106: The Water God descends upon miHoYo, and all the bigwigs in America are collectively thrown off balance.

On the other side, outside the miHoYo headquarters building, it was already a sea of people.

The speed at which the incident fermented exceeded everyone's imagination.

From the moment Furina's figure appeared in the square, candid photos and short videos from various angles spread across the world's internet like a virus.

#FurinaArrivesAtmiHoYo#

#GodReturnsHome#

#TheDimensionalWallShatters#

One by one, the hashtags climbed the hot search lists of various countries at an incredible speed.

Countless media reporters, internet celebrities, and ACG enthusiasts who had received the news flocked from all directions of the city, surrounding the entire block where the miHoYo building was located so tightly that not even water could seep through.

If the Ninth Bureau hadn't deployed in advance and worked with the police to set up three cordons, the fanatical crowd might have already smashed through the glass doors and flooded into the lobby.

“Everyone! I am currently downstairs at the miHoYo headquarters in Shanghai! As you can see, the scene has been completely locked down, but the atmosphere is still incredibly hot!”

A female streamer with twin tails was doing her best to hold up her selfie stick, looking as if she wanted to shove the phone into her mouth as she roared into the screen at maximum volume.

There was no other way; the surrounding noise was just too loud.

The boiling voices of the crowd, the sirens coming from the distance, and the ghost-like wails and howls of other streamers.

If she didn't roar, her “family” in the livestream room wouldn't be able to hear a word she was saying.

“Family! We just got insider information! Caster Furina, the Hydro Archon from Fontaine, is currently touring the building! She's touring it right now!”

The female streamer's face was flushed with excitement as she shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Oh my god! Family! This is exactly like a plot from a novel! Even novels wouldn't dare to write it this way!”

Another greasy male streamer next to her, in order to grab the spotlight, stood directly on a trash can and shouted at the top of his lungs:

“Brothers! Old friends! Give the streamer some likes! The streamer will take you to see a god! The streamer is livestreaming for you at the risk of his life!”

At this moment, in the very front row of the crowd, right up against the cordon.

A few young people dressed in Genshin Impact cosplay were excitedly clinging to the railings, desperately peering into the building.

The girl leading them was cosplaying as none other than Furina; she held a thick Fontaine setting collection in her arms, her eyes were red, and her body trembled slightly with excitement.

“Uuu... I can actually be in the same dimension as Furina, breathing the same air...”

“Get a grip!” A guy cosplaying Neuvillette beside her patted her. “Show the spirit of us Furina believers! When Furina comes out later, we'll shout the slogan together!”

“Right! The Church of Furina!”

“The world of Furina! Supreme and unsurpassed!”

Their voices were quickly drowned out by the even louder waves of sound around them.

“Make way! Make way! Stop pushing, damn it! My freshly bought macarons are going to be squashed into pancakes!”

“Brother! Are those macarons the rich-textured ones from Fontaine?”

“Get lost!”

...Meanwhile.

On the other side of the ocean, America, New York.

Inside a top-tier private club in Manhattan that was not open to the public, smoke filled the air.

Every person sitting here was a financial titan who could make Wall Street tremble with a stomp of their foot, or a Silicon Valley mogul who controlled the global technological lifeblood.

But at this moment, these “gods” who were usually high and mighty had faces clouded with gloom and violence.

The atmosphere was so oppressive it felt like water could be wrung out of it.

“Bang!”

The current head of the Morgan Group, a man in his sixties, slammed his fist hard onto the heavy solid wood table.

The crystal glass on the table jumped.

“Another thirteen billion! Just now! The Apple and Google stocks held by our technology funds evaporated by three percent out of thin air!”

“And then? Where did that money go?”

He looked around, his bloodshot eyes full of madness.

“It turned into golden rain and fell on the slums of Brooklyn! It turned into those damn food stamps and medical subsidies and was handed out to those lazy bums and homeless people!”

“This is robbery! The most shameless and barbaric robbery in human history!”

No one responded.

Because the same thing had been happening every day for the past week.

Ever since that ghost in a wheelchair—Franklin Delano Roosevelt—became America's “protector of the nation.”

The nightmare of every capitalist began.

“new deal.”

“Wealth redistribution.”

This damn Archer didn't play by any business rules with them at all, nor did he engage in any political maneuvering.

He simply flipped the table.

Using the “new deal” as a concept and the entire American financial market as a target, he activated his transcendent power known as a “Noble Phantasm.”

Mandatory collection of “Data Monopoly Tax.”

Mandatory implementation of “Financial Transaction Tax.”

Mandatory enforcement of “Capital Gains Tax.”

For any company he targeted, its market value would be directly converted into what he called “Mana,” and then accurately deployed to the lower classes of American society in the form of various benefits.

They had resisted.

Spending hundreds of billions of dollars, they hired the world's top assassins and mercenary groups.

And the result?

Those elites who could easily wipe out the heads of small nations couldn't even touch Roosevelt's wheelchair before being crushed to dust by the shields formed from the conceptualization of the “Four Freedoms” around him.

They also tried to exert pressure through political means.

The result? That spineless president in the White House, for the sake of the ethereal temptation that “the Holy Grail can wipe out national debt,” directly formed a temporary Supreme Wartime Committee with that ghost.

Run?

Where could they run?

This Archer's Noble Phantasm seemed to act directly on the “financial concept” itself.

As long as your wealth was still circulating within this system, whether you registered your company in the Cayman Islands or Switzerland, you couldn't escape his mandatory collection.

Fight? They couldn't win.

Kill? They couldn't kill him.

Run? They couldn't escape.

Reason? The other party would just talk to you about the “Four Freedoms.”

These kings of capital, who once controlled the lifeblood of the world economy, had now completely become lambs to be slaughtered.

“We are not just lambs.”

“We are also his treasury.”

“A living treasury that can continuously generate wealth for him to squander.”

“He doesn't want to kill us; he wants to keep us in a pen.”

These words sent a bone-chilling cold through everyone present.

Yes.

That was the most terrifying part.

Roosevelt didn't squeeze them dry all at once.

Like a shrewd farmer, he harvested a crop of leeks today and another tomorrow.

He needed them to continue operating their companies, to invest, and to create wealth.

Then, he would turn the money they worked so hard to earn into his own power and chips to buy the hearts of the common people.

They became Roosevelt's batteries.

The kind that couldn't resist, couldn't run away, and could only desperately generate electricity.

“Must find a way!”

A tech giant suddenly stood up, his voice trembling with agitation.

“If this continues, we'll all be sucked dry! The entire free market economy of America will completely collapse!”

“A way? What way do you have?”

The head of the Morgan Group sneered.

“Go and reason with a monster who can paralyze a carrier strike group with just a thought?”

“Or are you going to assassinate him yourself?”

The tech giant opened his mouth but finally sat back down powerlessly.

Despair.

An unprecedented, pure despair enveloped the entire room.

Just then, the phone of a certain tycoon vibrated.

He picked it up and took a look.

On the screen was a real-time news push from Bloomberg.

[9:30 AM ET, Archer Roosevelt announced the launch of the 'New Infrastructure Plan,' which will mandatorily collect a total of 200 billion dollars from the five major Wall Street investment banks as startup funds to renovate old public hospitals and schools across America.]

The tycoon's pupils shrank suddenly.

He looked up at the Morgan head across the table, his voice dry.

“FDR... has made another move.”

“This time, it's the five of us.”