's Kitchen—gangs were as common as air. There was nothing worth making a fuss over. It was said that in Hell's Kitchen, even patrol officers did not dare walk the streets alone at night. Murder cases occurred there constantly, and even the people living in the area had long since grown used to them.

And the gang Cathy mentioned was called the "Green Snake Gang"...

A name that generic and overused looked like the name of some insignificant bunch of lackeys, no matter how he looked at it.

What was there to pay attention to about such small fry?

But then again, precisely because no one else paid attention, the media ought to do something about it. While following major stories, someone also had to cover the small matters happening among the city's neighborhoods. After all, exposing social problems and prompting public concern and reflection was part of the media's duty.

Richard also knew perfectly well how much this young intern reporter wanted to land a major story, make a name for herself, and transform into a famous young journalist overnight. He understood her thoughts all too well. After all, who had not been young once? Back when he had been an intern, had he not dreamed similar dreams?

Though in terms of the age of his body after transmigrating, he did not seem to be much older than this young reporter.

He decided to give Cathy a chance to gain experience. Nodding, he said, "Let's hear it. What about the Green Snake Gang?"

"It's like this. A reliable informant gave me intel that the Green Snake Gang handled the reception of an unregistered cargo ship on Wednesday," Cathy said. "My informant has a good relationship with one of the gang's senior members, and that person let a little something slip. I'm now eighty percent... no, ninety percent... no, completely certain that the ship was carrying an entire load of girls trafficked from various places!"

No, were you certain or not, miss? Could you be a little more rigorous?

Still, anyone who knew even a little about Hell's Kitchen would know this was nothing unusual. Girls were trafficked every week. But if they could catch one such case, then have a reporter with strong writing skills take the lead and write something stirring to call for public attention, it could still make for a good story.

And to be honest, Richard himself found human trafficking deeply repugnant. Someone really ought to crack down on them.

The young intern reporter truly needed this opportunity. Richard decided to encourage her a little and asked, "Then what's the name of this informant of yours? Can he testify publicly?"

Cathy shook her head. "No. The condition for him giving me the information was that I couldn't reveal his identity. Otherwise, he'd be in a very dangerous situation."

"Then you must know where that ship is?"

"I do. But I already went to check. The ship had been emptied out by the next day."

Richard had a bad feeling. "Then you must know where the trafficked girls are?"

Cathy shook her head like a rattle drum. "I don't know."

She really knew nothing when asked about anything!

No, you had no witnesses, no physical evidence, so had you been talking animatedly here all this time just to mess with him?

Richard's head hurt.

Did she think their newspaper was the E3 Game Expo? Was it all about seeing who could paint the bigger picture?

But one had to be tolerant and patient with newcomers. Richard did not get angry, merely spreading his hands as he said, "So you have no evidence at all. How exactly do you expect me to publish this in the paper? 'According to an anonymous source, a gang in Hell's Kitchen is engaged in human trafficking.' Where's the evidence? There isn't any. Where are the people? Gone. That really is starting with one picture and making up the entire story."

Cathy was not discouraged in the slightest. "Only temporarily, boss. Trust me. Give me a little time, and I'll definitely dig something up. This weekend—before the weekend is over, I'll definitely have evidence! Boss, could you maybe save me a spot for next Monday..."

"Page seven... no, page eight." Richard remained expressionless. "It can't be any earlier."

"Boss, this is organized human trafficking!" Cathy was unhappy. Page eight? Would that not be a tiny scrap of space? Forget a front-page headline, but surely a story this big should not be pushed so far back?

"It's Hell's Kitchen, too." Richard shrugged. "It's not that I don't want to give it to you, but there have been a lot of major stories lately. Go investigate it first. If you find something, we'll discuss the layout then. If you end up finding nothing, forget page eight—you won't get a spot even on page eighty."

Cathy blinked her big eyes. "Boss, our paper doesn't have eighty pages..."

"I'm making an analogy. Do you understand rhetorical exaggeration?" Richard felt genuinely exhausted—was this girl really that straightforward, or was she deliberately trying to choke her boss?

"Oh, oh, I understand." Cathy smiled. "Thank you, boss. I definitely won't let you down!"

The intern reporter left happily.

The office finally became quiet for the time being. Richard sat in his chair, lifted his teacup, and took a light sip before tilting his head up to look out the window.

Although he had not said it directly to the young reporter, personally, he strongly supported reporting on stories like this.

In his previous life before transmigrating, he had not managed to start a family or build a career, but he had a younger sister. When he had suddenly transmigrated and left, she had only been fifteen or sixteen years old. Putting himself in her shoes, Richard felt that if his own sister had been trafficked, he would have to make every person involved pay the price, even if he had to turn the whole world upside down.

Of course, even if the worst had really happened back then, he could have done nothing. After all, he had only been an ordinary person, a small reporter. He knew no powerful people and had no influential connections. He had only been an insignificant nobody.

But things were different now.

There were many stories others did not dare publish, but he dared. There were many right things no one could step forward to say, but he could.

Thinking of this, Richard subconsciously summoned the Evolution Trust. The white transformation device appeared in his hand amid a faint glow.

Unlike the transformation devices in TV series that had to be carried at all times, the Evolution Trust was normally stored in a small space separate from reality and could be summoned with the simplest thought.

To be honest, Richard did not know how he had obtained this power. In the television series, Nexus's Deunamists seemed to have to be chosen by the light, and everyone selected had to possess some extraordinary quality. But Richard did not think there was anything special about himself. He considered himself quite an ordinary person. He had neither the selfless spirit to sacrifice himself in service of the people nor some heroic complex about saving the world... Of course, he was not like certain villains with what seemed to be severely abnormal thought processes, dreaming of conquering the world.

If there had to be some reason for him becoming Ultraman, then the only explanation was probably that he had stumbled into absurdly good luck.

But even if it was only absurdly good luck, he had still gained power.

So he felt he had to do something—even if it was only speaking the truth and singing a different tune.