The person leading Solomon to the office walked ahead in silence.
As they moved through the orphanage, Solomon began to notice children playing around. The place was noisy with their voices and laughter, but the surroundings were far from ideal.
The area looked unkempt—certainly not a proper place for kids.
It felt as if no one truly took the place seriously.
Solomon frowned slightly, observing the state of the orphanage with a raised brow. Still, he kept moving, following the man.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a door. The man opened it, and they stepped inside.
There, behind a desk, sat a man in a dark suit and matching hat, a lit cigar resting between his lips.
Solomon stared at him.
This must be the boss—the owner of the orphanage, Solomon thought.
The man carried himself like someone of importance, but Solomon could tell he was clearly a member of the D-class.
If he belonged to a higher class, he certainly wouldn't be managing an orphanage in a place like this. He would have chosen to help an orphanage in a more privileged district.
The man removed the cigar from his mouth and put it out in the ashtray.
He had sharp, dark eyebrows and a narrow, angular face—neither particularly handsome nor unpleasant to look at.
The man gave Solomon a slow, deliberate once-over, clearly scrutinizing him to determine if he was really the "investor."
Finally, the man muttered,
"Are you the investor who wants to invest in my orphanage?"
Solomon returned his gaze, then nodded and replied,
"Yes. I'm the one who wants to invest in the orphanage."
A brief silence followed.
The atmosphere grew still.
No one spoke.
The man studied Solomon carefully—and Solomon, in turn, studied him.
"What's your purpose for wanting to invest in this orphanage?" the man asked bluntly.
"How much are you planning to invest?
You don't look like someone who can even afford to feed himself three times a day, let alone invest in this place. Do you have any idea how much money I have? Or how much this orphanage makes me?"
Solomon stared at the man silently.
He didn't respond.
The man grew irritated by his silence.
"You're very calm for someone being insulted," he snapped.
"I thought you'd at least react. Anyway, state your deal. What do you want? What are you here for?"
Solomon finally spoke, his first words since arriving.
"I'm here to change your life. To help the kids in this orphanage—and to help you, too.
But look at how you welcomed me. No seat offered. You've kept me standing this whole time.
Do you know how much you might lose because of this disrespect?"
He didn't say it charmingly or with warmth. He spoke as if arrogance came naturally—like someone who'd been raised as the spoiled heir of a powerful family.
The man paused, studying Solomon's posture and presence.
In that moment, he began to believe that Solomon might actually be a rich heir in disguise—someone from a high-class background who had dressed down for some reason.
His mind briefly raced: What would a person from a higher class be doing in a D-class slum like this?
Solomon had no idea the man was now viewing him as a walking pile of money.
The man's expression changed instantly.
He smiled, suddenly polite, and said,
"Sorry for treating you that way."
"Please, take a seat, young man. Let's talk business," the man said, gesturing to his assistant—the same one who had brought Solomon in.
The assistant offered Solomon a chair.
Solomon stood in front of it for a moment, adjusted his posture twice, then finally sat down and crossed his legs.
"I'm here to invest seven figures into this orphanage," Solomon said.
"I want to see real improvement. I want the children here to live well."
He continued talking—rambling, really—throwing out statements that even he knew were half-baked. But he said them with confidence.
Surprisingly, the man listened attentively. He didn't interrupt once.
When Solomon finished speaking, the smile on the man's face tightened—he could barely contain it.
"Young man," the man said, "I'm truly grateful. It's rare to meet people like you. We're so happy you're willing to invest in this orphanage."
He took Solomon's hand and shook it enthusiastically—repeatedly.
Solomon gave a faint smile.
"Alright, let's proceed with the transaction. Your account number?" he asked.
The man chuckled in disbelief, nearly letting out a sound of surprise. Then, quickly pulling out his cell phone, he recited the account details.
Solomon entered the account number into his smartphone.
The moment he tapped send, the man's eyes widened in pure shock at the amount that had just hit his account.
Solomon repeated the process over and over again—sending money to the man, receiving cashback rebates; sending money again, receiving more cashback; again and again, in a seamless loop.
The man looked as if he might faint. He stared at Solomon and said,
"Young man, you're incredibly wealthy. What are you doing? I can't help but feel guilty seeing the amount of money you're sending me."
Solomon thought to himself, If only you knew… I'm sending you money just to make even more in return.
Suddenly, a sharp system notification appeared:
[Illegal activities of the host detected.]
The host cannot spend money on the same thing multiple times and continue receiving cashback.
Any further spending on the orphanage is now invalid!