The gunshot sounded incredibly real.
Yet Ronin found himself still standing firmly in place.
Then Nick Fury and Coulson climbed up from the floor, staring at him in confusion.
The masked intruders also removed their masks.
Ronin exclaimed in surprise, "What? You guys were putting on a show to trick me?"
In his head, he had actually wanted to call them a bunch of bastards. Grandpa here saw through your little trick a long time ago. I was just playing along.
"Mr. Ronin, I hope you can understand," Nick Fury said as he handed him a white handkerchief and pointed at his own forehead. "Wipe this clean."
Ronin took it unhappily and wiped. It was red dye that came off on the handkerchief.
"Director Fury, you really know how to have fun. If I had a heart condition, I might have died of fright just now."
Nick Fury replied seriously, "I know you don't."
"Then can I leave now? I don't want to stay in this damn place for even one more second. Who knows what trick you'll pull next?" Ronin said angrily.
"Mr. Ronin, everything we do is for the safety of the country—and the world. If we've offended you, please forgive us."
Coulson rarely spoke in such a humble tone. It actually sounded quite pleasant.
Ronin replied, "What else can I do if I don't forgive your good intentions? Tear down S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
After confirming that Ronin posed no immediate threat, Nick Fury felt somewhat relieved. However, that didn't mean there was no connection between Ronin, Soldier: 76, and Winston. S.H.I.E.L.D. would continue to keep a close eye on him.
"Agent Coulson, please escort Mr. Ronin back," Nick Fury said.
Coulson nodded and extended his right arm in a polite gesture. "This way, Mr. Ronin."
Before leaving, Ronin placed the bright red handkerchief on the corner of the desk and praised, "The prop is very realistic. It could even be used in a movie."
He then glanced around at the agents. "The agents' acting skills are top-notch too. If any of you want to enter the entertainment industry, feel free to contact me. You'd be perfect for playing yourselves."
Nick Fury's mouth twitched. "Having real agents play agents in a movie would undoubtedly be an insult to actual agents."
The agents also felt that Ronin was mocking them, so they all shot him hostile looks.
"Gotta go, gotta go!"
Ronin hurriedly ran out. These agents were no fun at all, and Nick Fury, the old spy, was even more boring—he couldn't even take a joke.
Compared to them, Coulson was a bit more likable. Although he always wore that professional smile (whether genuine or fake), at least he gave Ronin a pleasant face. The others looked like they wanted to eat him alive. They had zero professionalism.
"Mr. Ronin, if you ever dare joke about S.H.I.E.L.D. agents again, I guarantee you'll regret it."
At that moment, the smile on Coulson's face looked quite sinister. Ronin immediately took back his earlier thought.
"Can't afford to mess with you, can't afford to mess with you!"
Ronin avoided the topic like the plague. At the same time, he made a firm decision: no matter how big the trouble or how life-threatening the danger he faced in the future, he would never ask this group for help.
Once they were in Coulson's car, Ronin suddenly slapped his forehead. He had left in such a hurry that he hadn't even thought about transportation. Why not take a plane? It would be fast and stable, and he wouldn't have to look at Coulson's fake face.
"Sir, did you know? Soldier: 76 is a lot like the hero in my heart. That's why even someone like me, who doesn't watch many movies, went to the theater to see Soldier: 76."
The ride was boring, so Coulson tried to make conversation. It wasn't forced—Soldier: 76 really did resemble his idol, that super soldier full of love, justice, and unbreakable conviction, the man who had single-handedly stormed a Hydra base.
Both were super soldiers with extraordinary physical abilities. Both had made indelible contributions to world peace. Both carried a strong sense of justice. Whenever he looked at Soldier: 76, he always saw the shadow of that man.
Part of it was genuine chat, but another part was an attempt to draw more information out of Ronin.
Revealing his true feelings to someone whose identity was still unclear was a major taboo for an agent. But he hoped it would open Ronin up and yield more intel. It was a calculated risk.
Besides, very few people knew who the man he was talking about really was.
Ronin was focused on playing a game on his phone. When he heard the comment, he only gave a faint "Oh," then continued frantically tapping the screen. In these boring three hours, only games could make the time pass pleasantly. Anything else felt like torture—especially awkward small talk with this fake guy.
As for the "hero in Coulson's heart," anyone with half a brain could guess who it was—that guy known as Marvel's 50-50 man!
It reminded him of Kakashi, the Copy Ninja. Both of them, no matter how weak or strong the enemy, always had to trade blows and force a 50-50 split.
Kakashi vs. Pain's Deva Path in Naruto, Captain America tanking a hit from Thanos in Marvel—true 50-50 legends!
"Huh?"
Coulson suddenly felt the urge to floor the gas pedal. He had just openly expressed his admiration for Soldier: 76, and the producer and screenwriter of Soldier: 76 couldn't even spare more than a single "Oh"? Even a simple "thank you" would have been better.
This completely killed any desire he had to chat with Ronin. He glanced back and saw Ronin still playing his game, which only made him angrier. Damn it, a grown man still playing mobile games? Can't you have some ambition?
"This boss is such a pain in the ass," Ronin muttered after dying for the third time at the same stage, unable to hold back a curse.
Coulson shook his head, feeling deep sympathy—and a bit of envy. How can someone be so addicted to games and still write such excellent scripts? If those screenwriters who slave over their work every day saw this, they'd probably question their entire existence and consider hanging themselves.
"Drive steadily," Ronin complained. The sudden brake made his body lurch forward, seriously messing up his gaming rhythm.
Coulson's forehead filled with black lines. It felt like he was nothing more than a full-time driver. If the Director hadn't specifically ordered him to get Ronin home safely, he wouldn't have bothered with this trip. It was exhausting, and he had to put up with this guy's attitude.
Dealing with Ronin was even more tiring than dealing with Tony Stark. The man was arrogant, dismissive, and extremely casual—almost lazy. He even suspected that Tony had met Ronin long ago and picked up a bunch of bad habits from him.
Fortunately, they were already two-thirds of the way there. The torture would soon be over.
Coulson let out a sigh of relief, but then his brows suddenly furrowed. Why do the cars on both sides feel like they're squeezing me in?
As he drove, two vehicles moved closer from the sides. Realizing something was wrong, he quickly accelerated to shake them off, but the flanking cars sped up too.
A car ahead even drove toward them head-on. The side vehicles coordinated with the front one to trap him in the middle, while another car closed in from behind. He was completely boxed in and couldn't move.
Not good!
Coulson's expression changed drastically. He drew his handgun.
Ronin was still buried in his phone game. He grumbled, "Go already! Why aren't we moving?"
There was no response, and the car remained still. He looked up and saw what was happening outside the windows…