Dinner was a pizza delivery from a nearby place, accompanied by a complimentary two-liter bottle of sugary soda.
Considering the types of affordable food available in America, it's no surprise the country struggles with obesity. It's not just otaku in Japan—shut-ins, or "hikikomori," exist all over the world. But only in America do you find so many shut-ins weighing hundreds of kilograms, bedridden, and struggling even to walk.
Ironically, this also boosts industries like gyms and boxing clubs. Especially among the wealthy, working out daily to maintain a sculpted physique has become a lifestyle. Then there are those obsessed with fitness to the point of injecting steroids in pursuit of bulky muscles—these people almost seem like beings from another dimension.
Henry suddenly recalled a scene from a movie in which Thor had gotten fat. That made him worry: could Kryptonians get fat? Was there a way to prevent it?
Still, when you're hungry and food is in front of you, there's no reason not to eat.
He vividly remembered his time at the Russian research institute, where hunger had pushed him so far he considered scraping plaster off the walls just to eat something. That trauma etched itself into his memory.
People who've truly experienced hunger never forget. No wonder the Buddhist cosmology includes the Hungry Ghost Realm—one of the three evil paths alongside the Hell Realm and the Animal Realm.
But the moment Henry took a bite of the pizza, regret washed over him.
He wasn't picky. He enjoyed tasty food, but most of the time, he simply ate what was available. For him, food fell into three categories: delicious, edible, and inedible. But today, he discovered a new category between edible and inedible: "eating it hurts your soul, not eating it hurts your wallet."
Henry wasn't someone who wasted food. Throwing away something still edible felt wrong—not just financially wasteful, but disrespectful to the people who produced it. Even with hundreds of thousands of dollars in his account, he had no other income now and was living purely off savings.
Yet some food was just... unacceptable. It wouldn't make you sick, but eating it made you feel like you were betraying yourself. And for a Kryptonian with super taste, the flavor might as well have been feces. He would have preferred to bypass his tongue and send it directly into his stomach.
And suddenly, it made sense why the soda came in a two-liter bottle—it wasn't for enjoyment; it was for washing the taste out of his mouth and flushing his stomach.
That miserable experience prompted Henry to make a firm decision: any apartment he rented in the future must have a kitchen. Eating out might be convenient, but being able to cook for himself was a matter of survival and dignity.
If Google Maps had existed at the time, he would've left that pizza joint a one-star review without hesitation.
To get rid of the taste still lingering in his mouth, he picked up the Yellow Pages next to the motel phone and flipped through it. He began planning what to do the next day, trying to shift his attention away from the horrible meal.
It was unfortunate that the Yellow Pages didn't include customer reviews. There was no way to know which places were good. So instead of comparing similar listings, he just looked for those closest to him.
Henry reminded himself: stepping into a new world without information required courage. Trial and error was part of the process. As long as he stayed cautious and didn't get greedy, he could pull out before incurring major losses.
And if someone tried flipping the table and starting a fight? Well, we Kryptonians don't back down. Let's see who takes who down.
The next day, Henry woke up early and stepped outside. The winter sun cast a warm glow, making people want to chase it. Such a contrast to summer, when everyone avoided the scorching heat.
But Los Angeles, being a large industrial city, didn't offer great air quality. A deep breath could lead to a coughing fit instead of refreshment.
After washing up, Henry went out and grabbed a hot dog from a local food cart owned by an elderly Black man. He slathered on mustard, skipped the offered soda—it looked like a bacteria breeding ground—and filled his stomach.
After that, he headed straight to a bank. His goal was to deposit the money he'd earned from the crab boat job.
Walking around with hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash was dangerous—not to mention conspicuous. He didn't feel comfortable leaving the money in a motel room or a soon-to-be-rented apartment either. If he got robbed, all his past efforts would be wiped out in a single morning. Better to be safe than sorry.
He hadn't opened an account in Alaska because most banks up there didn't have branches in the mainland U.S., making withdrawals and transfers inconvenient. And while he could've taken a check from an Alaskan bank to a mainland branch, the handling fees were ridiculous. Each bank had its own rules, often ambiguous and arbitrary.
Now that he had arrived in Los Angeles and was planning to work in Hollywood, relying on cash payments or check-cashing services wasn't sustainable. He needed a proper bank account.
Small banks were out of the question. The U.S. financial system, shaped by powerful interest groups, was chaotic and inconsistent. Unless you had an inside connection, getting involved with a small bank was like walking into a trap.
Sure, they'd lure customers in with high interest rates. But once your money was in, they had you. They could trap you in bureaucratic mazes, charge ridiculous fees, or make withdrawals mysteriously difficult. Unless you played by their rules, you'd lose out.
Even large banks weren't entirely trustworthy.
From his memories of his previous life before time travel, Henry could recall major bank collapses: Baring Bank in the UK, Lehman Brothers, Silicon Valley Bank in the U.S.—none of them were immune. You didn't have to be in finance to know about these high-profile bankruptcies; they were splashed across every news outlet.
To someone with minimal leverage, those were landmines to avoid at all costs.
Sure, investors and insiders might still profit amid the chaos, but for an average guy like Henry, he'd only end up being the harvested chives—cut down without mercy.
He didn't want to be so angry one day that he stormed into a bank and used his Kryptonian powers to 'uphold justice.'
Then there were banks that operated more like investment firms, with standard banking services as side businesses. Those required connections or minimum deposit thresholds. Without the right referrals or money, they turned away the "commoners" like Henry.
In short, American banking was a labyrinth of tricks, traps, and fine print. One wrong step, and you had nowhere to appeal. Even if you sued, you'd lose—because these institutions practically wrote the laws themselves.
The U.S. was practically built by financial conglomerates. That wasn't a conspiracy theory—it was historical reality.
The more Henry thought about it, the more anxious he became. Opening a bank account felt like navigating a minefield. Even with a Kryptonian's super brain, he was tempted to give up.
Then, while driving, he spotted a Citibank branch by the road.
He hesitated, then reasoned with himself: while large corporations do have the power to exploit customers, once they reach a certain size, they tend to become more regulated and transparent. That could work in his favor.
Henry wasn't afraid of strict rules. What he feared was shifting, unpredictable ones.
So, he pulled over, grabbed his backpack, and walked toward Citibank.
Time to open an account—and hope the only superpower he'd need today was patience.
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