Chapter 3

Night fell over the standalone villa at the edge of Beverly Hills.

In the second-floor study, Kevin pulled out a thick Xinhua Dictionary from the depths of a drawer. He didn't rush to flip through it. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on the "Chinese Language Learning Card" he had just acquired in his mind.

"Use it."

The moment he spoke, his brain suddenly trembled. There was no pain, only an incredibly refreshing sensation like a sudden enlightenment. Thousands upon thousands of Chinese characters, pinyin, phrases, grammatical structures, and even regional accent patterns flooded into the depths of his memory like a tidal wave, instantly merging perfectly with his muscle memory and language center.

Kevin slowly opened his eyes and casually flipped open the dictionary, his gaze falling on a line of small characters.

"Chi mei wang liang..." he said effortlessly, with perfect pronunciation and clear articulation, even carrying a hint of authentic Beijing accent.

Incredible.

Kevin's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. One learning card had instantly bridged what would take ordinary people decades of hard work! He leaned back into the leather chair, a wild thought forming in his mind: if one day he maxed out all his attributes and learned all those various skills in the system, what would he become?

Superman? Or a god among men?

...

The next morning at 8:45 AM.

A black Ford Raptor pickup let out a low roar on Venice Boulevard, executed a perfectly precise drift, and came to a steady stop in the outdoor parking lot of the LAPD's West Bureau Wilshire Division.

Pushing open the door, Kevin glanced at his watch.

From the villa to the station normally took thirty minutes even in good traffic, but today it only took twenty-two minutes. His master-level driving skills let him glide through rush hour traffic like a fish through water, every lane change and every turn precise to the millimeter.

However, no matter how good his skills were, he couldn't hide the vehicle's own limitations.

Kevin patted the slightly worn paint on the door, raising an eyebrow. During that wild drive, he'd keenly noticed many hidden problems with this old buddy: obvious lag in power output, the right rear wheel's suspension feedback as weak as a sponge, metallic noise from the middle section of the exhaust pipe, and brake pads worn to the critical point—they needed replacing.

This Raptor he'd been driving for three years was bought back then with his five-thousand-dollar college scholarship plus some money his parents chipped in. Looked like it was time to make some money and get a ride worthy of his current skills.

Walking into the Wilshire Division lobby, the atmosphere instantly changed.

"Morning, Kevin!"

"Nice job, buddy!"

Accompanied by several loud whistles, the civilian staff and officers changing shifts in the lobby stopped what they were doing and generously offered applause and warm greetings.

Kevin smiled and nodded in response, enjoying treatment worthy of a Hollywood star.

In this division, he was definitely an anomaly. Looks and physique good enough for a teen drama, a shining UCLA degree, plus both parents graduated from Ivy League schools and worked as executives at major companies—an elite family background. This should have been an enviable "rich kid," but just a few days ago, he had personally shot and killed two vicious drug dealers.

Those shots completely shattered his colleagues' stereotypical impression of him as a "pretty boy" and truly integrated him into this group of proud Los Angeles police officers.

Walking straight to the equipment department, Kevin knocked on the counter.

"The usual."

The equipment manager grinned and pushed out a new uniform and a police-issue Glock 17.

Kevin picked up the black service weapon. The moment his fingers touched the cold gun body, a wonderful feeling of connection surged through his entire body. Without deliberate thought, his hands became a blur in mid-air.

"Click! Clatter!"

In less than three seconds, a complete Glock 17 became a neatly arranged pile of parts, followed by several crisp "clicks" as the parts reassembled, and an intact handgun appeared in his hand again.

The equipment manager's coffee cup froze in mid-air, his eyes nearly popping out: "Holy crap... Kevin, are you the Terminator?"

Kevin smoothly inserted the gun into his holster, the corner of his mouth curling up: "Just suddenly found my groove. Thanks, buddy."

After changing into his uniform and walking into the patrol officers' duty room, an even bigger commotion greeted him.

Thunderous applause erupted as colleagues came forward to high-five him. Training officer David Murphy pushed through the crowd and gave Kevin a bear hug, slapping his back hard: "God, if I didn't have Wilshire's number one tough guy next to me, I wouldn't dare go out on patrol today!"

"So what are we waiting for?" Kevin straightened his collar, his eyes sharp. "I can't wait to clean up LA's streets."

"Easy there, hero." David released him, pointing toward the second-floor stairway and lowering his voice with a smile. "Before you report for duty, go to Captain Jones's office. He's got good news for you. Remember what I always say—"

"Better to be judged by twelve than carried by six." Kevin finished the second half.

David nodded with satisfaction: "Go on."

Second floor, duty commander's office.

Captain Richard Jones, Police Lieutenant II, was looking down at a document. Hearing the knock, he looked up, his sharp gaze examining Kevin as he entered.

Looking at the young man before him—standing tall with an increasingly composed demeanor—Jones couldn't help but sigh inwardly: This kid was born to be a star cop.

Honestly, he hadn't liked Kevin before. Young people with deep backgrounds and high pride were like ticking time bombs in the station, liable to cause trouble that required higher-ups to clean up.

But after several months of observation, plus the evaluation report David submitted, Jones had completely changed his view.

Though Kevin's personality was somewhat unpredictable, he acted with great discretion, had no bad habits, and most importantly, showed chilling decisiveness when facing danger.

"Sit down, Kevin." Jones patted the folder on his desk, his tone unusually gentle. "Internal Affairs investigation results are in. Regarding your shooting of those two suspects a few days ago, your response was textbook perfect, completely in line with department regulations. So, starting now, you're back on duty."

"Thank you, sir." Kevin's expression remained calm—this was exactly what he'd expected.

"Don't thank me yet." Jones stood up, straightening his uniform, his expression suddenly becoming solemn.

"Police Officer I Kevin Jones. I'm now officially notifying you that based on your excellent performance and impeccable record, you've passed your probationary period. Starting now, you're promoted to Police Officer II!"

Kevin's head snapped up, his eyes flashing with intensity.

Early promotion! End of rookie status!

This meant his position in the department had instantly jumped up a level. Not only that, but this was real money. His base monthly salary would jump from $6,200 to $6,500; he'd get an additional $2,000 monthly housing allowance from the department; plus his bachelor's degree brought an annual stipend of $15,000, along with generous overtime pay...

A rough calculation showed his pre-tax annual income would now exceed $100,000! In this era of Los Angeles, this was definitely a considerable fortune.

Seeing the light in Kevin's eyes, Captain Jones smiled and dropped a second bombshell:

"Also, I've got an unexpected bonus for you. Those two guys you took down were core members of a new Mexican drug cartel's Los Angeles operation. Thanks to your decisive action, the DEA followed the trail and took down their entire base."

Jones pushed a new employment contract toward Kevin: "The case has been transferred to the DEA. Once the dust settles, they'll have a special bonus waiting for you."

"Sounds like a good morning."

Kevin didn't even look at the terms. He pulled out his pen and signed his name with two quick strokes. With the system backing him, his strength was his greatest confidence.

Five minutes later, duty room.

Captain Jones personally stood in the center of the hall, clapped his hands, and announced loudly: "Ladies and gentlemen! Let's congratulate Kevin on officially completing his probation and being promoted to Police Officer II!"

After a brief silence, the duty room's ceiling was nearly blown off by applause.

Several probationary patrol officers who came in with Kevin stood in the corner, their eyes full of undisguised envy and jealousy. Someone couldn't help but groan: "We were supposed to be rookie punching bags together, and you're already moving up?"

"Sorry, guys!"

Kevin laughed and walked into the center of the crowd, snapping his fingers with swagger: "Tonight at the bar, drinks are on me! Everything's on me!"

"Hooray!"

The cheers instantly became deafening, pushing the entire station's atmosphere to its peak. Kevin stood among the crowd, feeling the surging power within him and the respectful gazes around him.

His wild ride was only just beginning.