Chapter 35 – The Calm Before the Storm

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Jack's territory was stirring. Not from any major force—Just low-level thugs, little rats scurrying around, trying to shake things up.

Annoying. Not threatening. The clones handled them easily. A few cracked ribs, some dislocated shoulders, and suddenly the streets were calm again.

Jack stood in the middle of it all, hands in his sleeves, whistling a nameless tune. One clone tightened the last knot on a bundle of defeated thugs, stacking them neatly like firewood.

One of the gangsters groaned. "Well… at least we still got our dignity," he sneered. "Unlike you, attacking an innocent man just trying to make a life for himself!"

Jack froze. Then, slowly, his grin faded. His eyes flicked to the side. A few people on the sidewalks held up their phones, recording. It was 2009. Social media was just starting to boom—Facebook, Twitter, forums—people loved a scandal.

Jack sighed, rolling his neck. "Ahhh… so that's your little game."

The thug smirked. Jack grinned back. "Alright then. Get your pants off."

Silence.

The thug blinked. "W-What?"

Jack crossed his arms. "You heard me. Drop 'em. No one's dragging you to the police station with your 'dignity' intact. So either you go half-naked, or I make sure you can't walk at all. Your choice, champ."

The other thugs went pale. The man hesitated. Then, he saw Jack's eyes gleam—golden, sharp, predatory. That wasn't a request. It was a sentence.

One by one, the gangsters reluctantly pulled down their pants. Jack clapped his hands together, beaming. "That's the spirit! Now, off we go!"

A clone grabbed the rope binding them together, dragging them toward the police station. "CAPTAIN GEORGE! WE GOT MORE GIFTS FOR YA!"

The street was dead silent. People stared. Then, slowly… the bystanders went back to their day. This was Jack Hou's territory. And in Jack Hou's territory—You either played by the rules… Or you got humiliated trying.

A clone leaned against a wall, arms folded. He watched as the streets slowly calmed, people returning to their routines.

Then—A movement in the alley. His golden gaze flicked toward it. One thug had slipped away. "Tsk, tsk."

The clone vanished. In a blink, he was behind the fleeing man. A soft voice whispered in his ear. "Heyyy."

The thug yelped, spinning around, eyes wide in terror. The clone grinned. "Don't worry, I know a way out."

The thug hesitated. Then, slowly, he followed. The clone led him deeper into the alley, stopping beside a large, open manhole. "See that hole?" he pointed.

The thug squinted, peering down. "What about it?"

The clone's grin widened. "It's your new apartment!"

Then he kicked him in. The thug barely had time to scream before disappearing into the darkness below. A loud splash echoed up.

The clone dusted his hands off. "Huh. Rent-free, too."

Then, he walked away, whistling a happy tune. Because in Jack Hou's world—Justice was always creative.

…

One week.

One full week of insanity. And Captain George Stacy was exhausted. He sat at his desk, rubbing his temples, as his precinct continued its daily madness.

The latest headache? Jack Hou. Or as the media loved to call him now— "THE GOLDEN MENACE."

Every single day, a group of criminals was mysteriously "delivered" to his station. Not just a handful—sometimes entire gangs, all neatly tied up like Christmas presents.

And every damn time… Jack Hou was the one who sent them. Yet, somehow, the slippery bastard always managed to escape.

George glanced at his officers, who were grumbling while sorting through mountains of paperwork.

One of the P2 officers slammed a file on the desk. "Captain, I swear to god, if I have to process one more of Jack Hou's 'care packages,' I'm gonna lose it."

George sighed. "We should be clearing these thugs off the streets anyway. Stop complaining and get to work."

The officer grumbled but followed orders. This was the funny thing. Despite being officially labeled a 'criminal' with a bounty on his head—Jack was making Hell's Kitchen safer than it had ever been.

Even the night patrol officers admitted it. No more random muggings. No more bodies showing up in the alleys. People felt safer walking home, even past midnight.

And the weirdest thing? The air smelled… sweeter. At first, it was barely noticeable. But as days passed, an unmistakable scent of peaches lingered around Jack's territory.

People began to call it—"The Golden Peach."

…

"HEY CAPTAIN!"

George groaned. He already knew what was coming. An officer burst into the room. "He did it AGAIN!"

George looked up from his paperwork. "Jack Hou?"

"YES! He just dropped off another twenty gangsters, then ran off before we could arrest him!"

George exhaled sharply. "What was it this time?"

The officer cleared his throat, flipping through his notepad. "As he ran off, he shouted, and I quote—'You can't arrest me! I pay my taxes! Unlike the IRS, which steals from us all!'"

Silence. George rubbed his face. The officer continued. "Last time, he said, 'If you arrest me, you have to arrest capitalism first!'. Before that, it was, 'Catch me if you can! Oh wait—you can't!'"

Another officer raised a hand. "Don't forget the time he yelled, 'I'm just a humble peach farmer spreading justice and Vitamin C!'"

George leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. This. Fucking. Guy.

George was conflicted. Yes, Jack Hou was a criminal. Yes, he was officially a wanted man. Yes, he was making George's life absolute hell.

But…He was also undeniably making Hell's Kitchen safer. And that was something even the mayor couldn't ignore.

George glanced at his desk drawer, where a photo of his daughter sat. She was starting high school soon. College was on the horizon, and the fund he had saved for her was still not enough. He needed this job. He needed to play by the rules. Even if those rules were being broken every damn day by a lunatic in a hanfu.

"Sir," one of the officers said hesitantly. "What do we do about Jack Hou?"

George sighed. "We do our jobs."

"Which means?"

George picked up his pen. "We process the thugs."

A pause.

The officers exchanged looks. Then, begrudgingly, they got back to work. Because whether they liked it or not… Jack Hou wasn't the biggest problem in Hell's Kitchen.

He was just the loudest. And right now? They had real criminals to lock up.

…

Jack laid on his silk-covered bed, fingers lazily scrolling through his phone, eyes flickering across the bright screen. For a week, he had done nothing. No territory claiming. No public executions of gangsters. No rampant chaos. Just... Twitter.

"Are you gonna laze around all night?" one of his clones asked, standing at the doorway with his arms crossed.

Jack grunted in response, still fixated on his phone. "Uh-huh."

The clone glanced at the others before sighing. "C'mon, man, we're in a whole new world, and you're just addicted to your phone?"

Jack snorted. "Hey, I lived like a monk for seven years. Give me a break."

He swiped through a thread labeled: "Top 10 Wilson Fisk Moments That Aged Like Milk."

"Besides…" Jack continued, eyes flickering mischievously. "It really gets on Fisk's nerves to see me doing absolutely nothing. He's scrambling, trying to counter me, but what's there to counter? I haven't done shit this whole week—kekekeke."

The clones looked at each other, then back at Jack. Finally, one of them muttered, "We really don't wanna do this, but... fuck it."

Jack paused mid-scroll. "Do what?"

The clone took a deep breath and then whispered, "Wilson Fisk is probably gonna walk it off in a week."

Silence.

Jack didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't even breathe. Then, slowly, like a machine rebooting, he put his phone down and sat up. "No. He can't."

His tone had changed. The laziness was gone. The playfulness had evaporated.

The clone shrugged. "You crippled his human trafficking ring, sure, but it's already been a week. He just replaced the supply chain from South America."

Jack's face darkened. "No." His hand tightened into a fist. "No one walks it off in a week. Only I can do that."

Without another word, he threw his phone behind him, not even caring where it landed.

Then, he stood. The air in the room changed. The clones exchanged glances and smirked. They got him.

Jack strode out of the bedroom, entering his living room where the massive map of Kingpin's empire was spread across the table.

His golden gaze gleamed. "We're taking two at the same time tonight."

The clones grinned. Jack didn't want to waste time. Fisk thought he could adjust. Fisk thought he could recover. Fisk thought he had time. He didn't.

Jack cracked his neck, then turned to one of his clones. "Bring me the crimson hanfu." His voice was low. Deadly. Final. His clone bowed mockingly before vanishing.

Jack walked toward the door, flexing his fingers. "Wilson Fisk will fall before snow can touch New York."

And tonight… Another bloodbath would commence.

**A/N**

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