Seeing the girl start to waver under Herman's presence, the boy grew anxious and grabbed her arm.
"Don't trust these Americans!" he shouted, switching to his native language.
His guard against Herman never lessened. Staring at Herman's striking face, he was certain his sister was only being fooled by his looks. He tried to pull her away, but once she had made up her mind, his words could no longer sway her.
"What do you want from us…?"
The girl steadied her brother and repeated her question to Herman. Though she looked young, she clearly had a will of her own—a trait Herman noted would only grow stronger with age.
"What do you think I want from you?" Herman tossed the question back.
"Hah… you Americans," the boy snapped, pulling his sister protectively behind him. "You must be after something." He was sure the man had noticed her looks — they'd run into that kind of danger too many times while wandering through other countries.
"Are you… the same as us?" The girl didn't answer Herman's question but instead suddenly blurted out a probing one of her own.
Herman understood her meaning immediately.
"If you mean this kind of difference…" He lifted his hand, and the bag of chips floated into the air above his palm.
"I'd say we're about the same."
He smiled broadly as he saw red light spark from the girl's hand, guiding another bag of chips into the air.
"Sis… you—"
The boy's face twisted with conflicting emotions. Why would she reveal herself to a stranger? Even if he was one of their kind, how could they know if he was good or bad? They'd met others like them before—some with the worst of intentions.
"Brother, I trust my instincts. He probably isn't a bad person," the girl murmured softly in their native tongue.
"I'd say your sister's right."
Herman's sudden response made both of them jump. They hadn't expected him to understand their language.
"You saw it, didn't you? That big brute outside hurting innocent people. I stepped in and delivered justice. I'm one of the few real superheroes in New York."
He spoke without shame, even managing to sound sincere.
His brazen words, however, made the girl hesitate. Calling a ruthless execution "justice" didn't sound like any superhero she had imagined.
"I've never met a decent American…"
The boy's prejudice against the United States ran deep—or perhaps he was simply one of the few who saw things clearly.
"But I'm from China."
Herman replied at an unhurried pace, leaving the boy momentarily speechless.
"You don't want your sister to spend her whole life wandering the streets with you, always on the move, never knowing when the next meal will come, do you?"
"A girl her age should be in school, studying hard, enjoying her childhood with kids her age."
His words struck the boy right where it hurt.
"You can get her into school? A good American school?" The boy's tone softened, but suspicion still lingered in his eyes.
"We don't have the kind of identification you Americans carry," he admitted after a moment's hesitation, offering Herman a small glimpse of their reality.
"That's hardly an issue. A certain guy owes me a favor—I'm sure he'd be more than willing to arrange official IDs for you."
"Real documents, issued by the government," Herman clarified. Of course, he meant S.H.I.E.L.D.'s bald-headed director. For them, fabricating identities was child's play.
"You have friends among America's top officials?"
The boy stared at Herman, stunned.
"Didn't I introduce myself? I'm a billionaire. In this country, when you have money, plenty of officials line up to be your friend."
Herman's calm reply shook the boy to his core. A fellow foreigner who had risen to billionaire status—it upended everything he thought he knew about what life could be for people like them.
"Do you want to go to school, girl?" Herman asked, looking at the girl who, despite her fear and unease, still dared to meet his eyes.
"I just want to live a normal life with my brother…" she whispered softly, her voice betraying the longing in her heart even as she tried to keep it hidden.
No one wanted to sleep on the streets. Everyone wanted a real childhood, free from the fear of ending up as a frozen corpse.
"Of course you'll have a normal life."
Herman turned his attention to the frail boy. "My studio needs a security guard. From what I've seen, your brother's skills are a perfect fit."
He spoke as though he already knew them inside and out.
That attitude made the boy bristle.
"How much could you possibly know about me? We only met today!" He glared at the man in front of him with open resentment.
"Maybe a bit more than you think… just a tiny bit more," Herman said with a half-smile, tossing aside the empty chip bag as he fixed his gaze on the white-haired boy.
"Pietro, want to race me?"
Those words alone made the sixteen-year-old's hair stand on end, his face going pale with shock. His reaction was almost identical to Spider-Man's earlier. Herman, ever the joker, clearly enjoyed moments like this.
"You… you…"
The boy stared blankly at Herman. Not only had he spoken his name, he'd even revealed his ability.
Super speed.
That was his power.