After meeting the Godfather, everything finally calmed down.
The next morning, Leo and Desmond boarded a train bound for Lynchburg, Virginia.
Leo stared unwillingly at the fading skyline of New York.
He didn't regret throwing that punch. What frustrated him was that due to his PTSD, he had failed to handle the situation with finesse. With his abilities, he could've made MacArthur die a "natural" death.
Still, every downside has its upside.
When he first returned from the field hospital, the modern-souled Leo couldn't adjust to the high-intensity battlefield. He thought about leaving the service—but whether it was a medical discharge or going home in a box, both were unacceptable outcomes for someone who had been granted a second life.
Fortunately, the original Leo's memories remained intact. Combat instincts stayed as muscle memory, and with the courage that came from surviving as a modern man in war, he managed to endure the initial adaptation period.
Once past that, Leo's abnormal physical condition and incredible learning speed helped him stand out. In several subsequent island-hopping battles, he made major contributions.
His consistent heroism caught the attention of Admiral Chester himself.
Battle after battle, promotion after promotion—Leo rose to the rank of Major. But with it came PTSD.
Toward the war's end, many factions tried to recruit Leo, most notably MacArthur and the CIA.
As someone from the future, Leo knew joining "Mac" would only lead to betrayal. And the CIA? That would be a moral compromise.
But in the world of men and power, he had little choice. Reporting to MacArthur had been Nimitz's directive—Leo couldn't refuse.
Now, all those problems had evaporated. But logic aside, being forced to flee New York and the multiple attempts on his life had left Leo deeply enraged.
Being a pawn in someone else's game—that was the real humiliation.
Leo wasn't a forgiving man. He would have his revenge.
His time in New York had taught him two crucial lessons:
In America, only capital gives you control over your fate.
If you can make others rich, they'll clear your enemies for you.
So—he needed money. And not just for himself. He needed to make others money too.
But how?
Since his transmigration, Leo had noticed his memory and physical strength improving significantly.
The problem was, no matter how good your memory is, it can only retain what's already there or newly learned. If he didn't know something in his past life, he couldn't remember it now.
Leo envied other time-traveling protagonists in fiction—those who memorized a hundred years of stock trends, corporate mergers, political cycles, presidential transitions, market crashes... even the exact dates and numbers.
Growing up in the information age, Leo was most familiar with the internet.
But the first computer was barely about to be born in this world—a 30-ton monster. Miniaturization? Who knew when that would happen.
And without proper hardware, software and the wealth-generating internet revolution were still far off.
So in the short term, that knowledge couldn't be monetized.
As for the traditional "old money" ways of making a fortune, Leo knew very little.
Virginia. Lynchburg. A place that was familiar, yet foreign.
How to make money there?
Leo rubbed his temples, lost in thought. As the train rocked rhythmically, he drifted off to sleep.
"Han Xin! Yeah, finish him—Han Xin! Agh!"
"Told you not to dive the turret. We're definitely losing this one."
In the back row of a conference room, two young men had just lost a round of Honor of Kings.
Both were dressed in cheap shirts and ties—standard sales training uniforms.
"Leo, don't you think this company's nuts? We're here for sales training and all they teach us is the history of construction materials."
"Shh, don't talk nonsense. I heard the old guy on stage is the boss's dad—a college professor trying to earn some pocket money in his son's firm."
"Forget it. Looks like this lecture won't end anytime soon. Let's queue up another match."
Leo realized he had somehow returned to his past life, to the early days after graduating college, undergoing onboarding at a real estate sales company.
This entire memory—mostly just mobile games and pointless lectures—had long faded from his previous mind.
Now, he couldn't interact, only observe. Like he was a guest in his old body—an audience member.
Still, that was enough. Because the professor's lecture on stage had Leo completely hooked.
"Post-1945 Reconstruction: After World War II, the U.S. faced a massive rebuilding effort, leading to a surge in the production and application of construction materials. Demand for prefabricated and quick-build materials skyrocketed to address the housing shortage.
1947: Adoption of All-Steel Structures—fully welded steel-frame houses emerged, laying the foundation for the development of high-rise buildings.
1955… 1960…"
"Dad! That's enough. Mom says come home and cook the chicken!"
A pudgy man barged in, interrupting the lecture.
"You never listen. If they understood some fundamentals, it'd help your business."
The two left the room. The scene faded.
"That idiot boss. No wonder the company went bankrupt."
Leo woke up with a snort, staring out the train window as the landscape passed by.
It wasn't his first lucid dream.
During the war, he'd had several—usually scenes from movies or documentaries on special operations.
Those dreams had greatly boosted his survival rate and were the reason for many of his achievements.
But this was the first time he'd dreamed of something unrelated to war.
Was it his golden finger? He wasn't sure. But it was definitely a bug.
The old professor's words, once forgotten, were now crystal clear.
With his current memory abilities, Leo could now confidently claim he fully understood the trends and material evolutions of the U.S. real estate and construction industry from 1945 to 1960.
That meant, if he entered the construction industry, he wouldn't make a single misstep for the next fifteen years.
"Extra! Extra! Full speech from Governor Clint! 'Housing Revival Financing Act' passed by state legislature!"
A paperboy entered the carriage, shouting.
Leo bought a copy, read it carefully, then turned to Desmond.
"Buddy, I know what I'm going to do when we get back to Lynchburg. Check this out."
Desmond took the paper and asked, "Do what?"
Leo's eyes gleamed.
"Real estate."