Under the varying gazes of everyone present, Ross—no longer a General—knelt before Peter with a face full of humiliation.
"I... am... sorry."
Those three words seemed to sap every ounce of strength left in his body. But Peter just dug into his ear with an expression that was practically asking for a punch.
"Speak up. Did you not eat today?"
Ross: "..."
The old man's fists clenched and loosened repeatedly. Finally, he closed his eyes and shouted with reckless abandon:
"Sir Arbiter, I am sorry! Please forgive me for my previous impulsive actions!"
"Mmh~ That's more like it."
After giving the old man a fleeting, indifferent glance, Peter turned back to the screen and addressed the President:
"Excellent. Now, let's discuss the second condition."
As he spoke, Peter adjusted the laptop screen so the President could see George Stacy, who was nearby coordinating police blockades and comforting injured civilians.
"To ensure that my family and I aren't persecuted by some blind fools in the future, I demand that you mobilize all resources to help the current NYPD Captain, George Stacy, get elected as the next Governor of New York!"
Silence fell. George Stacy, who had been trying to maintain order while pretending he didn't exist, nearly tripped over his own feet. He whipped his head around to look at Peter, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
Wait, didn't we agree to take things slow? Where did this surprise come from?!
If George had felt even a sliver of dissatisfaction with Peter's late arrival earlier, it vanished instantly. Now this is what you call a divine son-in-law! When there's a benefit on the table, you really remember your father-in-law!
In stark contrast to George's bewildered joy, the President's expression on the screen was fascinating.
Firing a Major General who had already botched an operation was one thing; installing a complete outsider as the Governor of New York was a different beast entirely.
In America, every state is independent, and New York is one of the most powerful. With New York's military and economic weight, it wasn't impossible to create a "state within a state." Giving the governorship to this young man's father-in-law? That wasn't just a political favor; it was practically ceding territory!
The President almost instinctively opened his mouth to refuse. But before he could speak, he saw Peter raise his right hand on the screen.
In Peter's palm, a blinding sphere of blue light began to condense and expand at an alarming rate. Within seconds, a massive lightning orb—over five meters in diameter and crackling with terrifying electricity—loomed over the site.
The humming orb caused the hair of everyone present to stand on end. The air grew thick with the sharp scent of ozone.
The President didn't fully grasp the gravity of the weapon, but Fury and Rhodey turned pale. They had seen the "miniature" version of this.
A tennis-ball-sized version had bored a hole through a monster like Radiation and leveled a storefront with its shockwave. This one was hundreds of times larger.
If that thing dropped... it wouldn't just wipe out Brooklyn; it could potentially erase a quarter of Manhattan from the map!
"Mr. President," Peter weighed the energy sphere in his hand, smiling with harmless innocence. "I hope you consider your answer very carefully."
"Otherwise, I wouldn't mind leaving a small, memorable gift... before I Leave."
A threat. A naked, cold threat.
Having been warned by an aide about the destructive potential of the orb, the President's temple throbbed. Cold sweat soaked his shirt.
He leaned away to confer with his staff via an encrypted line for a moment before speaking with a strained voice:
"Mr. Arbiter, we can guarantee that when the current Governor's term ends in two years, we will put the full weight of the administration behind Mr. Stacy's campaign."
"As a gesture of good faith for the present, we can immediately arrange for the Mayor of New York to appoint Mr. Stacy as the Deputy Mayor, bringing him into the core circle of power."
Fury's heart sank as he heard this. I knew it. The classic "stalling tactic." Give a little sweetness to stabilize the situation now; as for what happens in two years? Who knows. Maybe in two years, they'd find a way to deal with this "monster kid."
Peter, of course, heard the subtext. But he didn't care; in fact, he welcomed it. He had come into this negotiation with the mindset of "asking for the sky and settling for the earth."
While the governorship was a bigger title, there was a saying: "The local official is more powerful than the distant king." Making his father-in-law the Deputy Mayor of NYC immediately was actually more convenient for controlling the local situation.
As for two years from now?
In two years, he would only be stronger. By then, if he wanted his father-in-law to be the "Governor of Earth," the world would just have to hold its nose and accept it!
"Fine, then."
Though he was cheering inside, Peter maintained a slightly dissatisfied look as he "reluctantly" dispersed the massive lightning orb.
"After all, I'm a man of rules~"
Hearing this, even Gwen couldn't keep a straight face. Rules? You're negotiating with a nuclear warhead in your hand and talking about "loving peace"?
"I'll let you follow the 'process' for my father-in-law's governorship," Peter continued. "But my third condition... that one doesn't need any damn process."
"So, I expect an immediate and accurate answer."
The President breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that for all his power, Peter was still just a child. If he could manage this boy, he could be a powerful card—maybe even enough to secure a smooth re-election or more.
The President's tone became much more amicable. "Please, go ahead. We will do our best to satisfy it."
Peter nodded with satisfaction. "My third condition is quite simple."
"In order to better protect America, save the lives and property of its citizens, and to prevent certain brain-dead idiots from forcing me and my friends to leave..."
"I've decided! Starting today, I'll take on the burden. I will personally serve as the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D."
"From now on, I will report directly to you, Mr. President. No more 'middlemen' to take a cut—I mean, no more middlemen to misinterpret our intentions or drive a wedge between us. What do you think, Mr. President?"
The moment the words left Peter's mouth, Nick Fury—who had been contentedly eating "metaphorical popcorn" on the sidelines—froze in utter shock.
Shit. This wave is aimed directly at me!
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