Chapter 334: My Name Is America
Just as Loki was getting up to leave the room, the door swung open.
He tensed instantly, his hand darting instinctively for a dagger that wasn't there.
"Don't bother, big guy. Your knife's with me." A clear, bright voice cut through the quiet.
Loki looked up to find a girl standing in the doorway — thirteen or fourteen at most.
She had a head of curly brown hair and a wary, curious glint in her eyes. Her clothes looked secondhand, clearly picked up from some thrift shop somewhere, but the raggedness did nothing to hide the toughness underneath.
Loki didn't let his guard down just because she was a child.
He knew all too well that in a place like this — Hell's Kitchen — danger could come from anywhere.
Even a seemingly harmless little girl might be hiding something lethal.
So he kept his posture alert, doing his best not to look too openly on edge.
At this point, he wouldn't even be surprised if a six-year-old boy walked in holding a live grenade.
"Who are you? And where exactly is 'here'? How did I end up in this place? I trust you're capable of answering, little sister," Loki said, flashing his trademark false smile as he fired off a string of questions.
The girl stepped inside, set a cup of hot water down in front of him, and said flatly, "This is Grandma Lin's place. As for how you ended up here — you skipped out on a restaurant tab and got the tar beaten out of you for it. If Grandma hadn't taken pity on you, you'd have died in the street."
She looked Loki up and down, and something about the look made his skin crawl. He was, after all, the mighty God of Mischief — nobody looked at him like that.
Hearing the girl's account, Loki felt a bitter laugh building in his chest.
He genuinely hadn't imagined he could sink this low — but what really stung was having some random child lay his humiliation out so bluntly.
His first instinct was to lash out. But then he remembered — these were the people who'd saved him.
He decided, generously, to let it slide.
Then something about her explanation jogged his memory.
A day earlier, Loki had fled all the way to Brooklyn after being hunted through Hell's Kitchen.
Once there, he'd stopped at a restaurant to eat, only to discover he didn't have enough to pay for it. So, with his usual haughty confidence, he'd informed the owner: "I am Loki, the great God of Mischief, fallen to this wretched place through the treachery of villains. Feeding a god should be an honor for mortals such as yourselves. Now — transfer me eighteen thousand, and once my godly power returns, I shall grant you any wish you desire."
With that, he'd extended a hand, expecting the waiter to hand over cash.
The owner had simply stared at him, wide-eyed, clearly not buying for a second that this beat-up, ragged man in front of him was actually a god.
Furious, he'd shouted toward the kitchen. "Boys! We got ourselves a dine-and-dasher!"
At his call, a small army of Mexican cooks had risen up from every corner of the place, some brandishing kitchen knives, others swinging beer bottles, all closing in on Loki with murder in their eyes.
The owner himself had pulled a cleaver from his apron and glared at Loki. "I don't care if you're Loki or Odin himself — nobody eats for free in my restaurant! No cash? Then we'll take payment in organs!"
At his signal, the cooks hadn't wasted a second — they'd swarmed Loki, trying to grab him from every side. Loki had thrashed and dodged through the crowd.
He'd scrambled up and bolted for the door, shouting, "I truly am Loki! Merely sealed of my godly power! Filthy, uncivilized mortals — damn the lot of you! Who dares strike a god's face!"
Sometime later, he'd found a hiding spot, checked his surroundings, confirmed no one had followed.
Nursing his wounds, Loki had let out a scornful little laugh. "As if a rabble of mortals like you could ever truly hurt me!"
What he hadn't noticed: a figure lurking in the darkness behind him, already swinging a brick straight at the back of his skull.
The shadow struck the moment Loki's guard was down, bringing the brick down hard on his head.
A blinding pain had exploded through Loki's skull, his vision going black as he'd collapsed to the ground.
The figure looked down at the fallen god, satisfaction spreading across his face. "Damn it all — Steven Chow here can't stand freeloaders. None of you people deserve to call yourselves gods."
With that, he'd wandered off, thoroughly pleased with himself, leaving Loki unconscious on the pavement.
Loki had lain there for who knew how long, face caked in dirt and blood, looking about as pitiful as a fallen god could look.
"Damn you, Steven Chow! I've got your name memorized now!" Loki had clearly recovered every last humiliating detail of the memory.
The string of setbacks had finally driven the lesson home: Hell's Kitchen was a genuinely lawless place.
Without his godly power, he couldn't keep going like this. One or two more incidents like that and he genuinely might not survive it.
He needed a new strategy — needed to actually learn the rules of survival around here.
"Thank you, little sister. I don't believe I caught your name!" Loki flashed his fake smile once more. Even though this girl had been the one to save him, he had no intention of actually opening up to her.
At best, once his godly power returned, he might throw the mortals here a bone or two.
"Has anyone ever told you that smile of yours is completely fake?" The girl's words froze the smile right on his face.
"You don't need to thank me. Grandma Lin's the one who saved you. I just brought your food in. She's the actual good person here — she's the one who saved me too, once." The girl's expression stayed flat as she cut through Loki's little performance without a hint of ceremony.
"And if you want to know someone's name," she added, looking at him steadily, "shouldn't you be the one to introduce yourself first?"
"I... my name is Thor," Loki said, the lie coming to him instantly.
A man needed a few aliases in life, after all. He was sure Thor wouldn't mind covering for his little brother, just this once.
The girl said nothing. She just kept staring at him.
"What?" Loki asked.
"Forgot to mention," she said flatly, "I can tell when someone's lying."
Something in her tone carried a faint edge of mockery, as if to say his lies meant nothing in front of her.
Loki's eyes widened at the reveal — her power was, unfortunately, a perfect counter to everything he did.
Still, being caught out cost him nothing outwardly. His expression stayed perfectly composed.
"That last name was my brother's. My name is Loki." He looked down at the girl, every inch the god addressing a mortal.
Clearly, he was now waiting for her name in return.
Confirming Loki hadn't lied this time, the girl finally offered her own name.
"America Chavez."
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