I searched and fought in America.

Chapter 81 Welcome to the Club

Rosen looked at him, remained silent for a few seconds, and then spoke up to reveal his purpose.

"Mr. Kieran," he said, "I have something to discuss with you today."

Kieran sat up straight and listened attentively.

Rosen leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the table:

"I want to create a personal account, on short video platforms and social networks."

He paused:

"You've seen the current media frenzy; everyone in Houston knows my name. But knowing someone is one thing, but whether I can retain those people and keep them paying attention is another."

Kieran nodded without speaking, but his eyes showed a thoughtful expression.

Rosen continued:

"I need someone who knows how to shoot, edit, and how to make videos go viral. Maurice recommended you to me."

He looked at Kiran:

What do you think?

Kieran was silent for a few seconds, then his voice became much steadyer than before:

"Holy Father, if you just want to create an official account and post some proper videos of speeches, events, and factory openings, then any cameraman can do it."

He paused:

"But if you want this account to become popular, and for people to not just watch and forget, but to keep following you, then you need to change your approach."

Rosen raised an eyebrow:

"What's the thought process?"

Kieran stood up, walked to the pile of odds and ends by the wall, rummaged through it, found a dusty notebook, patted the dust off, opened it, and pushed it in front of Rosen.

It contained some scribbled notes, with various arrows and circles drawn on them.

"I once analyzed a viral account," he said. "Those accounts that truly retain users all have one thing in common..."

He looked up at Rosen:

"reality."

Rosen did not speak.

Kieran continued:

"It's not the kind of 'realism' that's designed; it's the kind of realism that makes people feel, 'This person is just like me,' that comes from empathy."

He pointed to the notes in the notebook:

"What is your identity now? A Houston hero. This identity commands respect, but once that respect is gone, that's it. People will think, 'Oh, he's a hero, but what does that have to do with me?'"

He paused:

"But if you can show them that you also get hungry, you also get tired, you also worry about money, and you also joke with your subordinates, they will think, 'This person is just like me.'"

His eyes grew brighter and brighter:

"Once they have this feeling, they won't just 'look and forget' anymore. They will start to pay attention to what you ate today, where you went tomorrow, and what happened the day after tomorrow."

They will treat you as someone they "know".

Rosen listened, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He recalled those wildly popular self-media accounts from his past life, those bloggers who felt approachable and down-to-earth—they all followed this pattern.

"Go on," he said.

Encouraged, Kieran opened up completely:

"So my idea is, don't make the account too 'legitimate'."

He gestured with his hand, indicating the name:

"For example, you can film the first day the factory opens, not the kind of filming a ribbon-cutting ceremony or a speech, but film yourself carrying goods and sweating profusely, and caption it: 'First day of work, carried fifty bags, my hands are sore.'"

For example, you can take pictures of yourself eating with your subordinates. It's not the kind of fancy meal that's staged for photos. Just take pictures of roadside stalls, boxed lunches, or the way everyone is fighting over the last piece of meat.

For example, you could take a picture of yourself when you first wake up in the morning, your hair all messy, rubbing your eyes and looking for coffee.

He looked at Rosen:

"These things may seem ordinary, but the more ordinary they are, the more people want to see them, because that's how everyone lives. However, if you add your own unique insights and distinctive features, the likelihood of them being accepted by the public will be very high."

Rosen smiled with satisfaction after hearing this.

"Mr. Kieran," he said, "I haven't come to the wrong person."

Kieran paused for a moment, then scratched his head somewhat embarrassedly:

"You flatter me, Father. I was just saying."

Rosen waved his hand:

"I'm not just saying this casually; what you said makes a lot of sense."

He paused, then looked at Kieran:

"The work arrangement is settled. I will hire you as my personal photographer for $8,000 a month, with extra bonuses for any hit photos."

"Oh, no, no, this is far too much."

Kieran was startled by the number and quickly waved his hand.

"Okay, it's decided then."

Rosen did not give Kiran a chance to discuss it.

Seeing Rosen's unwavering expression, Kieran could only nod helplessly.

"Yes, Father."

Rosen picked up his glass, took another sip, and after putting it down, he suddenly asked:

"Kieran, I have a question for you."

Kieran sat up straight:

"Please speak."

Rosen looked at him:

"You used to be a top photographer for a major company, how did you end up like this?"

Kieran's smile slowly faded.

He was silent for a long time.

Then he gave a wry smile:

"sick.

Three years ago, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. At first, it was okay, and I could control it with some medication.

Later it got worse, my vision started to blur, and my hands started to shake.

He looked at his hands, which were still trembling slightly:

"Do you know what this disease means for a photographer?"

Rosen did not speak.

Kieran continued:

"If you can't hold the camera steady and can't focus, the pictures will be a blurry mess."

The company was quite considerate at first, letting me do less work.

Later, as you learned, this illness only got worse and never got better.

He lowered his head:

"When they laid off employees, I was the first one."

Rosen remained silent.

Kieran's voice lowered even further:

"I lost my job, and my medical insurance too. My savings were quickly depleted."

My wife ran away with the kids, saying she couldn't let the children live with a useless person.

He looked up at the messy room:

"And then we arrived here."

"If you don't have money for treatment, you just let it drag on. When you really feel unwell, you go to the community clinic to get some cheap medicine."

I occasionally take on odd jobs, like shooting weddings and events, just to make ends meet.

He gave a wry smile:

"Three years have passed like this, but rest assured, I will do my best in this matter. As long as I am alive, I will definitely complete your mission."

Kieran looked at Rosen seriously and said,

Rosen put down his glass, leaned back in his chair, and began to speak:

"Kieran, I have a question for you."

Kieran raised his head:

"Please speak."

Rosen looked at him:

"Would you like to join the Iron Claw Gang?"

Kieran was stunned.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but couldn't utter a single word.

"Father..." His voice trembled slightly, "You mean, let me join..."

Rosen nodded:

"Yes, officially joining the Iron Claw Gang."