Hiss—
William Rodriguez suddenly opened his eyes. A tearing pain exploded from deep within his skull, making him gasp in a cold breath.
What greeted his eyes was an unfamiliar, mold-stained ceiling.
The air was filled with the smell of cheap cigarettes mixed with even cheaper disinfectant, making his throat itch and causing him to cough violently.
He struggled to prop himself up, every muscle, every bone groaning under the strain.
An aching sensation surged from his limbs, as if he had truly been hit head-on by a speeding heavy truck, and then, for good measure, it had reversed and run him over again.
This terrible physical state was a hundred times worse than the exhaustion he felt after pulling all-nighters to write proposals in his previous life.
This was not his rental apartment.
Absolutely not.
His small but at least clean and tidy nest, smelling of coffee, was a paradise compared to this place.
The room was suffocatingly narrow. Besides a creaky, solitary iron bed, there was only a rickety wooden cabinet next to it, its door ajar, revealing a few wrinkled clothes inside.
Several yellowed celebrity posters were haphazardly plastered on the walls, featuring passé showgirls with vacant eyes, as if mocking his disheveled and impoverished state.
Outside the window came the characteristic din of New York City: car horns, muffled conversations, and a faint, elusive scent of grilled sausages.
William looked down at his hands.
Large, rough, with some old scars on his knuckles.
These were definitely not his own hands, which were accustomed to typing on a keyboard, occasionally delivering insurance policies, and were relatively fair.
A chill shot from his feet straight to the top of his head.
He stumbled to the only mirror in the room, which reflected a completely unfamiliar face.
He looked about twenty-five or twenty-six, with skin that was pale from long-term malnutrition.
His eye sockets were deep, and his brown eyes held an unshakeable weariness and wariness.
His features were well-defined, with a high nose bridge and a clear jawline giving him a rugged look.
However, his messy, greasy brown curly hair made him look utterly decadent, as if he had just crawled out of a dumpster.
"William Rodriguez..."
A strange name, like a brand, suddenly appeared in his mind.
Immediately afterward, a flood of memory fragments surged in uncontrollably—confused, fragmented, yet incredibly real.
A freelancer struggling to survive in the lower echelons of New York, he had worked as a dock laborer, a clumsy assistant for a private detective, and even stood in line for others to buy limited-edition sneakers.
But even so, he was still burdened with an endless pile of debt, living hand-to-mouth, often relying on neighbors for a few slices of bread to survive.
Creditors came knocking every few days, their knocks like death knells.
And he, an ordinary insurance salesman from Earth, had absurdly transmigrated into this body.
Transmigrated into this... Marvel Universe.
In his memory, a headline on the front page of a Daily Bugle from a few days ago boldly read: "Stark Industries CEO Tony Stark Departs for Afghanistan for Weapon Demonstration, Military Holds High Hopes."
Tony Stark! Afghanistan!
His heart felt as if it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, and breathing became difficult.
Marvel.
That was Marvel!
This meant a future with World-destroying aliens, a madman who could wipe out half the Universe with a snap of his fingers, and all sorts of Superhumans and dark forces.
And he, this current William Rodriguez, was just an ordinary person with no Superhuman Strength.
No, even worse than ordinary, he was a debt-ridden, unfortunate soul with a bank account cleaner than his face!
How was he supposed to face those god-like battles?
Was he supposed to use his silver tongue to persuade Thanos to buy a Universe accident insurance policy?!
"What should I do?"
William's voice held an almost imperceptible tremor, and only his heavy breathing filled the empty room.
Just as he felt a wave of despair, almost crushed by this sudden turn of events, a cold, mechanical voice sounded in his mind.
[The hero compensation system has been activated.]
[This system is dedicated to providing comprehensive risk protection services for high-risk professionals, avoiding potential threats, and compensating for incurred losses.]
[Current bindable host: William Rodriguez.]
[Binding...]
[Binding successful.]
William froze, a flicker of bewilderment in his eyes, immediately overwhelmed by immense ecstasy.
Golden finger!
A standard for transmigrators!
It might be late, but it would never be absent!
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down and listen carefully to the system's introduction in his mind.
The core function of this "hero compensation system" was simple and crude: it allowed him to sell various types of "risk protection" insurance to the Superheroes, and even Supervillains (system note: as long as the other party met the definition of "high-risk professional") of this World.
Once a "client" who purchased insurance encountered an event deemed a "loss" by the system (such as injury, equipment damage, reputational damage, etc.).
And successfully claimed compensation through the system, he, William Rodriguez, would randomly obtain one of that "client's" abilities, skills, talents, or even certain special items.
No urgent tasks.
No punishment of annihilation for failure.
The system's cold prompt clearly stated that it would not issue any mandatory tasks; all actions were to be decided by the host, at his own risk, and for his own benefit.
William's eyes lit up. His professional instinct from his previous life as an insurance salesman, bowing and scraping, talking himself hoarse for Performance , was completely activated at this moment, and elevated to an unprecedented level.
He was born for this line of work; he had no shortage of eloquence and tenacity!
Selling insurance to Superheroes?
Gaining abilities upon successful claims?
This was simply a golden finger tailor-made for him!
He knew too well that risks and losses were commonplace for Superheroes who were constantly fighting.
And he only needed to persuade them to buy a "guarantee" to reap the rewards.
Of course, convincing those high-and-mighty Superheroes, especially the eccentric ones, would probably not be an easy task.
But what William Rodriguez lacked least was eloquence and tenacity.
But... his face suddenly fell, and his newly ignited ambition instantly withered by half.
He had worked so hard selling insurance in his previous life, the pressure of performance causing hair loss. He finally transmigrated, and the result was... still having to sell insurance?
What kind of good fortune was this?
Why couldn't it be some kind of check-in system, a tycoon system, or simply a direct power infusion or initiation—a simple and crude golden finger?
Selling insurance, just hearing it made his head ache.
The immediate priority was to solve his current survival problem.
The original owner's memories told him that the rent had been overdue for two months, and if he didn't pay soon, he would quickly be experiencing the "free air" of New York streets with his bedroll.
Moreover, his stomach had started rumbling, so hungry he felt his front stick to his back.
"Heroes are still far away for now; filling my stomach is the primary goal."
William chuckled self-deprecatingly, his fear and unease replaced by a strong will to survive and anticipation for the future.
He began ransacking the room, trying to find something of value.
Besides a few worn-out clothes, there was only a thick stack of debt collection notices in the nightstand drawer and a few remaining dollars in his wallet.
"What a perfect start."
William sighed, but his expression showed little dejection; instead, it held a hint of eagerness.
The dangerous Marvel Universe, the opportunity to gain Superhuman Strength.
For him, it was less a crisis and more an unprecedented challenge, an opportunity to change his destiny.
He needed to familiarize himself with this World as quickly as possible and find his first "client."
He needed power to survive in this perilous World, and to live better.
And the [hero compensation system] was his only reliance.