Marvel: Pure Superpowers, No Side Effects Throughout
Chapter 1: Transmigration and Awakening of Captain America · Ultimate Pure Constitution
Multiple Heroines, Multiple Heroines
[Brain Depository]
2008, New York, the top-floor private lounge of the Starkestate.
Leon Stark slowly opened his eyes, a trace of transmigration-induced daze flashing through his clear pupils,
which was immediately replaced by a hint of elation at having "scored a huge bargain."
He had transmigrated.
Thank you, Great Fortune!
From Lin Chen, an ordinary 996 grind culture worker from Blue Star, he overnight became Howard Stark's youngest son and Tony Stark's only biological younger brother,
the secret heir of the Stark Family, possessing top-tier wealth, keeping a low profile year-round, living an extremely Buddha-like life, with almost no one associating him with the infinitely glamorous Tony.
And even more absurdly, the moment he transmigrated, his cheat arrived.
[Ding! No-side-effect superpower template system successfully bound!]
[Novice gift pack distributed!]
[Congratulations to the host for unlocking the exclusive initial template: Captain America · Ultimate Pure Constitution (100% purified version)!]
[Stripped away: all negative shackles, mental obsessions, personality shortcomings, and combat sequelae.]
[Retained: human limit peak physical fitness, superspeed cellular self-healing, multi-dimensional top-tier physical resistance, ultimate five-sense capture, and full-capacity nerve reaction speed.]
[Special rules take effect: no shackles of justice, no obsession with saving the World, no mental internal friction, and no backlash of abilities! Pure enjoyment of superpowers, zero defects, zero hidden dangers, and zero bottlenecks!]
In an instant, a majestic, pure, and infinitely gentle force swept through his entire body.
There was no excruciating pain refining him, no rejection overload, and no mental tearing.
The whole process was comfortable, stable, and completely burden-free—like an innate instinct, this body instantly completed its transformation, leaping directly from an ordinary fleshly body to the absolute peak of human physical fitness.
Lynn raised his hand slightly, his fingertips trembling lightly.
Every inch of muscle and every thread of bone in his body was filled with explosive, perfect power. When relaxed, he was as warm and smooth as usual; when tensed, he could burst forth with peak combat power capable of crushing everything.
What was even more absurd was the self-healing.
He could clearly sense that
even if he suffered severe injuries at this moment, he could heal rapidly the next second, with bones, flesh, and nerves undergoing all-around repair, making him nearly immortal.
The most crucial point was: he did not inherit a single fraction of Captain America's obsessions.
There were no shackles of justice, no mission to save the World, no stubborn inflexibility, and certainly no tragic core of self-sacrifice.
The system perfectly stripped away all negatives, leaving only the purest and most perfect superpower constitution.
"So comfortable."
Lynn's mouth curled into a casual and cozy smile, leaving only wild joy deep in his heart.
A god-tier starting hand.
Max-level constitution, endless wealth, with dual buffs in hand.
Transmigrating into the Marvel Universe, crises lurked everywhere.
Yet his life creed had always been simple and straightforward: no hot-bloodedness, no saving the World, no being a saint, and no internal friction.
Becoming strong was never for guarding the World, nor was it for conquering the Universe.
It was only to avoid all life-and-death crises, take control of his own life, lie down securely, and enjoy himself wantonly.
As for saving the World and fighting Thanos?
Whoever loves to go can go.
He just wanted to look at luxury cars and beauties, and spend every day peacefully.
When encountering matters, he would lie down if he could, and only take action when forced into a corner.
Once he took action, it would be absolute suppression.
Just at this moment, the door of the lounge was gently pushed open.
Dressed in a casual suit with unruly brows and eyes and the inherent arrogance of a genius, Tony Stark pushed the door open, toying with a pair of customized sunglasses in his hand, his face wearing his signature cynical smile.
"My good younger brother, finally willing to wake up?"
Tony walked over to the bar, casually opened a bottle of champagne, turned to look at Lynn, who was lazily leaning on the sofa, and said casually:
"Right, let me tell you something,
Next month I have a trip to Afghanistan for a weapon demonstration arranged by the Military.
After I come back, I'll take you to hang out in Hollywood; the supermodels there are much more interesting than those in New York."
The moment his voice fell, Lynn's eyes lifted slightly.
Afghanistan.
Having browsed the Marvel plot countless times in his past life, he knew better than anyone what would happen next.
Tony would be ambushed and captured, and the shrapnel in his chest would force him to build an Arc Reactor, hammering out the first Iron Man armor in a dilapidated cave, thus kicking off the legend of Iron Man and opening the MCU's super hero era lasting over a decade.
Seeing that he didn't speak, Tony thought he was worried and added with a smile:
"Rest assured, Stark's security is the top-tier in the entire World. It's just going through the motions; I'll go and be right back."
Lynn picked up the coffee on the coffee table, took a slow sip, his tone as casual as if he were chatting about today's weather:
"Alright, go ahead then."
"...That's it?"
Tony was somewhat surprised,
"At least say something like'stay safe'."
"Stay safe—those four words are more suitable to be said to Terrorists."
Lynn curled the corners of his mouth,
"You just go ahead and have fun."
Tony was amused by his attitude:
"You win. Then before I set off, shall I have a drink with you? I heard you were looking for something… Middle Eastern Military data?"
"Just flipping through casually to pass the time."
Lynn's expression remained unchanged as he casually brushed it off.
Tony didn't ask further, waving his hand and turning around dashingly:
"Alright, then I'm off. I'll be very busy this month, play by yourself."
The sound of the door closing fell, and the lounge quieted down once again.
The smile on Lynn's face slowly converged.
Of course he knew what would happen in Afghanistan.
Of course he knew that this trip by Tony would subject him to endless torture and a razor-thin line between life and death.
But he did not stop him.
Because he knew clearer than anyone else
that this catastrophe was Tony's necessary path to transform into Iron Man.
The current Tony was just a cynical genius playboy who made money by selling arms.
If he bypassed this life-and-death trial, he would never grow up.
In the future, facing Ultron, facing Thanos, and facing a crisis truly capable of destroying the World, such a Tony Stark would undoubtedly die.
Saving his life for a moment did not count as protecting him.
Letting him live to the end was truly protecting him all the way.
What's more, he dared to let Tony go because he had the absolute confidence to bring his older brother back alive.
The human limit's peak physical fitness, nearly immortal self-healing, and all-crushing reaction speed—this body was his capital to provide a safety net for Tony.
And this month was just enough for him to familiarize himself with this brand-new body, and enough for him to figure out the inside story over in Afghanistan clearly.
Just at this moment—
[Ding! The system detects that a critical plot node is about to open!]
[Iron Man's initial life-and-death tribulation: Thirty days later, Tony Stark will head to Afghanistan and encounter a fatal ambush!]
[At that time, the plot mission will be triggered: Rescue Tony Stark!]
[Mission reward preview: Unlock the Spider-Man · Ultimate Agility Pure Constitution Template (no-side-effect full version)!]
[The host can choose: Whether to lay out preparations in advance? (Remaining preparation time: 30 days)]
The system prompt fell in his mind.
Lynn was slightly startled, and then a meaningful light flashed across the depths of his eyes.
Spider-Man template
Ultimate agility, Spider-Sense, super adsorption, and peak reaction speed were all purified cleanly, without Peter Parker's innocence, saintly attitude, and tragic nature, leaving only pure agility and perception.
Coupled with the current Captain America constitution, both speed and strength were possessed, making offense and defense integrated and flawless.
"Laying out preparations in advance?"
Lynn repeated in a low voice, the corners of his mouth slowly curling into an arc.
He stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass window, his fingertips gently rubbing against the glass, his gaze crossing New York's skyline and falling into the distance.
Thirty days.
Enough for him to figure out the inside story of all armed forces in Afghanistan.
Enough for him to practice this peak constitution until it was as compliant as his own arm.
And enough for him… to prepare a big gift for certain blind things.
The sunshine outside the window was just right. Lynnpicked up his phone, dialed his assistant's number, his tone lazy yet unquestionable:
"Help me do three things."
"First, collect detailed information on all anti-government armed forces and terrorist organizations in Afghanistan, the more complete the better."
"Second, prepare a private jet, standing by at all times."
"Third—"
He paused, his smile gentle, but his voice cold beyond belief:
"Order me a case of good wine. When Tony comes back, I want to welcome him back."
The person on the other end of the phone was stunned, obviously not understanding what the last sentence had to do with the preceding ones.
Lynn didn't explain, hung up the phone, sat back down on the sofa, picked up the cup of coffee that had already gone cold, and looked out the window.
Thirty days.
Thirty days away from Iron Man's life-and-death tribulation.
And these thirty days were enough for him to play this first game in the Marvel Universe brilliantly.
Tony, go ahead with peace of mind.
Your younger brother me has already laid out this entire game of chess for you.
Chapter 2: Tonight, A Night of Debauchery
Three days later, night fell over New York.
In the study of the Stark Family manor, Lynn leaned lazily against a leather chair, his slender fingers brushing across a stack of documents spread out before him.
The bases, leaders, equipment, and firepower configurations of various armed factions in Afghanistanwere detailed down to the smallest matter, with not a single page missing.
"Interesting."
His fingertips tapped on one of the pages, which featured the emblem of the "Ten Rings Gang", a playful curve tugging at the corner of his lips,
"This organization actually has some substance."
However, Lynn quickly closed the documents and casually tossed them aside.
As for reading documents, it was better to leave that for professionals to monitor. As an idle person who just wanted to lie back and enjoy life, he had no need to turn himself into an intelligence service Agent.
There were still more than twenty days left until Tony's departure.
Not a single day of the days meant for enjoyment could be wasted.
"Tonight, let's go out for a stroll."
The nights of New York never lacked places to go.
And the most top-tier one was called "Manhattan Nights" — located on the top floor of Midtown, open only to members, with everyone coming and going being either wealthy or noble. It was said that the overnight turnover here rivaled the annual revenue of a small Wall Street firm.
A black supercar stopped at the entrance, and the valet, who was just about to step forward to block it, immediately bowed and cleared the way upon seeing the license plate.
In New York City, who didn't know who stood behind that license plate number?
Lynn got out of the car, his slender figure sharply outlined under the lights. There were no swarming bodyguards, no crowds of assistants; it was just him alone, strolling leisurely through the glittering lobby.
Wherever he passed, everyone's gazes involuntarily fell upon him.
Young, handsome, without a single logo on his body, yet exuding the word "prestige" from head to toe.
That kind of ingrained confidence could not be faked by a nouveau riche.
"Who is that?"
Someone asked in a low voice from the corner.
"Don't know, looks very unfamiliar."
The companion shook his head, "But there are no more than twenty people in all of New York who can drive that car in here."
Lynn ignored the surrounding discussions, walked straight to the bar, and tilted his chin at the bartender:
"Open a bottle of each of the finest wines you have here."
"Sir, all of them?" The bartender was stunned, "That's..."
"All of them."
Lynn casually pulled a black card from his pocket and pushed it across, his tone indifferent,
"By the way, save the innermost booth for me."
When the bartender saw the card clearly, his pupils suddenly constricted.
That was a dedicated card of the Stark Family; fewer than three had been issued in all of New York.
"Yes, sir!"
The bartender's waist bent at a ninety-degree angle.
Three minutes later.
The entire "Manhattan Nights" went wild.
Fine wines worth hundreds of thousands of dollars were sent to the booths bottle by bottle as if they were free. Waiters lined up in long queues, the liquor reflecting an amber light under the lights, and the strong aroma of alcohol almost broke through the roof. The DJ tactfully changed to a more energetic tune, and the cheers throughout the venue rose wave upon wave.
This was the World of a tycoon.
Money here wasn't meant to be saved; it was meant to be thrown around.
Lynn leaned back in the soft sofa of the booth, crossing his legs and swirling the wine in his glass, his expression lazy, as if everything before him had nothing to do with him.
Someone came up to hand him a business card; he smiled and accepted it, putting it into his pocket without even looking at it. Someone wanted a photo together, and he waved his hand in refusal. A few hot-dressed girls gathered close, tentatively leaning toward his side.
Lynn neither pushed them away nor reached out, merely saying slowly:
"Drinks can be on me, but don't be in such a rush to cling."
"If you want to sit and chat, find your own seat."
As soon as his voice fell, a figure took a seat on the sofa opposite the booth.
A woman.
Dressed in a daringly tailored long red dress, with deep chestnut long hair draped casually over her shoulders, her facial features were aggressively beautiful.
Tall, dazzling, with an overwhelming aura, she was the type who could make the eyes of every man in the room follow her the moment she stepped through the door.
She didn't look at the wine on the table, but simply rested her chin in her hand, staring at Lynn with great interest. The very first sentence she spoke was:
"Leon Stark."
"The legendary most mysterious youngest son of the Stark Family, who never shows his face—what brings you the mood to come out and rock the place today?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow, growing a bit interested:
"You know me."
"Not many people in New York's top circles know. What a coincidence, I happen to be one of them."
The woman smiled slightly, extending her hand,
"Ivy Blake, modeling agency owner. Everyone in the circle says the youngest son of the Stark Family is so zen he practically doesn't exist. Seeing you today, the rumors are mistaken."
Lynn didn't reach out his hand, merely raising his wine glass and gesturing to her from afar:
"The rumors are correct; it's just that today, I want to make an exception."
"Oh?"
Ivy raised an eyebrow,
"What exception?"
"Have a good sleep."
Lynn took a sip of wine, a playful smile on his face,
"Let's see who has the ability to do that tonight."
Ivy was stunned at first, then burst out laughing, her shifting gaze carrying a trace of provocation born from stirred interest:
"The Stark Family's youngest son certainly talks big."
"Whether I talk big or not, won't we know if you try?"
The night was still long.
In the early hours of the morning, Lynn swiped his card to open a top-floor suite.
A whole night of extravagance, a whole night of tender intimacy.
(Three thousand words omitted here.)
Early morning.
Sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the suite. Lynn slowly opened his eyes, the warmth belonging to last night still lingering in his arms.
He turned his head to glance at the sleeping woman beside him, smiled silently, got out of bed, and walked into the bathroom to take a shower.
This was the life he wanted.
Wealthy, with plenty of leisure and ability, not subject to anyone's manipulation.
If he wanted to lie flat, he lied flat; if he wanted to live wildly, he lived wildly; when he wanted to make a move, no one could stop him.
When Lynn walked out of the bathroom wiping his hair, his phone vibrated.
An encrypted message.
Sender: The person he arranged over in Afghanistan.
The content was very simple, with only a single line of text—
[The Ten Rings Gang has been frequently active recently, suspected of a major move. Target currently unknown.]
Lynn gripped his phone, his eyes narrowing slightly. The laziness in the depths of his eyes faded little by little, replaced by a profound sharpness.
Ten Rings Gang.
In his past life's Marvel plot, it was precisely this organization that kidnapped Tony.
They are already starting to become active now...
In other words, Tony's trip to Afghanistan was even more perilous than he had anticipated.
Lynn lowered his head to glance at the ticking time on his phone screen, a curve slowly hooking up at the corner of his mouth.
There was still enough time.
He turned back to glance at the woman still sleeping soundly on the bed, pulled a card from his wallet and pinned it on the bedside table, then left a note:
[The wine is good, the person even better. Next time you're free, I'll treat you to a drink again.]
On the back of the note, he casually wrote a line of text:
[By the way—your red dress suits you very well. But next time we meet, I suggest you wear something easier to run in.]
Ivy Blake.
The queen of New York's top modeling circle, capable of driving countless men infatuated in a single night.
But Lynn's intuition had always been very accurate.
This woman was definitely not as simple as just running a modeling agency.
As for whose person she was...
Lynn put his phone back into his pocket, pushed the door open and left. The morning light fell on his profile, his smile faint and resolute:
"Interesting."
"This game of chess is getting more and more interesting."
Chapter 3: Peak Night
Twenty-three days left until Tony's departure.
In the early morning of New York, Lynn had just finished swimming two thousand meters in the estate's pool. When he came ashore, his entire body was dripping with water, yet his breathing was as steady as if he had just taken a walk.
Human limit physical fitness turned this high-intensity exercise, in the eyes of ordinary people, into a pastime that didn't even count as a warmup.
He casually pulled a towel to wipe his hair, pondering what to do today to pass the time, when his phone lit up.
A text message.
Sender: Ivy Blake.
"The night after tomorrow, there is a private art exhibition in Long Island, and I heard there is an authentic work by Monet. Going alone is rather boring, would you do me the honor?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curving into a playful arc.
Interesting. He had left such a note that morning; if it were an ordinary woman, she would either be furious or avoid him at all costs.
As for this lady, not only did she not hide, but she instead actively handed over an invitation.
Either she was truly interested in him, or she had other motives.
"Just right."
Lynn threw the phone aside and smiled leisurely,
"Being idle is being idle anyway."
Two days later, Long Island.
The private art exhibition was set in a seaside white Villa. Not many people attended, but every single one was a recognizable face in New York's upper-class circles.
Monet's authentic work hung in the most prominent position of the middle hall. Under the soft lighting, the brushstrokes of the water lilies were layered, quiet and noble.
Ivy wore a dark blue satin long dress, standing in front of the painting. Hearing footsteps, she turned back and saw Lynn, the corners of her eyes curving slightly:
"I thought you would come in formal wear."
"Formal wear is reserved for occasions where it should be worn."
Lynn walked to her side, his gaze sweeping over the painting, and casually commented,
"Water Lilies. A work from Monet's later years; the light and shadow are handled more loosely than in his early years. Good painting."
Ivy looked at him with some surprise:
"You understand paintings?"
"Slightly."
Lynn smiled,
"The Stark Family has a rule.
The family can lack an heir, but it cannot lack artistic cultivation. I was forced to study it for several years when I was little."
"That is indeed interesting."
Ivy turned sideways, looking at him with a half-smile,
"I thought you would say you are not interested in these things."
"Things like art depend on the mood."
Lynn's tone was lazy,
"However tonight, with you accompanying me to look at it, I am quite interested."
The two strolled leisurely through the gallery, occasionally commenting on the paintings or exchanging a glance. Lynn's peripheral vision always fell on Ivy. With his five senses amplified to the extreme, he could clearly capture every fluctuation of her breath and every subtle, almost nonexistent movement.
Her heartbeat would unconsciously speed up by a beat or two when she got close to him.
Interesting.
This woman said "do me the honor" with her mouth, but her body was quite honest.
The night grew deep, and the guests dispersed one after another.
Ivy suggested:
"Go to my place for a drink? By the sea, the scenery is not bad."
Lynn did not refuse.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the seaside Villawas a gray-blue sea surface, and moonlight filled the room.
Two glasses of wine down, the atmosphere began to change.
Ivy leaned against the window, her fingertips hooking the wine glass, looking at him with burning eyes:
"Leon Stark."
"Hmm?"
"I have researched you."
Her voice carried a hint of hoarseness. "All the information about you in the circle writes 'aloof from worldly affairs, living in seclusion all year round'. But the way you looked that night at 'Manhattan Night' is not like what they say at all."
"Then what do you think I should be like?"
"Someone..." Ivy stepped closer, raising her head to look at him, her eyes flowing with emotion,
"Who hides a lot of things."
Lynn lowered his head to look at her, and suddenly smiled.
"Good eye."
He said,
"However—what is hidden depends on who is asking."
"Then if I come to ask, will you let me see?"
"That depends on—"
Lynn's fingertips picked up a strand of her long hair, his voice dropping a few degrees,
"Whether you have the ability to make me willing to give."
With words reaching this point, even the most obtuse person would understand what would happen next.
The night wind surged in from the window cracks, and the sound of the ocean tide came from far to near.
And this night, Lynn finally experienced what is called the peak experience of the "ultimate physical constitution".
Romance in the eyes of ordinary people was, for him, a feast where his five senses were thoroughly ignited.
The exquisitely sensitive tactile sense allowed every inch of skin, every strand of hair, and every fluctuation of heartbeat where his fingertips passed to be magnified a thousand times as clearly perceptible. He could almost capture every minute change in her.
The instant her breathing suddenly became heavy, the moment her fingertips unconsciously curled up, and every slight tremor overflowing from her throat could not escape his perception.
The full-level neural reaction speed made him never need to test. Where she would shiver, where she would go limp, where she would instinctively approach—
He knew a step earlier than she did herself, and then precisely controlled all the rhythms, unhurried and just right.
The human-limit physical fitness completely liberated him from all worries. In the long night, as the tide rose and fell, there was no exhaustion, no overdraft, only increasingly fierce loss of control and indulgence time after time.
In the end, she was almost hanging on him, her breath disordered, her eyes glistening with Water, and she cursed him with a hoarse voice:
"Lynn... Are you even human?"
"Not human."
He chuckled low, his voice carrying a wicked satiety,
"I am a person of the Stark Family."
Under the moonlight, amidst the sound of the ocean tide, it was a night of folly.
(Three thousand words omitted here.)
In the early morning, sunlight spilled over the sea surface.
Lynn leaned against the head of the bed, looking at the sea outside the window, his expression sated and lazy.
What Captain America's pure physical constitution brought was far more than just combat power.
Even this kind of matter was a top-tier experience that ordinary people couldn't reach even in their dreams.
Purely enjoying superpowers was indeed well-deserved.
Just as he was thinking this, Ivy beside him turned over, lazily opened her eyes, looked at him for a good while, and suddenly spoke:
"Lynn, have you ever thought that
the Stark Family might be more than just what you see?"
Lynn's gaze flickered slightly, but he didn't show it on the surface:
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
Ivy smiled, burying her face into the pillow, her voice muffled,
"Just pretend I was exhausted last night and was talking nonsense."
She refused to say any more.
But Lynn's intuition told him that this sentence was definitely not nonsense.
He just wanted to press further when his phone vibrated on the bedside table.
An encrypted message.
"The leader of the Ten Rings Gang recently contacted a mysterious buyer, and the transaction content is unknown. Also: U.S. military convoys in Afghanistan are frequently mobilized, and their routes highly overlap with Stark's exhibition itinerary."
Lynn held the phone, the laziness in the depths of his eyes sinking bit by bit.
Ten Rings Gang, mysterious buyer, overlapping routes...
That game of chess in Afghanistan was much more complex than he anticipated.
And Ivy by his side had "coincidentally" said such an inexplicable sentence at this moment.
Lynn lowered his eyes and smiled silently.
Interesting.
Getting more and more interesting.
Chapter 4 Meeting the Red-Haired Woman (Black Widow Natasha)
At midnight in Manhattan, the air was wrapped in a layer of damp chill, mixed with the steaming heat rising from the sewers and the lingering burnt smell of barbecue from roadside food carts.
Lynn turned into an old alley in downtown and pushed open a wooden door with no sign.
Inside the door, the charred aroma of cigars, the malty scent of whiskey, and the breath of some old leather hit his face, blending into a dull smell belonging only to old-school bars.
Jazz played lowly, and the saxophone dragged out a sorrowful tail end.
A red-haired woman sat in the corner of the bar.
Her dark red long hair was draped over her shoulders, wearing a black dress, holding vodka in her right hand, her left hand resting on the bar counter, her knuckles turning white with slight exertion.
Lynn sat down next to her and tilted his chin at the bartender:
"A martini, olives, don't shake it."
The red-haired woman didn't look at him, staring at the wine in the glass.
Lynn felt out a cigarette from his pocket, didn't light it, twirled it twice between his fingers, and suddenly spoke:
"Left shoulder, gunshot wound."
The red-haired woman's movement paused.
She slowly turned her face, her green eyes like two frozen lakes, scanning him up and down:
"You've only been in the door for three minutes."
"Smelled it out."
Lynn held the cigarette in his mouth without lighting it,
"Iodophor, hemostatic powder, and the smell of blood. You suppressed it with perfume, but you can't suppress this."
Her gaze changed.
From "too lazy to look more" to "vigilance" took only half a second.
Her right hand quietly slid to the edge of her skirt, where a knife was hidden.
"Don't be nervous."
Lynn raised his hand slightly, his tone casual,
"I'm just reminding you, if the wound is treated like this, it will get infected tomorrow."
There was silence between the two for a few seconds.
At the other end of the bar, a drunkard gave a loud hiccup and was dragged out by his companion, bumping into the back of the red-haired woman's chair as he passed.
She didn't look back.
But Lynn saw it clearly. At that moment, her uninjured right hand had already reached under her skirt. The speed was so fast it was almost invisible.
The drunkard was dragged away. Her hand retracted again, she picked up her glass, and gulped down a mouthful.
"What's your name?"
She finally looked straight at him.
"Lynn. Leon Stark."
Her eyelashes moved slightly.
Stark. These three words, in a place like New York, were worth more than any bottle of wine in the bar.
She narrowed her eyes and re-examined the man in front of her.
Young, handsome, with two buttons unbuttoned at the collar, ridiculously lazy, but those eyes were frighteningly sober.
"No wonder."
She put down the glass,
"The young master of a rich family has a sharper nose than others."
"This has nothing to do with money."
Lynn smiled, "It has to do with observation skills."
"When you came in, your right hand touched the bar first to confirm if there was an escape route."
"When walking, your left foot was half a step lighter than your right foot because your left shoulder hurt."
"You've been sitting here for forty minutes, changing directions three times, and every time there was an exit in your peripheral vision."
"And you still claim you just stumbled in drunk?"
The red-haired woman was silent for a long time.
So long that the bartender behind the bar took a couple of extra glances at them.
Then she smiled.
Not that kind of perfunctory smile, but the kind of smile that was aroused after being exposed.
"Natasha."
She said,
"You can call me Natasha."
She raised her glass and gestured to him:
"This drink is my thanks for your reminder. As for the wound,"
"I know how to handle it, you don't need to worry."
"Then let's change the subject."
Lynn clinked his glass against hers,
"Alone tonight?"
"Alone."
Natasha sipped her wine,
"Just finished a 'business' order and came out for some fresh air."
"What a coincidence."
Lynn put the cigarette back into his pocket and stood up,
"Me too. Then"
"Would you like to change places for air? In my wine cabinet at home, there is a bottle of 1961 Macallan. Drinking it alone would be a pity."
Natasha lifted her eyes to look at him.
"Aren't you afraid of me?"
She asked,
"What if I'm coming for the Stark Family's money?"
"What a coincidence then."
Lynn looked down at her with a lazy smile,
"I just happen to want to see what kind of woman dares to come for the Stark Family's money."
Their eyes met.
Natasha put down her glass, stood up, and tossed her coat over her shoulder:
"Lead the way."
In the hallway, the elevator doors closed, leaving only the breathing of two people in the confined space.
She was less than half an arm's length away from him. Lynn could smell her perfume mixed with the scent of alcohol, tobacco, and a hint of rust—
that was the lingering trace of the smell of blood.
"Aren't you curious what I do for a living?"
She suddenly asked, her voice sounding exceptionally clear in the elevator.
"Not curious."
Lynn pressed the first floor button without looking at her,
"When it's time to know, I naturally will."
"You certainly know how to keep your composure."
"People who can't keep their composure don't live to the present."
The elevator doors opened, and the New York night wind poured in, wrapped in a cold moisture that blew away the lingering smoke and alcohol smell from the bar.
The penthouse door lock clicked open.
Just as Lynn reached out for the entryway light, his wrist was caught by a strong hand and pinned against the wall in reverse.
In the dark, Natasha's voice came close to his ear, with a playful huskiness:
"Let's get this straight for tonight, neither of us asks about the other's past."
"Deal."
Lynn curved the corners of his mouth in the dark,
"Then let's see who cracks first."
The city lights outside the window flickered in the dark, two figures intertwined, their breathing overlapping.
For the first time, Lynn tasted the feeling of "meeting one's match."
Every inch of her trained body carried instinctive resistance and suppression—
if it were an ordinary person, they would have been flipped to the ground by her long ago. But Lynn's full-point neural reaction speed made every charge and every counterattack of hers
anticipated by him before she even struck, effortlessly resolved.
His fingertips pressed against the edge of the wound on her left shoulder, and his extremely keen sense of touch could clearly perceive the tightening of her muscles at that moment.
He paused and eased his strength.
In the dark, Natasha's breathing skipped a beat.
"...Not touching the wound anymore?"
Her voice was hoarse.
"Touching something else of yours."
Lynn chuckled, his voice close to the night,
"The wound, save it for tomorrow."
Her fingernails sank into his back.
The city lights outside the window flickered all night long.
(Three thousand words omitted here.)
Early morning.
Sunlight leaked through the gaps in the floor-to-ceiling windows. When Lynn woke up, the pillow beside him was already empty.
The bathroom door was half open, and the sound of water had stopped. Natasha walked out wrapped in one of his shirts, her hair still dripping water, stepping barefoot on the floor, bending over to pick up the coat she had thrown on the sofa last night.
"Leaving?"
"Yeah."
She draped her coat over her arm, walked to the door, suddenly paused without turning back,
"Your brother is going on a long trip?"
Lynn leaned against the head of the bed, looking at her back:
"How do you know?"
"After you fell asleep last night, you shouted 'Afghanistan' in your sleep."
Natasha opened the door, and the morning light poured in, illuminating half of her profile,
"The Ten Rings Gang hasn't been peaceful lately, and their hands are reaching out longer than usual. Your brother's trip, postpone it if you can."
She walked out, and the door closed behind her.
Lynn stared at the door for ten-odd seconds.
He lifted the covers and got out of bed, walking to the window, with New York's morning scenery spread out at his feet.
Natasha Romanoff.
Even a woman he had just met for one night knew that the trip to Afghanistan was a trap,
yet his genius older brother insisted on going.
Lynn lowered his head and looked at his open palms.
His fingertips still retained the tactile sensation of that wound on her shoulder—
a fresh wound, grazed by a bullet, two centimeters away from being fatal.
A mission where S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Black Widow even got wounded...
That pool of water in Afghanistan was deeper than he expected.
He picked up his phone, dialed a number, it rang twice, and the other side answered.
"How is the investigation going?"
"Boss,"
The voice on the other end paused,
"The Ten Rings Gang is indeed hoarding goods recently, heavy firepower. Moreover, they recently contacted a mysterious buyer, and the transaction details haven't been found out yet."
"Keep investigating."
Lynn narrowed his eyes,
"By the way, help me check a person."
"Who?"
"Natasha Romanoff."
"...Boss, this person might be troublesome to check."
"That's why I'm having you check."
Lynn switched his phone to his other hand, his voice carrying a hint of chill,
"Find out clearly who is behind her."
Lynn hung up the phone, tapped his fingertips lightly on the window glass, and his gaze fell into the distance.
Afghanistan, S.H.I.E.L.D., Black Widow, mysterious buyer.
This game of chess is much more interesting than he expected.
Chapter 5: Eve of Departure
Eleven o'clock at night, the study of the Stark estate.
Lynn sat behind the desk with a stack of documents spread out before him, his fingertips pressing down on a satellite photo.
In the mountainous region of northern Afghanistan, a hidden valley camp was marked as "Ten Rings Gang · Suspected Main Stronghold".
The door was pushed open without a knock.
Tony leaned against the doorframe, holding a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, wearing a bathrobe and with messy hair, looking like he had just crawled out of the laboratory.
"Why are you still not asleep this late?"
He walked in, placed the glasses on the desk, and poured himself a drink.
"You've been acting weird lately, little bro."
"What's weird about it?"
Lynn closed the documents with a natural motion, without raising his eyes.
"You."
Tony pushed a glass of wine in front of him,
"For the past month, you haven't stepped outside, staring at those damn Middle East documents every day. The bodyguard said you bought a private jet, and the assistant said you ordered a welcome-back drink—did you order that for me?"
Lynn picked up the wine glass, didn't drink, and twirled it between his fingertips:
"You're quite well-informed."
"Your older brother here is the best-informed person in the entire United States."
Tony sat down on the opposite sofa, crossed his legs, and locked his gaze on Lynn's face,
"So, you'd better tell me the truth right now—what on earth is fishy about that trip to Afghanistan?"
The study fell silent for a few seconds.
A piece of pine wood in the fireplace cracked with a pop, sending out a spark.
Lynn put down the wine glass and raised his eyes. Lamplight flickered in the depths of his eyes, but his tone was unnaturally calm:
"The catch is that once you go there, someone will want your life."
Tony scoffed:
"Someone wants my life every day. Being an arms dealer, it's just the old trade."
"It's different."
Lynn interrupted him, leaning forward,
"This time it's not a business rival, nor are they Terrorists. Someone paid money to buy your death in Afghanistan."
The smile on Tony's face faded bit by bit.
He stared at Lynn for a long time before speaking slowly:
"How do you know?"
"How I know doesn't matter."
Lynn leaned back into the chair back, "What matters is that you still have to go on this trip."
"Then you're sending me to my death?"
Tony's voice dropped.
"I'm not sending you to your death."
Lynn raised his eyes, his gaze crashing straight into Tony's eyes,
"I am having you go so you can come back alive."
Tony suddenly stood up, walked around the desk, stopped in front of Lynn, and looked down at him.
He was half a head taller than his younger brother, but at this moment, the look of this younger brother sitting in the chair and looking up at him made him inexplicably feel
that he was the one who had been seen through.
"Lynn."
Tony's voice lowered,
"What on earth are you hiding from me?"
Lynn did not avoid his gaze.
"You only need to know one thing."
He said,
"You are my older brother. In this world, as long as I am still alive, no one can take your life."
"As for what I've been hiding from you," Lynn picked up the wine glass and gestured to him,
"when you come back from Afghanistan alive, I'll tell you everything."
Tony stared at him for a long time, then suddenly laughed.
In that smile, there was disbelief, confusion, and a hint of something touched.
He reached out to pat his younger brother's shoulder, turned around and walked toward the door, stopping halfway.
"Fine."
He didn't look back,
"Then the day I come back, you'd better provide enough welcome-back drinks."
"Plenty of it."
Lynn's voice came from behind him,
"I've even chosen the brand."
The door closed.
The study fell quiet again, leaving only the crackling sound of pine wood burning in the fireplace and the rustling sound of fine snow beating against the glass outside the window.
Lynn lowered his head, looking at the spread-out documents. His gaze fell on the photo of the Ten Rings Gang stronghold, and his fingertips slowly tapped on the desktop.
Five days.
Right at this moment, the encrypted satellite phone on the desk vibrated once.
Lynn answered it, and the voice coming from the other side was kept very low, speaking English with a Middle Eastaccent:
"Boss, we just intercepted an internal communication from the Ten Rings Gang. They recently received a large sum of money, and the buyer requested"
"to ensure Stark never returns."
Lynn's fingers holding the phone tightened slightly:
"Who is the buyer?"
"It hasn't been verified yet. But a word was mentioned in the communication—"
"What word?"
"... Ark."
Lynn's pupils shrank abruptly.
Ark.
Arc Reactor
Tony's most core technology, the deepest secret of Stark Industries.
People who could come into contact with the word "Ark" throughout Stark Industries could be counted on one hand.
The person on the other end of the phone was still saying something, but Lynn could barely hear it anymore. He put down his phone, his gaze falling on the flickering flames in the fireplace, the light in the depths of his eyes growing cold bit by bit.
The person who hired hitmen to kill Tony was not in Afghanistan.
It was in the United States.
Inside Stark Industries.
Lynn slowly stood up and walked to the window. The snow outside grew heavier and heavier, and the lights of New York blurred into a hazy yellow glow in the wind and snow.
He raised his hand, his fingertips pressing against the cold glass, his voice very soft, yet chillingly cold:
"I'd like to see who has the audacity to reach out and touch a member of my family."
The wind and snow battered the glass, continuing all night.