Don’t question why a Chinese restaurant serves fries and fried meatball slices. Think of it like the Japanese pairing fried rice with gyoza—it’s all a matter of personal taste. As long as it brings in more revenue for the restaurant, that’s all that matters. Plus, who could possibly hate fries with ketchup? And if they do, they’re probably the type to dip them in milkshakes instead!
At the very least, when customers rush in hungry during the chef’s absence or closing prep, they won’t starve. West Lake Restaurant even bought an air fryer that’s so simple a monkey could use it.
In less than a week, Nemo had adapted to working in the parallel world’s restaurant.
His specialty was teppanyaki, but he’d also worked in steakhouses and other eateries before. Though the style was different from his predecessor’s, both the manager and the customers were satisfied with his improved dishes. Nemo’s proud new creation, Sweet and Sour Pork Ribs, was already on its way to dethroning Orange Chicken as the restaurant’s top seller.
“Bro! You've leveled up!” Толя said, wolfing down a massive bowl of rice smothered in red sauce, looking utterly content.
Of course, it had. Who did Толя think he was dealing with? Compared to his predecessor, he had a full decade more experience. Internally, Nemo struck a triumphant pose, but outwardly, he played it modest, claiming he’d been quietly studying new recipes for some time.
The restaurant owner, Sunny Jie, was overcome with nostalgia after experiencing a rare taste of home. Inspired, she ambitiously decided to launch a new bento business. The restaurant targeted the affordable yet high-quality market, and with the recent wave of Taiwanese refugees arriving in Lone Star City, it presented a perfect opportunity to expand their customer base.More customers meant higher tips, and everyone wanted to save a little extra money.
The entire team enthusiastically dove into planning. Although the restaurant employed three other staff members who worked on rotating shifts, Nemo and Толя—the backbone of the revitalized business—seldom had consecutive days off. Concerned that Nemo’s frequent memory lapses were due to overwork, Sunny Jie voiced her worries, but Nemo promptly reassured her that it wasn’t related to his job and that he simply needed time to recover.
In any case, Sunny Jie proposed a revolutionary plan: once their revenue met expectations, they would adopt a one-day weekend schedule. She was getting older and couldn’t push herself too hard.
Nemo and Толя cheered loudly, winking playfully at boss Liu only to be met with a thunderous roar from the Sichuan man.
Despite the workload, Nemo felt relaxed. Compared to his previous life where humiliation and nitpicking were the norm, this simple workplace with kind bosses and colleagues was so good. Shared hardship truly built camaraderie.
In his spare time, Nemo used the internet to bridge the gap between the two worlds.
What shocked him most was that Nobunaga’s Ambition existed here too, though the copyrights had never left Japan, meaning the Taiwanese and Chinese servers had never existed.
World of Warcraft had a similar role-playing server, which Nemo swiftly registered for, but he didn’t find any familiar player accounts or guild names.
He hadn’t expected much, but the fact that he kept typing in every name he could remember and finding nothing left him feeling bitter.
Joining Nobunaga’s Ambition’s Japanese server didn’t make sense. His attachment to the game had been about nostalgia, and without memories tied to this server, it held no meaning. World of Warcraft, however, provided a familiar interface—a small harbor where his anxious heart could temporarily anchor.
The world might have changed, but the game remained the same. Nemo felt strangely but comfortable.
Another exhausting night passed. After closing and locking up the restaurant, Nemo often didn’t arrive home until 11 p.m. Walking down the empty streets, he’d instinctively glance at the sky.
Good. No suspicious shadows or glowing creatures flying about.
Back at the apartment—he’d grown used to calling their shared, rundown place “home,” a habit he likely picked up from his roommate—Nemo showered off the grease and sweat, brewed a pot of tea, and settled in for at least three hours of internet surfing. Thanks to his daily efforts, his understanding of this parallel Earth was rapidly improving.
Before long, he heard Толя return. There was some rustling, followed by the sound of the refrigerator opening.
“Good boy, already in your pajamas! How about a little excitement for tonight? Spicy fried chicken, soda, beer, and a movie marathon!”
Both were broke, newly arrived immigrants, scrimping and saving wherever they could. Even though it was Толя’s turn to treat tonight, he instinctively split the fried chicken and fries evenly between two large plates, ensuring they shared the meal equally. The drinks were left out on the table. Nemo usually just took a sip to taste but stuck to his tea or coffee in the end.
"Don’t overestimate your ethnic metabolism. Keep indulging like this, and your hairline will soon be past the Third Island Chain!"
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Hey, don’t scare me!”
While Толя panicked and ran his fingers across his forehead to check that essential line, Nemo stealthily snagged an extra piece of chicken, claiming it was to “share the burden of Karma.”
The Russian’s choice of gangster movie was so dull they had to chat to stay awake, though Толя insisted they get his money’s worth since he’d rented it.
“I saw today during a delivery that the Grimm Tower has been completed. Lone Star City has a new landmark now.”
“Mmm. Let’s just hope it doesn’t become a target for aliens.” Nemo, only half-paying attention, focused more on the pistol model flashed onscreen during a negotiation scene.
“Do you even understand what I’m saying? That means Matthew Grimm and his conglomerate are setting up their headquarters here!”
“Sounds like the name of a gardener or librarian.” Nemo shrugged.
“Come on! You memorized the names of all U.S. presidents and made me lose five cans of tea over a bet, but you don’t know the richest man in America—no, the world?!” Толя dramatically pulled down his cheeks.
Serves him right for betting on something I’ve already discussed with Texans, Nemo thought smugly. Never pass up a free win.
Nemo squinted. He didn’t even know who the world’s richest person was before his transmigration. Not knowing the wealthiest person in this world wouldn’t cost him a thing. He might as well ask about the assassinated father of Iran’s nuclear program instead.
“I prefer international news. Skip entertainment gossip, finance, sports, and lifestyle, thanks.” Nemo could be described as a fanatical follower of international diplomacy, military conflicts, and wars, or as someone deeply knowledgeable about China.
He was oblivious to things that didn’t capture his interest.
“Poor Nemo, since you’ve lost your memory, I’ll tell you this for free. Everyone in the bar’s been gossiping like crazy about Grimm these past few days,” Толя said, slinging an arm around the curly-haired young man’s shoulder. Nemo simply rolled his eyes.
“That guy was born with a diamond spoon in his mouth. His dad owns the largest aerospace manufacturing company in America, and his mom is supposedly a Canadian scientist who’s involved in top-secret U.S. weapons development, holding enough patents to rival nations. As for Matthew Grimm himself, he’s a genius with an undefined IQ. He founded the Grimm Group, and everything he invests in turns to gold. Ten years ago, when the U.S. government shut down over a debt ceiling crisis and the space program was forced to halt, the Grimm family gambled their fortune to co-finance an exclusive American space station. Matthew Grimm even joined the design team. When it was completed, he owned half of it. Sure, the government controls its use, but Matthew is still the only man in the world who can claim to own half a private space station—not even the President of the United States has that kind of pull. And back then, he was only twenty-five!”
“I just have to ask: does Matthew Grimm’s chest glow blue? Does he wear black tights and a cape to beat up thugs in dark alleys, or shoot arrows while wearing a Green hat?”
“Hah! I know what you’re implying, but unfortunately, reality isn’t a comic book or movie. That guy’s like a cyborg—he’s five centimeters taller than me and has a perfect build to boot!” Толя’s tone was distinctly sour.
Nemo knew Толя was 185 cm tall. Just how overpowered were the genes of the world’s richest man?
“Fine! He must be bald, then!” Nemo insisted, always quick to side with his own.
“See for yourself!” Толя searched for a photo and shoved his phone in Nemo’s face.
The screen displayed a black-haired man photographed from a high angle, his shirt completely unbuttoned to reveal deadly abs and pecs. His tie hung loosely across his shoulder, and his long legs were crossed atop a desk as he lazily raised a glass, smiling languidly at the camera.
His hair was just as thick as Nemo’s—and straight! Damn it.
“This charity photoshoot cover set a new sales record for women’s magazines. Every woman I know has a copy. Check out this close-up.”
“Such pure golden eyes. Very rare,” Nemo said objectively, noting the solid, gem-like quality. It wasn’t the kind of amber gold that changed with the light—more like a wolf’s eyes.
“Seems to be inherited from his mysterious mother. With how much of a genius this guy is, a little genetic mutation isn’t surprising,” Толя commented.
Nemo thought there was something odd about two men crammed on a couch admiring sexy photos of another man, but he reasoned that some straight women also liked ogling big-chested beauties. It was probably the same mentality. Besides, he didn’t want people to laugh at him for not knowing such a famous person.
“Are we done yet? Are we still watching the movie?” Nemo asked.
“What’s the rush? The interesting part’s coming up.”
Nemo figured Толя wouldn’t just sing praises about America’s and the world’s richest man. After all, his roommate was a Russia who hated America and the rich.
“Within a few years, Matthew Grimm earned back the space station investment with Bitcoin and stocks. He also held his parents’ freakish patents. Then he dove headfirst into developing reusable manned spacecraft, declaring he’d make space travel accessible within ten years—not just skimming the Kármán line, but letting people stay overnight on the station. Earlier this year, his orbital hotel ‘Houyhnhnms’ successfully docked with the space station.”
Of course, the U.S. government didn’t just let the world’s richest man run a hotel in space for fun. In the future, the expanded Houyhnhnms would also act as a rest stop for the seventh-generation fighter jets, offering pilots a place to recharge—Of course, the new concept fighter jets that America has yet to unveil should be capable of spaceflight.
Nemo now had a basic understanding of Matthew Grimm. The world’s richest man? Aliens sounded more relatable. He filed the guy under “things I don’t need to care about.”
“To celebrate the opening of the orbital hotel, Matthew Grimm piloted a spaceship himself, bringing along three supermodels and throwing a birthday party for one of them on the station. Tabloids everywhere ran headlines like, ‘Master Grimm Writes a Light and Weightless (Zero-G) Chapter in the History of Human Intimacy.’ But that same day, the Meteor Shower Event happened, and the space station crashed.” Толя shrugged dramatically, spreading his hands.
“…,” Nemo was now curious as to how the genius tycoon escaped such a deadly situation.
Luckily, the billionaire and his models hadn’t planned to stay long. Their spaceship was primed for immediate return, and because rich people are always paranoid about dying, it even came equipped with single-person escape pods.
During the Meteor Shower Event, the wreckage of the space station and the spacecraft veered off course due to some mysterious falling object and disappeared. Many Grimm Group properties on Earth were also struck by meteors. In short, a complete mess.
The U.S. government even mobilized the military to search for Matthew Grimm. The man knew too many state secrets, and even his corpse falling into enemy hands would be disastrous. A month later, a battered Matthew Grimm used a classified communications line to contact a U.S. military base in the Pacific and successfully returned to America.
Matthew Grimm himself was a state secret. He may very well be the first and only human to survive witnessing part of the meteor shower’s truth. According to Grimm, the meteor shower originated from an unidentified object resembling a small asteroid that exploded. He didn’t know the spacecraft’s crash coordinates—his half-broken escape pod had drifted to a deserted island. He managed to repair the communications equipment and contact a fishing boat.
At that time, the Taiwan Strait War had broken out, throwing global shipping into chaos. Many vessels were forced to alter their routes or were stuck drifting offshore.
After barely surviving and explaining the ordeal, the rich tycoon announced he’d be relocating to Lone Star City to rebuild his group’s headquarters, branding it with his company’s iconic symbol—a golden-green stag’s antlers. He then shut himself off from the public to recover, acquiring several companies in Lone Star City and buying up a thirty-story landmark commercial building for reconstruction.
Nowadays, rich people were into building bunkers instead of skyscrapers, but the golden-eyed, black-haired billionaire insisted on standing out. It was like he’d die if he didn’t show off.
Tabloids even published features titled, “Ladies, Head to Lone Star City!”
“As the saying goes, ‘don’t court trouble, and you won’t get into trouble,’ sure Matthew Grimm is a capable guy,” Nemo remarked sincerely.
“Right? When you were off, Sunny Jie specifically told us to talk to customers about Grimm. Apparently, it makes them spend more money. He’s practically Lone Star City’s tourist attraction! I think Sunny Jie’s smitten with him. Don’t be surprised if you see clippings of his magazine covers around the store.”
“How come I didn’t know about this?”
“You’re the cook; you don’t talk to customers. I guess Sunny Jie gives you special treatment.”
Толя, now in his post-snack "sage mode," turned his attention back to the gangster movie, staring blankly while chewing on fries. Suddenly, he blurted out, "Be honest, Nemo—do you have superpowers?"