Chapter 2 – Blood Runs Red, White, and Blue
Sean—born in Arizona, just east of California.
His family runs a cattle ranch and farms on 4,800 acres; the yearly property tax alone runs nearly $50,000—big money, big land.
What he never saw coming: his mother's younger sister—his aunt—is Evelyn Harper, the razor-tongued, perpetually-married socialite from Malibu who somehow always lands on her feet.
So… did that make him part of that dysfunctional family circus?
Sean's pedigree was textbook American: born under the Stars and Stripes, raised on hard work and harder principles, a true-blue capitalist through and through.
The original Sean had been attending college in Los Angeles; with Aunt Evelyn living in her Malibu beach house nearby, the family figured she could keep an eye on him—though anyone who knew Evelyn would question that logic.
But midway through his sophomore year, 'Sean' took a bad fall during spring break, cracked his skull on concrete, slipped into a coma, and eventually flatlined in the ICU.
Some cosmic glitch allowed Wei Linghong—a soul from halfway around the world—to slip into Sean's vacated body.
As for why Wei Linghong died and crossed over, the highlight reel includes:
Rage-quitting life after losing a CS:GO pistol round where he dealt 495 damage to five enemies but still lost the match.
Playing chicken with forty-ton semi-trucks on the interstate!
But Wei Linghong adapted fast; he lived by 'when in Rome, do as the Romans do.'
Even if the world ended tomorrow, he'd still show up dressed for the occasion.
After all, it wasn't like he hijacked the body on purpose.
Taking good care of the original's parents counted as 'rent for the flesh'—a fair trade.
Luckily, the previous Sean had been single—no girlfriend in the picture.
Otherwise he'd have faced the awkward question of whether to sleep with someone using another man's memories as a guide.
What surprised Sean most: this world had both a System and parents—talk about hitting the jackpot.
According to mainstream isekai rules:
'Got parents? No System. Got a System? No parents!'
Yet here he was, double-dipping.
Family details could wait.
Sean stepped out of the Commander's office and glanced at his Longines Conquest—10:00 a.m. on the dot.
Less than two hours until end of shift.
Give the rookie a quick intro, grab some lunch, then coast through the afternoon—perfect.
Perfect!
Still, he had to meet the newbie. Winston said she was attractive—let's see if she lived up to the hype.
Not that he planned to dip his pen in company ink; messy breakups inside a precinct were hell on earth.
Six years on the force, Sean had trained three or four rookie classes: some washed out, some... ended up in the ground, some graduated to veteran status.
Chronic underfunding kept the department perpetually short-staffed.
No budget, no new hires.
No hires, longer shifts for everyone else.
Longer shifts, more burnout.
More burnout, more resignations.
A death spiral—bottom line: the city council kept the department broke.
Unlike some hardass cops who loved hazing rookies on day one, Sean believed in gradual training; Rome wasn't built in a day, and nobody needed to be run into the ground.
He wasn't refusing to train properly—just pacing it out, taking it step by step.
Train the first batch, let them train the next generation.
By protocol, the rookie and her current FTO should be waiting in the briefing room for the handoff.
Sitting there, Erin felt like a package waiting for UPS to pass her to the next delivery driver.
She'd reported for duty while her new training officer was on administrative leave; she'd never even met him—no wonder she was on edge.
David couldn't care less; he'd already made reservations at a fancy Italian restaurant for a romantic dinner with his wife.
A veteran cop knew that nothing he said would calm a rookie the night before final exams; only the actual test scores brought peace—or devastation.
After what felt like forever, the door swung open. Pretty much what David had described: tall, built, handsome, twenty-six but carrying himself like he'd seen forty years' worth of street action.
Erin sized him up; he barely noticed—he'd done this dance plenty of times before. He greeted the veteran officer David with a firm handshake.
"Congrats, David. New assignment, fresh start—enjoy retirement in six months."
Having worked Western Division forever, it was no surprise they knew each other.
"Thanks. I'm just playing Santa Claus today—dropping off the present."
Middleman duty complete: David had to make the introductions.
"Your new rookie—Erin Gresham."
"And Western Division's youngest Sergeant—Sean Horace."
Only then did Sean give the rookie a proper once-over: blonde hair pulled back in a tight tactical bun, LAPD ball cap, small silver stud earrings, bright blue eyes that could've come straight from a Disney movie, high cheekbones, same navy ripstop uniform shirt as everyone else, the fabric pulling slightly across her shoulders, straight-leg navy tactical pants tucked into polished black boots.
Better keep this from his cousin Charlie back in Malibu; that idiot would harass Sean for her number even if it meant getting himself arrested for being a pest.
"Sean Horace."
"Erin Gresham."
They both extended their left hands for the handshake—a cop's habit, keeping the gun hand free.
Handoff complete, David headed out to report to his new captain at the desk assignment.
"I'm out. Coffee's on me next time you swing by the station."
"Will do."
Erin watched him leave, feeling a small pang of loss; a month of shared patrol shifts and war stories builds bonds, even short ones.
People always feel the sting at goodbye—then a week or two passes and life moves on.
"All right, partner—for the foreseeable future, it's you and me out there."
"Yes, sir."
Sean issued his first order: "Officer Gresham!"
She snapped to attention, arms at her sides, parade-ground straight: "Yes, sir!"
"Good. Go change into street clothes—we're taking an early lunch."
Erin blinked and checked her watch. "But regulations say lunch is at twelve hundred hours, sir. It's only... ten-fifty."
Sean shrugged; bending the rules a bit wasn't exactly new territory for him. He'd cure her of that by-the-book work ethic soon enough. "If anyone asks, we were doing a plainclothes neighborhood walkthrough."
"That excuse won't hold up to scrutiny, sir."
He waved it off casually. "We only need to sell it to ourselves."
In his head: My ancestors fought in the Revolutionary War; you're just along for the ride. Remember the Declaration of Independence? 'Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness'? Well, I'm pursuing lunch. Since my family's been bleeding for this country since Valley Forge, I've earned a little flexibility. Think I'm slacking? My bloodline already paid my dues.
"Quit overthinking it. If the sky falls, we'll let the NBA players hold it up—they're taller anyway. Now go change; ignoring your first direct order from a superior officer on day one would be bad form."
Message received. Besides, it was just early lunch, not abandoning a crime scene. "Yes, sir!"
Erin hurried off to the locker room.
Sean watched her go, then pulled out his phone and texted his cousin Charlie:
"New partner. Blonde. Out of your league. Don't even think about it."
Charlie's response came back in seconds:
"Pics or it didn't happen. Does she have a sister? Does she like beachfront property and trust fund babies?"
Sean sighed and pocketed his phone. The Harper family DNA was strong—too strong.
Fifteen minutes later, Erin emerged in jeans, a fitted gray t-shirt, and a leather jacket with her badge clipped to her belt. She looked more like a college student than a cop.
"Ready, sir."
"Drop the 'sir' when we're off-duty. Makes me feel old." Sean grabbed his own jacket from his locker. "And it's Sean, not Sergeant, when we're not in the station."
"Got it, s— Sean."
"Better. Now let's go get some real food before the lunch rush hits."
As they walked to the parking lot, Sean pointed to an unmarked black Dodge Charger.
"That's our ride. Department issue, but I've made some... modifications."
"What kind of modifications?" Erin asked cautiously.
Sean grinned. "The kind that make chasing gangbangers a lot more fun. And before you ask—yes, they're all within department regs. Mostly."
Erin wasn't sure if she should be excited or terrified.
Probably both.
Welcome to the Western Division, rookie.
(To be continued...)
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