The Red Dragon Lord is OP, but Insists on a Pop Culture Invasion!

Chapter 271: Chapter 221: Magic Vision Device Signal Hijacking Incident

The noisy Liquid Bread Bar fell silent.

For other shows, a bit of noise was fine, but this was a music competition. If anyone made a sound, these workers had short tempers.

Old Mike shot a glare at the coworker showing off his phone, but his mind was still on what he’d heard about the song coming from it.

If it was really like he said, where anyone who called you had to listen to a designated song...

’That’s actually pretty interesting.’

Being different from others—or, to put it another way, personalization—is a universal human desire.

Otherwise, showing up in the same outfit as someone else wouldn’t be so awkward.

The strength of this desire was directly proportional to the amount of spare cash on hand.

When you were broke, nobody cared about such things. But with a little money, you started thinking about them more.

The more professional term for it was "providing emotional value."

The term "emotional value" sounded pretentious, like something out of psychology. In reality, it had been a marketing concept from the very beginning. The main idea was figuring out how to make something useless *feel* useful.

For example, right now, Old Mike felt that this "ringback tone" feature was very useful indeed.

"For an Ordinary phone, what do you hear before the call connects?" he asked in a low voice.

"Just that ’BEEP BEEP’ sound."

Old Mike nodded. A song was definitely much better than a beeping sound. If the feature wasn’t expensive, he would quite like to get one himself.

But even if the feature was cheap, an Ordinary model phone still cost a solid 20 Silver Coins.

That was almost enough to cover his family’s expenses for half a year.

Usually, the Zog Group’s gadgets had low-priced models that even common folk could afford.

Failing that, there were always cheaper knockoffs with worse quality and fewer features. As long as they weren’t too similar to the original, Zog rarely went after them.

Apparently, this was a strategy called "cultivating potential authentic-product users with cheap knockoffs."

’I don’t really get it,’ he thought.

As for the direct copies, they certainly met a bad end. They were usually hit hard by the Zog Group’s legal department and sued into bankruptcy.

The few who hadn’t been sued were probably being watched, just waiting until they’d earned enough money to be worth suing before being "harvested."

That much he understood. It was the same principle as fishing: you throw the small ones back and wait until they’re fatter to reel them in.

The problem was, so far, no knockoffs or low-priced models of the phone had appeared on the market.

’The cost must be really high, and the technology isn’t simple. The small workshops probably can’t copy it.’

It had taken nearly two years for other brands of the Magic Vision Device to appear after its launch.

But he really, really wanted a phone right now.

He had seen the Factory owner talking on his phone—a big box pressed to his ear, casually discussing deals worth hundreds or thousands of Gold Coins. How respectable!

It was as if owning a phone meant he, too, would have deals worth hundreds or thousands of Gold Coins.

’Where am I going to get twenty Silver Coins?’

In truth, he had enough savings, but that money was set aside for his son’s education. He didn’t want his child to end up eating coal dust in a Factory every day, too.

To study hard, become a scholar or a scientist, and work in a bright office or laboratory—that was the real good life.

’But a phone would be useful, too,’ he reasoned. ’You can browse so much information on it. It could be used for learning, for seeing the world. That’s a different kind of education.’

’It wouldn’t be a complete waste of money.’

’Yes, that’s right.’

’Buying a phone isn’t a waste of money.’

When people make an impulse purchase, they always invent reasons to make their impulse seem a little more rational.

After turning it over and over in his mind, Old Mike’s gaze fell upon the small chalkboard hanging on the tavern wall.

On it were tonight’s bets.

They were betting on how many contestants would be chosen by the mentors on the show tonight.

Life was like that here. As long as something had an uncertain outcome, someone would be taking bets on it.

There was no helping it; the allure of a sudden windfall was impossible to resist.

Everyone knew the odds: you lose more than you win, and only the house never loses. Still, people couldn’t help but hope that they might just be the lucky one.

Old Mike looked at the odds on the board.

The bets were divided into four tiers: under 5 contestants, 5 to 8 contestants, 8 to 10 contestants, and over 10 contestants.

Last episode, 15 contestants had performed, but only 4 were chosen.

Because of this, most people were betting on "under 5" and "5 to 8," so the odds for those tiers weren’t high—just a little over 2-to-1.

The odds for the last two tiers were far more tempting. A correct bet on "8 to 10" would pay out 10 times the wager, and "over 10" was even more absurd, paying out a whopping 21 times.

’If I just bet One Silver Coin and win, I’ll have enough for the phone.’

Old Mike’s mind began to race.

’Over 10 seems unlikely, but what if, precisely because so few were chosen last time, they gave the later contestants extra training? Or what if they deliberately saved the best ones for last?’

’It’s not impossible.’

’If the pass rate stays this low, they won’t have enough contestants for the next round. How would they even continue the show?’

Many others had the same thought, which was why they bet on the middle two tiers.

’Not bold enough.’

An idea took shape in Old Mike’s mind.

’If I’m going to bet, I might as well bet big.’

’More importantly, even if I win with a low-odds bet, it won’t be enough money.’

"I’ll bet on over 10."

Old Mike walked over to the owner and took out a Silver Coin.

"Oh? No take-backs here. You know the rules," the owner said, giving him a heads-up.

He knew most of the customers in his tavern and had a good idea of their incomes.

Betting a few or a dozen Copper Coins could be called entertainment, but One Silver Coin was no small sum for a Factory worker.

’He’s gotten carried away.’

The owner had seen plenty of gamblers like this—pinning their hopes on a random event, only to end up with their spirit utterly crushed.