Chapter 64: Art Is Patrick Star

Night fell over Tokyo, and neon lights flickered on one by one along the streets, the city brimming with temptation.

Some stood in luxurious rooms atop skyscrapers, looking down upon the masses; others struggled to survive in narrow, damp alleys.

Prosperity often dances with the ordinary.

Inside the colossal black monster known as Yashiro Heavy Industries.

On the terrace of “Ryushin Temple,” tatami mats were laid out, and a long table several meters in length held a two-hundred-kilogram deep-sea bluefin tuna.

The chef’s skill was impeccable; a sharp, gleaming knife sliced open the fish’s belly, revealing its fatty flesh fanning out like pink marble—irresistible.

Surrounding the main dish were teriyaki pufferfish, charcoal-grilled mullet, and peony shrimp sashimi—all used as garnishes for the centerpiece.

The head chef had specially selected blue lobster sashimi flown in from France, and beside it, a chilled sake pitcher held the finest sake, rich in flavor and lingering in the aftertaste.

Tonight’s head chef was from the main branch of the Snake Clan, said to surpass even Michelin three-star chefs.

His disciples were scattered across Tokyo’s most renowned restaurants.

This dish was named “Life Like Summer Flowers,” inspired by Tagore’s “Stray Birds,” but to Genji Mochizuki, it was like lecturing an illiterate about literature—what a pretentious literary salon.

If such elaborate, metaphor-laden dishes were served, they’d likely earn only three idiotic “Sugoi!”s from these three fools.

“These three idiots…” Genji Mochizuki silently assessed.

One played with his phone, another examined souvenirs, occasionally exchanging a few words about travel experiences.

Appreciating a dish demands harmony of color, aroma, and taste; yet these three idiots cared more about their figurines and their shopping experiences at adult stores than the chef’s visual artistry.

What a waste…

Genji Mochizuki thought it would be better to just take them to some roadside stall for katsuodzuke or yakitori, and pour them cheap beer or sake.

Just call it local culture and be done with it.

Too bad the branch’s face-saving rituals had to be carried out properly.

“Master, something’s happened.” Shibuki Sakura sprinted up and held a tablet before Genji Mochizuki.

“What?” Genji Mochizuki’s heart tightened—tonight’s deep-sea dive was scheduled, and nothing could interfere.

The government-approved marine research permit was valid for only twelve hours: from 6 p.m. tonight to 6 a.m. tomorrow.

On the tablet, Shibuki Sakura displayed a live broadcast from Tokyo Television.

In the footage, a man with golden hair and a side-swept bang covering one eye wore a black coat adorned with red clouds.

He stood on a rooftop, filmed from a high-angle perspective; behind him was a park—by the surrounding buildings, still within Tokyo.

“….”

Genji Mochizuki turned to his personal secretary and assistant. “Sakura, if you enjoy these live-action cosplay shows, find Himeari to talk about them in your free time—I’d be glad if she had female friends to share interests with.”

He was still puzzled when his assistant had started liking such things.

Nearby, Lu Mingfei lifted his head at the mention of Himeari, startled, glancing around.

“Thank you, Lu Mingze.” Su Lin draped himself in the Akatsuki’s fiery cloud robe from the Naruto anime.

“No need to thank me—you’re Brother’s friend. I’ll do my best to fulfill any request.” Lu Mingze, dressed in a formal Western suit, spoke calmly and elegantly.

He hadn’t expected this man named Su Lin to make such a grand entrance.

Quite an unusual taste.

But to him, such things were trivial.

Not long ago—this morning—he sensed a change in Lu Mingfei.

Soon after, another Lu Mingfei, identical and even stronger, clung to him, rubbing against him everywhere.

Though he was delighted Lu Mingfei sought such closeness, the messages transmitted to him left him exasperated.

“Have fun,” Lu Mingze turned and dissolved into transparency, vanishing on the spot.

“Fun? This is art.” Su Lin gathered spiritual energy to his face, altering his appearance—just a minor spell.

The cameramen were in place, aided by the “tiny” information technology support he had exchanged for.

Roughly 21st-century information technology.

Su Enxi frantically typed in a spacious room, a bag of opened Lay’s chips beside her left hand, multiple screens before her, bytes and code flashing endlessly on the computers.

She was so busy she had no time to even touch her favorite chips.

Where on earth had the boss found this artificial intelligence-like thing and such information technology…?

“Tokyo Television’s signal has been hijacked…” Shibuki Sakura began, then her earpiece crackled with an urgent message—her expression changed drastically. “New update: all global TV signals have been hijacked… what you’re seeing now is a worldwide broadcast.”

?!

Genji Mochizuki immediately grabbed the tablet and re-examined the scene.

The man in the video spread his arms as familiar background music played.

The man cosplaying Deidara grinned, his lips curling upward.

“Audiences worldwide! Hello!” Deidara shouted into the camera; subtitles in the viewer’s native language appeared on screen. “Cheer! You are privileged to witness my first art performance upon arriving in this world! Hmm!”

“Is this some Japanese variety show?” Caesar leaned over from behind Genji Mochizuki, curious.

They had seen Genji Mochizuki tense up and came over to see what was happening.

They hadn’t expected him to be watching a live stream on a tablet.

The TV watermark on screen was Tokyo Television’s.

“Isn’t that Deidara?” Lu Mingfei asked curiously. “Is tonight a Naruto special, a live-action show?”

“Cosplay performance—real people imitating anime characters and staging dramas in reality,” Chu Zihang added, having heard from Lu Mingfei that Japan’s specialty was anime, and having seen similar role-playing during their afternoon stroll through Akihabara.

That girl named Xia Mi also loved anime; Chu Zihang had finished watching “The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya” because she once dressed as one of its characters.

“Who’d have thought they’d air such a stage play during prime time? No wonder it’s a national industry,” Caesar stroked his chin, looking impressively enlightened.

“….” Genji Mochizuki hadn’t noticed these three had abandoned their discussion about figurines and adult store visits and turned their attention to him.

Indeed, these three were still sharp when something stirred—far from completely clueless.

He naturally didn’t realize their attention had been drawn by a keyword trigger he had activated.

“This guy hijacked all global TV signals,” Genji Mochizuki explained to the Cassell trio. “Every TV channel worldwide is broadcasting his live stream.”

“What?” Caesar’s expression turned serious—he hadn’t expected such a severe emergency.

Chu Zihang fell silent, focused entirely on the live feed on the tablet.

Lu Mingfei suddenly recalled a troublemaker he knew…

Come to think of it… back on another Earth, others had mentioned…

No doubt about it—if it weren’t for that guy, Lu Mingfei would’ve devoured the entire tuna.

He looked like a quiet, earnest, refined young man, his perpetually calm face hiding someone who’d quietly unleash a massive disturbance.

“He’s flying?!” Caesar exclaimed.

“A half-blood!” Genji Mochizuki’s expression changed instantly. “Send people to the location in the video immediately!”

You’re too late…

Lu Mingfei thought silently.

“What is art?”

In the footage, Deidara leaped backward—and instead of falling from the skyscraper rooftop, he floated in midair, defying physics, drifting toward the park behind him with its small hill.

The camera pulled back.

Deidara stretched out his limbs, forming a giant “big” shape in the sky.

“Art is explosion!”