Daily Life of a Transmigrating Villain

The boss gestured again, and one of the henchmen reluctantly exited the room. He soon returned with a hefty suitcase, placing it on the table with a thud—obviously the weight of two million dollars in cash. It was clear that the boss was keen on evading taxes, and the clandestine nature of their arrangement was unmistakable.

With a flick of his wrist, the suitcase was opened, exposing stacks of cash neatly bundled inside. "If you\'d like, you can count it," the boss said, keeping his gaze fixed on Damien.

Damien cast a quick glance at the cash, then promptly closed the suitcase. "No need for that. I trust you," he replied, his voice steady and unwavering.

The boss and his henchmen couldn\'t suppress their snickers, exchanging glances filled with derision. Internally, they mocked Damien, believing him to be an easy target. The thought of skimming a little off the top during the next transaction seemed almost too simple. If he\'s this gullible, they could easily pocket a few thousand without him ever noticing.

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With the suitcase firmly in hand, Damien turned and exited the room. As his silhouette vanished down the alley, the boss\'s smirk faded. He turned to his sidekick, his expression serious. "Look into the real situation between Damien and the Raphael family. I want to know if this loan is as secure as he claims."

The sidekick nodded and promptly left the room to investigate. Meanwhile, the boss leaned back once more, his eyes locked on the spot where Damien had stood, deep in thought about the gamble he had just taken.

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"This should be sufficient for some time," Damien thought to himself as he glanced at the briefcase that held two million dollars. Right now, that was an immense sum of money, especially for him, considering that the most pocket money he ever received was a mere 300,000. Yet here he was, carrying enough wealth to sustain himself for quite a while in the city.

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Knock knock.

"Who could it be?" After spending the entire day navigating the bustling city and dealing with a series of eccentric customers, a weary man finally returned to his apartment, eager to rest. Just as he settled in, he heard a knock at the door. Slowly, he opened it to see who was there. To his astonishment, he found the very person he had cursed throughout his life standing before him.

"Huh? Aren\'t you the one who bolted this morning without paying the fare?" he exclaimed.

"Make some tea, man," Damien replied as he stepped into the modest apartment of the driver he encountered earlier that day. The place was a stark contrast to the polished buildings of the main city; it was in disarray, reflecting the hardships of the local area with little evidence of maintenance or care.

As Damien surveyed the surroundings, the driver couldn\'t help but feel a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

What was this man doing here, and why did he invite himself into his home?

"What do you want? Don\'t you have somewhere else to be?" he asked, crossing his arms defensively.

Damien smirked, unfazed by the man\'s hostility. "Relax; I just wanted to talk. Besides, I didn\'t think you\'d be so hard to find, given how stuck you are in this dump."

The driver\'s frown deepened. "This \'dump\' is my home. Most people would be grateful for a place to live, you know, bro."

Damien waved a hand dismissively, as if brushing away the complaint. "Whatever, man. Just get the kettle on; we need to have a little chat, and I promise it\'ll be worth your while."

Reluctantly, the driver stepped into his small kitchen, pouring water into the kettle, while his mind raced with questions.

What did this scamming customer want? And why did he think he could waltz in after ruining his morning?

As the kettle began to whistle, he took it out for his guest and moved towards Damien before offering him the tea as he took a seat on a small pillow, adopting a completely traditional style.

Damien only smiled before taking the seat, though his attire—a suit over his shoulder, a white shirt, and pants—definitely didn\'t fit with the room. Not caring about it, he added, "What do you know about Ye Fan?"

"Why would I tell you?" The man scratched his ear, not caring about Damien, who hadn\'t even paid the fare and was now inside his house drinking tea without any shame. Even though, by appearance and dress, he seemed to come from a well-off family, the driver couldn\'t understand this man.

"Here," Damien directly opened his suit before taking out a bundle of notes and placing it on the table, causing the driver\'s eyes to widen as he noticed so much money inside the suitcase.

"…..He is a playboy," the man informed Damien, the same thing he did in the morning, before taking only two notes from that bundle. One was for his fare and the other for the tea and hospitality he provided to this man.

There was no need for the man to take more money than he deserved, clearly not interested in the greed of money. Given how he viewed the world, he knew very well that as a human, he would most likely live for another 50 years, and trying to run in the rat race to accumulate as much wealth as possible was not something he could do.

He knew death was coming anyway, so he wasn\'t about to chase after money his whole life.