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

Chapter 4 Mortal Stream

On the night of April 23, in Windsor, Canada, the wind was biting cold.

A black Chevrolet, its engine roaring and headlights piercing the darkness, pulled up in front of an abandoned warehouse.

"Han Solo," wrapped in a thick coat and carrying a small leather suitcase, followed the wine merchant Raymond out of the car.

As Raymond opened the warehouse door, he rambled on, "You wanted $10,000 worth of good stuff, and you wanted a separate warehouse to store it, so I rented this warehouse."

"Actually, you can just bring your people to my warehouse to pick up the goods. Many Yankees do it this way. We don't care what country the buyer is from. As long as they pay, they can take the liquor away."

“Here you go, the whiskey you ordered is all here.” Raymond turned on the light, illuminating the layers of pine wood crates.

"Han Solo" nodded slightly, circled halfway around, randomly pulled out a wooden box from the middle, pried open the lid, and took out a bottle of whiskey.

With a practiced flick of his thumb, he popped the cork open with a soft "pop".

"Han Solo" first held the bottle high, placing it under the harsh white beam of the overhead light. The amber liquid swirled in the intense light, revealing a deep, translucent color.

Then slowly tilt the bottle, allowing the liquid to slide down the inner wall of the glass. The viscous liquid clings to the glass, leaving long, oily streaks – a characteristic of aged whisky known as "legs".

Finally, bring the bottle close to the opening and take a deep sniff. The intense aroma of roasted malt, vanilla, and smoky oak is rich and powerful. Take a drop with your fingertip, put it on your lips and sip it. The spiciness explodes on your tongue and then turns into a smooth, warm current that slides down your throat, leaving a long, mellow aftertaste.

One look at his movements and you could tell he was an expert. Raymond patted his chest and assured him, "These are all top-quality goods. I, Raymond, have always had a good business reputation."

Han Solo nodded, and without saying anything more, tossed the suitcase in his hand to him.

Raymond smiled and took the small suitcase, deftly opening it to check the money, while asking, "Same rules next time?"

Han Solo nodded expressionlessly: "Order another batch the night after tomorrow, $20,000 worth of goods, still in this warehouse, I'll handle the cash transaction."

“No problem. Then, I’ll leave first?” Raymond closed his suitcase, not intending to find out how the other party transported the goods.

Han Solo simply waved his hand.

The black Chevrolet quietly reversed, its taillights leaving two red streaks in the night before quickly disappearing from sight.

Han Solo closed the warehouse door and put all the wine crates into his spatial backpack.

"In a way, what I'm earning is just a wage for manual labor!"

Unlike the Chicago Mafia, which owns its own distilleries for bootlegging, the Irish gang chose to act as "porters" of authentic whiskey from neighboring countries.

Raymond is the O'Connor family's supplier in Canada and is trustworthy.

However, buying alcohol in Canada has never been difficult, since there is no alcohol ban in Canada.

The real challenge lies in navigating the shipping channels from Canada to Chicago, which requires cultivating relationships at every level to ensure smooth operation.

After O'Connor's unexpected death, some relationships that were only held by him were severed, and Donald is now in a state of confusion, like carrying a pig's head but not being able to find the temple gate.

But for "Han Solo", opening up channels was incredibly easy.

He traveled alone, taking the train from Chicago to Detroit, then getting off in Windsor, Canada, just across the river from Detroit. He packed the pre-ordered alcohol into his spatial backpack, returned to Chicago empty-handed, and that was it.

No bootlegging inspector would give "Han Solo," who arrives empty-handed but essentially makes a 100% profit on a single trip, would a second glance.

Yes, the $10,000 purchase price in Canada became $20,000 when it returned to Chicago and was resold to Al Capone or Donald.

Don't complain about the price! If you handle things the usual way, Smith's demands plus all the shipping costs would definitely more than double.

He even delivers to your door, so discreet and efficient!

In fact, Donald was quite satisfied with this.

When "Han Solo" came to his door again, Donald finally felt relieved.

I told him he couldn't possibly be fooled!
"Thank God, uh, thank the Dark Force for its generous gift!"

Donald longed to shake hands with the true God to express his loyalty.

This loyalty is genuine, purer than whiskey!

It's worth noting that authentic Canadian whisky is very popular in Chicago these days, and a bottle costing $20,000 could easily be sold for $40,000.

What kind of spirit is this?
This is a noble spirit that aspires to serve the world and does not care about petty gains; it is the magnificent spirit of the true God!
Inspired by this spirit, even without any miracles, Donald would remain steadfastly loyal.

It's infuriating that Logan and Richard actually suspected me of being a charlatan and mocked me for being a fool.
Donald had a sudden thought, and as he handed over the $20,000 in cash, he tentatively asked, "Master, some of my men don't believe I'm the chosen one. Could you let them experience the dark side of the Force?"

Han Solo knew immediately who he wanted to show off, and thought to himself, "I can't be in two places at once!"

Besides, he quite wanted to see Donald being looked at with the same kind of pity one would give someone with intellectual disabilities, and to see him looking furious and exasperated.

—Who told you to ignore the truth and believe everything you say!

Han Solo's eyes narrowed, his aura intensified, and he once again put on his acting prowess: "Mortals are not worthy to see Jedi!"

"The Dark Force is not strong because mortals submit to it, but because of the growth of their lifelong desires. There is no need to make mortals submit to the Dark Force, much less to make them undergo its baptism."

"The Chosen One, remember this: you are destined to reign over the dark side of this world. Mortals are but dust beneath your power, unable even to sense your destiny!"

"You must use your undeniable great achievements to shock the ignorant and unaware masses!"

Donald's expression turned serious, and he proudly puffed out his chest: "You're right, Master!"

The master had truly touched his heart.

Aren't my little cousins ​​just oblivious and unaware?

So he can't blame them. Ah, mortals!

……

No sooner had Han Solo left than Logan showed up at the door.

Because Donald said the bar had hired a new batch of beautiful waitresses, Logan could go to the bar for a live audition if he wanted to find a real-life female lead.

Logan, who had no clue what to do at the moment, also agreed.

However, in the blink of an eye, Logan was surprised to find that the guy's expression had changed.

He's become somewhat arrogant and disdainful of everyone... If Logan had to describe him in one word, it would be "chuunibyou" (a Japanese term for someone with delusions of grandeur)!
Logan: ...

No, brother, I just wanted to dissuade you from spreading the idea of ​​"miracles" everywhere. Did you really believe it?

I always felt that his fits of madness would take a strange turn.

Confused, Logan followed Donald into the Irish gang's underground bar.

It's quite obvious that the style is very different from the underground bars of the Italian gang.

Both bars are bustling with crowds and bathed in soft, romantic light; however, the difference lies in the stage. While Yi Bang Bar features a warm and inviting jazz performance in the center, Ai Bang Bar has replaced the stage with attractive waitresses who flit among the patrons like butterflies.

The former has a more traditional atmosphere, while the latter is more... wild!

Donald and Logan chose to sit discreetly at a small table with a good view and relatively quiet, enjoying a drink while admiring the beauty of the food.

Donald explained, "These waitresses sell alcohol, and they get a commission for every bottle they buy. Besides that, even if someone takes advantage of them or takes them home, the bar doesn't care."

"If you manage to hook up with someone, taking photos won't be a problem, and you can even take them home tonight."

"Come on, let me teach you how to pick up girls!"

On his own turf, Donald exuded an aura of immense power, speaking with utter arrogance.

Logan said he was very interested in seeing it.

He didn't have high hopes of finding his ideal "leading lady" among a group of waitresses, but even if he didn't succeed, enjoying a drink while admiring the attractive women was still a pleasant experience.

However, while he was admiring the girls under the lamp, the girls were also admiring the "beauties" under the lamp.

After a few days of rest, Logan's pale complexion, which he had when he first transmigrated, has completely returned to normal.

Without the original owner's vulnerability, and with the system bringing a touch of mystery, it seems even more attractive.

His long eyelashes cast a shadow on his handsome face, which was straight and his thin lips were slightly pursed. His delicate face was illuminated by the light, making it hard to look away.

A moment later, a dark-haired girl swayed gracefully towards them, bending over, her two soft, half-exposed mounds attracting countless burning gazes. "Another drink?"

Donald laughed and teased, "Oh wow! You're quite the ladies' man, aren't you? Hurry up and get another drink!"

Donald thought it would be good to let his little brother get started first, so that he wouldn't be discouraged by not making any money and losing all his fun.

Logan smiled and shook his head, refusing the dark-haired girl's service, and she could only leave dejectedly.

Donald teased, "Oh, our little brother is quite picky. Never mind, another beauty is coming over."

Another slender young woman, carrying a tray, floated to the table like an elf. Her fingertips brushed against Logan's hand, light as butterfly wings, leaving a faint warmth. "Sir, would you like me to take your order?"

Logan responded with a graceful refusal.

Donald continued to tease, "Tsk tsk tsk, it's practically served to you, and you're still... damn it, here we go again?"

This time, a redhead approached, deliberately bending down to adjust her skirt, a strand of hair brushing against Logan's cheek as she smiled and said, "May I have the honor of serving you?"

"..."

Donald couldn't laugh this time. He discovered a serious problem—damn it, there were clearly two people sitting here, but all the girls seemed to only have eyes for Logan.

They wouldn't even glance at him after being rejected.

One, two, three… Donald watched as Logan seemed like a hearth fire, and the girls like moths drawn to its warmth.

When she approached to ask questions, her slender fingers intentionally or unintentionally brushed against Logan's hand, and her warm body subtly brushed against his shoulder; when she left, she was filled with disappointment, unable to see that there was another living, breathing man next to her.

This living, breathing person is even their boss!

Donald drank his wine, but felt a strong sourness spreading across his tongue.

Damn it, is this alcohol? It's clearly lemonade!

Whose territory is this anyway? Do you guys even have any taste in these newly recruited girls?!

Watching Logan effortlessly handle the endless stream of girls throwing themselves at him, Donald could only silently chug his drink, finding no enjoyment whatsoever, and silently muttered to himself:
I am the chosen one. Mortals cannot perceive my greatness and only care about my useless physical appearance!

Finally, a stunning blonde woman approached with a cocktail. Instead of immediately asking Logan, she looked at Donald and said, "Sir, would you like to try another drink?"

Donald almost burst into tears, but just as he opened his mouth, he heard a gasp. The woman slipped and fell towards Logan like a toppled vase, spilling cocktails all over Logan's clothes like a light rain.

The woman seemed stunned. After regaining her balance, her eyes welled up with tears as she looked at Logan with remorse: "I'm so sorry, sir, I'm so sorry, let me wipe it for you..."

Donald's smile froze.

At that moment, he roared in his heart: This is too much! This is too much!
Who is truly the chosen one? And who is just an ordinary person?!
Sang Bichi, is there no justice in this world?
……

　Hmm, those who are currently adding this to their favorites are definitely not ordinary people~~~
　　
　
(End of this chapter)