"It's not a big deal."
The Ancient One casually handed Alaric's ID card back to him.
"It is a big deal! What if someone looks at my ID card and finds out I'm actually thirty years old?"
Alaric sighed and immediately added:
"People will start wondering… am I even human!"
He was at a loss for words in this situation.
This time, against his will, he was "forced" to appear younger than he actually was.
"What's the fuss about… I've already passed a hundred… ahem… in any case, I was here first."
The Ancient One uttered half a sentence, then quickly changed the subject.
Age was a topic she didn't want to touch.
As if something urgently required her attention, she completely ignored Alaric's resentful expression, opened a portal, and returned to Kamar-Taj.
"…"
Alaric merely shrugged.
Forget it, thirty is thirty.
Who would be so bored as to go and check his ID or investigate his identity?
Besides, Captain America was still "frozen like an ice pop," and when he woke up, he'd probably look younger than he actually was.
And then there was the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier, both over a hundred years old.
Seen that way, the Ancient One was right, this wasn't such a big problem.
"Wait…"
Alaric suddenly raised an eyebrow.
"Although I got an ID card and a bank card… is there even any money on it? Looks like I'm completely broke!"
At that moment, he felt an unpleasant unease.
Should he go to Kamar-Taj and ask the Ancient One for a loan?
But that would probably end with her throwing him out.
"Could it be that I, as a disciple of the Sorcerer Supreme and a guardian of Earth, have to go out and look for an ordinary job just to earn a living?!"
Frustrated, he shook his head.
"What's the fastest way to get money?"
For a moment, a thought crossed his mind:
"Shopping for zero dollars? …No, that doesn't fit my identity. If the Ancient One found out, she'd probably kick me out of Kamar-Taj."
After a brief moment of thought, a determined gleam flashed in his eyes.
"Then there's only one way!"
...
At night, in the chaotic district of Hell's Kitchen.
Alaric had changed into a simple black hoodie and headed toward a well-known bar.
In his mind, he was already devising a plan to get money quickly, he would take on a few mercenary jobs and earn commissions.
Fortunately, he knew exactly where to go for such work.
Josie's Bar, also known as the Bar of Mother Margaret.
A place that was, in this part of town, a sort of den for mercenaries and petty criminals.
The owner of the bar, known by the nickname Weasel, was more than just an ordinary bartender.
He was a broker and intermediary who, in addition to selling weapons, also took various orders from clients and passed them on to those willing to do the dirty work.
Most of these jobs were linked to the criminal underworld, and those who accepted them were often former soldiers—like Wade Wilson, who had become mercenaries for various reasons.
Alaric thought: "I'll first take a look around, maybe pick up some simple job, earn at least a hundred thousand, and take care of my most urgent needs."
At this moment, he was practically penniless.
He couldn't afford even a decent meal, let alone buy basic necessities or furniture.
Even if he could sometimes get by without food, money was still urgently needed.
In his estimation, the jobs he could find in this bar likely wouldn't pose much of a challenge for someone like him.
However, as soon as he reached the bar, he faced an unexpected problem.
He was stopped by a burly man with a thick beard and a belly protruding beneath his jacket.
The man crossed his arms over his chest, blocking the entrance.
"Why? Not allowed in?" Alaric asked, raising an eyebrow.
"ID card." the guard replied in a gruff tone.
"???"
Alaric was baffled.
"Brother… this is a bar in Hell's Kitchen, and you're asking for an ID card?"
It seemed absurd to him that here, in a place where the law often meant little, they were asking for documents as if in some government office.
"Entry is allowed only for adults."
The guard eyed his youthful face and thought Alaric didn't even look old enough to enter, let alone drink.
"I'm an adult," Alaric said, irritated.
"Show me your ID."
The guard remained firm.
He had no intention of letting anyone in without checking.
Alaric hesitated.
It wasn't that he didn't have an ID, but he was worried it would look fake to someone like this.
After all, this was a bar frequented by criminals, why were they so strict about rules here?
For a while, the two stood facing each other, Alaric with a slightly nervous expression, and the guard patiently but firmly blocking the entrance.
"Do you have documents or not? If you don't, scram. Don't make trouble."
The mercenaries in the bar, as brutal and used to violence as they were, still had a kind of odd code.
Like Wade Wilson, they showed an unexpectedly softer side toward children and the young.
For that reason, the guard, though serious, didn't resort to violence.
"How old are you?" Alaric suddenly asked.
"Two hun… what? Twenty-eight." the guard replied, looking at him in confusion.
"You're actually only twenty-eight?!" Alaric raised his eyebrows.
Judging by the burly man's appearance, he had expected him to be at least in his mid-thirties.
"What do you think?" the guard asked gruffly.
It was obvious the remark stung, as he looked older than his age.
"Nothing… nothing," Alaric waved his hand dismissively and reluctantly pulled out his ID card, handing it to the guard.
The guard took it, looked at the date of birth, and then raised an eyebrow.
"Hm! Thirty? Seriously? You expect me to believe this? That you're not trying to fool me with a fake ID?"
Alaric sighed.
He knew this scene would play out exactly like this.
"It's the truth. Look at the picture."
The guard carefully compared the photo under the light with the face in front of him.
After a brief pause, he looked up.
"Are you sure this isn't your father's ID card?" he asked seriously.
"Because, by all appearances, your father could have had a son your age when he was thirty."
Alaric frowned.
"That's just how I look. I'm well preserved."
The guard stared at him for a moment, then waved his hand.
"All right, go on. It's not my problem what you're doing inside. Just don't cause trouble."
He handed the document back and stepped aside.
Alaric stuffed the ID card back into his pocket, walked past the guard, and stepped into the bar, determined to find his first job as soon as possible and earn his first fee.
–––
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