"You might get two medals this time."
Zoe said it casually, but the words landed like thunder. She was perched at the kitchen counter, happily slurping Jack's "Love Noodles," a dish she claimed tasted better than any restaurant meal.
Jack froze mid-bite. "Medals?"
"Mm-hm." Zoe licked a bit of broth from her lip and smiled knowingly. "Everyone on the Southern Front operation will get a commendation for outstanding teamwork. But that's not all—they're also debating whether to nominate you for the Police Star."
Jack nearly choked. The Police Star wasn't some civilian pat on the back. In LAPD culture, it was a gleaming ladder rung, the kind of recognition that fast-tracked careers and padded resumes with gold. If he really earned it, he'd step from being just another patrol officer into a name whispered in precinct hallways.
Zoe noticed the way his eyes softened toward her, brimming with gratitude. She flicked her hand dismissively, cheeks tinting. "Don't look at me like that. Yes, I voted for you. But the first to bring up your name wasn't me. It was Chief Randy McPherson."
Jack blinked. "I don't even know the man. Why would he care about me?"
Zoe chuckled behind her palm. "You have no idea, do you? The moment you registered that Python revolver, you had eyes on you. McPherson was an old friend of Detective Rick Hunter—the same Hunter who got that custom Python made. Hunter's been a legend in the LAPD for decades. Plenty of high-ranking officers owe him favors. And now, his nephew's protégé just dismantled California's nastiest white-supremacist gang. Tell me that isn't poetic."
Jack whistled low. The randomness of fate still stunned him. In his old life, he'd been lost in the gray grind of anonymity. Here, every step seemed to push him further into history's current.
"And it's not just McPherson," Zoe continued, playful spark in her eyes. "The chiefs of Robbery-Homicide and Metro asked me about you. And Hondo—" she leaned forward conspiratorially, "—he wants you for his team. Says he needs a guy who thinks more than he flexes."
Jack laughed, shaking his head. "So the muscle squad wants a nerd. Figures."
Inside, though, he felt the weight. He hadn't expected this much attention. Not from the brass, not from SWAT. He'd only wanted to keep Zoe safe. Yet somehow his plan had reshaped the board.
"Guess I'll have to invite Uncle Hunter and Auntie over again," Jack said slyly. "But first—don't I owe my superintendent some thanks?"
Before Zoe could reply, he scooped her into his arms, her surprised yelp echoing down the hall.
Later That Night
By the time the two stunning women left his house, Jack was exhausted but grinning. His three-meter bed had proved worth every dollar, though he decided the bathroom's old double tub was due for an upgrade. Three was a tight fit.
His good mood carried through the evening until Hannah's video call lit up his phone.
"Hi, Ginny," Hannah teased, her face framed by the dorm lighting at Quantico. Her grin was so wide her forehead lines crinkled.
Jack scowled playfully. "Hmph. One hundred forty-nine days left. I'll count every damn one. And when you get back, I'll have a surprise waiting."
She rolled her eyes at his theatrics. "Please. Your threats don't scare me."
They chatted for a while, mostly about the raid. Hannah wanted details, and Jack obliged. He admitted he'd only meant to shield Zoe from danger, not trigger a full-scale collapse of the Southern Front. Gray's performance, the accountant's intrusion, the FBI's sudden ownership of the fallout—it had all snowballed beyond anything he'd predicted.
Still, as Hannah reminded him, the beauty of being a patrol officer was that turf wars, politics, and inter-agency squabbles weren't his responsibility.
Routine Returns
After the call, Jack scrubbed the house spotless and moved into his evening workout. The system's invisible counters ticked upward with each push-up, each barbell curl. His stats had climbed: mental strength now at 23, physical fitness at 22. His weight, impossibly, reached 90 kilos without changing his frame. Denser bones, he guessed.
His backyard had grown into a sanctuary. Rows of simple equipment, two wooden training dummies, and beyond them a vegetable patch mulched against the winter chill. He planted not for harvest but for practice—onions, garlic, lettuce, cherry tomatoes. Fruit saplings ringed the yard: lychees, apples, loquats, oranges, grapefruits. Even mulberry trees, destined not for silk but for the sweet, staining berries that had once colored his childhood teeth black.
Los Angeles law demanded manicured front lawns, but the backyard was his own world. A future he could shape.
John's Visit
The next day, John Nolan arrived, toolbelt jangling. He was supposed to help with the kitchen remodel, but soon found himself staring at the backyard in disbelief.
"Jack, you're twenty-two," John said, bewildered. "Why does it look like you're planning your retirement already?"
Jack only grinned. "Everyone needs a hobby. My dream's simple—small farm, fruit trees, a pond for fishing, a few cows, two horses. That's retirement."
John shook his head, smiling despite himself. Compared to Jack's vision, his own midlife goals seemed shallow.
They spent the day hammering, sawing, and drilling, though Jack noticed something odd. Nolan, the "contractor," had excellent blueprints and decent advice, but when it came to swinging the hammer, his hands weren't much steadier than Jack's.
"Why do I feel like I hired a supervisor, not a helper?" Jack muttered.
John laughed sheepishly. "What can I say? I spent more years negotiating with clients and banks than laying tile myself. Try convincing a single mom that her kitchen's delayed because the supplier botched the order, or begging the bank for one more week on a loan. That was my specialty."
Jack raised a brow. "So that's why, when we faced that hostage taker, you opened with negotiation instead of putting a bullet in his skull?"
John's face tightened. "Hey, I did consider shooting him in the leg. I just… wanted to talk him down first."
Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "Figures. Contractor's instincts."
(End of Chapter 53)