"Suzy told me a long time ago… honey, please don't join the military…"
The song rolled across the training yard, carried by a chorus of rookie cops marching in unison.
"They just love to fight, they look weird in those tight pants, their table manners are garbage, and their jokes are crude…"
Jack Travole winced. He'd always thought the drill songs were ridiculous, but the instructors insisted. Same tune, different lyrics every day — and the cruder, the better.
Beside him, a stocky, middle-aged man belted the lines like it was Broadway, though he was red-faced and out of breath.
Jack glanced over, and his stomach twisted with recognition. John Nolan. The protagonist of The Rookie.
It had been the last American TV series Jack binged before his time travel. He didn't remember every plotline, but one thing clicked immediately: Zoe. In the show, she was the police chief who took a bullet for John. No wonder she'd seemed so familiar when he first met her here.
"Hey, Jack, snap out of it. Driving test's today — last one. Don't screw it up," John said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Jack smirked. "Don't worry. I'm just thinking how I'm gonna beat you."
John was a freak of nature. A forty-something former contractor, competing against cadets half his age — and winning. Jack had edged him out in most categories, but yesterday John had stolen first place in the pistol test, costing Jack precious system points.
The system was stingy. Passing gave him one point. First place gave him five. Losing even once stung.
And today? Driving. Jack had barely touched a car before crossing over. He'd gotten his license with Zoe's help, but he was no match for John, who'd spent years driving trucks.
He clenched his jaw, watching the system prompt flash: Upgrade Driving from Skilled to Proficient — Cost: 5 coins.
Too expensive. He only had two coins saved. Not enough. He'd just have to grit his teeth and try.
Because Zoe had pulled strings to reserve him a spot in Wilshire Division. Favors like that weren't free in America. He wasn't about to let her down.
And deep down, Jack knew the truth: he couldn't remember exactly how Zoe had died in the show. But if fate tried to play out the same scene, he'd be ready. Even if it meant taking the bullet himself.
The inevitable happened. After the driving test, John strutted back with the highest score, finger pointed at Jack like a gloating big brother.
"First round's on you tonight."
Jack rolled his eyes.
Later, at a small bar, Jack, John, and Lucy Chen sat together. Lucy, sharp-eyed with her Asian features, watched the unlikely pair.
"I don't get it," she said, laughing. "How did the oldest guy here and the youngest end up best friends?"
Jack gestured at John. "Beats me. Ask him."
Truth was, Jack had sought John out on purpose — to keep him close, to make sure Zoe didn't meet the same fate she had in the show. But along the way, John had become… family.
John shrugged. "When everyone else looked at me like I was some washed-up divorcé going through a midlife crisis, only Jack treated me different. He asked if maybe it's only in middle age, once the hormones calm down, that a man really wants to give something back to the world."
Jack blinked innocently. "Pretty sure I asked if that's when men finally care about fishing… or justice… something like that."
"Hey!" John barked, his pride stung. Lucy doubled over laughing, hand slipping onto John's thigh to calm him down.
Jack caught the glance they shared and smirked. "So how exactly are you two planning to shut me up?"
They froze, caught. Lucy scrambled. "I… I have friends. Models. Lots of them."
Jack leaned forward, eyes narrowing, his voice dropping into a teasing baritone. "Lucy. Look at me. Do I look like a guy who doesn't know how to have fun?"
He smiled, dimples flashing, teeth perfect. Lucy's breath hitched, just for a second.
"Babyface, that's cheating," John growled, wrapping an arm around her protectively.
Jack chuckled. He had no interest in Lucy. If anything, he hated how American TV shows threw characters together when writers ran out of ideas. But here? These were real people. Flesh and blood. Maybe they weren't bound by the same tired scripts.
That thought kept him hopeful.
Weeks later, graduation loomed.
Jack held up the LAPD uniform in disbelief. "Wool? In August? In L.A.?"
John, already buttoning his shirt, grinned. "They say once you're out of rookie status, you can pick the short-sleeved one."
Jack cursed under his breath and pulled it on. One hundred sixty dollars for the set — the biggest expense since he'd sold the grocery store. Between tuition, gear, and fees, becoming an LAPD officer was no cheap dream. If not for his parents' inheritance, he'd have drowned in loans.
"Damn, you look good," John said, giving him a once-over. "Beverly Hills would pay more in one night than the department does in a month."
Jack punched him in the shoulder. "Says the guy all the rich widows would chase down."
Graduation day came. The joking stopped. The rookies sat stiff in their seats, uniforms crisp, while senior officers addressed them.
It was Jack's first time seeing Zoe in full dress uniform. Commanding. Untouchable. Every inch the queen of the LAPD.
At the awards, Jack and John split four medals between them. Lucy placed near the top too — a standout achievement.
That night, Zoe's apartment.
Jack trailed his fingers along her bare back. "What's wrong, Biscuit?"
Zoe flushed crimson. "Don't call me that! That's my dad's nickname for me. If he ever hears you say it, he'll shoot you with his Colt Python."
Jack laughed softly. He loved teasing her with the name.
But then her shoulders stiffened. She pressed her face into his chest, silent for a long time. When he felt wetness, he frowned.
"Zoe? Are you… crying?"
She shook her head quickly, wiping her face. "I just… I feel selfish. I know this relationship isn't fair to you, but I can't walk away."
Jack blinked. "What are you talking about?"
She bit him lightly on the chest, voice breaking. "We're about to be boss and subordinate. If anyone finds out, my career's over."
Jack wanted to laugh. He'd seen crazier things in American dramas. Secret affairs were practically a genre. But then he remembered: Zoe wasn't a character. She was a thirty-five-year-old chief who'd clawed her way up. She was under scrutiny every day.
"So why recruit me to Wilshire at all?" he asked.
"At first, I thought it was just a crush. You're young — I figured you'd get bored, maybe end up with Hannah instead. But the longer I've been with you, the less I can let you go. I'm jealous of her. Jealous of her youth." Her voice dropped to a whisper.
Jack froze. What kind of twisted logic was that? Creating her own love rival?
But deep down, he knew part of the blame was his. He'd cared for her like a husband might — cooking for her, making herbal stews when she overworked, even testing his healing skill under the excuse of massages. And she'd fallen.
No script could explain that.
Rolling over, Jack pinned her gently, lips brushing her ear. "I love you, silly."
At the same time, he activated the system. His Healing skill surged, rising from Skilled to Proficient. Zoe was safe. Even fate couldn't take her now.
He'd save the "I love you" card for emergencies, though. Too dangerous for the kidneys.
Plenty more to come, readers. Stay tuned, and keep those recommendations coming — let's spread this story.
(End of Chapter 2)