"Damn punks… once I'm a cop, I'll be on your tail every single day."
In the tiny bathroom of his apartment, Jack Travole grinned at his reflection, fingers brushing the purple bruise on his cheek.
Three years ago, he hadn't been Jack at all. Back then, he was Zhang Qingmo, a thirty-something doctor from another world. But in 2015, a fire tore through a Los Angeles apartment building, leaving the young Jack brain-dead from smoke inhalation. His body should've been a lifeless shell. Instead, Zhang's soul crossed over and took its place.
Now twenty-one, Jack's features bore the stamp of a tangled family tree. His grandfather had been Chinese, his grandmother a Jewish woman born in Hawaii. On the other side, a British man had married an Italian girl. The result was a face sharp enough to turn heads on the street — if you ignored the swelling around his mouth. From some angles, he looked like Zun Long in The Last Emperor. From others, there was a touch of Keanu Reeves.
But Zhang hadn't inherited Jack's memories. Not even the language. Back home, his English had been barely good enough to scrape through exams. Here, it meant he woke up in Los Angeles functionally illiterate. His only cover story? A diagnosis of amnesia from a certain cranky doctor who looked suspiciously like Dr. House.
That was when Zhang realized the truth: this world wasn't quite the real America. It was stitched together from American TV shows. Grey's Anatomy. Hawaii Five-0. House. Familiar faces and names kept showing up, like he'd landed in a TV writer's mash-up.
Still, he adapted. With no family pressing to take him in and a small grocery store left behind by Jack's late parents, he learned to survive. He studied English, kept a low profile, and built a life in Los Santos — the so-called City of Angels.
A sharp knock rattled the door.
"Jack, you okay in there?"
He tossed aside his washcloth, left the bathroom, and opened the door. Two women stood waiting. One, cool and commanding in uniform — Captain Zoe Anderson. The other, sweet and lively — Officer Hannah, all Texas sunshine.
"Captain Anderson. Officer Hannah," Jack greeted, smiling politely. "Welcome."
"Did those street thugs mess with you again? Poor Jack, let me see that bruise," Hannah said, pushing him back onto the sofa before he could react. She straddled him, leaning close to inspect his face like an overzealous nurse.
Jack shot a helpless look at Zoe, raising his hands in surrender. Poor him — pinned under an overenthusiastic farm girl.
"Hannah, he's turning blue," Zoe said dryly, tapping her shoulder.
Jack might have been tall — six-one — but at barely one-fifty he was lanky by American standards. Hannah, though half a head shorter, was farm-strong and gym-trained. Pinning him took no effort.
"When I make it through the academy, Hannah," Jack muttered, "I swear I'll take you down at least once."
Hannah flushed, realizing how close she'd been. She hopped up and made a beeline for his fridge to cover her embarrassment.
Meanwhile, Zoe settled gracefully beside him, her sharp gaze softening. "Training starts tomorrow. Everything ready?"
Jack nodded. "The store's been transferred, the apartment's on the market. I've packed what I need." He pointed to a small box on the table — a few clothes, some photos salvaged from the fire. Not much else.
"You're really tossing all your kitchen stuff?" Hannah called from the fridge. "What if I want your Chinese cooking?"
Jack shrugged. "Once I graduate, I'll get new ones. Those old pans wouldn't survive another month."
Zoe's smile curved into something sly. "Don't worry about where you'll end up. I've already arranged for you to join the Wilshire Division after graduation."
Jack blinked. That was… unexpected. Especially given their not-so-professional tension.
"Why so surprised? In three years you've relearned English, earned an associate's degree, and passed the entrance exams. Of course I'm betting on you," Zoe said, her voice warming.
Jack grinned. "You know, you really should smile more after work. You've got a great one."
A flush crept across Zoe's cheeks. Hannah, chewing on a yogurt straw, eyed them suspiciously.
"Hannah, help Jack load his things into my car," Zoe said smoothly. "Give us five minutes."
Orders were orders. Hannah flicked her ponytail, grabbed the box, and headed out.
The moment the door clicked shut, Zoe slid onto Jack's lap, fingertips brushing his bruise. Then she kissed him — hot, insistent, leaving no space for protest.
"Zoe—"
"Shut up, rookie. Call me Captain," she whispered. "The department needs men like you. And I promised your uncle Danny I'd look out for you."
Jack's pulse hammered, but he managed a weak push at her hip. "We've talked about this. I've got my reasons for joining. Now get up before Hannah really gets suspicious."
Zoe lingered just long enough to make sure he felt the sway of her hips before pulling away with a mischievous smile. "Fine. I'll pick you up in the morning. And I'll make sure those punks don't bother you tonight."
Jack stayed slumped on the couch after she left, groaning. Too young to resist temptation.
Back in the bathroom, he studied his reflection again. With a slow touch, the bruise faded to a faint red mark — just enough to look real. His secret ability had kicked in again.
The Detective Training System.
Ever since arriving, the system had hovered in his mind, mostly dormant. Spirit: 15. Constitution: 8. Three skill trees: Professional, Life, and Language.
At first, only "Cooking" and "Chinese" were lit. Later, when he clawed his way through English, the "English" skill unlocked. From there, things began to grow.
Over time, with Zoe's guidance and Hannah's help, he picked up marksmanship, combat training, and the basics needed for the academy. By the time his acceptance letter arrived last Thursday, the system finally came alive — awarding him experience, skills, even the ability to upgrade.
His first purchase: Healing, boosted straight to Advanced.
Thanks to that, he could mend bruises and cuts overnight. The catch? Each use drained his mental energy, forcing him to recover through sleep.
By the time his alarm blared at 7 a.m. the next morning, he was refreshed. He fried eggs, boiled noodles, and had breakfast on the table just as Zoe let herself in.
The smell hit her instantly. "God, I've missed your cooking. What did you put in this?"
Jack smirked. "Trade secret. But if you wake up in my bed every day, I'll keep making breakfast."
Zoe swatted his arm, cheeks pink, then picked up the chopsticks like she'd done it a hundred times.
Half an hour later, bags in hand, Jack followed her downstairs. He paused at the door of the grocery store, watching the new tenants — an old couple bent over their work.
"Do you miss your parents?" Zoe asked softly, misreading his expression.
Jack shook his head. "No. Just saying goodbye to my past."
New story, new beginning. Stick with me, readers — it's just getting started.
(End of Chapter 1)