In a godforsaken place like Hell’s Kitchen, thefts were beyond count.
But Schiller had never heard of any thief in Hell’s Kitchen who targeted only cakes.
And not just cakes—also Schiller’s freshly ground coffee powder, soda crackers, and jam.
Was this thief the reincarnation of some starved ghost?
Stealing four pounds of cake a day wasn’t enough; they had to pair it with half a pound of soda crackers, two cans of coffee powder, and three jars of jam.
*He’s not afraid of stuffing himself to death,* Schiller thought.
Of course, although what was lost wasn’t anything important, Schiller still needed to catch this thief and figure out exactly how they were stealing things.
Schiller set a trap.
Lacing the thief’s favorite cake with a tiny bit of fear gas, he placed it in the warehouse—the part of the house he visited least—and waited for the thief to take the bait.
While waiting for the bait to take effect, Schiller sat writing in a notebook, drafting the story he would use to mislead the Ancient One.
Planting the concept of the King in Yellow into the Ancient One’s mind wasn’t some random impulse on Schiller’s part.
In the Marvel universe’s lore, cosmic entities and demons were countless—such as the Vishanti, whose power the Ancient One drew upon.
The origins of Cthulhu mythos entities in Marvel were rather fragmented; some said they were incarnations of the void, while others claimed they were the blood and tears of the universe.
They weren’t a unified race, and their appearances were mostly bizarre and varied.
Real Cthulhu mythos literature, however, was much more structured, beginning with the daemon sultan Azathoth.
But the mythos Schiller mentioned to the Ancient One belonged to another branch: the cursed play *The King in Yellow*, created by Robert W.
Chambers in his short stories.
The setting of this play was more surreal and romantic than the mainstream Cthulhu Mythos.
In the distant Hyades cluster, on Lake Hali by the ancient city of Carcosa, was imprisoned an ancient Outer God, the King in Yellow.
He had witnessed the fall of two black suns, and was later defined as the representative of “wind” among the Great Old Ones, becoming the mortal enemy of Cthulhu.
And the most widely known element of the King in Yellow’s lore was his unique, exclusive mark: the Yellow Sign.
But none of that really mattered.
What mattered was that Schiller needed a plausible identity to converse with the Ancient One.
He could talk to Stark as a psychiatrist, play mentor to Spidey, or let Daredevil treat him as a criminal—none of that was a problem.
But the Ancient One was different.
If Schiller didn’t have a sufficiently mysterious and powerful identity, the mighty Sorcerer Supreme wouldn’t give him the time of day.
Having read the comics, Schiller knew that Great Old Ones also existed in the Marvel universe lore.
Now that he had planted the seed in the Ancient One’s mind, if she went to verify it, she would find that everything Hastur—played by Schiller—said was true.
A group of blind, foolish Great Old Ones had indeed been imprisoned in extra-dimensional realms, though no one knew if they would ever return to Earth.
As long as the Ancient One believed even thirty percent of Schiller’s facade as the King in Yellow, Schiller could extract plenty of the information he wanted from her.
While waiting for his thief trap to spring, Schiller intermittently fleshed out the lore of the Hyades cluster.
After all, if he wanted to hoodwink the Sorcerer Supreme, his background story had to be self-consistent.
And the thief didn’t keep Schiller waiting long.
On a dark, windy night, Hell’s Kitchen was uncharacteristically free of gunshots.
Schiller was lying in bed, half-asleep, when he heard a loud noise coming from the ground-floor warehouse.
He jolted awake instantly, knowing his trap had sprung.
He truly hadn’t expected that a simple piece of cake would actually catch the thief.
He tiptoed downstairs without turning on the lights.
If the other party had a gun and saw him coming down, they would definitely aim in his direction beforehand.
For his own safety, Schiller planned to use Blink to teleport directly once he reached the other side of the hallway, catching the intruder completely off guard.
Just as he was about to blink, he suddenly noticed the warehouse door opening.
Had the thief not been incapacitated by the fear gas?
Could they even open the door and walk out on their own?
This was not looking good.
Schiller abandoned his plan to blink.
Once he teleported, 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—it was always like that whenever he teleported.
He realized the thief didn’t seem to have noticed him.
Pressing his back against the wall, he crept along the hallway.
There, he saw an extremely short, plump figure, barely reaching a human’s shins, waddle out of the crack in the door.
As it walked, it complained, “Dammit!
Am I drunk?
Why does this cake smell like a septic tank?”
Schiller stared at the figure, words failing him.
Then he turned, reached for the light switch, and with a sharp *click*, flipped the lights on.
The chubby creature opposite him shrieked and immediately tried to flee on all fours.
Schiller reached out his right hand, cast Telekinesis, and snatched the creature right into his grasp.
Clutched in his hand was none other than a yellow, long-eared, round, chubby creature with a lightning-shaped tail—a Pikachu.
“Holy shit!
Put me down!
Don’t touch me with your dirty hands!
What is wrong with you?!
How did you catch me?
Let me go!!”
At this moment, Schiller’s expression was a portrait of utter disbelief.
In his wildest dreams, he could never have imagined how a yellow, furry electric rodent could suddenly pop up in such a serious, dark-toned story.
Suddenly, he felt that Pikachu’s screeching voice sounded vaguely familiar.
Wasn’t that Deadpool’s voice?
Schiller recalled with a tinge of horror that Hollywood did indeed have a movie about Pikachu: *Detective Pikachu*.
In that movie, Pikachu was indeed voiced by the same actor as Deadpool.
Schiller took a deep breath, spun Pikachu around to face him, grabbed its tiny, stubby hands, and said, “So you’re the one who stole my cakes, soda crackers, coffee powder, and jam?”
Pikachu’s eyes darted around.
Its mind-blowingly cute face actually twisted into a very human expression of disgust, and in that signature Deadpool voice, it said, “Hey, buddy, I really don’t know how your taste can be this bad.
The soda crackers you bought are butter-free!
They taste awful!
And that jam—how can you like strawberry jam?
It’s really not my style.
Also, next time you finish cutting a cake, can you not leave the cake knife on top of it?
Do you have any idea how dirty that is?”
Holding Pikachu in one hand, Schiller covered his eyes with the other.
This was an immense amount of mental pollution for him.
He was truly powerless to refute Pikachu’s complaints, because his tastes indeed differed from those of a typical American.
“Listen, you thief.
First, you stole my food repeatedly.
Second, you don’t show a single shred of remorse.
It seems you’re a habitual offender…”
“Oh, please,” Pikachu waved a paw.
“Clearly, you aren’t normal either.
No ordinary person would have a perfectly calm conversation with a rodent after seeing it talk.”
Schiller pursed his lips, staring back at Pikachu.
Pikachu’s sudden appearance had dealt a massive blow to his worldview.
After all, he had just been in Gotham, a city of pitch-black style, chatting about life and philosophy with Batman.
In the blink of an eye, a yellow rodent speaking with a Deadpool voice had popped up in front of him.
How could Schiller’s brain not short-circuit?
Was he supposed to go wander around the tall grass next?
Gather various Pokémon companions and challenge the local gyms?
This style was completely wrong, okay?!!
More importantly, even though this yellow electric rodent was only as tall as a human shin, it had Deadpool’s mouth!
The most lethal part of Deadpool’s entire body!
It hadn’t inherited any of the good parts!
It was truly a case of keeping the dregs and discarding the essence!
This made Schiller recall his past life reading comics, where Deadpool’s speech bubbles would constantly take up more than half the page.
Now, with a Deadpool-style Pikachu, the actual Deadpool, and Spidey all together…
Schiller felt that if he lived in a comic book, his face would probably be blocked out entirely.
Moreover, he remembered that in the Hollywood movie *Detective Pikachu*, Pikachu’s backstory actually followed the Japanese game of the same name.
This Pikachu wasn’t just some cute mascot that only said “Pika-Pika.” He was a detective with a middle-aged man’s voice.
Judging by Pikachu’s reaction just now, his IQ was indeed quite high, and he was definitely not just some simple pet.
A moment later, Schiller and Pikachu sat facing each other on the sofa.
Pikachu held a cup of coffee with his stubby hands and said, “Actually, I don’t have any memories.
I only remember a flash of light, and then I fell into a garbage truck.
It took a lot of effort just to crawl out.
I walked for ages, but all the doors on these streets were tightly shut.
I couldn’t get into any house, except yours.
The back door of your warehouse didn’t seem to be closed properly.
Once I got in, I followed the hallway and found the fridge…
Of course, about the stealing, it was indeed my fault.
But I was really too hungry.
If possible, once I make some money, I’ll pay you back for the cake.”
Schiller gave him a round of applause and said, “I have to say, for a rodent, your level of consciousness is frighteningly high.
If all the rats in the world were as polite as you, humans wouldn’t have had to invent so many rat poisons.”
“So what you put next to the cake today was rat poison?
That stuff was way too stinky.
Seriously, that smell nearly took half my life.”
“Actually, that wasn’t rat poison.
It’s actually much more terrifying than rat poison…
Whatever, you’re just a mouse anyway.”
Schiller set down his coffee cup and stared curiously at Pikachu.
“So, can you do *that*?”
“What?
Can I do what?” Pikachu looked at him in confusion.
Schiller looked at that adorable yellow face displaying such a highly humanized expression, feelings thoroughly mixed.
He said, “You know, *that* thing…”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Okay, Pikachu, listen.
You said you want to make money to pay for the food you stole.
But I don’t think anyone other than me would hire a talking yellow rodent.
So if you want to make up for my losses, your only option is to work for me.
And if you want the job, shouldn’t you show your boss what talents you have?”
“Oh, I see.
You mean discharging electricity, right?
That’s my specialty.
With me around, you can save at least half on your monthly electric bill.
But I was too hungry earlier, and I haven’t fully recovered yet, so I probably can’t discharge a Thunderbolt.
But charging your phone is no problem…”
With that, its four stubby legs hit the ground, and with a *swoosh*, it darted onto the table.
It jumped up, pulled out Schiller’s charging phone, ran back to the sofa clutching it, and presented it to Schiller.
Pikachu extended his lightning-shaped tail, sparks crackling all over his body, and Schiller’s phone screen lit up, showing that it was charging, though the speed wasn’t particularly fast.
To show off his ability, Pikachu held the phone tight, flicked his tail hard, and extended it with effort.
His entire body hummed with electrical current, and the phone’s charging speed skyrocketed, jumping by nearly 10% every second.
But just a second before Schiller could stop him, the phone let out a loud *BANG!*
Pikachu’s yellow fur was singed black, and a puff of black smoke drifted out of his mouth.
He looked down helplessly at the exploded phone in his arms and said, “Looks like you have no choice but to let me work here.
Otherwise, I might never be able to pay you back in this lifetime.”
Schiller massaged his temples.
“Your performance was truly spectacular.
It caught me completely by surprise.
I had no idea such a useful charging outlet existed in this world.”
Pikachu caught the sarcasm and was about to speak when Schiller interrupted, “Alright, but that’s not what I wanted to see.”
“Then what do you want to see?
What other talents do I have?
How come I don’t even know…”
“Of course you know.
It’s *that*…”
Schiller stared intently at Pikachu.
Pikachu’s expression suddenly turned incredibly complicated, as if he had just swallowed a fly.
Under Schiller’s intense gaze, he reluctantly turned around, hopped onto the backrest of the sofa, and let out a loud—
“PIKA—PIKA!!!!”
Schiller was thoroughly satisfied.