The shift from the rainy streets of London to the neon-drenched skies of Tokyo was instantaneous. Chen Feng didn't use a plane this time; he simply "borrowed" the momentum of a passing satellite, dragging Gary through a spatial fold that left the poor man smelling of burnt ozone and expensive English tea.
As they descended toward the Imperial Palace in Tokyo, the sky turned a bruised, electric purple. The Regional Deities—ancient spirits of wind, thunder, and steel—had finally had enough. They didn't use "Aegis Nets" or "Reality Stabilizers." They used the raw, primordial elements of the Earth.
A massive dragon made of lightning coiled around the Tokyo Skytree, its eyes glowing with the fury of five thousand years. Beside it, a colossal warrior of stone and jade rose from the gardens, wielding a sword that could split an atom.
"IMPUDENT MORTAL!" the Thunder Dragon roared, its voice rattling every window in Shinjuku. "YOU DARE STEAL THE EMPEROR'S BREATH? YOU DARE TURN THE WEALTH OF NATIONS INTO BREAKFAST?"
Chen Feng, floating mid-air in his slightly singed red blazer, looked at the dragon and then at his watch.
"You're late," Chen Feng yawned. "I was expecting a more 'traditional' welcome. Also, you're standing on a Skytree. Isn't that a bit... on the nose for a thunder god?"
The Stone Warrior lunged, its jade blade cutting through the air with the weight of a mountain. Chen Feng didn't dodge. He simply reached out a single finger and tapped the side of the blade.
With a sound like a thousand windows shattering, the jade sword didn't just break—it turned into thousands of cherry blossom petals. Chen Feng had used a "Molecular Comedy" technique, rewriting the density of the stone into the fragility of a flower.
The Thunder Dragon lunged next, unleashing a bolt of lightning that could have leveled a city block. Chen Feng simply opened his mouth and... inhaled.
He swallowed the lightning whole, puffed out his cheeks, and then let out a small, glowing burp. "A bit spicy," he remarked, wiping his mouth. "Could use more ginger."
The deities froze. They had spent millennia preparing for a challenger, but they hadn't prepared for a man who treated their ultimate techniques like a lackluster buffet. Within seconds, the "Divine Strike" was over. Not because Chen Feng had killed them, but because he had made them look ridiculous. The Dragon turned into a small, disgruntled gecko, and the Stone Warrior crumbled into a pile of high-quality garden gravel.
While Chen Feng was busy "redecorating" the Tokyo skyline, the Gala Five took to the global airwaves. Standing on the steps of the United Nations, Seraphina Rose looked into the cameras, her eyes pleading.
"To the citizens of the world," she began, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and admiration. "We know you love the waffles. We know you love the umbrellas. But Chen Feng is playing with the foundations of our reality. He isn't a hero; he's a Sovereign who has forgotten how to be serious. Please, if you see him, do not cheer. Tell him... tell him we just want him to come home."
The response from the public? A global trending hashtag: #LetHimCook.
Chen Feng sat on the roof of the Imperial Palace, the Emperor's First Breath (a small, glowing jade jar) sitting casually between his feet. He looked at the manuscript in his lap. He had the Sun-Disk, the Star of the Nile, the Manuscript, and now the Breath.
"Gary," Chen Feng said, looking at the city lights. "I've realized something. Being a 'Gentleman Thief' is fun, but it's still just one job. I've spent eons being a God, and weeks being a Criminal. I think I want to try... everything else."
"Everything else, Boss?" Gary asked, currently trying to catch the gecko-dragon in a plastic cup.
"Yes. Every lifestyle. Every 'Vibe.' I want to spend a week as a struggling artist in Montmartre. A month as a deep-sea fisherman in Norway. A year as a high-school drama teacher who takes things too seriously. I want to live a thousand 'Normal' lives, but with the flair of a man who can rewrite the script."
He stood up, the red jacket catching the wind.
"The Seven Treasures aren't for power, Gary. They're for Permission. With these, the world won't try to 'manage' me anymore. They'll just have to watch the show."
"So... what's the first lifestyle on the list?" Gary asked, finally catching the gecko.
Chen Feng smiled, a mischievous glint in his violet eyes. "I think I want to try being... A Reality TV Judge. Let's go find a talent show. I have some very strong opinions on interpretive dance."