Chrono Detective

Morning, Los Angeles.

The alarm on the bedside phone buzzed.

A young man with bandages wrapped around his head slowly opened his eyes. He had black hair and black eyes, but his facial features were distinctively Western.

Originally a Chinese police officer, he had been transported to this world for about half a month. Every morning he woke up, it still felt like a dream.

Now, he was called James , a detective at the Los Angeles Police Department.

His father was Chinese. His mother, a white American.

Although he was still a cop with Chinese heritage, he found it difficult to adapt to his new identity.

The original owner of this body was flamboyant, unpredictable, and entirely ruled by his emotions. On the surface, he seemed carefree, but behind his back, people called him a jerk.

In simple terms, he had low emotional intelligence and had offended quite a few people because of it.

This was a stark contrast to how he had conducted himself in his past life, leaving him in a rather passive situation now.

What bothered him more was that the original James didn’t get along well with his family. Now, he had no choice but to stay with his mother, making his situation awkward.

However, crossing into this new life did have its perks—he was younger, stronger, and more fit.

Though the reflection in the window wasn’t entirely clear, he could still make out the outline of his defined muscles.

All in all, getting another chance at life wasn’t too bad...

“Jack, come down for breakfast! And if you miss the school bus again, don’t even think about me driving you!”

A woman’s voice called out from downstairs—it was his new “mom,” Linda.

Jack was his younger brother, a chubby thirteen-year-old boy—not cute at all.

Their house was a two-story wooden structure. The first floor had the living room, kitchen, and the master bedroom. The second floor had the bathroom, study, and bedrooms for him and his brother.

It was early March, and the temperature in Los Angeles was comfortably between 10 and 20 degrees Celsius.

James slipped into a thick blue shirt and gray jeans, then stepped out of his bedroom. He turned into the adjacent bathroom to wash up.

After brushing his teeth and washing his face, James prepared to head downstairs. The white wooden stairs creaked beneath his feet, a reminder of his descent.

To the right of the stairs was the living room; on the left was the open kitchen, where a white woman, wearing a Hello Kitty apron, was busy at work.

James forced a smile. “Hi, Mom. Good morning.”

Linda didn’t even look up. “No, it’s not a good morning at all. Last night you came home with bandages on your head and dragging a suitcase—now the neighbors will definitely be talking.”

James sighed. “I didn’t want this either. I broke up with Lena... I need a place to stay for a while.”

Linda put down the spatula. “I told you from the start not to date that girl. She couldn’t even show basic respect to elders. Someone like that isn’t worth your time. But did you listen? No. You never take my advice seriously.”

James nodded. “You’re right, she wasn’t a good match. I dumped her.”

“Or did she dump you?” Linda said with an expression that said she knew it all along.

James just smiled and didn’t respond.

Linda raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. Her eldest son was not the type to back down from an argument. Normally, he would’ve fought back, and they’d end up having a full-blown argument. His sudden calmness felt unfamiliar.

This kid... something about him seems different today. More mature?

James grabbed a black helmet by the door and called out, “I’m off to work.”

“Creak...”

A chubby thirteen-year-old boy descended the stairs, rubbing his eyes with his pudgy hands. “Mom, I’m in my growth phase. Can’t you let me sleep a little longer?”

Linda shrugged. “You’ve grown enough already. What you need now is exercise.”

James saluted mockingly, moving his hand in a straight line from his temple forward. “Well, if it isn’t my adorable little brother. How’s life treating you?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Not great. I still feel like Hulking out whenever I think about my stolen New Year’s money.”

James couldn’t ignore this, especially since he’d be living here for a while. He needed to get along with his family. Rolling up his sleeves, he asked, “Who stole your money, little bro? Just tell me.”

The boy gave him a blank look as if to say, “Are you serious right now?”

James had absorbed most of the original owner’s memories, but some details were still fuzzy. Seeing the boy’s expression, he realized something was off. Searching his memory, the answer hit him—awkwardly.

“Um... consider the New Year’s money a loan. I’ll pay you back soon—with interest.”

James glanced at his watch. “I’m running late. Bye!”

Grabbing his leather gloves, he fled the house under the watchful eyes of his family.

His first attempt at improving family relations?

Failure.

“Bang!” The door slammed shut.

The chubby boy poured himself a glass of milk from the fridge. “Mom, did I hear him right? He actually said he’d pay me back?”

Linda placed an omelet onto a plate. “He did seem a bit off today. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I know.”

The boy sighed, a maturity beyond his years crossing his face. “Is this guy really my brother?”

“Even though I wish otherwise, yes, he is.”

The boy grimaced. “Well, that’s just depressing.”

Linda pointed her spatula at him. “Jack, focus on your studies. If you don’t get at least a B on your next report card, say goodbye to your video games—until the next life.”

...

James lived in a middle-class neighborhood with a pleasant environment.

Their house was on the smaller side, with a yard only about thirty square meters. To the east was a patch of green lawn, and to the west, a garage. In front of the garage was a small cement driveway.

A sleek black Harley-Davidson sat there, a 2021 model “Fat Boy,” the same kind of bike Schwarzenegger rode in Terminator 2.

James removed the bandages from his head—they were useless anyway. He put on his helmet, swung a leg over the bike, shifted into first gear, and gently twisted the throttle, trying to keep the noise down. He didn’t want to get kicked out of the house.

The motorcycle rumbled out of the neighborhood. The farther he drove, the higher the gear, the faster the speed.

The feeling of riding a Harley? Solid.

With its weighty frame and low seat, it felt more like driving than riding.

The scenic roads of Los Angeles were stunning, with the vast Pacific Ocean on one side and steep cliffs on the other. It was a popular route for road trips.

But even the most beautiful roads have the same problem—traffic.

James had no choice but to stop and wait.

Next to him was a red convertible, with a brunette woman in the driver’s seat, fixing her makeup in the mirror. She was gorgeous, wearing a wine-red top that accentuated her figure, drawing quite a few glances.

James removed his helmet and waved. “Hey, miss, sorry to interrupt.”

The brunette pursed her red lips, giving him a quick glance. “I already have a boyfriend.”

James chuckled. “Okay, I just wanted to tell you—your tire’s flat.”

The woman paused, then looked down. Sure enough, her front tire was deflated.

She looked back at James, forcing a smile. “Sir, would you mind helping me change it? I’ve got a spare in the trunk.”

By this time, traffic had cleared ahead.

“Sorry, I’m in a hurry. Have your boyfriend do it.”

With a twist of the throttle, James and his Harley roared off into the distance...

The Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) operates across 21 districts, which are divided into four command areas based on geographical locations: Central, South, West, and Valley. In addition, there are two specialized divisions: the Detective Bureau and the Special Operations Bureau.

The Detective Bureau handles criminal investigations, somewhat akin to the Criminal Investigation Division of a Chinese city’s Public Security Bureau, though it operates more independently.

James was a detective in the Robbery-Homicide Division, commonly referred to as the Major Crimes Unit.

The roar of a black Harley-Davidson echoed as James rode into the parking lot of the Detective Bureau. He removed his helmet and looked up at the building, his emotions complicated.

The job of a Chinese police officer and that of an LAPD detective were worlds apart. Transitioning from one identity to another wasn’t easy.

In China, being a police officer symbolized honor and job securit