One Week
As a dedicated movie buff in his previous life, Arthur instantly recognized the young girl sitting quietly on the cold concrete steps in front of him at first glance.
Her charming, delicate face, although absolutely not yet fully matured by the harsh realities of the world, already showed a distinct, undeniable hint of the fierce beauty she would possess as the future heroine of blockbuster superhero movies like Thor.
As their eyes finally met in the dim, flickering fluorescent light of the dusty stairwell, Arthur's gaze drifted downward for a brief, observant second.
He saw a pair of short, restless legs swinging listlessly back and forth through the narrow gaps in the old, peeling wooden banister.
The bright white socks adorned with colorful cartoon patterns on her small feet were particularly striking against the grime of the dilapidated apartment hallway.
Arthur absolutely wasn't some kind of creep; his intense, calculating interest was strictly reserved for the stunning, powerful woman that Mathilda would inevitably transform into when she finally grew up and left these violent streets behind.
But looking at the current, incredibly young sprout sitting before him, holding a cheap cigarette between her fingers, she could only be described as precociously cute at absolute most.
"Hello there!" Arthur called out, his voice a low, friendly rumble that echoed softly off the brick walls.
He was absolutely never socially awkward or timid, so he smoothly took the polite initiative to flash a warm, disarming smile and nod respectfully at Mathilda as a casual greeting.
Underage Mathilda, despite looking exactly like a typical, rebellious American teenager acting out because of her deeply fractured and toxic family life, was surprisingly still very well-mannered and polite when standing in front of imposing strangers.
"Hello, sir," she replied softly, her voice barely rising above a whisper.
Even in the dim light, Arthur could clearly see a deep, unerasable sorrow swimming in the depths of Mathilda's dark, expressive eyes.
Her cautious gaze lingered intently on Arthur's rugged, incredibly handsome face for a long, calculating moment, silently assessing whether this new stranger was a threat.
Then, as if suddenly realizing her bad habit, she hurriedly stubbed out the glowing cherry against the concrete and quickly tossed the crushed cigarette butt away into a nearby corner.
"Are you a new resident here?" she asked, tilting her head slightly like a curious bird.
Obviously, the highly observant Mathilda had clearly noticed earlier today that the dusty, long-vacant Apartment 6A, located right next door to her own chaotic home, finally had a brand-new occupant moving heavy furniture inside.
"Yes, I just moved in," Arthur smiled broadly and nodded affirming her sharp observation.
His newly rented, weathered apartment building was a classic architectural design that only had six total floors stacked together.
Every single floor had exactly four separate units arranged neatly down the hall: A, B, C, and D.
Arthur was currently renting out unit 6A, which was conveniently located right on one immediate side of the echoing stairwell.
If his flawless memory of the cinematic plot served him correctly, Mathilda's abusive, drug-riddled home should absolutely be unit 6C!
However, peering down the shadowy corridor, he genuinely couldn't be absolutely sure if the heavily secured Apartment 6D had already been quietly rented out to the legendary, silent hitman from Léon: The Professional.
Unlike his complete lack of romantic interest in the current, underdeveloped little sprout sitting on the stairs, Arthur was actually quite profoundly, strategically interested in making contact with Léon.
It absolutely wasn't that his fundamental preferences had suddenly changed or that he had turned gay in this new life.
On the absolute contrary, Arthur's romantic orientation was completely normal and deeply rooted in his nature.
In fact, recently, entirely thanks to his intense encounters, he had even become quite delightfully addicted to the very open, fiercely proactive, and wildly passionate women in this sprawling city.
The sole, calculating reason he was so deeply interested in tracking down Léon was simply because he knew perfectly well that the quiet man was an elite, world-class hitman.
Léon had his own highly connected, deeply entrenched underworld handler, and he could smoothly take on various, high-stakes assassination missions through that Italian mob boss to easily earn massive, incredibly generous cash rewards.
Almost every single one of Arthur's powerful, system-granted abilities required a massive, staggering amount of cold hard money to successfully trigger and rapidly upgrade to their maximum lethal potential.
Therefore, looking at his rapidly dwindling bank account, he absolutely didn't mind forging another dark, highly lucrative channel for steady income in this dangerous city.
However, Arthur's highly intelligent mind logically reasoned that it probably wouldn't be quite that simple for him to smoothly get his wish and join the underworld elite.
After all, being an active, contract hitman was a highly illegal, extremely dangerous profession that truly walked the razor-thin, bloody edge of the gray area; one tiny, microscopic slip-up during a job could easily cost a man his entire life.
And Léon himself was notoriously an isolated, incredibly paranoid hitman who suffered from a severe, almost crippling communication disorder when dealing with normal people.
So, flawlessly entering the secretive, highly exclusive world of underground assassins directly through him definitely wouldn't be an easy, straightforward task.
Fortunately for Arthur, he absolutely wasn't in a desperate hurry to make contact just yet; after all, his current physical and tactical preparations weren't completely ready for that level of heat.
After politely chatting with the quiet little girl for a few more brief, mundane moments about the neighborhood, he smoothly bypassed Mathilda on the steps and finally returned to his own apartment.
The absolute moment he stepped inside and firmly closed the heavy wooden door, the deadbolt clicking securely into place, Arthur casually accessed the void.
He pulled a clean, soft towel directly from his invisible dimensional private space and rigorously wiped the thick layer of sweat from his forehead and neck.
It was currently late spring, and it was already starting to get uncomfortably, oppressively hot and humid in the sprawling concrete jungle of Los Angeles in May.
After simply wiping the heavy, sticky sweat off his handsome face and tossing the towel onto a nearby chair, Arthur headed into the cramped kitchen and began meticulously preparing a hot dinner for himself.
He genuinely wasn't completely shocked or overwhelmed by the undeniable fact that a brand-new, highly dangerous cinematic plot had been suddenly triggered right outside the door of his new apartment.
Because long before this, back when he had first met the charismatic master thief Charlie Croker in that bright diner, Arthur had already fully, profoundly realized that this chaotic, sprawling world wasn't just the simple, isolated street-racing universe he had originally guessed, only containing the adrenaline-fueled plot of Fast & Furious.
So this time, unexpectedly encountering a brand-new, iconic plot character smoking in his hallway, he didn't actually care too much or let it disrupt his absolute focus.
Of course, his supreme indifference to the encounter might also largely be due to the simple fact that the current Mathilda was still entirely too young to be of any real strategic or romantic use to him right now.
Because he had specifically purchased many fresh, high-quality ingredients and aromatic seasonings from the vibrant local markets that perfectly suited his own refined culinary tastes.
The delicious, hearty food Arthur had been passionately cooking for himself lately tasted more and more incredibly authentic and deeply satisfying with every single meal.
While slowly, thoughtfully chewing on a perfectly seared piece of hot food, he opened his sleek, newly bought high-end laptop on the small dining table.
His fingers flew across the keyboard as he skillfully, relentlessly searched the deep web for any trace of Stella Bridger's prestigious, highly secure locksmith company.
He still hadn't officially found a stable, new job after violently leaving the neighborhood garage, and it just so miraculously happened that he already possessed a highly useful [Lockpicking] skill that desperately needed leveling.
Arthur knew perfectly well that by simply fumbling around entirely on his own in the dark, constantly buying and trying to forcefully open more and more complex mechanical locks, he would eventually manage to slowly level up his [Lockpicking] skill.
But his highly intelligent mind calculated that if he could smoothly get direct, hands-on guidance from an undisputed, world-class expert like Stella, the raw efficiency of gaining system experience points would undoubtedly be much, much higher.
Arthur had already flawlessly summarized this exact, crucial learning experience from actively training his other combat abilities, like his [Shooting] and [Boxing] skills over the past month.
He had clearly found that mindlessly practicing his [Shooting] accuracy at empty cans and shadow [Boxing] entirely on his own in the quiet apartment compared directly to being at a high-end, professional shooting range or a gritty boxing club actively working with an experienced, veteran coach always resulted in significantly less system experience gained per hour and a painfully, frustratingly slower leveling progression overall.
Therefore, taking the path of least resistance and maximum gain, Arthur still firmly planned to exhaustively search the city records for that elusive Stella Bridger's locksmith company.
He fully intended to smoothly walk in, charm her, and apply for a technical job to see if he could temporarily make a decent, quiet living working at that stunning blonde beauty's high-tech company.
And, most importantly, he planned to seamlessly learn far more advanced, highly professional [Lockpicking] techniques directly from her talented hands along the way.
That long, humid day finally ended, and Arthur still hadn't received a single encrypted phone call or email from the legendary master thief Charlie Croker by the time he exhaustedly went to bed.
However, the gritty Old Parker did unexpectedly take the proactive initiative to contact Arthur on his secure new cell phone late in the evening.
The older mechanic gave Arthur another highly illegal, off-the-books side job: helping a shady, unknown client heavily modify a performance car's suspension and exhaust.
But perhaps entirely because this specific illegal car modification was strictly meant only for casually participating in local, low-stakes underground street racing...
...the overall financial pay wasn't particularly high at all, offering him only a mere, disappointing two thousand dollars for his supernatural labor.
Regardless of the low pay, cash was still cash. Early the very next morning, as the first rays of California sun hit the pavement, Arthur securely locked his apartment and left the building.
He spent the entire, grueling morning intensely finishing the complex, greasy new job that Old Parker had secretly arranged for him in an abandoned industrial bay.
After meticulously and thoroughly checking every single dark corner of the bay to absolutely ensure no hidden police surveillance cameras or audio bugs had been installed by the feds...
...Arthur smoothly took full, uninhibited advantage of the professional workshop's heavy pneumatic tools and spray booth to finally finish completely repainting his battered vintage motorcycle.
He stripped the old, flashy decals, sprayed on a sleek, matte black finish, and expertly installed all the heavy, brand-new performance parts he had recently bought from Brian's store.
With a deafening, aggressive roar of the tuned engine, a true, high-performance street motorcycle, meticulously and flawlessly modified entirely by his own calloused hands, was finally born into the world.
Before wiping down the tools and leaving the bay, he absolutely didn't forget to give Old Parker a quick, secure call to confirm the illegal job was perfectly done.
Soon after hanging up the burner phone, Arthur kicked the heavy bike into gear and left the industrial district exactly as quietly and untraceably as he had originally arrived.
Later that bright, sunny afternoon, he rode out to the golden coast, aggressively went [Swimming] in the crashing, salty waves at the public beach, and then went for a grueling, miles-long run along the scenic coastal highway.
Taking absolute, calculated advantage of the simple fact that he currently didn't have a demanding, full-time daytime job recently, he now had plenty of unrestricted, valuable free time to relentlessly level up his physical abilities and skills.
Over the next few quiet, unremarkable days, Arthur lived comfortably in this seemingly dull, yet highly productive and simple daily routine of intense self-improvement.
Old Parker didn't actively arrange any more lucrative, illegal side jobs for him from the underground, and Charlie Croker, the elusive master gold thief, still absolutely hadn't contacted his encrypted line either.
In the absolute blink of an eye, an entire week passed; Arthur had been living comfortably in his new, quiet apartment for seven full days, but he surprisingly hadn't run into the mysterious Léon even once in the hallways.
So, lacking visual confirmation, he still logically couldn't be absolutely sure if that legendary, lethal Italian hitman had already quietly moved into the exact same apartment building yet.
He did, however, quite often run into the young, lonely Mathilda sitting on the stairs, and he even casually chatted with her a few more times about random, everyday things to pass the time.
Seeing her looking so pale and underfed, he even politely invited her into his home for a massive, hearty, home-cooked meal, which immediately received incredibly high, enthusiastic praise from the hungry young girl.
And unsurprisingly, Mathilda's wildly promiscuous stepmother, the stunning Maggie, also came knocking on his door again one quiet evening, and she passionately 'chatted' with Arthur in his bedroom for several exhausting, sweat-drenched hours.
Yet, despite the local company, the beautiful Mia Toretto still hadn't come across town to see Arthur even once.
It got to the frustrating point where he genuinely wasn't absolutely sure if the overbearing, paranoid Dom still had her strictly grounded to the family house, or if there was some other, more dangerous reason keeping her completely away from him.
Similarly, despite his relentless internet digging, Arthur's deep, digital investigation into Stella Bridger still yielded absolutely zero solid leads or addresses.
Apparently, this brilliant, beautiful boss who ran an elite, highly secure locksmith company right here in the sprawling metropolis of Los Angeles wasn't nearly as public or high-profile as Arthur had initially, optimistically imagined.
Time passed smoothly, day by day, flowing like sand through his fingers in this quiet holding pattern.
However, although his daily life currently seemed somewhat dull, repetitive, and monotonous on the surface, Arthur's internal mood actually remained incredibly, undeniably good.
Because during this intense, focused period of quiet isolation, he had not only successfully triggered several brand-new, highly practical system skills through his daily activities.
But his core physical and mental attributes had also seen massive, terrifying new boosts, making him stronger, faster, and far more lethal than he had ever been before.