"Dean, are you juggling?"
"Your fingers, they're really nimble."
"Dean, do you have a girlfriend? If not, I could introduce you to my teacher. She'd definitely fall for those hands of yours..."
"I swear!"
...
"..."
What should one do with a clingy and rather dirty-minded little sister?
Dean put away the coin that had been expertly rolling across his fingertips and looked helplessly at his sister clinging to him. "Sinclair, maybe you could go review your homework. Mom said your recent grades haven't been great."
Sinclair rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Dean. I'm just an eleven-year-old kid. I shouldn't have my happy childhood consumed by those boring, mind-numbing things."
"No, compared to you, Thompson is more like an innocent child."
"Don't drag me into this. I just don't watch those adult talk shows much," Thompson, who was busy assembling a large Rubik's cube, retorted without even looking up.
Fine.
Dean nodded in agreement.
There was no shortage of trashy American adult dramas, and his mother Sheila and sister Sinclair were devoted fans.
But as soon as Thompson spoke, Sinclair immediately snapped back, "Thompson, as your sister, I think you really need to watch more talk shows. Those programs could at least make you a bit more witty. Otherwise, I'm really worried that when you graduate from high school, you won't find a dance partner and will have to ask me to be your partner... again."
"I'll have no shortage of dance partners!"
"That's what you said before the middle school dance," Sinclair pointed out.
"That was then!!"
"Oh."
"!!!"
Thompson crumbled.
He silently hugged his Rubik's cube and scooted to the other corner of the couch.
After teasing Thompson, Sinclair, still wanting more, smacked her lips and turned her gaze back to her second older brother, only to find that Dean had slipped away at some point.
...
Dean left the house, breathing a sigh of relief.
Sinclair probably hadn't seen him in a while, which explained her intense interest and clinginess.
Dean, however, wasn't quite used to it.
It would take some time.
He rubbed his stomach.
Dean walked towards the convenience store across the street.
He had spent the entire morning acclimating to his body's current strength, and all that exertion had made him a bit hungry.
Actually, he would have preferred a juicy barbecue.
But his mother Sheila lived in a middle-class neighborhood, which only had one fast-food restaurant, several streets away.
Dean couldn't be bothered to walk that far.
The convenience store wasn't crowded.
Dean pushed the door and entered.
The owner, hearing the noise, didn't even look up, completely engrossed in reading his newspaper.
Dean didn't mind.
One couldn't expect much service from such privately-owned convenience stores. The variety of items was limited, and prices were significantly higher than in supermarkets.
Normally, people went to supermarkets to stock up on a week's or even half a month's worth of supplies. They only resorted to convenience stores in emergencies.
Dean wandered through the aisles when, suddenly, in a corner, he spotted something very familiar: "I never expected this little convenience store to have Old Madam Chili Sauce from China."
Such a nostalgic flavor.
In his previous life, an organization had taken him from an orphanage at a very young age. He'd spent his years drifting between countries on missions—a man without roots.
His only comfort in adulthood had been the food of his homeland.
He hadn't expected to find it in this world too.
It's a shame I've already confirmed this world isn't my past life, but more like a parallel universe. Otherwise, I might have had the chance to annihilate the organization from my past life and make them pay back what they owe me!
Dean held the chili sauce, his thoughts drifting.
Suddenly—
"AAAH!" A woman's terrified scream tore through the air from the entrance.
"Shut up!"
"Shut up, bitch, get down on the ground!"
"Hey, calm down, here's the money, don't shoot..."
Dean smoothly grabbed a paring knife from a nearby shelf, ducked behind an aisle, and peered towards the store entrance.
He saw a slim Black man in a hoodie holding a black handgun aimed at the store owner.
The convenience store owner was very calm.
While attempting to calm the robber, he quickly and efficiently tossed a pile of small bills from the register onto the counter.
Under the counter, a heavyset female customer cowered, mouth covered, rear in the air, trembling in fear of being shot.
Well, well... this is a robbery.
Dean tore open the packaging of the paring knife in his hand, concealing it in his palm, with no intention of intervening.
Of course, if that robber comes over, he wouldn't mind sending them to listen to God's teachings and, incidentally, earn some Experience Points.
Except for that unfortunate female customer, the other customers in the convenience store, having heard the commotion, had already expertly hit the deck beneath various shelves, hands clasped over their heads, determined to see and hear nothing.
Just a robbery, a daily part of life. No need to make a fuss.
The entire robbery process ended very swiftly, in less than a minute.
The gunman snatched the cash, pushed open the door, jumped into a car parked curbside, and sped off.
"Whew~"
Only then did the convenience store owner let out a sigh of relief. "Ladies and gentlemen, the unpleasant incident is over. I apologize, but please don't leave yet. Wait for the police to arrive and take a report."
As he spoke, he dialed the police and the insurance company.
"Oh God, that scared me to death! I never thought we'd see these niggers in Arthur Community."
The heavyset woman who had been lying on the ground sat there, still shaking all over, not yet recovered from the shock.
However, she clearly hadn't noticed that among the convenience store's customers, there were two Black men. One of them retorted, "What did you say, bitch? Watch your damn mouth!"
"Am I wrong? Wherever there are Black people, there's crime! You people are the ones messing everything up!"
The heavyset woman was clearly a racist.
Seeing the two men were unarmed and with the police presumably on their way, she grew bolder, venting all her earlier terror on these two Black customers.
"FUCK YOU..."
A can flew through the air and struck the woman square in the mouth, eliciting a pitiful wail...
Dean leaned against a shelf, munching on some bread, and watched the unfolding drama with amusement.
The United States, a nation of immigrants, certainly had its share of problems and no shortage of oddballs.
This was just a minor scene.
This convenience store was in a middle-class neighborhood where patrol cars, dispatched from a central command, cruised twenty-four/seven.
They waited less than five minutes before police sirens wailed outside.
Dean also witnessed the local patrol officers' method of handling cases. They turned on their body cameras, asked the convenience store owner a couple of simple questions, then inquired about the situation with Dean and other customers before driving off.
As for the fight between the heavyset woman and the two Black customers? She hadn't reported it immediately, so it was none of the officers' concern.
The two Black customers shot the heavyset woman the middle finger before also leaving.
The poor woman, watching the departing police car, clutching her bleeding mouth, unable to speak, finally burst into loud sobs...
What an interesting day...
Dean paid for his items and called Eve.
In this peculiar nation, there would likely be no shortage of cases. He found himself somewhat looking forward to his police career.