The wheels of Daniel's suitcase squeaked like they were on strike. Every bump, every crack in the pavement, that worn-out luggage protested.
And the System? Naturally, it couldn't resist.
[Question from one of our premium sponsors: Why are you still dragging that sad excuse for a suitcase?]
Daniel rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on the handle. "Maybe because I didn't wake up rich enough to teleport yet?"
[Incorrect. You've been rich for 48 hours. Poor taste in luggage is your personal failure.]
He sighed, weaving through the airport crowd toward the security checkpoint. The energy in Miami International buzzed with tourists, suitcases, overpriced sandwiches, and jet fuel dreams.
Los Angeles, baby.
The land of sunshine, celebrities, plastic surgeons, and — if you asked the System — some of the most beautiful women walking the planet.
Daniel smiled to himself, boarding pass in hand.
[Also, the best weather outside of Rio de Janeiro. Warm, chaotic, and scientifically proven to increase serotonin production.]
"Yeah, yeah… if we're lucky, maybe I meet an actress," Daniel muttered under his breath, inching forward in line.
As the queue shuffled along, his nerves started creeping in. Despite millions sitting comfortably in his bank account, there was something about airport security that made even innocent people sweat.
The TSA officer up ahead had that look — stern, calculating, a guy who probably watched too many cop shows.
Daniel exhaled slow, calming his pulse.
When it was finally his turn, he stepped up, passport ready.
The officer — late 40s, buzz cut, mirrored sunglasses — looked him up and down like a PM in Brazil who knew you were hiding something, even if you weren't.
"Purpose of your visit to Los Angeles?" the man asked, voice flat but laced with suspicion.
Daniel smiled politely. "Vacation."
"Vacation?" The officer's eyes narrowed. "You don't look like a tourist. Where you from, son?"
"Brazil," Daniel replied smoothly.
"Brazil…" The officer's jaw worked like he was chewing on the word. "You're telling me you came all the way from Brazil to Miami, and now you're flying cross-country to L.A… just for fun?"
Daniel shrugged. "Best weather after Rio, right? Gotta see it for myself."
The officer didn't laugh. "Occupation?"
Daniel hesitated for half a beat.
"Investor," he answered, watching for a reaction.
The officer cocked an eyebrow. "Investor… with that suitcase?"
Daniel chuckled. "Hey, smart investors start small, right?"
The officer stared for an uncomfortable second, then motioned toward the conveyor belt. "Bag on the scanner. Shoes off."
Daniel complied, heart ticking fast, but his poker face stayed cool.
The luggage rolled through. No alarms. No red flags.
The officer's gaze lingered on Daniel as he retrieved his belongings. "You enjoy L.A… Mr. Investor."
"Will do," Daniel replied, grabbing his suitcase and walking away, pulse still buzzing from the interaction.
As he cleared security, the System chimed back in, unimpressed.
[Human security protocols remain hilariously inefficient. You possess over two million dollars, yet your suitcase screams 'lost college student.']
Daniel laughed, wheeling the battered luggage toward his gate. "One step at a time, alright? You can't flex too hard on day two."
[Correction: With proper resource management, flexing can commence immediately. Would you like to review luxury luggage options?]
Daniel shook his head, boarding pass scanned, making his way onto the plane.
The flight to Los Angeles was smooth. He snagged a window seat, earbuds in, mind racing.
The System wasn't wrong. His appearance, the suitcase, the budget hotel in Miami… it didn't match the numbers in his account.
Time to fix that.
The minute he landed at LAX, the California sun hit different — warmer, golden, like opportunity itself whispered in the air.
Stepping outside the terminal, palm trees lining the roads, billboards flashing designer ads, Daniel took a deep breath.
Los Angeles.
Beautiful women, beautiful lies, and enough plastic surgery to rebuild the Statue of Liberty twice.
But beneath the glamour? Opportunity. Connections. Status.
[Reminder: Shenhao Program operates best when participants blend confidence with strategic anonymity.]
Daniel nodded, pulling out his phone, opening his banking app.
Balance: $3,000,112.47
Three million. Just… there.
He grinned to himself, stuffing the phone away.
First step? Clean presentation.
Dragging a ragged suitcase into Beverly Hills screamed "scammer," not "silent millionaire."
He grabbed a cab, heading toward a decent hotel — not five-star flashy, but comfortable. Discreet. Smart.
At check-in, he paid in cash, eyes sharp for anyone watching.
The room? Simple. Clean. Reliable Wi-Fi.
The moment the door clicked shut, Daniel collapsed onto the bed, pulling out his phone again.
"Alright… time for a real plan," he muttered.
Step one: Upgrade the wardrobe. Subtle designer pieces, nothing flashy. Rich people who know how to stay rich? They don't wear logos the size of billboards.
Step two: Bank setup. International accounts. Offshore options. Spread the money smart, avoid red flags, taxes, sudden government interest.
Step three: The look. No ridiculous muscle boosts or comic book nonsense, but clean-cut, well-groomed, charismatic. Teeth fixed. Skin glowing. Hair sharp.
The System chimed in, approving.
[Excellent strategy. Aesthetic upgrades will become available via upcoming daily rewards. Would you like to pre-register for cosmetic enhancement packages?]
Daniel smirked. "We're not talking about turning me into a supermodel overnight, right?"
[Negative. Subtle improvements only. Facial symmetry adjustments, dental perfection, dermal quality enhancements. 100% human-compliant.]
He chuckled. "Perfect. I still wanna recognize myself in the mirror."
[Sensible. Extreme transformations attract excessive attention. You possess wealth… not superpowers.]
Daniel exhaled, mind clearing.
Three million dollars. A sarcastic intergalactic system in his corner. A new city. A fresh start.
But no mistakes.
Not like the guy before him — whoever that idiot was who "forgot" they were being watched.
No burning cash. No reckless shopping sprees.
Strategic moves. Networking. Silent domination.
Daniel pulled out his notebook, jotting down priorities: banks, wardrobe, low-key real estate options.
This wasn't a game. This was survival… with a million-dollar head start.
And in Los Angeles?
You either played smart… or got eaten alive.
Daniel smiled to himself, eyes gleaming with quiet confidence.
The suitcase? That'd go.
The mindset? That was here to stay.