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Chapter 13 – The Monkey Claims His Territory
🕑 Added 2025-02-28 10:47:48 +0000 UTCJack leaned back against the low wooden table, arms crossed, expression completely serious. Yao—the Ancient One—sat across from him, tea cup still in hand, listening patiently as Jack wrapped up yet another absurd story.
"—and that's why I would advise you to never run from the IRS."
Silence.
Jack took a slow sip of his tea. Yao gave a small, contemplative nod. "A wise lesson." Jack exhaled, stretching. Then, his face suddenly turned serious. "Can I call you Yao?"
Yao raised a brow. "Of course."
Jack nodded once. "Cool."
Then, without another word, he stood, walking toward the edge of the building, overlooking Hell's Kitchen. The morning sun bathed the city in golden light, yet the streets below still carried the weight of the night—crime, struggle, the echoes of violence.
Yao followed, standing beside him, his gaze calm but observant.
Jack kept his eyes on the city. "You're busy with all your mystical events."
Yao gave a gentle shrug. "It is my duty as Sorcerer Supreme."
Jack nodded slowly. "Do you ever really see them? The people?"
Yao glanced at him. "They come and go. But I will protect them."
Jack's eyes flickered. "As a collective."
Yao frowned slightly. "Pardon?"
Jack turned toward him fully. "You protect them as a collective. As long as they live, as long as they're not swallowed by mystical beasts, it's all good, right?"
Yao took a moment before answering. "I have seen kingdoms rise and fall. Civilizations flourish and collapse. Humanity tends to circle back to its own mistakes."
Jack scoffed. "Yeah, no shit."
He looked back at Hell's Kitchen, a world away from the one he once knew.
"In another universe," Jack muttered, "this place is bustling with life and laughter."
He gestured lazily. "Look at this. Even on a hopeful morning, Hell's Kitchen still looks like it just lost a bet with the devil."
For the first time since arriving in this world, Jack let himself remember.
"I miss them."
His voice was lighter, like he was admitting something he wasn't supposed to.
"I miss getting greeted by the uncles and aunties on my patrol."
"I miss the other lieutenants."
"I miss getting to a scheduled brawl late and getting yelled at for it."
"I miss getting chased after I put laxatives in a rival gang's drinks."
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "I was never really true to myself, huh?"
Yao studied him. Then, with the patience of someone who had lived long enough to know when not to push, he simply said—"Well, you're in this universe now."
Jack looked at him. Yao gave a small smile. "Change what you can."
Then, he turned to leave, stepping toward a shimmering portal opening behind him.
Jack tilted his head. "Wait."
Yao paused.
Jack squinted. "…Are you bald?"
A flicker of amusement crossed the old sorcerer's face. Then, wordlessly, he pulled back his hood. His head gleamed under the morning light.
Jack snorted. "Hah! So your fate is to be bald in every universe, huh?"
Yao let out a low chuckle. "The universe has its ways."
And with that, he stepped through the portal, disappearing. Jack sighed, stretching his arms over his head. Then, he grinned to himself.
"Alright then."
He turned back toward the city.
"Let's see what I can change."
…
Jack walked casually through the streets of Hell's Kitchen, hands tucked into his sleeves, his eyes drifting lazily across the storefronts. It wasn't long before he noticed something.
He stank.
Jack sniffed his sleeve. Then immediately regretted it. His face twisted in mild disgust. "Yeah… no. This needs to be handled."
His eyes scanned the street until they landed on a small tailor shop, tucked neatly between two larger stores.
He grinned. "Bingo."
With a light step, he pushed open the door, the small bell above the entrance chiming softly. Inside, the shop was warm and familiar, rolls of fabric stacked neatly on the shelves, delicate embroidery on display.
Behind the counter, an elderly woman, her hair pinned up in a bun, looked up as he entered. For a moment, Jack's chest tightened. She reminded him of Madam Wong, the old tailor back in his past life, the one who used to nag at him for getting his clothes ripped in gang fights. His usual grin softened into something genuine.
"Hello, Auntie."
The tailor raised a brow, eyeing him. "Auntie? You must be from Chinatown."
Jack chuckled. "Something like that. Can you make me another set of these robes?"
She glanced at what he was wearing—a traditional hanfu, slightly tattered but still elegant. She let out a small hum. "It's rare to see a young man wearing something like this."
Jack shrugged. "Yeah, well… after seven years of getting beaten in these kinds of clothes, they kinda grew on me."
The lady laughed. "You must have a strange definition of sentimental attachment."
She motioned for him to follow her. "Come. Let's pick out some fabric."
Jack's eyes immediately landed on the silk. "Silk. Definitely silk."
The tailor chuckled. "You have expensive taste."
Jack grinned. "I was a rich bastard in my last life."
She measured his arms, shoulders, waist, her practiced hands moving with the efficiency of a master craftsman. As she worked, Jack lazily flipped through various colors and motifs, his fingers brushing over deep reds, golds, blacks, and even soft blues.
Then, in the middle of his browsing—His ear twitched. Outside, the sound of heavy boots approached. Not just one or two pairs—a group.
A gang.
Jack's fingers lingered on a roll of fabric as he casually spoke—"Auntie, do you owe someone money?"
The tailor paused, looking up at him. "No… why?"
Jack sighed. "Because in five minutes, a bunch of kids are about to demand some from you."
The woman's face paled slightly before realization hit. "Ah. I forgot to pay this month's protection fee."
Jack nodded. "Yeah, that'd do it."
She sighed. "They're not usually violent, but they can be aggressive. I can handle it."
Jack's grin widened. "Oh, I know you can. But let me handle it instead."
The woman looked at him, confused. "You don't have to get involved."
Jack gave her a lazy wave. "I insist. Besides, I need to stretch my legs before picking out a color."
He tapped a roll of pink silk. "By the way, I don't mind pink. I think it's manly."
The woman blinked, then let out a small laugh. "You are… interesting."
Jack just grinned and walked toward the front of the store. And then—he waited. His hands tucked into his sleeves, his posture relaxed. Outside, the gang's footsteps grew louder. The storm was coming. And Jack was ready to dance.
Jack leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as five men approached the shop, their strides heavy with confidence.
Each of them carried cold weapons—batons, knives, chains—the usual street-level intimidation tools.
One of them—a shaved-headed thug with a scar across his cheek—spotted Jack and immediately scowled.
"Get out of the way, asshole."
Jack tilted his head. "No."
The gang members exchanged glances, then laughed.
Scarface sneered. "The fuck you mean, 'no'?"
Jack yawned, stretching lazily. "It's my territory."
The thugs blinked. "Your what?"
Jack smiled. "My territory. Which means you should be the ones explaining why you're here."
The gang burst into raucous laughter.
"This fucker's crazy!"
"Your territory? You some kinda landlord now?"
Just as Jack was about to educate them, Auntie Vivi stepped forward from behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Young man," she said gently, "let me handle this."
Scarface turned his attention to her, his smirk widening.
"Ah, Vivi. We're not here to collect anymore."
Jack's brows raised slightly.
Auntie Vivi's expression darkened. "What do you mean?"
Another thug crossed his arms. "You may not realize it, but last month was already your last straw."
Scarface grinned cruelly. "This store? It ain't yours no more. We're taking it."
Jack's smile vanished.
He turned slightly, his voice calm but firm. "Auntie. Go back inside."
Auntie Vivi hesitated.
Jack's golden eyes flicked toward her. "I'll handle it."
After a pause, she nodded slowly and stepped back inside.
Jack exhaled, rubbing his temples. "You young men need to learn some respect."
Scarface snorted. "Young men? Who the fuck you callin' young, you prissy-haired—"
THUMP.
Jack barely moved. One second, Scarface was standing. The next, he was face-down on the pavement, completely unconscious. The crisp, echoing sound of skull meeting concrete rang through the street.
The remaining thugs froze, their faces going pale. For a moment, nobody moved. Then—one of them pulled a gun. He barely got the chance to aim before his finger twitched on the trigger.
BANG.
The bullet tore through the air—Only to stop mid-flight, frozen against a solid, golden surface.
Jack had simply lifted his hand, his fingers brushing against his earring—and Ruyi Jingu Bang was already there. The staff had expanded in an instant, blocking the bullet with ease.
The thug's hand trembled.
Jack tilted his head. "Guns?" He sighed, stepping forward. "You should've stuck to sticks and stone."
The thugs didn't stand a chance.
Jack didn't even need his staff.
With one clean motion, he knocked the gun out of the man's hand, sending it skidding across the pavement.
The thug barely had time to react before Jack's knee drove into his stomach, folding him like a cheap chair.
Another charged in, swinging a metal chain.
Jack caught it mid-air.
With a single, effortless pull, he sent the thug flying into the storefront's metal shutters, denting them on impact.
The remaining two tried to rush him together.
Jack ducked low, spun, and delivered a clean palm strike to the first one's chest—sending him crashing onto the sidewalk.
The last one barely had time to blink before Jack grabbed his collar and slammed him onto the hood of a parked car.
The street fell silent.
Only one man was left standing. The youngest of the group. He shook violently, staring at Jack as a dark stain spread across his pants.
Jack sighed. "Man, you pissed yourself? Have some dignity."
The thug whimpered.
Jack patted his shoulder. "Alright, last chance. Let's go over this again."
He crouched slightly, bringing his face eye-level with the trembling man. "This is my territory. What are you doing here?"
The thug's voice cracked. "I—I'm just a grunt! They told me to rough up this store! I swear I don't know nothin'!"
Jack tilted his head. "Hmmm."
Then, after a moment—he grinned. "Alright then."
The thug perked up, hope flickering in his eyes. "So you'll let me go?"
Jack smiled wider. "No."
The thug's hope shattered instantly.
Jack slung an arm over his shoulder. "I just decided you're my tour guide now."
The thug blinked rapidly. "W-what?"
Jack clapped him on the back. "Congratulations, buddy! You get to take me to your boss."
The thug's soul nearly left his body. "A-as long as you don't break my jaw, I'll do anything!"
Jack grinned. "See? Now we're getting somewhere."
Before leaving, Jack turned back toward Auntie Vivi. She stood in the doorway, her face completely unreadable. Jack smirked and gave her a small, lazy wave.
"I'll come back later, Auntie Vivi."
And with that—he walked off, dragging his new reluctant guide into the streets of Hell's Kitchen.
Somewhere in the city, a crime boss was about to have the worst day of his life.
