Ohio was exactly what Chen Feng had prayed for: a place so profoundly average that it felt like a spiritual sensory deprivation tank.
They had settled in a town called "Pleasant Valley," a name so uninspired it almost made Chen Feng weep with joy. Here, the biggest scandal was a local teenager's oversized pumpkin, and the only "resonance" Chen Feng felt was the rhythmic thump-thump of a neighbor's lawnmower.
Chen Feng sat on a porch swing, creaking back and forth, holding a red plastic cup of generic lemonade. To Gary, he looked like a retiree. To Chen Feng, he was conducting a high-level philosophical audit.
In the 4th Millennium (The Era of Floating Palaces): He had sat on a throne of distilled starlight, listening to the pleas of a thousand star-sector governors. The lemonade there had been brewed from the tears of a nebula. It tasted like existential dread.
In the 21st Century (Pleasant Valley, Ohio): He sat on a splintering pine board, listening to a man named Dale complain about the price of mulch. The lemonade tasted like sugar and yellow food coloring #5.
"I prefer Dale," Chen Feng muttered, taking a sip. "Dale doesn't ask me to reset the gravitational constant of a solar system. He just wants to know if I have a spare wrench."
Since Chen Feng had thrown his phone out a bus window to escape the "Big Four," he had been forced to rely on a bulky, boxy television Gary had found at a garage sale. It only picked up three channels, one of which played reruns of the classic anime Lupin III.Chen Feng was transfixed. The Sovereign, a man who could blink and move an entire city, was fascinated by a lanky thief in a red jacket who used gadgets, wit, and sheer luck to steal things.
"Gary, look at him," Chen Feng said, pointing a remote at the screen. "He's being chased by an entire national police force, three assassins, and a woman who clearly wants to kill or marry him—usually both. And yet, he finds time to enjoy a good meal and make a joke."
"Boss, he's a cartoon," Gary sighed, currently trying to fry an egg on a faulty hot plate. "And he's a thief. You're a god. If you want a diamond, you just reach into the earth and pull one out."
"No," Chen Feng said, his eyes narrowing with a rare spark of interest. "That's boring. Lupin has the right idea. The joy isn't in the having; it's in the slipping away. He's a 'Salted Fish' who actually does things. He is my spiritual successor."
Inspired by his new idol, Chen Feng decided to pull his first "heist."
The target: Mrs. Higgins' Blue Ribbon Peach Pie, cooling on a windowsill three houses down.
"I could stop time," Chen Feng whispered, crouching behind a hydrangea bush with the grace of a celestial predator. "I could teleport the pie into my hands. I could even rewrite history so that the pie was always mine."
"But you won't?" Gary asked, watching from the sidewalk while eating a bag of pork rinds.
"No," Chen Feng declared, adjusting his "I ❤️ Chicago" hat (which he had kept as a trophy).
"I will use... finesse."
Chen Feng proceeded to move at a snail's pace, timing his movements to the barking of a nearby golden retriever. He utilized a "Shadow-Blur" technique normally reserved for infiltrating heavenly treasuries just to avoid being seen by a mailman.
He reached the windowsill, his fingers inches from the crust. Suddenly, his pocket vibrated. He had forgotten that Gary had bought him a "burner phone" for emergencies.
A text flashed on the screen from an unknown number: "We found your IP address in Ohio. See you for dinner. — Seraphina (and the others are in the car)."
Chen Feng froze. The "Big Four" and the Superstar were closing in. He looked at the pie. He looked at the horizon where a black SUV was likely speeding toward the town.
"Lupin would leave a calling card," Chen Feng muttered.
He grabbed the pie, left a crisp $100 bill and a hand-drawn sketch of a stick figure with a crown, and vanished into the cornfields just as Mrs. Higgins opened her kitchen door.
"Gary! Start the van!" Chen Feng shouted, sliding through the cornstalks with a warm pie in his arms.
"Where to now, Lupin Feng?" Gary yelled, flooring the gas of their beat-up 2005 Dodge Caravan.
"West!" Chen Feng yelled, taking a massive, un-sovereign-like bite of the peach pie. "And find me a red jacket! We're going to the Grand Canyon!"
As the van sped away, leaving a trail of exhaust and crumbs, Chen Feng felt a strange sense of thrill. For the first time, he wasn't just running away from responsibilities—he was playing the game.