Few hours later...
Loki stepped out of his apartment building into the crisp Parisian streets.
The sunset slanting across Haussmannian facades.
He checked his phone again.
The bank notification from Rémi was still there, glowing with a number that felt almost insulting in its generosity.
He muttered under his breath as he walked, hands deep in pockets.
"Bro I swear the insurance payout hit faster than I expected. Consider it thanks for the necklace + angel bailout. Don't spend it all steak frites again. Or do. Your life."
The sarcasm didn't reach his expression. It never did.
Twenty minutes later he found himself inside one of the largest shopping centers in Paris—Forum des Halles.
Weekday afternoon crowd was light: university students killing time, tourists with oversized maps, the occasional suited office worker on an extended lunch break.
Loki moved through it all while his hood up, earbuds in, hands in pockets, face set to default "leave me alone" mode.
No shopping bags yet. No friends. Just him and someone else's money in his digital wallet.
First stop: the arcade on the lower level.
He didn't plan to stay long. He never planned to stay long.
The punching machine caught his eye first.
He fed it a coin, rolled his shoulder once like he was shaking off sleep, and threw a single, almost bored jab.
999
The machine erupted in victory lights and fanfare. A small group of teenagers nearby froze mid-game and turned.
Loki stared at the score for half a second, then fed it another coin.
Second punch—same lazy form.
999
Again.
999
By the fourth perfect score the small crowd had become a semicircle. Phones were out. Someone whispered "Is he cheating or what?"
Loki sighed, cracked his knuckles, and threw one last casual hook.
The machine glitched, froze, displayed ERROR – 999+, let out a little bzzzt, and died.
Silence.
Next victim: Whac-A-Mole.
He sat on the comically small stool (clearly designed for children), sleeves rolled up, expression blank. The mallet looked ridiculous in his hand.
The game started.
Moles popped up in increasingly manic patterns.
Loki's arm became a blur.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack-thwack-thwack—
The machine couldn't keep up it's Lights flashed red in protest. The digital scoreboard climbed so fast it started skipping numbers.
By the time the round ended the counter had locked at 9,999 (maximum displayable digits) and refused to go higher.
A little boy standing on tiptoes beside the machine whispered in pure awe:
"Monsieur… are you a superhero?"
Loki looked down at the child, then at the oversized plush prize dispenser that had just vomited its entire stock because of the impossible score.
Without a word he reached in, pulled out the single largest teddy bear (nearly as tall as he was), slung it over one shoulder like it weighed nothing, and walked away.
The boy's jaw dropped. So did everyone else's in a twenty-meter radius.
He didn't stop there.
Basketball shootout: 500/500. Machine jammed and started raining mini basketballs onto the floor like confetti.
Racing game: first place by seven seconds. The steering wheel began smoking.
Rhythm game: max combo on expert difficulty. The machine played victory fanfare, then politely shut itself off and refused more coins.
By the time Loki left the arcade he was carrying:
One gigantic teddy bear (brown, red bow)
Three medium plushies under the other arm (panda, shark, questionable dinosaur/dragon hybrid)
A large inflatable hammer slung across his back like a zweihander
Backpack stuffed with smaller prizes he probably didn't remember winning.
The crowd parted for him like he was carrying the Ark of the Covenant instead of a small zoo's worth of plush.
The arcade on the lower level caught his eye near the back: a glowing sign in electric blue and purple read "Virtual Clash – Real Powers, Winners takes price".
Below it, in smaller letters:
First to touch the opponent's neckband wins. Superpower usage allowed. Real-time sync. No physical harm. Winners will get Thrice the money of the entry fee.
A small crowd had gathered around the two transparent VR pods.
Inside each pod stood a participant wearing sleek haptic suits and lightweight neckbands that glowed faintly.
The current match was between a cocky university student (flames flickering around his hands) and a girl with wind swirling at her fingertips.
The student lunged; the girl dodged with a gust that sent him stumbling. The crowd cheered.
Loki watched for about ten seconds, expression blank.
Then he stepped forward.
The attendant—a bored-looking guy in his early twenties with dyed silver hair—looked up.
"Next challenger? Sign here. Thirty euros entry. Winner takes the cash."
Loki dropped the cash without a word.
The attendant blinked at the giant teddy bear now propped against the pod like a silent coach.
"…You keeping that with you?"
Loki glanced at the bear.
"It's for emotional support."
The attendant decided not to ask questions. "O-Okay...."
Loki stepped into the pod as the door hissed shut.
The VR overlay bloomed across his vision: a circular arena floating in a digital void, two glowing neckbands hovering at chest height—one red (his opponent), one blue (himself)
Rules appeared in clean white text:
"OBJECTIVE: Touch opponent's neckband first."
"POWER USAGE: Full manifestation allowed."
"SAFETY LIMIT: Real pain capped at 30%. No fatal injuries."
"GOOD LUCK."
His opponent materialized opposite him: a tall, wiry guy in his mid-twenties, smirking, hands already crackling with electric arcs. The crowd outside the pod pressed closer, phones up.
"Name's Enzo," the guy called across the arena.
He stretched his arms and legs "Local champ here. Hope you brought more than plushies, teddy guy."
Loki tilted his head slightly.
The countdown appeared between them: 3… 2… 1… FIGHT.
Enzo exploded forward, lightning trailing from his fingertips, aiming straight for Loki's neckband. The crowd roared.
Loki didn't move.
He simply raised one finger.
The air around Enzo… stopped.
Enzo's sprint turned into slow-motion. His lightning flickered and died mid-spark.
He looked like a mannequin caught in amber.
Loki walked forward at normal speed, hands still in his pockets.
Enzo's eyes widened in panic. "What the—?! I can't—move—!"
Loki stopped directly in front of him.
Tilted his head again.
Reached out with one finger.
And lightly—almost gently—tapped the red neckband.
VICTORY – BLUE
The arena dissolved. The pod doors hissed open.
Enzo stumbled out, gasping, legs shaking like he'd just run a marathon.
The crowd was dead silent for three full seconds.
Then it exploded.
"Holy shit—"
"Did you see that? He didn't even try—"
"He just… froze him? Like a statue?"
Loki stepped out, expression exactly the same as when he entered.
His giant teddy bear still at the back of his shoulder like nothing had happened.
He walked past the stunned attendant without a word.
Behind him, Enzo was still trying to explain to his friends: "I swear I couldn't move—like gravity itself said 'nope'."
Loki didn't look back.
He reached the food court on the upper level, dumped the entire collection onto a long empty table (it took up six seats), and sat down with a tired sigh.
A waiter approached cautiously.
"Uh… table for… one, monsieur?"
Loki looked at the waiter. Then at the mountain of plush occupying half the section. Then back at the waiter.
"Yeah. One."
The waiter nodded very quickly and disappeared.
Loki ordered steak again—medium rare, extra garlic butter—and opened his phone to kill time.
That was when he overheard it.
Two tables over, near the kitchen pass-through, the head chef was arguing with the restaurant manager in tense, hushed French.
"…supply line from Le Havre got cut. We have to up the price of the A5 ribeye from the menu by tomorrow."
The manager rubbed his temples. "That's our bestseller. People come here specifically for it."
"Customers can come for the regular sirloin and live. We don't have the meat. Unless you want to serve them something and pray they don't notice the difference."
Loki's fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
His favorite dish.
The A5 wagyu ribeye with black garlic butter and truffle mash.
Price will increase.
Tomorrow.
He slowly lowered the fork.
The restaurant suddenly felt very quiet around him.
Somewhere in the background, a child pointed at the mountain of plushies and whispered loudly to her mother:
"Mama, is that man a plushie collector?"