Law America, the Devil's Agent

Philadelphia, Vitality Fitness Club.

This gym, located near the law firm, was Link's choice.

On the sofa in the gym's lobby, seeing that his scheduled trainer hadn't arrived yet, he was holding a sketching pencil and sketching in his notebook.

The object was the obese man walking briskly on the treadmill across from them.

With just a few strokes, Link sketched the outline of the chubby man, and with a couple more strokes, he captured his pained expression.

The image of someone who has been poisoned by the American diet and is now trying hard to lose weight is vividly portrayed on the page.

Just as Link was about to choose his next subject for sketching.

"gentlemen."

A childish voice came from the side.

Link turned his head away.

It was a child, also holding a drawing board, staring intently at the figure sketch in Link's hand, his eyes unblinking.

"You draw so well."

"Are you drawing too?"

The child nodded and turned the drawing board over to show Link.

The drawing is the same as Link's, depicting the same man on a treadmill.

Link stared at the painting, remaining silent for a moment.

The little boy was extremely nervous, his lips pressed tightly together. His timidity and unease grew even stronger.

"The proportions are well done," he finally said.

"Really?"

"Indeed. Although you simplified the gentleman's outline, you captured his key features, which is thanks to your observation."

Observation is the first step in drawing. How old are you?

"Seven years old."

"very nice."

Link turned to a new page in his notepad.

The pencil tip fell again, and I began to draw the child in front of me, the lines and outlines quickly taking shape on the paper.

Less than three minutes later, Link turned the notepad towards him.

"Does it look like it?"

  

The child stared at his reflection on the paper, nodded vigorously, and a burning light shone in his eyes.

"It's so lifelike, sir! How did you do that?"

"Diligent effort, plus a bit of... talent."

He couldn't explain much to the boy in front of him; only he himself knew the source of his painting skills:

[Sketching - Proficient Level]

This is how it is displayed on the system panel.

Name: Link

Age: 26

[Faith Points: 100 (500 points unlock the next tier of Faith Ability)]

Cases already accepted: 2

[Talent Skills: (Firearms Shooting - Expert Level) (Sketching - Proficient Level)]

[Faith Ability: (Devil's Eye)]

This was the reward he received from the second client.

That wealthy girl from the Weitzman School of Design at the University of Pennsylvania, through years of art training, developed skillful hands and painting techniques, which have now become her own abilities.

Link tore out the page and handed it to the child.

"This is for you."

"Me?"

The child looked up and took the sketch of himself, with a line of small writing added to the corner of the paper:

He excelled in his studies and became a great painter.

He carefully placed the drawing paper on his lap and whispered, "But I might... not be able to go to school."

Link then noticed his pale, thin face and his excessively thin wrists beneath the cuffs of his old hoodie.

For a moment, everyone fell silent.

"But thank you anyway, Uncle."

The child looked down at the small digital watch on his wrist, its strap worn white.

He jumped off the sofa, waved to Link, and then turned and walked towards the elevator.

……

After seeing the little boy off, Link lost interest in drawing. Just as he was about to continue waiting, he heard a clear greeting.

"Mr. Link?"

A woman walked out of the stairwell.

Martha, the fitness coach she had arranged to meet.

Her sports vest and yoga pants were clearly carefully chosen, perfectly accentuating her curves.

Her wheat-colored skin and classic American sweetheart face glowed with a healthy sheen under the warm gym lights.

"I apologize for being late, sir."

Her voice was as warm as if she were meeting an old friend: "I was scared while I was on my way, but you left in anger a long time ago."

"I was a little angry before, but seeing you, Coach, has calmed me down." Link stood up and responded politely.

"Thank you for your understanding and praise."

Next, Martha smiled and led Link through the front desk and pushed open the glass door to the training area.

A strong smell, a mixture of rubber mats, disinfectant, and male sweat, hit me.

The training area is spacious, and people are training on their respective equipment.

Link glanced around and saw that all he could see were big guys doing bench presses and curls.

The biceps and pectoral muscles gleamed oily under the light, and the veins crawled on the surface of the skin like earthworms.

They are indeed very strong. In fact, some of them are so strong that they don't seem like normal people.

These are all typical examples of high-tech and demanding work...

Link looked away, his expression unchanged.

Marissa noticed his gaze, took a half-step closer, and her sweet voice echoed in his ear:

"So, what do you think? Do you want it?"

Link turned his head to look at her.

"Isn't it inappropriate in a public place?"

"Haha, sir. I was asking about his figure."

Touched by Link's ambiguous question, she chuckled softly, her eyes curving into two beautiful arcs: "If Mr. Link wants, I have some connections, I have good stuff."

With that, she snapped her fingers.

Upon receiving the signal, a Black man leaning against the squat rack crept up to them furtively.

His bronze skin gleamed with an oily sheen, and a few noticeable cystic acne scars were scattered below his collarbone.

Hey bro! Still worried about not having enough muscles?

To be honest, the usual training methods are far too inefficient. If you're thinking of using this to pick up girls, you're way too late!

He looked around and lowered his voice even further.

"You've seen The Boys, right? You know them, right?"

Before being injected with Vought International's Compound V, those so-called superhumans were all as thin as bean sprouts.

Where do you think their power comes from? Talent? Don't be naive. It's all from Vought International's drugs!

You've come at the right time! Let me tell you, buddy, I've got some serious stuff here.

He pulled a brown glass bottle out of his gym bag.

"The latest top-quality Mexican drug, known in the underworld as Compound 6. Extremely high-purity trenbolone mixed with refined testosterone. Just one injection, and within three months—"

He spread his five fingers and made a chest-expanding motion: "Your latissimus dorsi muscles will explode like a cobra."

Martha stood to the side, a slight smile playing on her lips, seemingly anticipating the sales pitch.

Link glanced down at the brown bottle, then looked up at the two purplish acne spots on the black coach's neck and his pointed head...

His pupils contracted slightly, and in a field of vision unseen by others, his black pupils suddenly split open to the sides, transforming into a pair of cold, amber-colored horizontal pupils.

The Devil's Eye

After yesterday's second case, the first faith skill was unlocked once the faith points were sufficient.

The demon's agent can flexibly open its eyes to identify the "race" that the person it faces represents in this corrupt world.

Then a line of text appeared:

[Pus-Flesh Maniac (Half-Human, Half-Demon): A paranoid individual who uses extreme self-destructive methods to pursue a false sense of power, treating his body as a perpetually operating biochemical field.]

(Los Thomson: There are far fewer people buying supplements lately, I must catch this kid. Physical suffering is nothing compared to technological advancement; with the money from selling supplements, I can buy more to participate in the competition.)

Looking at the system's description of him, Link almost burst out laughing, but he easily held it back.

"Bro, I'm serious."

Seeing that Link was forcibly keeping his composure, the Black coach said again, "This is top-quality stuff. You won't find another supplier like this in all of Philadelphia."

Link raised a hand, signaling him to stop.

"Thanks, bro. But let's put aside these tiny drugs that could destroy my organs for now."

I need to remind you of something. You should know that anabolic steroids are Schedule III controlled substances in the United States, right?

The black drug dealer's smile froze for a moment.

"Possession without a prescription is punishable by up to five years in prison."

Link then held up one finger:

"Three more tiers of sentencing guidelines added for interstate trafficking."

Then the second one was erected.

"Even if you are a low-level distributor in this system, if you are dealing with buyers in the gym, and something goes wrong, you are an accomplice, the kind of accomplice who will be imprisoned the longest."

A cold sweat broke out on the old man's dark, oily forehead.

"No... I'm just selling supplements, it's impossible..."

"Oh shit, I'm not selling any enhancers! My cousins ​​sell leaves and it's not this serious!"