I was acting crazy in North America, and all the crazy people there took it seriously.

Chapter 1 I Defend Freedom in America

The Chicago Catholic Daily, April 21, 1921, front page.

Blasphemy: A grave violation of moral integrity
"Alcohol and lust, where they belong, is hell. With the unprecedented success of the Prohibition movement, it's time to declare war on lust!"

"...Especially vulgar newspapers like the Fengcheng Guangming Daily, which are obscene, licentious, and morally corrupt from head to toe, are deeply abhorred by decent readers and should be sent to hell... Without banning them, there is no way to rectify public morals; without imprisoning their organizers, there is no way to be forgiven by God..."

Upon seeing this, Logan shook the newspaper and raised an eyebrow.

Isn't the "Windy City Bright News" the tabloid he just inherited?
It's called a tabloid, but actually... it's really tiny.

The entire newspaper office was so small that it consisted of just one room and two employees.

The room was so big you could see the whole thing at a glance. There were just a few tables piled with newspapers and a few bulky, heavy typewriters, telegraph machines and other office equipment.

Aside from his recently deceased adoptive father, the only other employee was Uncle Richard Hudson, who stood before him.

Don't expect much substance from such a tabloid; it's more likely to be filled with fluff.

—Okay, to put it bluntly, it's all erotica from beginning to end.

Although, from Logan's perspective, which has been tested by the "FBI Warning" many times, this "wet" stuff is actually only slightly "wet".

But in this day and age where even drinking can be met with condemnation and violence, it's not surprising that someone could be hung up as a target.

Richard Hudson took this "manifesto" very seriously: "...The author is Reverend Edward Costner, who has a great influence in the Chicago area. He played a significant role in pushing for the implementation of Prohibition and has earned a high reputation. Now he is targeting the newspaper industry, which is very troublesome."

Richard grew increasingly agitated, "And this son of a bitch is a lunatic; once he bites, he won't let go easily."

With a loud "smack," Logan's cousin, the burly Donald O'Connor, slammed his paw on the Chicago Catholic Daily and grumbled, "What a load of crap, what kind of pastor is he? Let me give him a warning, or just kill him!"

Logan raised an eyebrow again, while Richard thought about it seriously for a moment and shook his head: "It's no use. He's not alone; he's backed by an entire group of seriously ill conservatives. Killing him will only cause more trouble."

Donald neither agreed nor disagreed, but he didn't insist either: "I don't understand your intellectual affairs, but isn't running a newspaper all about who has the loudest voice? Then you have to aim to make it a major newspaper, right now..."

He looked around the cramped newspaper office and couldn't help but say with a look of disgust, "There's absolutely no chance of success here."

Richard was displeased by this. "A while ago, our circulation per issue exceeded 50,000 copies. If it weren't for Lao Luo... sigh, do you think a major newspaper can be started just like that? Every major newspaper has the support of a large conglomerate behind it."

"This piece of crap, the Chicago Catholic Daily, is backed by the church."

“For a small newspaper like ours, having a stable audience and being able to support ourselves while making a little money is already considered a high-quality media.”

Richard waved his hand to stop Donald from interrupting, "Don't say you can provide money to help expand it. You've just taken over the Love Gang, and the other families in the gang are no pushovers."

"And I'm not unaware that after old O'Connor passed away, the O'Connor family lost its most reliable source of bootlegging; the Italians to the south have also taken advantage of the situation and started to encroach on the O'Connor family's territory... Your troubles are no less than ours."

Logan was unaware of this situation and, upon hearing this, he couldn't help but flip through the memories of this body.

The Irish Gang is the largest Irish gang in Chicago and has always been controlled by the O'Connor family.

Logan's father and Richard married the eldest and youngest daughters of the O'Connor family, respectively, and together they founded the Windy City Bright Newspaper.

Last year, on January 17, 1920, the famous Eighteenth Amendment to the United States came into effect, making it illegal to manufacture, sell, or even transport beverages with an alcohol content exceeding 0.5%.

The United States officially entered the Prohibition era.

Unsurprisingly, the Irish gang was among the first to join the lucrative liquor trade.

Logan's father had been an alcoholic for a long time. After the Prohibition order came into effect, he took the initiative to help the O'Connor family sell alcohol. Not long ago, when he was transporting alcohol across the border from Canada, he was involved in a serious car accident due to drunk driving, and he and the old O'Connor in the convoy lost their lives.

So, Ronaldinho inherited the family's tabloid, and O'Connor inherited the family's big gang; both of them faced a dark future.

But Donald believed that Logan's father was not a gangster, and that the tragedy occurred after the O'Connor family dragged him into the liquor business. He also felt responsible for his poor little cousin.

He looked at Logan, who was recovering from a serious illness and looked harmless, and insisted, "The O'Connor family has always worked together and supported each other. My difficulties are nothing."

"Logan, tell me yourself, do you want to make the newspaper bigger and better?"

Logan slowly closed the newspaper: "Of course, this is the culmination of my father's life's work."

“Okay, the O’Connor family can invest in you.” Donald paused, then asked with considerable anticipation, “So, what are your plans?”

This is the only college graduate in the O'Connor family to date; it's almost an underutilization of his talent to take over a small newspaper.

“Of course we must stand on the side of justice,” Logan said righteously.

"..."

"..."

The expressions on their faces became quite interesting for a moment.

Given the O'Connor family's true nature, even if they went against their conscience, they wouldn't dare claim to be righteous.

Has this kid gone crazy from studying too much?

Perhaps a traitor has emerged from our family!

Logan ignored the two men's faces, which were as red as paint palettes, and said in a serious tone, "The free pursuit of primal desires is an inherent human right, the ancestral law of America. We are defending the immutability of the ancestral law, so of course we are on the side of justice."

"Moreover, the pastor is right about one thing: our newspaper is so deeply hated by decent people, which is a great sin."

"Why didn't we turn respectable people like pastors into our readers? My dad and Richard are still too conservative!"

"The most important thing right now is not to spend money to expand the scale, but to revamp the program. Starting from the next issue, it should be more righteous and have a complete appeal."

“I’ll write the front page, and the headline will be ‘Defend Our Free Life’!”

"For the second edition, we'll be serializing a new type of romantic action novel. This is the outline I've prepared for it: 'Fifty Shades of Grey.' Richard, your writing is quite good, so I'm giving it to you to expand upon."

"Leave the entire third page blank. I want to publish a full page of revealing photos of the female lead, which are linked to the novel. Hmm, they need to be so revealing that even the priest will feel hot..."

"In short, we must make this flame of desire... no, this flame of justice burn even brighter, illuminating every corner of America!"

"Finally, 'Windy City Bright News' doesn't sound very memorable, so let's rename it 'The Sun News'!"

The young man's voice was clear and articulate, and his face shone with a righteous light.

—Damn it, how did America, the country of the 21st century, with its rampant sexism and rampant vices, degenerate into this state? Where is sexual freedom? Where is freedom of speech? Where is market freedom?

The American people are still living too repressed lives.

Defending America's modern free life is of utmost urgency!

"..."

"..."

Richard and Donald stared wide-eyed, both feeling the same confusion and shock:
What the heck are universities teaching these days?
He's so good at talking nonsense, so shameless, so brazen, so... suitable to inherit his father's business!
After a while, Richard flipped through Logan's novel outline, his excitement mixed with fear, and muttered, "Those lunatics in the church will go completely insane."

Donald slammed his fist on the table and laughed loudly: "As expected of the O'Connor family, this is how we do it! Don't be a coward, confront them head-on, let those lunatics go crazy!"

……

As night fell, Logan returned to his home, which was empty.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Logan saw a slender, handsome 21-year-old who resembled Keanu Reeves but had a more oriental air about him.

Yes, the father of this body is of mixed Chinese and Irish descent, and the mother is of Irish descent.

But their similar appearances seem to have brought them a similar tragic fate as Keanu Reeves.

My mother died young, and my father... also died young.

After the successive deaths of his relatives, the young man dropped out of school and returned home to attend the funerals. Perhaps due to excessive grief, he developed a high fever and his soul was replaced.

Logan was a Chinese man in the 21st century who was on a business trip to America. On the street, he was first attacked by a madman who drove his car into a crowd, hitting several people before getting out of the car with a submachine gun and indiscriminately firing. Logan could have dodged, but a drunk behind him grabbed him and blocked the bullets. He only had time to curse "Fuck" before he fell down.

When I woke up again, I had traveled back to America in 1921.

"Damn you Americans!" Recalling that scene, Logan couldn't help but curse the Americans' ancestors. With a thought, the image flashed and changed to that of a handsome, middle-aged man with deep eyes.

"Harrison Ford," no, it should be "Han Solo."

[Anonymous (Bushster): Drinking is free in America! You are a bootlegging dealer, go and use the alcohol of freedom to cleanse the American alcoholics imprisoned by Prohibition.]

The unexpected time travel bonus didn't make Logan realize he was the "chosen one" or that "destiny was on his side." His first reaction was simply—great, this is perfect for having some fun.

Otherwise, if you've been inexplicably sent to such a horrible era and such a horrible place by two lunatics, and you can't even find your own fun, what hope is there?
Not to mention, this system is clearly a joke system.

He's not just "skinned" now, he's also equipped with "orange gear"—as a professional smuggler in Star Wars, "Han Solo" has a spaceship; the system didn't give Logan a spaceship, but it gave him a space backpack that's about the size of a spaceship.

Oh, and there was also the overwhelming encyclopedia of "free trade" knowledge that flooded his mind, giving him a headache.

Logan touched his face, and the "Han Solo" in the mirror also touched his face, without any flaws.

"I am Han Solo, and I advocate for free trade."

The magnetic voice was completely different from the real person and had no flaws.

"Nice, I'm going crazy!"

"If you ban alcohol, you have to drink it to death. If you don't drink yourself to death, you'll be letting down the good fortune that American alcoholics have given me!"

……

Chicago is ablaze with lights at night.

Wide highways stretched out in all directions, and skyscrapers, clean and sharply defined, formed a steel jungle; well-dressed citizens hurried through the crowded intersections like a flock of sheep, urged on by the strange double-tune whistles of the police; cars honked impatiently on the sidelines...

This was one of the most developed industrial cities in the 1921s, making it easy to overlook the coldness and darkness behind the steel jungle.

"Han Solo" was like a fish in water.

In particular, with a lot of strange and wonderful knowledge in his mind, "Han Solo" practiced them with great enthusiasm. For example, he could make himself invisible in a crowd simply by using light and shadow to cover his movements.

It's truly an essential skill for robbing and plundering... I mean, stealth and tailing, and for both home and travel.

Like a ghost, I wandered through the bustling streets and, based on the information I had gathered over the past two days, stopped in front of a shop with a "laundry" sign.

After five short knocks, the door opened a crack, and an eye peered at him for a moment in the shadows before the heavy hinges creaked open to let him in.

This is an underground bar.

Prohibition did not eliminate the evil of alcohol, but rather drove it underground. Underground bars that illegally sold alcohol sprang up almost immediately after Prohibition took effect.

These underground bars usually have gang connections.

No one knows exactly how many underground bars Chicago has, because Chicago's underworld is teeming with gangs.

However, only two gangs have truly gained significant influence: the Irish gang is the largest underground force in the North District, while the Italian Mafia holds an absolute advantage in the South District.

The two gangs are hostile to each other and are always looking to take over each other's territory.

This underground bar near the North End is said to be a new stronghold that the Italians expanded during the major upheaval in the O'Connor family.

Upon entering the underground bar, the sweltering air, carrying the strong smells of whiskey, sweat, and cheap perfume, assaults your senses.

Looking around, shakers were twirling in the bartender's hands, surrounded by drunkards with blurred faces, and three black musicians were playing on stage. The saxophones flowed with silky smooth yet rough improvisational syncopation, adding a touch of clamor to the intoxication.

In the dim light, "Han Solo" went unnoticed. His barely visible figure precisely avoided the staggering drunkards, passed through the music, voices, and clinking glasses, and followed the pure scent of alcohol to find the secret door leading to the wine cellar.

Surprisingly, it was discovered that there was no one guarding it.

Han Solo unceremoniously pushed open the hidden door and went straight to the cellar door. He vaguely heard someone talking through the crack in the door: "It's still very inconvenient to transport the whisky here... I think this five thousand gallons of whisky can be diluted with at least half water to make ten thousand gallons and sold..."

The door was pushed open silently.

"To dilute wine with water is a desecration of wine and a serious offense against drinkers!"

"Cough cough..." The two Italians, who were puffing on their cigars, stared in astonishment at the stranger who had suddenly appeared, and were so startled that they almost bit off their cigars.

"Where did this piece of trash come from? What do you want?!" The tall Italian spat out his cigar, reached into his waist pocket, and shouted fiercely.

Han Solo shifted his gaze from the mountain of wine barrels to the two Italians, one tall and one short.

The tall Italian man stared fiercely at Han Solo.

The short, stout Italian man with a prominent scar on his face held a cigar, his eyes slightly narrowed, calmly sizing up the uninvited guest before him.

He was tall and wore a brown jacket with a wide leather belt around his waist, like a Western cowboy without a gun. But his eyes were sharp as a hawk's, making people afraid to make a move.

Han Solo recognized the latter at a glance. Surprised to bump into this guy here, his mind raced and an even crazier idea popped into his head.

He greeted the short, stout Italian with a smile: "Hello, Al Capone."

Al Capone's pupils contracted slightly as he asked warily, "You know me? Who are you?"

Han Solo didn't answer, a cryptic smile playing on his lips. He turned to face the barrel, closed his eyes, and sniffed it.

In the darkness, olfactory particles collided rapidly in the nasal cavity. The heavy, sweet corn scent was mixed with a faint but distinct rye spiciness, and subtle caramelized flavor particles lingered, unable to escape the aroma of mature oak barrels.

"Han Solo" slowly opened his eyes, his voice calm: "This is moonshine, made primarily from corn with some rye. The distiller at least knows how to double distill, and, well, he also used inferior molasses for charcoal filtration to soften the taste. He used old barrels, but didn't age it, so overall the quality is just average."

"Selling this kind of wine is bad enough, but diluting it with water is tantamount to going to hell!"

Al Capone and the tall Italian exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with surprise and uncertainty.

That's...exactly right!
But this guy can actually smell it? Who the hell is he?
It sounds like they're here to cause trouble!

The tall Italian man had already pulled a revolver out of his pocket.

But "Han Solo" completely ignored him and began his performance—at this moment, the Hollywood conman, the Hollywood drama queen, seemed to be possessed by his very being; he wasn't performing alone—

He placed his left hand on his chest, his deep, slow voice like an undercurrent beneath the ice:

"The long night has come, and the wine cups are covered in dust. I will begin my guard now, and I will not rest until my death."

"I will not marry or have children."

"I will not fear the law or be bound by chains."

"I am the spear that pierces through the barriers, and the shield that protects the ultimate joy in the cup."

"I am the spark that ignites joy, the trader under the moonlight."

"I pledge my life and my glory to the Lord of the Night, tonight and every night."

The two Italians were stunned on the spot.

then……

"Hahaha, are you here to perform in a play?" The tall Italian man laughed, waving his pistol. "Where did this madman come from!"

Al Capone relaxed his guard, chuckled, put the cigar back in his mouth, took a puff, and slowly exhaled the smoke.

Before the sarcasm on his lips had faded, Han Solo remained unmoved, slowly raising his right hand and grasping at the wine barrel in the air!
All the barrels vanished in an instant, leaving only an empty cellar.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

The tall Italian man flung his gun away, and Al Capone's cigar fell to the ground.

But they were completely oblivious, their mouths agape enough to fit a whole duck egg!

Han Solo turned around, his metallic voice carrying an undeniable authority, "I am Han Solo, Jedi Knight, and I have come to defend America's freedom to drink!"

……

　This is a newbie's crazy writing, so please add it to your favorites and let's go crazy together!
　　
　
(End of this chapter)