The tidal wave of memories continued to crash over me, a deluge of information that left me breathless. I witnessed, through his eyes, a week of relentless, strategic wealth accumulation that would make any seasoned tycoon weep with envy.
He had started with the share market, a dizzying array of numbers and graphs that would typically make my eyes glaze over. But through his consciousness, I saw patterns, opportunities, and risks with a clarity that was terrifying. He didn't just invest; he manipulated. I saw him orchestrate subtle, almost imperceptible events as Perman – a timely intervention that boosted a struggling tech company's stock, a quiet warning that caused a minor dip in a competitor's shares – creating ripples in the market that he then expertly capitalized on. It wasn't blatant, illegal insider trading; it was a sophisticated dance of cause and effect, using Perman's unique position to his financial advantage. He had conversations with business leaders, subtly nudging them towards decisions that would inadvertently benefit his investments. He even managed to get some legitimate consulting gigs, his "advice" proving so uncannily accurate that major corporations were practically throwing money at him. The sheer audacity of it all was staggering. In less than a week, he had amassed more money than a seasoned businessman could earn in a year, all while maintaining the veneer of a humble hero.
But the financial exploits weren't the only revelations. I saw him, through his memories, spending countless hours in libraries, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. He devoured books on everything from advanced physics to ancient philosophy. And then, there was the training. He had apparently found some hidden, secluded spots to practice. I saw him move with a brutal grace, learning hand-to-hand combat techniques from ancient martial arts texts, adapting them with Perman's superhuman strength. He even practiced using a dagger in a fight, his movements precise and deadly as he masterfully wielded the blade against imaginary foes. The image of my mild-mannered copy, a robot, becoming a lethal financial and physical force, was utterly disorienting.
As the last of these memories flooded my mind, a profound dizziness washed over me. My head started spinning, a dizzying whirl of stock tickers, combat maneuvers, and subterranean blueprints. It was too much, too fast. I felt a surge of respect, fear, and utter confusion.
The Copy Robot, sensing my overload, gave a curt nod. "Alright, Mitsuo," he said, his voice cutting through the mental noise. "You have work to do."
I blinked, still trying to get my bearings. "Work? What work?"
He looked at me, a serious expression on his face. "Our hideout. It's a magnificent feat of engineering, but it doesn't yet have a constant electricity supply. The inverter system is robust, but it's not a permanent solution for long-term operations. You, Mitsuo, will need to acquire some solar power inverters from Kirei." He paused, a hint of his usual wry amusement returning to his eyes. "And try not to be too obvious about it. We need efficient, discreet transactions."
I just stared at him, my mind still reeling. Solar power inverters from Kirei? So, he was turning me into his errand boy for his secret lair, built with money earned by manipulating the global economy, all while I was supposed to be a regular kid. My life, it seemed, was anything but normal now.