Owen hung up on the foodie and started browsing the apartment listings Chloe had sent. He quickly narrowed it down to a few options—not too far from both CTU and his old neighborhood, and reasonably priced.
Being a man of action, Owen decided to move out today, since his mother had already agreed.
After contacting a real estate agent, he drove out and checked several places, but none felt quite right. One by one, he crossed them off his list.
Soon, only one option remained.
After confirming with the landlord, Owen headed over.
The landlords were a middle-aged couple, and it was the wife who greeted him. She led him inside, and Owen took a look around.
The place was small—just a one-bedroom, one-living-room setup. It was an older apartment, about 40 square meters, but it had a private bathroom and kitchen. The neighborhood was quiet, mostly white residents, and the security was decent.
The only downside? The rent was a bit high.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Owen decided to take it.
He signed the lease, paid the deposit, and received the keys.
Before leaving, the landlady, in a surprisingly good mood after receiving payment, handed Owen a business card.
"This is a great pizza place nearby," she said kindly. "They do deliveries, so if you don't feel like cooking, give them a call."
Owen thanked her and saw her out.
Turning back, he glanced around the small apartment again.
He liked it.
Finally—his own space.
Since the place had been vacant for a while, it was a bit dusty. Owen grabbed some basic cleaning supplies and did a quick sweep. The place instantly felt fresher.
Next, he went out to buy a mattress and bedding. Then, he returned home to pack a few changes of clothes. His entire move-in process fit into a single suitcase.
By the time he was done, it was already past noon. Still, considering the morning's efficiency—viewing four places, signing a lease, cleaning, and shopping—he had made great time.
Since he had missed lunch, he decided to test out the pizza place.
A seafood pizza arrived shortly after.
Three bites in, he was convinced—it was pretty good.
Now that the apartment was set up, he decided to explore the area.
He didn't drive, just walked around to get a feel for the neighborhood.
He found a bakery, a café, a barbershop, a gun store, and a gym. There was even a large supermarket three kilometers away.
For an older residential district, the area had everything he needed for daily life.
As he strolled along, a gym called "Muscle Storm" caught his attention.
Not because of the name—but because of its ad poster.
The poster featured a massive muscle-bound man roaring like a beast. But it was the caption underneath that made Owen chuckle:
"Reading allows you to reason calmly with idiots.
Lifting makes idiots reason calmly with you."
Hah. That was a damn good slogan.
Owen decided to check the place out.
Since he had just moved, he needed a new gym. This one was less than a ten-minute walk from his place—pretty convenient.
As soon as he stepped inside, he was met with deafening cheers.
It sounded like a competition was going on.
Even the receptionist—who was supposed to greet new visitors—was too busy watching the commotion.
Owen followed the noise and found a crowd gathered around a weightlifting platform.
It didn't take long to figure out what was happening.
A monstrous looking Latino guy was currently celebrating after successfully pressing 160 kilograms.
The weights on his barbell were stacked so thick they looked ridiculous.
"Larry, you monster! Haha! You did it—160 kilos!"
With a loud clang, Larry dropped the barbell, shaking the floor.
The man—likely the famous "monster" Larry—let out a victorious roar. His muscles were so shredded that his veins bulged like worms beneath his skin.
Owen stared.
160 kilograms overhead press?!
For reference, Owen's absolute max shoulder press was 90 kilograms.
This guy had nearly double his strength.
And compared to an average person? Forget it—Larry's press was probably three or four times what most men could even attempt.
Monster indeed.
Just as Owen was processing this, someone from the crowd shouted:
"Harry! Show him who's boss!"
Larry had a challenger.
And the other guy wasn't intimidated.
With a loud roar, a massive dude lifted an even heavier barbell overhead.
The bar actually bent slightly under the weight.
A few seconds later, another thud shook the floor.
"165 kilograms!"
"Hahaha! That's it! You're finished, Larry!"
Owen shook his head in amazement.
That kind of strength was insane.
Then, something odd happened.
Someone tried to take a picture—but was immediately stopped.
"No photos! You know the rules. Harry doesn't want to be a celebrity."
The voice belonged to a guy who seemed to be in charge.
Even the front desk girl helped stop people from taking pictures.
Strangely enough, no one argued.
It was as if they all expected this.
Owen, however, wasn't focused on the photo ban.
He was staring at the two men in question.
Because he recognized them.
Or rather, he had met them once before.
Neither of them had noticed Owen yet.
The people who had pulled out their phones put them away without complaint. Someone even muttered, "Simon, you're wasting an opportunity. You should be Harry's agent. He could be a star."
Simon, the guy who had stopped the photos, just laughed.
"Yeah, right. Do you know how pure-hearted Harry is? He's better off winning small bets like this. If he ever got to Hollywood, those crazy actresses would eat him alive."
The joke made everyone burst into laughter.
Meanwhile, Owen's mind was racing.
"Simon and Harry…"
"These guys were with the CIA during the Keith Island operation."
Back then, they had tried to work with CTU.
Unfortunately, Ethan Hunt had just deceived CTU, so the two of them got caught in the backlash.
And now…
Simon had definitely recognized him.
But instead of acknowledging it, he had subtly signaled Owen to stay quiet.
Clearly, they had alternate identities outside their intelligence work.
Owen played along, keeping his expression neutral.
Then Simon suddenly shouted toward the front desk:
"Rachel! We have a new customer! Stop slacking or the boss is cutting your paycheck!"
Owen raised an eyebrow.
So, Simon was deliberately making a scene to avoid drawing suspicion.
Rachel—the front desk girl—finally noticed Owen, standing out among the tank-top-clad muscleheads.
"Oh! Sir, is this your first time here? Let me introduce you to our gym!"
She enthusiastically launched into a pitch.
Owen listened but still glanced back at Simon and Harry.
These guys were CIA.
And yet, the front desk girl had just introduced them as—
"Larry is a construction worker, and Harry is a gift shop salesman."
…Right.
Owen almost laughed.
Harry, a gift shop salesman?
He was built like a goddamn tank.
Still, Owen played along.
"Alright, sign me up."
Rachel nearly jumped for joy.
"Thank you! Today's my first day, and you're my first customer!"
Owen's smile froze.
Wait…
"Your first day? Then how do you know how often they come here?"
Rachel paused.
Then flashed an innocent smile.
"Uh… oops?"
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