Chapter 14: Move Aside! Don

“Hello, Drive-Thru!”

A golden-haired girl with a red baseball cap bearing an M on her head and a cute smile on her face swiftly handed over a giant paper bag wrapped in a handle, but upon closer inspection, her small hands trembled slightly and her expression was stiff.

“Thank you!”

The spiky-haired teen with a fearsome face politely thanked her, then donned his grotesque demon-like helmet, securely fastened the nearly overflowing bag to the front of his motorcycle, and immediately twisted the throttle twice in full force.

With the engine’s roar, the black-painted heavy motorcycle belched thick smoke and instantly accelerated to 120 kilometers per hour, speeding down the highway, overtaking car after car and truck after truck.

The drivers he passed all turned their attention to the windows, as if faintly hearing through the howling wind someone laughing and shouting—

“Move aside, folks! Don’t crash into my burger!”

Vroom!

His waist straight, thighs tightly gripping the roaring motorcycle, the machine’s steel frame growing hot beneath him, like riding an uncontrollable wild horse.

What rushed toward him was not the sound of wind, but endless explosions!

Not a single thunderous boom, but a continuous, crackling barrage—wind poured into all seven orifices, vibrating his eardrums, shaking even his brain deep within his skull.

The furious wind didn’t blow—it slammed, struck. At high speed, wind no longer came in waves but in heavy clots, thudding against his face, colliding with his cheekbones, making his flesh seem to cave in.

The blurred scenery on either side of the road vanished and reappeared; everything around him receded. A vast, invisible, soft, omnipresent, unstoppable force filled his body. As speed increased, Jia Ji’s posture lowered further, hugging the machine tighter, until he was nearly lying flat upon it.

“Awesome!”

All the pressure Jia Ji had built up these past days burst out like exhaust from the motorcycle’s tailpipe.

He felt like an ancient knight, charging freely in this world of only himself. His hyper-sensitive skin and exceptional balance served him well—no matter how wildly the steed beneath him struggled, it could not break free of his reins.

“Boom!”

The engine noise faded. Jia Ji pulled over beside an abandoned base, tucked the fast-food bag under his armpit, and shouted inside:

“Hey, boss! Want some fried chicken?”

Creak—

The base’s entrance, made of discarded buses and easily disassembled metal sheets, groaned as it slowly opened.

Out stepped a tall man with a slicked-back hairdo, wearing a black leather jacket, a third of a Seven Stars cigarette still dangling from his lips.

“Don’t shout, I can hear you.”

“Thanks, thanks.”

Jia Ji cheerfully tossed the motorcycle key to the base’s “boss,” then pulled a crisp french fry from the Drive-Thru bag and stuck it in his mouth, leaning against the base wall like the slicked-back man, greedily munching salted fries one after another.

One after another, then two at a time, finally five at once—he devoured the entire bag of fries without even dipping them in ketchup.

Jia Ji pulled out the last and longest fry, offering it with both hands to the “boss” beside him as a gift.

“Are you kidding me?” The slicked-back man glared at him in disbelief, but still reached out, took the fry, and swapped his cigarette for it.

“How dare I?”

Jia Ji felt no shame—he was just a trainee who ate free meals at the dojo; where would he get money to buy such a cool motorcycle?

This nearly brand-new heavy motorcycle was borrowed from the only biker gang in the town below the mountain.

Years ago, young Jia Ji, enraged by the arrival of Lao and Tuoqi, ran away from home for six months and joined the biker gang, where he met this “boss.”

This was Jia Ji’s only relationship outside the dojo.

Perhaps because his soul had fully merged with this world’s Jia Ji over the past three months, he felt no strangeness toward the trench-coated slicked-back man—natural, seamless, no barrier.

He’d spent hours descending the mountain, going through great trouble to borrow the motorcycle, just to get some fried chicken from the big city.

What? Think it’s overkill?

Have you ever seen fried chicken up close?

It has saved more lives than you can imagine!

To keep eating delicious fried chicken, I can’t let this world be destroyed by nuclear warheads!

Of course, it wasn’t just to satisfy his appetite—Jia Ji had another purpose: gathering information.

According to his past-life memories, Fist of the North Star had no fixed timeline.

Each episode began with zero frames, opening directly with “199X, a nuclear war erupted worldwide,” so he had no idea what year or month it currently was.

No problem—the biker gang base had an ancient radio called “Bibi Boy 3000,” and it would tell Jia Ji everything.

“Don’t break it—it’s expensive!”

Jia Ji switched through several channels, all reporting regional conflicts and terrorist attacks—how many had died, where fighting had broken out.

“The world’s not peaceful.”

The slicked-back man sighed beside him. Actually, this wasn’t new—since World War I, the entire planet had always been this chaotic, never truly at peace.

“I’m leaving.”

After getting the information he needed, Jia Ji sat a while longer, then stood to leave, still remembering to wave goodbye to his only friend.

As he walked, he savored his hearty burger, thinking: It’s October 1989 now. I arrived in July. Counting strictly, ten years from now is…

Plop—the paper bag dropped to the ground, seven or eight burgers spilled out, but Jia Ji leapt up and pounded his own head—he suddenly understood.

“I should’ve realized sooner—it’s definitely 1999!”

Nostradamus’ prophecy: “In the year 1999, above the seventh month, the great king of terror descends from heaven, reviving the great king of Angolmois, and under Mars’ name of happiness, all four directions shall be ruled.”

What “great king of terror”? Just the king of nuclear warheads!

“Whoa! My teriyaki chicken leg burger!”

The end of the world can wait—right now, this indulgent meal matters more.

① The blond kid at the start is modeled after Fujita Kotone

② “It has saved more lives than you can imagine!” comes from Netflix’s Gundam: “Have you ever seen a Zaku up close? It has saved more lives than you can imagine!”

McDonald’s opened its first restaurant in Japan in 1971, so it’s reasonable to infer Drive-Thru service was introduced in the late 1970s or early 1980s alongside McDonald’s expansion in Japan. Amazing—the timing matches perfectly!

Why Cantonese later? Spontaneous idea—it felt fun. Used a translator; apologies for any inaccuracies.

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(End of Chapter)