Please don't question multi-week players

Chapter 400. The Financier's Scheme Begins
At this moment, in the finance department office of the Rose Group headquarters building.

A woman with a well-tailored white suit and a slender, well-proportioned figure sat upright in front of a large desk.

She was wearing a somewhat incongruous scarecrow headdress and two heavy gold chains around her neck, and was currently focused on the financial data displayed on the floating screen on the table.

As a large, diversified company, Rose Group's industries span multiple worlds, and the relevant data has been compiled from several worlds at once.

The woman in the white suit extended her long, elegant fingers and gently swiped across the screen, dragging a data window for a specific world to her face.

The shimmering blue light shone in her eyes, which peeked out from the scarecrow's eye sockets.

"The ultimate worship of faith...?"

The fair hand with distinct knuckles tapped the table slowly and deliberately.

The woman stared at the data for a long time, then suddenly laughed. She picked up a stylus and slowly drew an "X" on it.

The red crosses on the market's statistical charts stand out prominently.

After finishing the simple drawing, the financier turned off the screen.

The room was dark, and outside the window was the heavy darkness of night, which silently enveloped us from all directions.

She raised her hand to adjust the scarecrow headdress, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes.

For the sake of the Rose Group, she had stayed up for several nights in a row.

Now that the plan was finally in place, her tense nerves relaxed, and she fell asleep almost the instant she closed her eyes.

This dream, which should have been sweet after a long day, was instead haunted by old nightmares once again.

"Please, please stop filming!"

"Stop filming! I'll kneel down and beg you to leave!"

The torrential rain pounded on the ground, splashing up dirty water droplets.

The clamor of voices and the dense flashes of cameras tore through the rain.

In the center of the crowd, a woman in a white suit knelt in the mud and kept kowtowing.

The rain washed over her breathtakingly beautiful face, a perfection that transcended worldly standards and seemed almost illusory.

At this moment, his face was covered with tears and mud, his voice was hoarse and broken, carrying a hint of vulnerability and trembling:

"Please... please disperse..."

"Stop filming!"

"Please...please..."

Her desperate pleas were drowned out by an even more fervent chorus.

No one paid attention to her kneeling pleas. The surging crowd transformed into a twisted black tide, and those heart-wrenching words surged forth once more:
"Wow, the most beautiful strategist in the world, even when she cries, she's still a great beauty!"

"Your dress looks so beautiful today, why don't you put on some gorgeous makeup?"

"My God, she's like a fairy descended from heaven! She's even more beautiful in person than in photos!"

"It's the feeling of fragmentation, I love it!"

The crowd was swaying, and piercing shouts were deafening.

The dark figure was moving wildly, and a cacophony of noises was constantly screaming.

Through her blurry, tear-filled eyes, she looked up and, through the swaying gaps, saw the strategist she had once admired most outside the crowd.

The man frowned slightly and turned to ask his colleague beside him. His voice wasn't loud, yet it strangely pierced through the heavy rain and the wall of people, reaching her eardrums clearly:

"...What's going on at Black Pupil Pharmaceuticals? So many irrelevant people... Our strategists can't even get into the guild hall..."

"Isn't this a conference of strategists...?"

"Why did you invite internet celebrities here?"

"Splash——————————"

The torrential rain continued to fall, soaking the invitation she had carefully hidden in her inner pocket, turning the opening line, "Invitation to the distinguished strategist Ms. Bai Shuwang," into a blurry, inky black.

She lowered her head and stared blankly at her reflection in the puddle. The puddle reflected her face. Her soaked black hair clung to her forehead, and the mud couldn't conceal the striking beauty of her features; instead, it added a touch of mad, tragic allure to her beauty.

The flashbulbs were still going off like crazy, and everyone was cheering for this breathtaking beauty.

The bodyguard finally pushed through the crowd to get to her:
"Madam, please show me your invitation."

"This is a meeting of strategists. Please leave the venue if you are not involved. Let the strategists enter!"

"Please leave! Leave!"

The crowd surged, the background becoming a blur of swaying black shadows. The woman was lifted up by the shadows and dragged across the mud. Her white suit left messy marks in the mud.

Fragments of the invitation floated in the murky water, much like her talent that was deliberately ignored by the world.

"Haha... I'm a good-for-nothing... They say I'm a good-for-nothing..."

The woman suddenly started crying and laughing at the same time.

Countless late nights spent reading by lamplight, countless moments of intense contemplation, all ultimately crumbled into close-up photos of faces that were recklessly circulated on news headlines.

The unjustified cancellation of his conference eligibility, the dismissive remarks in the report, and the highest honor certificate in financial strategy locked away in the deepest part of his drawer…

It turns out that an overly beautiful face can truly negate more than a decade of tireless hard work.

The woman, supported by a shadowy figure, stared blankly at the ground. The puddles reflected another figure—it was her too, but she wore a rough scarecrow headdress.

"it's all over."

"...!"

The financier suddenly awoke.

The room was deathly silent, save for her slightly rapid breathing.

She slowly turned her head, her gaze falling on the photo frame on the table.

In the photo, a well-proportioned and beautiful girl wearing a scarecrow headdress stands quietly, with the cool logo of the Rose Group behind her.

Underneath the picture frame, there was a stack of old newspapers from many years ago.

The news headline remains eye-catching, recording the clamor of the times and the disappearance and rebirth of a person:

A popular online influencer with millions of followers has suddenly disappeared.

[Rose Group's Chief Financial Advisor, the "Financier," attends press conference for the first time]

[A mysterious mastermind? A rising star in the financial world, the top strategist of the Rose Group]

[The era-defining giant that shook Financial Street—the "financier"!]

……

The financier looked away from the newspaper.

She stared at the ceiling for a while, then got up and walked to the coffee machine.

"Om..."

The machine made a soft hum, followed by the faint sound of hot water passing through the coffee grounds.

She brought back a cup of black coffee, sat down gently, and dipped a silver spoon into the dark liquid, stirring it slowly.

The rim of the spoon touched the cup wall, making a regular and crisp sound—

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

Like a crisp retort, it rippled outwards in the silent darkness.

It shattered all the past ridicule.

The battle for financiers' fame officially begins in this chapter.