Chapter 9 – The Final Farewell

Jack sat at the wooden dining table, his expression unnaturally calm, his movements precise as he placed his chopsticks down.

For the first time in seven years, the table wasn't covered in sad piles of boiled weeds.

No.

It was glorious.

Meats of all kinds—roasted duck, braised pork belly, grilled lamb skewers, crispy chicken thighs—each dish steaming with rich, intoxicating flavors.

And alcohol. Actual alcohol. A clay jug of aged wine sat beside the plates, the scent alone enough to make a man weep.

Jack blinked slowly, his heart heavy with emotion.

A single tear fell down his cheek.

"I see… so this is it."

He inhaled deeply, voice soft with reverence. "I have finally reached the brink of madness. I am hallucinating meat and alcohol on the table."

His master whacked him on the head. "Eat, you fool."

A chicken thigh was shoved into his mouth.

Jack's eyes widened. The moment the flavor hit his tongue, his entire existence shifted. He grabbed the chicken with both hands, tearing into it like a man starved. Which, technically, he was.

"I—" bite "—AM—" chew "—ALIVE AGAIN!"

His master watched, unbothered, sipping his wine.

Jack devoured everything, alternating between shoveling meat into his mouth and chugging wine straight from the jug.

For the first time in years, he wasn't ranting like a madman. Instead—his usual nonsense had evolved into something else.

He placed his cup down, exhaling slowly. "A warrior's greatest battle is not with his enemies, but with an empty stomach."

His master ignored him. 

Jack wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "A man's strength is not measured by his fists, but by how much meat he can consume in one sitting."

His master rubbed his temples.

Jack poured himself another drink. "A wise man once said—"

His master grabbed a spoon and threw it at his forehead.

THUNK.

Jack's head snapped back, his wine spilling. "Ow, you old bastard!"

His master took another sip. "Your enlightenment is getting annoying."

Jack grinned, unfazed. "Sounds like a you problem."

His master raised his spoon threateningly.

Jack quickly went back to eating.

…

The next day, Jack stood before the mirror in his room.

For the first time in years, he truly looked at himself.

A young man stared back.

Sharp golden eyes, deep and knowing.

Lean yet powerful physique, each muscle perfectly sculpted from years of training.

Long dark hair, tied neatly behind him.

His posture—upright, steady, like a man who feared nothing.

He wore traditional martial arts robes, black and gold, draped elegantly over his form.

Jack tilted his head, admiring himself.

"Huh. Now that I actually see myself… I'm way more handsome than before."

He smirked, running a hand down the fabric. "And this outfit? Yeah, this is it. I look like a Murim young master. A refined gentleman. A noble cultivator."

He struck a dramatic pose. "The ladies will be powerless before me."

He turned to leave—then quickly turned back, struck another cool pose, and nodded at himself.

"Perfect."

Jack stepped into the courtyard. His master was already there, waiting. For the first time in seven years, Jack did something he had never done before.

He bowed.

Low and deep, like a disciple showing true respect to his master.

His master raised an eyebrow. "Hmph. Now you act like a disciple?"

Jack grinned but didn't rise. "A proper farewell deserves a proper bow."

His master exhaled. Then, finally, he said—"Go, you monkey."

Jack lifted his head, smiling. His master continued, his voice calm. "After you leave, you will never see me again anyway."

Jack paused.

Something about those words felt heavier than they should have. But instead of questioning it—he simply nodded.

"Thank you. For everything. The wisdom you gave me is invaluable."

Jack straightened, turning away.

He approached the massive front gate, the entrance to the realm he had been trapped in for seven years.

He lifted his hand, focusing his energy. Then—he muttered, "Lock-Breaking Spell." The gate shuddered.

Then—BOOM.

It swung open, revealing the blinding light of the outside world. Jack took a deep breath. Then, just before stepping through—He turned back, grinning. "Bye, you geriatric old man."

His master didn't respond.

Jack smirked. "Go to a brothel so you don't die a virgin." 

His master picked up a rock and hurled it.

Jack laughed, dodging effortlessly as he disappeared beyond the gate. 

The moment the gate closed behind him, the courtyard fell silent.

The old master stood still, staring at the spot Jack had left.

Then—A small, rare smile formed on his lips.

…

Jack stepped through the gate, his body moving forward instinctively.

For a brief moment, his surroundings were shrouded in light—then, just as suddenly, he was somewhere else.

A blast of city noise hit his ears. Car horns blaring. People chattering. Music blasting from storefronts.

Jack blinked rapidly, adjusting to the sheer chaos around him.

Towering skyscrapers loomed overhead, covered in flashing billboards and LED screens. A massive crowd of people—tourists, workers, street performers, hustlers—moved in a constant flow.

And above it all—the massive digital screens of Times Square displayed the latest news, advertisements, and movie trailers.

Jack stood there, staring blankly. It had been seven years since he last stepped foot in the modern world. And yet—nothing had changed.

A nearby woman in a business suit glanced at him, eyeing his traditional martial arts robes and long, unbound hair.

Jack ignored her.

A group of teenagers whispered and pointed at him, clearly wondering if he was some kind of cosplayer or eccentric millionaire.

Jack ignored them too.

A little kid tugged on his mother's sleeve and whispered, "Mom, is that a Kung Fu master?"

Jack smirked but kept walking.

He had mastered the art of not giving a fuck long before he was reincarnated.

Then it hit him. "Wait… what the hell am I supposed to do now?" Jack paused mid-step, finally realizing that he had no money, no ID, no phone—nothing.

His confident smirk twitched slightly. "Shit." He glanced around at the crowds of people, wallets and purses hanging loosely, obliviously.

A grin spread across his face. "Ah… an old classic."

Jack had been a pickpocket in his past life—but now? Now he was something far beyond that. His speed, his dexterity, his senses—they were on an entirely different level.

With a single, fluid movement, Jack vanished into the crowd.

Step One: Target Selection.

Jack's golden eyes scanned the people walking past him. He immediately identified the ones with the thickest wallets—the ones who wouldn't even notice if some money went missing.

Step Two: The Steal.

He moved like a shadow, his fingers brushing against pockets and purses with impossible speed.

His new rule? Only take 50% of the cash. A fair "tax" for their lack of awareness.

Step Three: The Return.

Unlike before—Jack didn't even need to keep the wallets.

With a single flick of his wrist, he could take the money and return the wallet before they even noticed. He moved so fast that even the security cameras wouldn't catch him.

By the time he was done, he had pocketed enough cash to survive for weeks.

Jack paused, admiring his work.

He briefly considered keeping a wallet for himself—but then he muttered to himself, voice completely serious:

"A closed fist holds nothing. An open hand can receive everything. This is why I don't carry a wallet."

The passerby near him blinked in confusion.

Jack nodded solemnly to himself and kept walking. As he wandered, Jack glanced up at the massive LED screens in Times Square.

One screen showed a news broadcast:

BREAKING NEWS: IRON MAN TAKES DOWN INDIAN BLOOD DIAMOND OPERATION.

Jack stopped in his tracks. His brows furrowed. "Wait. What?" He stared at the screen, trying to remember. He had seen the Iron Man movie before he was reincarnated.

But he was pretty damn sure there was no part where Tony Stark fought some blood diamond smugglers in India.

Jack squinted. "Since when did Iron Man do side quests?"

His brain started racing. Was this a different movie? Did something change?

Just as he was about to dive deeper into his thoughts—A loud commotion erupted several kilometers away.

Jack's sharp hearing immediately picked up the chaos.

"Iron Man!" someone shouted.

Jack's head snapped toward the sound. A few seconds later—he saw it. A red-and-gold blur shot across the sky. Jack's eyes widened.

Iron Man.

In the flesh. Or, well… in the metal. The armored figure blasted past Times Square, heading toward the commotion.

Jack stared. Then, slowly, he muttered—"The fuck?" This wasn't a movie. This wasn't fiction. This was real.

Jack grinned. "Oh, this is gonna be fun." His body moved like flowing water as he sprinted up the side of a building.

Each step was perfectly placed, his feet barely disturbing the surface, leaving zero damage behind.

He ran beside the skyscrapers, his arms flailing dramatically, as he shouted toward the figure flying ahead of him—

"METAL MAN! METAL MAN, HEYYYY!"

The red-and-gold blur soared above Times Square, boosters roaring as it sped toward the commotion in the distance.

Inside the Iron Man suit, Tony Stark raised an eyebrow.

"JARVIS, tell me I'm not seeing things. Is that a dude parkouring up the side of a building… while waving at me?"

JARVIS' calm voice responded through the helmet.

"Sir, I am suspecting an unidentified superhuman pursuing you. His speed and agility are beyond normal human capability."

Tony groaned. "Great. Another Hulk. Just what I needed."

"No, sir." JARVIS corrected. "According to my scans, he is not listed in any government database. No military records, no criminal records, no trace of any known metahuman programs. He simply… does not exist."

Tony paused mid-flight. "Huh. Now I'm interested."

As Tony angled downward, he finally got a good look at his pursuer.

A young man with long black hair, dressed in traditional martial arts robes, smirking confidently as he ran beside a damn skyscraper like it was normal.

Tony sighed. "New York really needs to up its background checks."

As Tony slowed down, Jack launched himself off the building, flipping mid-air before landing smoothly on the rooftop of a nearby building.

Tony hovered a few feet away, aiming his repulsor blasters at Jack.

"Alright, City Tarzan, hold your feet."

Jack tilted his head, amused. "You're Tony Stank, right?"

Tony's eye twitched behind the helmet. "Stark. Tony Stark. Not Stank."

Jack nodded. "Right, right."

Then he grinned. "Anyway, I know this is sudden, but can I have one of your metal fingers?"

Tony blinked. "...What?"

Jack clasped his hands together, bowing slightly, his expression serious.

"I require your metal finger."

Tony lowered his blaster slightly.

JARVIS, equally confused, asked, "Sir, is this some sort of ancient custom I am unaware of?"

Tony rubbed his helmet as if trying to process the stupidity. "Kid, I don't know what you're talking about, but I got actual superhero business to handle, so I'm gonna let this slide."

Tony turned, about to fly away—Then, suddenly—Jack jumped, grabbed Tony's leg, and yanked him downward.

"WHAT THE HELL—?!"

Tony crashed onto the rooftop, staggering slightly. "ARE YOU INSANE?!"

Jack grinned, his grip still firm. "I watched your movie with my first paycheck. And you can't even give me one of your metal fingers?"

Tony scowled, aiming his blaster at Jack's face. "Oh, I am so blasting you."

Jack casually slapped Tony's wrist, redirecting the repulsor blast into the sky.

Tony stared.

Jack grinned.

Then, in one swift motion, he reached down and ripped off the middle finger piece from Tony's right gauntlet.

Tony gasped. "WHAT THE FU—"

Jack held up the metal finger like a prized trophy, eyes gleaming. "Ahhh, thank you so much! Such a big fan!"

Then—he vanished.

Tony staggered back, scanning the rooftop. "JARVIS! Where the hell is he?!"

JARVIS' voice sounded slightly alarmed. "Sir, I cannot detect any technological signals around him. No tracking devices, no enhancements, no cybernetic components.

He is pure physical."

Tony scowled. "That's impossible. No one moves like that without enhancements."

JARVIS paused. "Shall I run a facial recognition search?"

Tony sighed, rubbing his faceplate. "Yeah. Find me everything you can on… whatever the hell that was."