Before the red jacket could grace the cobblestones of Rome, the Sovereign decided on a "tactical detour." Chen Feng claimed it was to shake off the joint task force satellites, but Gary knew the truth: Chen Feng had read a travel brochure about Uganda, the "Pearl of Africa," and was convinced that the secret to the next Reset lay in their legendary pineapples.
The Ugandan Detour
The "Gentleman Thief" and his weary accomplice landed a sputtering bush plane in Entebbe. Instead of the dry heat of the Sahara, they were met with a lush, vibrant green that rivaled the Amazon, but with a breeze that carried the scent of roasting matooke and fresh rain.
"Now this," Chen Feng remarked, shielding his eyes as he looked out over Lake Victoria, "is a place where a man can truly appreciate the art of doing nothing. Gary, why didn't we come here first?"
"Because you were too busy being a desert nomad, Boss," Gary groaned, struggling with a crate of "stolen" Saharan sand he was convinced would be worth money.
They spent three days in a small lodge near the Source of the Nile in Jinja. Chen Feng, still in his red blazer (now sporting a few tropical stains), spent his afternoons sitting on a wooden pier, watching the water rush toward the Mediterranean.
It was here, amidst the thunderous roar of the rapids, Chen Feng realized that the Star of the Nile was reacting to the river's source. The diamond vibrated in his pocket, showing him flashes not just of the next five minutes, but of ancient cycles.
He saw a vision of the "Big Four" and Seraphina—the Gala Five—not just as pursuers, but as anchors. Every time he "slipped away," they were the ones keeping him tethered to this version of reality. If he stole all seven treasures, would he lose that connection? Would he become the cold, indifferent Sovereign of the past again?
"Boss? You're staring at the water like you're about to jump in and reset the fish," Gary interrupted, holding a burner phone. "The Gala Five just landed in Kampala. They're tracking the 'Sun-Disk's' radiation. They've hired local 'boda-boda' drivers as scouts. We're being hunted by a fleet of motorcycles."
Chen Feng smirked. The thrill was back. He took out a piece of bark cloth—a traditional Ugandan textile—and used a charcoal stick to draw his signature crowned stick figure.
"Gary, send this to Seraphina's private Instagram," Chen Feng commanded. "Tell them: 'The Pearl was lovely, but I have an appointment with a Saint. Meet me at St. Peter's Square on Sunday. Dress for a miracle.'"
"You're giving them the location and the date?" Gary asked, horrified. "That's not a heist, that's a suicide mission!"
"It's a performance," Chen Feng corrected, adjusting his turban-hat hybrid. "A thief who isn't seen is just a common criminal. A thief who is watched by the world is a legend."
Forty-eight hours later, Rome was in a state of absolute lockdown. The Swiss Guard had traded their ceremonial halberds for high-tech pulse rifles, and the Vatican's "Gendarmerie" had deployed thermal drones over the Apostolic Palace.
Chen Feng entered the city not as a thief, but as a Swiss Guard recruit. Using a subtle "Perception Filter" (and a very itchy striped uniform he "borrowed" from a laundry van), he marched right past the security checkpoints.
Inside the Vatican, the humor reached a breaking point. Chen Feng found himself assigned to guard a specific hallway—the one leading directly to the Secret Archives.
"Halt!" a fellow guard whispered as a figure approached in the shadows.
It was Lin Xuerui, wearing a tactical stealth suit that cost more than the museum she was standing in. She was trying to break into the archives to "protect" the manuscript from Chen Feng, not realizing she was staring right at him.
"Passcode?" Chen Feng asked, disguised by the heavy helmet and a fake Italian accent.
"I am Lin Xuerui of the Lin Group. Move aside, soldier," she snapped.
"Mi dispiace, Signorina," Chen Feng replied, suppressing a laugh. "But the Pope says 'No Ice Queens allowed' today."
Xuerui froze. She knew that voice. She reached for the helmet, but Chen Feng performed a classic Lupin-style Smoke Vanish, leaving behind nothing but the scent of a Ugandan pineapple and a note pinned to her sleeve.
"The Manuscript of Fate is quite heavy. Thanks for the distraction, Xuerui. — Your favorite Bad Omen."
Inside the vault, Chen Feng stood before the Manuscript of Fate. This treasure was unique; its pages were blank, yet they felt like they weighed a ton. It wasn't a book of the past, but a Quantum Map of every possible future.
"One move," Chen Feng whispered. He touched the book, and the entire Vatican shook with a low, spiritual hum. He didn't just steal the book; he replaced it with a copy of a Lupin III manga he had picked up in a Tokyo airport.
As he slipped out of the archives, he saw the Pope walking his dog in the private gardens. Chen Feng tipped his helmet, jumped the wall, and landed in a waiting getaway car driven by a sweating Gary.
"Next stop: Europe is done," Chen Feng shouted as they sped past the Colosseum.
"Onward to the Star of the Nile's sister in Africa... wait, no, we did that. The Star of the Nile is in my pocket. Gary, where are we going?"
"The Emperor's First Breath in Asia, Boss! We're going home!"