chapter 6

After organizing the house, I donated my parents' clothes, along with some of my own. Since I spend most of my time in a police uniform, my casual wardrobe is minimal—just jeans, a leather jacket, and T-shirts. Thanks to my enhanced physique, New York winters don't affect me, and this attire blends well with the city's fashion.

Link was trying to reduce the burden of moving. He left behind appliances and kitchenware, keeping only the essentials. The one thing he meticulously organized was photographs. He couldn't throw those away—he had inherited everything from the original owner of this body. Preserving these images allowed him to maintain a connection to their past while grounding himself in his present existence. He carefully sorted the photos, bought multiple albums, and planned to use photo frames to decorate his new home. Someday, if he had children, these photos would serve as a family history, a deep-rooted tradition among English people. As a newcomer, Link felt the weight of this responsibility.

There wasn't much left. Most childhood belongings from the original owner were either discarded or donated. However, he kept the tableware and a tea set, which had been carefully chosen by the original owner's mother. They were exquisite, and he couldn't bring himself to throw them away.

"Link, you need to come to the precinct," the captain's call was unexpected. It wasn't an order to return to duty but a direct request to visit. Was something wrong?

Riding his motorcycle to the West Midtown Precinct, he found representatives from political affairs, the labor union, and lawyers waiting. Confused, he asked, "Is there a problem with the investigation results?"

"No." The captain gestured for him to sit. "Your case was thoroughly reviewed. There are no issues, and you were scheduled to resume work today."

"But…" Link trailed off.

The captain continued, "The Irish gang has issued a statement that they want to deal with you. This isn't just about you anymore—it's a direct challenge to us."

Link understood immediately. "I'm not afraid of them, and I won't put my colleagues in danger. Let them come for me."

"No, Link, this isn't just your battle." A member of the Internal Affairs Department stood up. "This is an attack on the entire New York Police Department. We won't allow this to happen."

"That's right," a labor union representative added. "Morale is already low. If anything happens to you, it will devastate the department."

There was an underlying jab in that statement, but since the attendees weren't in charge of salaries, their criticism held little weight. The lawyer spoke up, "You have the right to request protection."

The captain nodded. "Headquarters has decided to put you on paid leave. Many officers haven't had a vacation in years. This is an opportunity you likely won't get again."

It was clear: the department was severely understaffed. Link chuckled. "Fine, I'll take the vacation. I've always wanted to visit Las Vegas."

"Also, I don't need protection. But if the Irish gang wants to retaliate, why haven't they made a move yet?"

"The Russian gang is at war with them," the captain explained. "A batch of their girls was stolen, leading to a violent conflict. On the night of the shootout, the Russians tricked them into an ambush. Now, both sides are fighting fiercely. I'll let you in on a secret—we're planning a major operation against the Irish gang soon. When we move in, they'll learn who's really in charge of New York."

Link nodded in understanding. Leaving the precinct with half a month of paid leave, he saw no downside to the situation. His colleagues didn't yet understand his strength—he would deal with the gangsters when the time was right.

Back home, he glanced at the neatly organized belongings and chuckled. "Is my superpower actually luck?"

He searched online for casino hotels in Las Vegas and picked the most luxurious one within a reasonable budget, booking a mid-range room that matched his income and job. Without hesitation, he reserved an afternoon flight, packed a travel bag, and headed to the airport.

Arriving in Las Vegas that evening, he took a taxi from the airport, marveling at the dazzling neon lights along the Strip. The city was alive, and for many, the night was just beginning.

Checking into the hotel, he realized his funds were running low. He had been waiting for his salary, and now, he barely had enough to cover his stay. But it didn't matter—he had a few hundred dollars in cash. He avoided using credit cards, even though he had one from the original owner. The banking system was riddled with traps—high-interest loans, hidden fees, and other financial pitfalls. He preferred saving money, even if the interest rates were low. Maybe, in the future, he could invest in stocks and forget about them, but for now, he had nothing to invest.

After enjoying a luxurious dinner, Link headed straight to the casino. He exchanged three hundred dollars for chips—each worth ten dollars—and observed the games before deciding where to play. He had to avoid drawing attention while ensuring he won enough.

He stopped at the Sic Bo table, a simple dice game attracting large crowds. Using his X-ray vision, he confirmed that the casino hadn't rigged the table. Confident, he started playing. Betting on either "big" or "small" was straightforward, with a fifty-fifty probability each time. He wagered five chips per round, losing occasionally but winning more often. Within a short time, he had accumulated several thousand dollars.

He approached the dealer and exchanged his winnings for larger denomination chips—each now worth one hundred dollars. With a smaller stack in hand, he moved to a different game.

Blackjack was next. The original owner of his body had studied psychology in college, which, though not used in his career, was helpful in police work and—coincidentally—in card games. His skill in reading opponents gave him an advantage. Within a few hours, he had over twenty thousand dollars in chips. Satisfied, he deposited them at the casino and returned to his room empty-handed, avoiding suspicion.

Relaxing in the hotel's luxurious bathtub, he allowed himself to unwind. Tomorrow, he planned to fully enjoy Las Vegas.

The next morning, after breakfast, Link rented a car and driver from the hotel to explore the city. There wasn't much to see—most of Las Vegas consisted of extravagant hotels and casinos. It was a metropolis built in the middle of the desert, sustained entirely by tourism and entertainment.

By noon, he was back at the hotel, indulging in a grand meal before spending the afternoon lounging by the pool. The paid vacation had turned out better than expected.

Tomorrow, he would try something different. Perhaps he'd visit a high-stakes poker table or check out a magic show. For now, he was simply enjoying the moment.