The Art Style Takes a Sudden Turn

In Hell's Kitchen, thefts were a dime a dozen, but Schiller had never heard of a thief who specifically targeted cakes. Not just cakes, but also his freshly ground coffee powder, soda crackers, and jam.

Was this thief reincarnated from a starving ghost? Stealing four pounds of cake a day wasn't enough—he had to add half a pound of soda crackers, two cans of coffee powder, and three jars of jam on top of that.

Wasn't he afraid of eating himself to death? Schiller wondered.

Of course, even though nothing critical was missing, Schiller still had to catch this thief and figure out exactly how he was pulling off the thefts.

Schiller set a trap, using the thief's favorite cake and a little Fear Gas, placing it in the warehouse he visited least often in this building, waiting for the thief to take the bait.

While waiting for the lure to work, Schiller wrote in a notebook, crafting the story he would later use to fool the Ancient One.

Instilling the concept of the King in Yellow into the Ancient One wasn't Schiller's random shot in the dark. In the worldview of the Marvel Universe, Cosmic Demons were countless, like the Vishanti Trinity, whose power the Ancient One borrowed.

The origins of Cthulhu in Marvel were scattered—some said it was the embodiment of nothingness, others said it was the blood and tears of the universe. They weren't a unified race, and their appearances were mostly bizarre.

But true Cthulhu Mythos literature was more systematic. Everything started with the daemon sultan Azathoth. However, the system Schiller mentioned to the Ancient One was different—it was the cursed play "The King in Yellow," which Chambers had fabricated in his short stories.

The setting in this play was more ethereal and romantic than the Cthulhu Mythos. In the distant Hyades star cluster, on Lake Hali in the ancient city of Carcosa, an ancient Outer God, the King in Yellow, was imprisoned. He had witnessed the fall of two black suns. Later, he was set as the representative of "wind" among the Great Old Ones and became a sworn enemy of Cthulhu.

What people knew best from the King in Yellow's setting was his unique mark—the Yellow Sign.

But none of that really mattered. What mattered was that Schiller needed a reasonable identity to talk to the Ancient One.

He could use his psychologist identity to talk to Stark, or play the role of Spider-Man's life mentor, or let Daredevil treat him as a criminal—that was fine.

But the Ancient One was different. If Schiller didn't have a mysterious and powerful enough identity, this mighty Sorcerer Supreme wouldn't listen to him.

Since Schiller had read the comics, he knew that in the Marvel Universe's worldview, the Great Old Ones also existed. Now he was warning the Ancient One, and if she went to verify, she would find that everything Schiller said while playing Hastur was true—a group of blind and foolish Great Old Ones had once been imprisoned in an extra dimension, but no one knew if they would return to Earth.

As long as the Ancient One had even three-tenths belief in Schiller's identity as the King in Yellow, Schiller could get plenty of the information he wanted from her.

While waiting for the thief-catching trap to work, Schiller intermittently filled in the details about the Hyades star cluster setting. After all, to fool the Sorcerer Supreme, his identity background at least had to be self-consistent.

The thief didn't keep Schiller waiting long.

On a dark, windy night, Hell's Kitchen was unusually free of gunfire. Schiller was lying in bed, half-asleep, when he heard a loud crash from the warehouse downstairs.

He snapped awake, knowing his trap had worked. He really hadn't expected that a single cake would actually catch the thief.

He crept downstairs without turning on the lights, because if the other party had a gun, spotting him coming down would mean they'd aim this way in advance. For his own safety, when he reached the other end of the hallway, he planned to use Telekinesis to teleport directly over, catching the other party off guard.

Just as he was about to teleport, he suddenly noticed the warehouse door open. Had the thief not been controlled by the Fear Gas? Could he even open the door and walk out on his own? That was a bit troublesome.

Schiller abandoned the teleportation plan, because once he teleported over, not only would the thief need a moment to react, but Schiller himself would also need about two seconds to adjust to the unfamiliar environment—that was how his teleportation always worked.

He found that the thief didn't seem to have noticed him. He crept along the wall, sticking close to it, and walked down the hallway. Then he saw an extremely short figure, only about as tall as a human's calf, round and plump, squeeze out through the crack in the door, grumbling as it walked: "Damn it! Am I drunk? Why does this cake smell like a septic tank?"

Schiller looked at the figure, hesitated, then reached back, felt for the light switch, and with a "click," turned on the light.

The round creature across from him yelped, immediately dropped to all fours to run, but Schiller extended his right hand, used a Telekinesis spell, and directly grabbed the creature.

Schiller's face darkened as he felt the furry texture in his hand. What he held was unmistakably a yellow, round, fat creature with two long ears and a lightning-bolt-shaped tail—a Pikachu.

"Crap! Put me down! Don't touch me with your dirty hands! What's wrong with you?! How can you grab me? Let me go!!"

Schiller's face was now a picture of pure disgust. He had never dreamed that in such a serious, even slightly dark story, a yellow electric rodent would appear.

Suddenly, he thought the Pikachu's screeching voice sounded vaguely familiar. Wasn't that Deadpool's voice?

Schiller recalled with some alarm that there was indeed a Hollywood movie about Pikachu—"Detective Pikachu." The Pikachu in that movie did share a voice actor with Deadpool.

Schiller took a deep breath, turned the Pikachu around, grabbed its two little stubby hands, and said, "So you're the one who stole my cake, soda crackers, coffee powder, and jam?"

The Pikachu's eyes darted around. Its explosively cute face actually showed a very human-like expression of disgust, and in Deadpool's voice, it said, "Hey, man, I really don't know how your taste is so bad. The soda crackers you bought are butterless—they taste terrible. And that jam—how can you like strawberry jam? It's really not my thing. Also, next time you cut a cake, can you not leave the knife on top of it? Do you know how dirty that is?"

Schiller held the Pikachu in one hand and covered his eyes with the other. This was a massive mental contamination for him. Faced with the Pikachu's complaints, he really couldn't argue, because his taste was indeed different from a real American's.

"Listen, you little thief. First, you've stolen my food over and over again. Second, you don't show any guilt at all. Looks like you're a repeat offender..."

"Give it a rest." The Pikachu waved its hand and said, "Obviously, you're not normal either. No ordinary person, upon seeing a talking rat, would calmly have a conversation with it."

Schiller pursed his lips and stared at the Pikachu, eyes wide. Mainly, the Pikachu's appearance had given him a massive worldview shock.

Remember, he had just been discussing life ideals with Batman in the incredibly dark Gotham, and now this yellow rat with Deadpool's voice appeared before him. How could Schiller's brain not short-circuit?

Was he supposed to go check the nearby bushes next? Collect all the Pokémon companions and then challenge the gyms?

This tone was completely wrong, okay?!!

More importantly, this yellow electric rodent, though only as tall as a human's calf, had Deadpool's mouth!

The most lethal part of Deadpool's entire being!

It didn't learn a single good thing!

It took the essence of the bad and discarded the good!

This reminded Schiller of reading comics in his past life, where Deadpool's speech bubbles took up half the page. Now, with Deadpool-version Pikachu, Deadpool, and Spider-Man all together...

Schiller felt that if he lived in a comic, he'd probably be blocked out of sight entirely.

And he remembered that in the Hollywood version of "Detective Pikachu," the Pikachu's setting actually used the setting from the Japanese game of the same name. This Pikachu wasn't just a cute creature that went "pika pika"—it was a detective with a middle-aged man's voice. From the Pikachu's reaction just now, it was indeed quite intelligent, definitely not a simple pet.

After a while, Schiller and the Pikachu sat facing each other on the couch. The Pikachu held a cup of coffee with its little stubby hands and said, "Actually, I don't have any memories either. I only remember a flash of light, and then I fell into a garbage truck. It took a lot of effort to climb out. I was starving, walked for a long time, but all the shops on this street were closed, and none of them I could get into. Only your place—the back door of your warehouse seemed not fully closed. I came in, followed the hallway to the fridge... Of course, about the stealing, it really was my fault, but I was just too hungry. If possible, once I earn some money, I'll pay you back for the cake."

Schiller clapped for him and then said, "I have to say, for a rat, your moral awareness is terrifyingly high. If all the rats in the world were as polite as you, humans wouldn't need to invent so many rat poisons."

"So was that rat poison you put next to the cake today? It stank so bad. Seriously, that smell nearly killed me."

"Actually, that wasn't rat poison—it's even more terrifying than rat poison... Well, never mind, you're just a rat anyway."

Schiller set down his coffee cup and stared at Pikachu with curiosity, saying:

"So, can you do that?"

"Do what? What can I do?" Pikachu looked at him in confusion.

Schiller watched that adorable yellow face twist into an incredibly human-like expression, and his heart was a mess of mixed feelings. He said, "You know, that..."

"What are you even talking about?"

"Alright, Pikachu, listen. You say you want to earn money to pay back the food you stole, but I don't think anyone besides me would hire a talking yellow rat. So if you want to compensate for my losses, you'll have to work for me. And if you want that job, you'd better show your boss what you can do, right?"

"Oh, I get it. You mean discharging electricity, right? That's my specialty. With me around, you could cut your electricity bill by at least half in a month. But I was too hungry before, and I haven't fully recovered yet, so I probably can't fire off a hundred thousand volts. Still, charging your phone shouldn't be a problem..."

With that, it planted its four little stubby legs on the ground, zipped over to the table, jumped up, grabbed Schiller's charging phone, and scurried back to the sofa to show him.

Pikachu's lightning-shaped tail extended, a flash of electricity coursed through its body, and Schiller's phone screen lit up, displaying "Charging"—though the speed wasn't fast.

As if to show off its ability, Pikachu hugged the phone tight, gave its tail a vigorous flick, then stretched hard. Electricity hummed through its body, and the phone's charging speed skyrocketed, nearly hitting 10% in a second. Just before Schiller could stop it, the phone let out a loud "BANG!!"

Pikachu's yellow fur was charred black, and it coughed out a puff of black smoke. It looked down helplessly at the exploded phone in its arms and said, "Looks like you'll have to let me work here, or I'll probably never be able to pay this off."

Schiller pressed a hand to his forehead and said, "Your performance was truly spectacular—it blew me away. I never imagined there could be such a handy charging socket in this world."

Pikachu caught the sarcasm and was about to retort when Schiller said, "Alright, but that's not what I wanted to see."

"Then what do you want to see? What other talents do I have? I don't even know..."

"Of course you do—it's that..."

Schiller stared at Pikachu with gleaming eyes. Pikachu's face twisted into a complicated expression, like it had just eaten something foul.

Reluctantly, under Schiller's gaze, it turned around, hopped onto the back of the sofa, and let out a resounding—

"PIKA—PIKA!!!!"

Schiller was satisfied.