As dusk settled and the setting sun bathed the glass facades of Manhattan in an amber hue, dazzling neon lights began to illuminate the city like scattered, colorful stars.
On the street, commuters hurried home, the sounds of leather shoes and high heels clicking on the pavement rising and falling. Puffs of white steam drifted from hot dog stands, mingling with car exhaust in the cool air.
Damian stood in front of the school gate, staring at a lock chained to a lamppost, lost in thought.
That lock had once secured a bicycle—but now the bicycle was gone, just like the thief's horse!
In his past life, he'd heard someone say: "If you don't steal, you're not Italy; if you don't rob, you're not France; if you steal and rob, you're England; and if you finish off the thief, you're America." He hadn't believed it.
Now he'd learned his lesson—again.
"Damn it! You scoundrel who stole my bike—I hope you never get to sip the pearls in your bubble tea, always have a double chin in your selfies, never get bubbles in your cola, and are constantly interrupted by commercials while watching TV!"
Damian kicked the lamppost while cursing.
Without his bicycle, he'd originally planned to take the school bus home—but after reconsidering, he decided against it. Taking the No. 11 bus would be just as good.
Sure, the No. 11 might be a bit tiring, but the school bus could easily give him a lung infection.
The cost of doctor's visits would probably be enough to buy dozens—maybe even hundreds—of bicycles. He could ride them until his hemorrhoids burst!
As darkness deepened, Damian finally returned to his apartment.
After feeding Daweiqiu, he—Damian, as usual—turned on the TV to watch the news, hoping to find clues about which time periods he might randomly appear in.
The screen lit up, and a female news anchor began broadcasting the day's headlines in a crisp, professional tone.
"Recently, a man in Florida protested a law requiring motorcyclists to wear helmets by speeding off without one—only to crash and die because he wasn't wearing a helmet."
"Separately, police discovered a seriously ill middle-aged man curled up beside an RV on a Florida street. Upon questioning, they learned he'd attempted to siphon gasoline but mistakenly inserted the hose into a manure bucket in the garage…"
"In another incident, two 21-year-old men were found lying naked and unconscious on a Florida street. They died shortly after being rushed to the hospital. Investigators later discovered their clothes on a rooftop, leading police to suspect they fell to their deaths during a sexual encounter."
As he watched the broadcast, Damian couldn't help but twitch his lips.
It seemed that, no matter the dimension, Florida could always be counted on as a research center for anomalous human behavior.
Just as Damian was silently grumbling, the screen switched abruptly to a technology news segment.
"The following is a report on scientific research."
The backdrop behind the anchor shifted to a starry sky, and her tone grew animated:
"Dr. Eric Selvig, a renowned thermonuclear astrophysicist and Dirac Prize laureate, will soon lead a research team to New Mexico for a three-month astrophysics expedition."
Damian froze. He squinted at the photo on-screen: a round-faced, gray-haired scientist with a solemn expression.
"It is understood that the New Mexico state government has heightened security in the area, and the governor's office issued a statement pledging full support to ensure the success of Dr. Selvig's team."
The camera cut to sweeping shots of New Mexico's desert landscape, panning over the white domes of several astronomical observatories.
"In a recent interview, Dr. Selvig stated that the research will focus on the interaction between cosmic rays and Earth's magnetic field…"
Damian suddenly leapt up from the sofa, dashed to the desk, and yanked out a crumpled notebook.
He flipped quickly to a page scrawled with a few keywords:
"New Mexico," "Cosmic Energy," "Rainbow Bridge."
At the top of the page, in slightly neater handwriting, was the title: "Thor 1."
"This is bad…"
Damian clicked his tongue and immediately focused his consciousness on the orb of light in his mind.
"Raw Stones: 88."
Glancing at his remaining Primogems, he decided not to hold onto them any longer and tossed 80 into the gacha pool without hesitation.
"Whoosh—!"
A serene vision of blue sky and white clouds swept past Damian's eyes.
"I…"
Just as he opened his mouth to greet the maternal members of the Daweiqiu family, a faint purple glow flickered into view.
> Item Card ×1
> Dandelion ×4
> Maple ×3
---
Weapon Name: Midnight Waltz
Rarity: ★★★★
Type: Bow
Base ATK: 510
Secondary Stat: Physical DMG Bonus +55.7%
Passive – [Polar Night Duet]:
- After a Normal Attack hits an enemy, Elemental Skill DMG is increased by 40% for 5s.
- After an Elemental Skill hits an enemy, Normal Attack DMG is increased by 40% for 5s.
---
Item: [Fengda]
Description: Fontainebleau's signature beverage, developed by the Fontainebleau Academy of Sciences. Since its launch, it has become wildly popular among locals.
Effect: "Refresh with Fengda—enjoy the world!"
Note: Fengda is only available in a sweet flavor. If you taste salty Fengda, stop drinking immediately and dispose of it properly—symptoms may include nausea, dizziness, and… dissolution.
---
Item: Dandelion
Description: Tiny seeds carried by the wind. Even without wings for their journey, they still carry the hope of distant lands.
Current Use: None yet.
---
Damian stared at the haul with a conflicted expression.
"Well," he muttered, "aside from the Midnight Waltz, the rest are practically junk—no special effects, no bonuses, nothing."
Still, dandelion seeds might come in handy. Grandpa Diluc had just bought a winery, after all. If they sent him some seeds, maybe he could brew dandelion wine over in the Marvel universe. He'd probably show up with a dozen cases—enough to get even the sturdiest Asgardian tipsy.
As for Fengda… it seemed the drink did nothing except make the consumer glow. That was it? Might as well chug Japanese draft cola!
And heaven forbid he accidentally got ahold of that salty hidden variant. That'd be like accidentally smuggling a Fontainebleau citizen into the Marvel multiverse—glowing, dissolving, and all.
But then again… for a gacha pool this chaotic, pulling a purple item in just eight tries wasn't half bad! Sure, it wasn't a character—but a four-star weapon was still a solid win.
Damian walked over to the cabinet, took out an incense stick, lit it, and placed it carefully in the burner. In a low, solemn voice, he said:
"Brother Dawei, I know you're just tired. Tonight's performance wasn't your true form. I won't blame you. Why don't you take a smoke and rest a while?"
But next time, he thought grimly, I've got to stay focused!
Otherwise… Brother D
awei, you don't really want to go back to those days—no fresh cabbages, nothing but mosquito coils to smoke, right?
Hehehehehe…
Visit patreon.com/ShiroTL to gain access to 40+ chapters