Jack Hou stood tall and proud beside the sleigh, surveying the lineup of enchanted reindeer like a commander before battle. His outfit had changed—no longer the white-yellow hanfu of his usual flair. With the Alfar's enchanted stitching and a bit of magical tailoring, Jack now wore a regal red-and-green hanfu trimmed with golden thread. The sleeves were long and flowy, like the tail of a comet, and tiny rune-stitched bells jingled faintly at his cuffs.
Zephyr hovered to the side of the sleigh like a loyal, if slightly worried, cloud-blob. A scarf wrapped loosely around him, a gesture of solidarity and, perhaps, holiday festivity.
Askasleikir, the Alfar chieftain, stood before Jack one last time with a rolled map in one hand and an enchanted compass in the other. His expression was half stern, half nostalgic, like a grumpy grandpa sending off a favorite troublemaker. "Remember," Aska said, tapping the map, "you chase the 4:00 AM mark westward. It's the global dead zone—most households are asleep, less likelihood of being seen."
Jack, already tugging at the reigns, turned and gave a sheepish grin. "Right, right. That time when everyone's in dreamland. May I ask why exactly it has to be 4:00 AM?"
Aska blinked. "We explained this during the pre-mission presentation."
Jack leaned in and whispered, "Yeah… about that… I might've had a sudden revelation and had to enter deep meditation."
Zephyr, from the side of the sleigh, slowly rotated in the air to side-eye Jack so hard it could've bent space-time. The silent judgment was loud.
Aska groaned. "You fell asleep."
Jack coughed. "A spiritual recharge, if you will."
Aska shook his head and continued, "You'll start from Christmas Island—Kiribati—and Samoa, then ride the Earth's rotation. Doesn't matter what the gift is. Once you reach into the golden sack, the right one will appear. Focus on discretion, not flair."
Jack's eyes gleamed. "A reverse heist, huh? Now that sounds fun."
An Alfar stepped forward and handed him a long, ancient-looking scroll with ribbons of aurora light around it—the Naughty or Nice List. Jack accepted it like it was the script to a play he'd been dying to perform. "Oho~ I got the list and the ride. All is set for Operation Sneaky Santa."
But Aska's eyes narrowed as he spotted another scroll poking out of Jack's sleeve. "What's that?"
Jack quickly rolled it tighter. "Oh, just a little something personal… y'know, a side quest. Some names of kids who've been very naughty. I mean they launched a missile at one of my students."
Aska rubbed his forehead. "As long as you fulfill our end of the deliveries, I suppose... you may add your personal flair. But Jack…" Jack turned his head. "Try not to cause any incident."
Jack offered his signature fox-like grin. "No promises."
He boarded the sleigh with an exaggerated leap, landing cross-legged like a showman taking the stage. Zephyr curled beside him, puffed up like a sleepy pillow with stage fright. Jack took hold of the reins, his fingers tightening on the enchanted leather.
Behind him, the Alfar gathered as one, each placing a hand over their chest and bowing with a reverence saved only for the most sacred occasions. Aska stepped forward and raised his voice. "As the leader of the Alfar tribe, I bid you a great, fulfilling journey. May your gifts reach all hearts, and your mischief never catch the wrong eye. Godspeed, Young God Jack Hou."
Jack raised a thumbs-up. "Thank you! Don't wait up. I'll bring back stickers." Then, with a sharp snap of the reins and a single sound—Woooooshhh!—the sleigh blasted into the air, trailing a ribbon of golden snow and laughing wind. Above it all, echoing through the veil of clouds and stars, was Jack's familiar, uncontrollable laughter. "KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEKEEEE!"
Christmas had officially begun.
…
4:01 AM – Christmas Island
In a sudden blast of cold air and cosmic glitter, the sleigh ripped through the veil of clouds, Jack Hou standing tall at the reins, red-and-green hanfu billowing behind him like he was a divine holiday warlord. The reindeer skid to a halt above the sleepy rooftops of the first destination. Christmas Island, the starting line of the global gift circuit.
Jack leaned forward eagerly over the sleigh's edge, scanning the quaint little homes with wide eyes. "Let's gooooooo!" he shouted, pumping a fist in the air. Then he stopped. Blinked. Looked closer. "…Wait a damn minute. Where the hell are the chimneys?"
Indeed, not a single tiled roof had so much as a pipe, let alone a jolly-red-stocking-compatible chute. "Fuuuuckkkk," Jack drawled, slumping dramatically. "Nobody told me about the architectural betrayal of the tropics!" Zephyr fluttered behind him with an amused wiggle.
But Jack wasn't one to back down from a challenge. He cracked his neck and reached for his earring. In one fluid motion, Ruyi Jingu Bang extended, not as a massive staff, but as a sleek wand-sized rod, its tip still swirling with heavenly engravings.
He pointed it at the nearest door, narrowed his eyes, and in his best faux-British wizard accent, said. "Avada Kedavra—nah, just kidding. Lock-Breaking Spell." The lock clicked. The door creaked open with the gentleness of a well-oiled hinge. Jack grinned like a child sneaking snacks past midnight. "And that's how you break into a house for a good cause, kids."
He reached deep into the golden sack, which shimmered as he moved. His hand shifted through ethereal layers until—click!—the perfect gift emerged. "Cute," Jack muttered. "Approved." He tiptoed into the living room, placed the gift with care under a humble makeshift tree made of driftwood and ornaments, then tiptoed back out and shut the door behind him.
Then it hit him. "…Wait. My spell only unlocks doors." He turned back, eyes widening. "I—I didn't re-lock it. The house is totally vulnerable now. Oh god. What if a burglar comes in and ruins Christmas?"
He stood there in silence, genuinely distressed. "…Ehhhhhh," Jack finally shrugged. "You win some, you lose some." He started climbing back onto the sleigh when Zephyr floated down beside him and hovered in disapproval. "Fine, FINE," Jack groaned, pulling a paper charm from his sleeve. "Let it never be said Jack Hou doesn't go the extra mile."
He slapped the charm on the door. It shimmered faintly, fusing to the wood. "Temporary Ward: Seal, Shield, and Self-Destruct at Dawn." With a crackle of energy, the charm activated. "Damn, I'm going soft," Jack muttered with a smirk.
But even as he said it, he was smiling wide. A different kind of warmth spread through his chest, like hot cocoa on a winter morning. This wasn't about showing off anymore. It wasn't about just a chaotic joyride. It was starting to feel… Good.
Zephyr bumped him playfully as if agreeing. Jack patted his cloud companion's side. "Alright, Zeph, next stop—let's go spread some joy and break into some more houses!"
He leapt back into the sleigh, whipped the reins, and blasted into the sky, leaving behind a twinkling trail of magic, laughter, and the faint lingering echo of—"KEKEKEKEKEKEEEE!"
It didn't take long for Jack Hou to find his rhythm. From Christmas Island to Samoa, he was flying on instinct now—sleigh swerving, sack glowing, reindeer galloping through midair, and Zephyr cruising beside him like a loyal, floating second-in-command. With each stop, the process got smoother. burst in, drop the gift, seal the door, and vanish with a trail of twinkling snow and chaotic laughter.
Then came New Zealand. Then Sydney. Melbourne. Brisbane. By the time he reached Canberra, he wasn't just flying on rhythm. He was flying on purpose.
He hovered above the pristine, well-guarded home of one of the most powerful people in the Southern Hemisphere. Spotlights swept the yard. High fences. Motion sensors. Didn't matter. Because this wasn't just any house. This was the official residence of the Prime Minister of Australia. And his name was on Jack's personal list.
…
A Few Weeks Earlier – Golden Peach Territory
A clone of Jack—lounging lazily on the curved roof of his house. His leg dangled carelessly over the edge. He was humming a tune that didn't exist on Earth. Then came the sound of polished shoes on snow. "Ah," Jack's clone muttered, "if it isn't the man with the coolest trading cards."
Phil Coulson adjusted his coat and looked up. "I've got a gift for you."
"Oh? But in my tradition," the clone said, grinning, "the giver climbs to the recipient. Builds sincerity."
"You want me to climb that roof?" Coulson asked flatly.
"You could wait," the clone shrugged. "But I'm real comfy right now."
With a sigh only decades of espionage could earn, Coulson put one foot on the ornate tiling and began the most dignified rooftop scramble of his career. By the time he reached the top, winded and slightly dusted, he handed over a sleek envelope.
The clone raised an eyebrow, slid the paper free, and let out a low whistle. "Now this is a guest list," he muttered. "World leaders. Prime ministers. Presidents. Even a monarch or two."
Each name had a note. Some cold. Some damning. But some were highlighted in red. "Authorized launch of retaliatory strike. Target: The moving island." Coulson watched the clone's amused mask begin to crack. Slowly, the clone stood, graceful and silent.
He leapt down from the roof with ease and landed on the front porch. "Tell me everything," the clone said, smile gone.
Coulson adjusted his tie. "You could've just come down from the start, you know."
From behind him, he heard a dry laugh. "Kekekekekekeke."
…
Now – Canberra.
Under the veil of his Bodily Concealment Spell, Jack Hou moved unseen through the cold stillness of the Australian capital. The sleigh, blanketed under layers of Zephyr's clouded magic, sat parked in a nearby grove like a myth never meant to be witnessed.
Jack crouched outside the perimeter wall of the Prime Minister's residence. He didn't care about security. Alarms? Cameras? Guards? None of it mattered. This delivery wasn't about stealth. It was about impact.
Reaching into his inner sleeve, Jack pulled out a peach blossom crystal—a shimmering orb, faintly pulsing with the life essence of a tree that only bloomed for vengeance. A seed, infused with Jack's qi and a trace of the Alfar's 'Gift Crystals' with truth-seeking intent.
He grinned as he kissed the gem mockingly, then walked right up to the outer edge of the estate's inner sanctum. There, he slammed the peach blossom crystal onto the marble floor. A pulse rippled out—silent, unseen, and deeply rooted.
He turned on his heel, whispered, "Merry Christmas, you crusty bastard," and vanished. As Zephyr drifted beside the sleigh, Jack hopped in, gripped the reins, and barked a laugh that echoed across the still night sky. "KEKEKEKEKEKEKEEEE—!"
And so Jack Hou took flight once more. Next stop? Southeast Asia. He rode the curvature of the Earth like a surfer on divine winds, sleigh blazing across the skies of Manila, where children dreamed in humid warmth. Kuala Lumpur, where skyscrapers gleamed with tinsel and neon. Singapore, a blur of precision and light. Jakarta, and deeper into Java, Sumatra, Kalimantan. Then upward, to Bangkok, where temple bells chimed faintly. And finally Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, where shadows stretched long beneath the ancient tiled roofs.
The sack thinned. The list shortened. But Jack's grin never did.
…
Back in Canberra… A lone security guard paused mid-patrol. He wasn't sure at first. A shift in the air. A strange pressure. A distant ringing in the back of his teeth, like a bell that only conscience could hear. Then came the call over the comms. "Main Hall. Something's… growing."
By the time backup arrived, the guards had already ushered the Prime Minister—disheveled and growling—out of bed and down the private corridors. "What the bloody hell is going on? It's Christmas morning and someone's attacking the house?!"
They rounded the final corner, expecting maybe a breach. A smoke bomb. A protester. What they found instead made them freeze. Right in the center of the main hall—A peach tree. No, not just any peach tree. It burst out of the marble floor, splitting it apart like it was paper. Thick roots twisted into the stone, and its bark glowed with living calligraphy.
But it was the smell that made them gag. Not rot. Worse. A bouquet of every horrific scent imaginable—sulfur, sewage, rotting flesh, and fermented regret—magnified tenfold.
One guard covered his nose, his eyes watering. "God, it smells like... hell boiled in a dumpster!"
Another trembled, squinting at something strange in the branches. "Sir... the tree. It's not bearing fruit. It's... paper."
Hundreds of pages hung from the branches, each curled slightly, as if weeping. The PM, now fully awake, snapped, "Well, what the hell does it say?!"
One guard hesitated. "I don't think I should read it out loud."
The Prime Minister snatched the paper. He read the first line. Then the second. His face paled.
"Use of indigenous relief funds to broker offshore deals. Covert acquisition of state land through shell bids. Instruction to discredit whistleblowers—coded directive #A59."
The paper crumpled in his fist like a dying scream. "Burn it!" he barked, shoving it at an aide. "Burn the damn thing—" But then he looked up. There were more. Dozens. Hundreds. The entire tree was made of his sins. "Fucking cunt—" he cursed under his breath.
"Torch it. Torch the whole tree. I don't care if it's magic or divine or whatever—burn it to the ground!" But deep in the wood, the runes pulsed—unmoving. Unburnable.
From above, unseen, the night carried a voice like an echo wrapped in mischief. "KEKEKEKEKEKEKEEEE—!"
**A/N**
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**A/N**