"You think you can escape your debts? Where can you possibly run? You people, you have no future."
A rough voice barely penetrated the haze of consciousness.
Who's that? It smells terrible...
Heath awoke to the stench of sweat and smoke, uncomfortably opening his eyes to survey his surroundings, only to be met with confusion.
Burly men everywhere!
He was curled up on a metallic floor, seemingly having just been beaten down, surrounded by a circle of muscle-bound men with furious gazes. Beyond them, more men with the listless and ragged appearance of prisoners, and yet more muscle men.
This has to be a transmigration, with a slight chance I've gone insane...
Struggling to his feet from the floor, Heath realized he was in an arcade, surrounded by a variety of old-school arcade machines, neon signs, and electronic screens with rows of green code flickering irregularly.
It looked like something straight out of the 1980s tech era...
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness struck him, and fragmented memories rushed into his mind.
Definite transmigration.
The original occupant was named Ming, with no formal surname, an orphan of the wilderness, now a "stray dog," a term for refugees and stowaways.
And this place? One of the largest free states in Anzhou, the power-struggle arena known as City of Flowing Lights.
Ming seemed to have come in search of relatives but, lacking the funds for legitimate channels, was duped by a seemingly kind-hearted smuggler into the city, only to fall into the hands of the Arcade Gang.
The gang lured these strays to play their games, turning what began as leisure into a life of brutal beatings. Ming resisted the temptation and hadn't played a single game, yet still amassed a huge debt.
Just moments before, Ming had attempted to flee and got thrashed for it. That's when Heath transmigrated in.
"Leeks, all of you are just leeks," Heath thought, his head pounding.
From a well-off life to a stray dog, what a cruel twist of fate from the heavens!
Before this, he was a psychologist, somewhat renowned, a life coach for many who were lost.
The most common troubles of mankind revolved around fame and fortune, yet his optimism, understanding nature, and laziness inspired everyone to let go of the rat race, to sip on goji berry tea, to lie flat and embrace mediocrity.
Unexpectedly, one May day, while juggling multiple chat windows with female clients, his computer short-circuited.
And he hadn't even gone on the dates with those clients...
"I don't care if you've played those games or not, but if you're holed up here eating and drinking, you've got to pay," said the leader of the muscle men, Landow, standing at the forefront of the crowd.
Landow's muscles were particularly well-developed, his body almost inhuman in shape, with half his head and face appearing metallic and brass-colored, while the other half was a mangled mass of flesh, making him look both bizarre and dangerous.
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Heath was somewhat taken aback. Was that some kind of elaborate tattoo or some kind of body modification?
What world had he come into?
"You weaklings, how can you repay your debts? You can labor, sell your kidneys, or partake in the games of the wealthy where, of course, you are the prey," Landow said with a hint of malice in his voice.
A strong sense of dread reminded Heath that Landow's words were probably the kinder options.
He glanced at the muscle men, then saw his own reflection in the electronic screens: a young face, arguably handsome, dressed in a simple tee and jeans, tall but thin, with signs of having been beaten.
Even with the combined strength of his two lives, it was nothing compared to a single punch from these men.
Was he about to restart life upon transmigration? What if he actually turned into a dog next time?
"But today is your lucky day because a legendary figure just happens to be passing by and wants to see if there is any talent among you."
The strays had barely begun to buzz with excitement when Landow's grotesque face twisted into a mocking smile, "You're all too eager. This person is very selective and only on very rare occasions will they pick the special talent they're looking for."
Selecting talent from these strays? Heath was even more baffled. What kind of talent?
A lackey or a thug for the higher-ups in the Arcade Gang? It didn't seem likely...
Soon, Landow received a call on a bulky black mobile phone and hurriedly led his men to the passageway to welcome the newcomer.
A female figure walked into the arcade surrounded by a crowd, and Landow enthusiastically called out, "Miss Ayane!"
The muscle men followed suit, meek as kittens in their reverence.
The woman looked to be in her late twenties, wearing sunglasses and carrying a chic handbag, dressed in a stylish off-shoulder dress, her shoulder-length hair dyed in a mix of pink and light green, outlining the sultry figure and charming demeanor of a mature woman.
Many strays were instantly mesmerized, their hormones skyrocketing. Heath, too, felt her peculiar allure.
He had many female clients, but few could captivate like her.
The woman walked up to the strays, seemingly assessing them, and said gently, "Hello, I'm Ayane Kumiko. If you want to come with me, give me a reason why I should take you."
Despite the unclear situation, the eager strays began to shout out:
"I fight to the death!" "I'm the most loyal!" "I'm the biggest and strongest!" "I'm the most miserable!"
Heath didn't rush to speak. Understanding Miss Ayane's character was the real test.
The first skill of a psychologist: insight.
Firstly, Landow said Miss Ayane was just passing by. She didn't have the arcade joystick tattoo that every muscle man sported, the gang symbol. She wasn't part of the Arcade Gang; this was key.
Her attire, demeanor, and poise didn't mark her as someone from the underworld but rather someone who dabbled in the grey areas, resembling those in the arts, like the female models and artists he used to know.
What truly confirmed his judgment was the object dangling from Ayane's neck, resting at her waist.
It looked like a telescope or a camera, but he recognized it: it was a director's viewfinder.
Ayane Kumiko had to be someone like a director, a talent scout, or a model agent.
Stray dogs turning into stars? This was the stuff of "daydreams," hence the influx of strays to this city.
"Miss Ayane, my name is Heath, and you should take me with you."
Heath called out loudly, seizing the opportunity. If it was to be a star, then so be it; less work, more pay, and a day's work could mean a lifetime of ease.
And even in the world of fame, he could fight or relax, firmly in control.
Sure enough, his presence was exceptional. Ayane Kumiko glanced in his direction and motioned for silence, "Why?"
The crowd turned their surprised gazes on him. Heath adopted a composed, indifferent, and warm demeanor, as if conversing with a patient, convincing them by being convinced of himself.
Another fundamental skill of a psychologist: confidence.
He spoke with a sincere and gentle voice:
"Because I will become your greatest masterpiece, and I will put forth all my effort to achieve that."
His words left the less savvy strays dumbfounded, and even the muscle-bound men like Landow didn't know how to react.
But most importantly, Ayane Kumiko cracked a smile, one of recognition and surprise, "Good."
Nailed it! Heath remained calm. The discernment of Heath the Mentor was not to be underestimated.
What kind of movie would it be? Action, horror, romance?
Could it be a superhero movie? Captain City of Lights... The road to stardom.
He had a feeling that before long, countless young girls would go crazy for him, and dealing with fans would be a necessary hassle.
The crowd realized he'd been chosen, their expressions a mix of astonishment, envy, and jealousy, bubbling with anxious excitement. This kid was about to strike it lucky...
"Heath," Ayane Kumiko removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes as enchanting as a nightclub's lights, and smiled:
"Come with me and be a male escort, it's a fine path for a young man."