C61: Unpack
"Thanks for your hard work."
Inside the dimly lit antique shop tucked between Harlem and Hell's Kitchen, Li Ran subconsciously addressed Ah Xing, who had just returned through the back entrance like a shadow slipping past Daredevil's radar.
A beat passed before realization struck—this was no real person, just his own avatar, animated through his Chakra-infused system cards.
Even with his background in manipulating aura through the Prayer Order System, Li Ran had to admit: the clone technique enhanced by the System's integration of chakra theory and mystical constructs resembling Zatanna's spellcasting algorithms was too convincing. So lifelike that even his instincts blurred the line between creation and creator.
Shaking his head, Li Ran severed the chakra link with Ah Xing. A faint bang, like Nightcrawler's teleportation, echoed through the space. The clone dissolved in a puff of white smoke, reminiscent of ninja techniques from The League of Assassins, and the D-level system card previously infused into the clone was automatically retrieved.
With a glance at the holographic interface hovering before him, a hybrid UI styled somewhere between Stark tech and Mister Terrific's T-Spheres—Li Ran scrolled toward the system's fame panel.
[Legend]: 1255
Thanks to the simultaneous activity of [Kaitou Kid] and [Ah Xing] across Gotham and New York, his reputation had snowballed faster than his last surge during the LexCorp data breach incident.
This was more than enough.
With little hesitation, he tapped the panel and exchanged the fame for a [Black Iron Treasure Chest], a tier reminiscent of Wakandan vibranium encryption chests with DC's Mother Box-inspired architecture.
A familiar burst of white system light flared, and when it faded, two items floated within the chest.
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[Prop: Whirlwind Charge]
Effect: Racing
Description: Right now, Whirlwind Charge—use the Whirlwind Charge tornado!
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The blue-and-white four-wheel-drive car that appeared—an uncanny hybrid between a Stark Expo display and something out of Arcade's Murderworld immediately pulled at Li Ran's childhood nostalgia. Tornado Charge, Hurricane Sonic, Devil Commander—names from a past life. Brands like Audi's twin diamonds, rechargeable nickel-cadmium batteries, customized axles, phoenix-tail spoilers, and those absurdly expensive "super motors"—they all felt like prelude relics to Tony Stark's early workshop inventions.
He chuckled, shaking his head at the bittersweet memories of all those childhood gadgets that had burned holes in his allowance.
Still, besides nostalgia, the Whirlwind Charge didn't seem to have any meaningful tactical function—no embedded AI like Jocasta, no embedded speed-force capacitors.
Shrugging off the memory wave, he turned to the second item:
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[D-rank Card – Xie Lu]
Skill: Special Pastry Chef
Origin: Known as "Steel Cudgel Master" and "Steel Stick Jie Lu." Hailing from Shanxi, this towering culinary juggernaut roams the lands armed with an iron rod covered in chef-star markings—each representing a culinary rival bested. His bold claim: to create the number one Shaomai across the continent.
Remark: "Cooking is the path to happiness."
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Li Ran furrowed his brow. Xie Lu? Also D-level?
For a moment, doubt flickered. The skill [Special Pastry Chef] wasn't combat-oriented—no telekinesis, chi blasts, or enhancements akin to Daredevil's radar sense. Just... cooking.
But then again, [Phantom Thief Kid]—a fellow D-rank—was also a baseline human. Deceptive, agile, brilliant, but still, no super-soldier serum, no arcane contracts.
Maybe his previous classification of D-rank had been skewed. He had expected minor supernatural traits—a touch of metahuman aptitude. But now, it appeared the system defined D-rank as "peak human"—mastery within human boundaries, like Hawkeye's unerring aim or Alfred Pennyworth's battlefield triage and MI6 survival skills.
That would explain it.
Still, it was hard not to feel cheated.
A thousand legends. For a toy car and a chef?
He sighed. No turning back. Might as well test the card.
He slotted [Xie Lu] into the system's D-card slot. Immediately, his expression shifted.
Cooking techniques—not knowledge, but memories began uploading into his mind like Oracle's neural data injection. From traditional dumpling folding to precision sugar art, Li Ran could suddenly visualize every step. It wasn't just passive absorption like his old [Adrenal Acceleration] skill. This was lived experience muscle memory borrowed from a culinary grandmaster.
A growl rose in his stomach.
Most "Chinese" food in New York had been a disappointment. Greasy takeout, orange chicken, and fortune cookies were as authentic as Lex Luthor's smile.
Maybe it was time to make his own.
Yes. To familiarize himself with character skills faster.
Totally justified.
With that noble excuse in mind, Li Ran bolted out of the antique shop and made a beeline for the nearest supermarket, dodging a bicyclist in a Daily Bugle hoodie shouting about Spider-Man's latest rooftop brawl.
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"Shrimp, pork, beef, vegetables, egg yolks and most importantly, flour..."
He skidded to a halt near aisle 12.
"Damn it, no steamers. Ugh, I'll have to head down to Chinatown. Need a steamer and a rolling pin. Maybe even a cleaver from that weird Asgardian-Chinese fusion store near Mott Street."
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"Finally, it's all done."
Back at the shop, he collapsed into his kitchen bags bursting with ingredients like he'd looted a Stark Industries pantry.
Looking over the array of meats and vegetables, he sighed in satisfaction. His fingers twitched, aching to create.
"So this is what the soul of cooking feels like?" he muttered, half in awe, half in resignation.
He gave in.
He mixed the flour and began chopping vegetables.
Though these actions would've stumped the old Li Ran, the current him danced through them like Alfred preparing tea for Batman—efficient, refined, and practiced.
The dough was smooth, pliant, and perfect. He nodded in appreciation, already moving on to preparing the fillings.
"Supermarket stuff. Not bad... but not fresh fresh. Maybe next time I'll bribe Swamp Thing into growing me organic ginger."
He sorted out what was usable. His eyes, now enhanced with instinctive culinary insight, scanned every item like a SHIELD biometric scanner.
Then he drew the cleaver.
A flick of the wrist.
A glint of steel.
Tok tok tok tok...
Rhythmic, precise—each slice like a percussion beat in a symphony of flavor, each motion laced with the grace of a League of Shadows assassin and the flair of a Wakandan royal chef.
And so, the kitchen began to sing.
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