Coulson strode quickly to the desk, not even pausing to acknowledge Natasha, and sharply slid the data pad toward Fury.
The pad glided smoothly across the glossy surface, stopping precisely in front of Fury. The screen automatically activated, and a dazzling white light burst forth in the dim office, illuminating Fury's cold, granite-hewn face.
At the top of the screen, a line of bold, scarlet text glared like congealed blood:
Lane Foundation Charity Gala — Final Confirmed Guest List
Fury's gaze swept down the list like a cold probe. It was filled with the names of political and business figures, magnates from various fields—each representing significant power and influence.
However, his vision was drawn, as if by an invisible magnet, and fixed firmly on two names in the middle of the list. The two names were automatically highlighted by the system, flashing with a stark, red warning box:
"Goo Ja-yoon!"
"Shin Si-ah!"
And printed prominently in the host position was the name of the gala's master:
Hawk Lane
Fury's eyes slowly traversed the three names, moving from Goo Ja-yoon and Shin Si-ah, finally settling on Hawk Lane. Time seemed infinitely stretched and distorted in that moment. The simulated flowing darkness outside the window appeared to stop undulating; even the tireless indicator lights on the control console seemed to freeze their blinking.
Fury's good eye abruptly narrowed.
A moment later, his gaze returned to the softly glowing, virtually suspended screens on the desk. Hawk Lane's clear, sunlit, light-brown eyes from the photo stared back at him across the distance of time and data.
Just then, a memory flashed in his mind. A month ago, he had personally approved the entry of a four-person operational team from South Korea—three women and one man, led by a small, cold-faced woman named Won-bin. Since Alexander Pierce himself had personally shown up, Fury hadn't paid it much mind, simply signing off on the matter.
Later, news broke that the Lane Group's executive conference room had been violently raided by unknown individuals. A fierce battle had ensued, resulting in heavy casualties. It ended with the security team being almost completely wiped out, but their target's life was saved.
Fury's brow furrowed. As the world's top intelligence agent, he instantly connected these events. The battle at the Lane Group conference room involved signs of supernatural forces—a detail he'd only learned afterward. The four-person team had been hired by Bates Capital, a rival of the Lane Group. He also knew that Bates Capital was one of Alexander Pierce's shell companies, and Alexander had long coveted the Lane Group's global mining assets.
While he was deep in thought, Coulson's voice broke the silence: "Director… during our investigation of the Busan base wreckage… while searching the server core… we found a name…"
"'King'."
"King…" Fury repeated the name, his brow furrowing slightly. "Is that one of those street-level heroes active in Brooklyn in recent years?"
Coulson pressed his lips together, neither confirming nor denying. Clearly, there was no evidence yet to prove a connection.
Natasha's attention was also piqued. What kind of script was this? A super-rich guy who turns into a crime-fighter at night? Bruce Wayne? Natasha thought of the character who only existed in comics. Of course, the Brooklyn "King" was merely a street-crime fighter, but the person who caused the stunning tragedy in South Korea clearly wasn't operating on a small scale.
Were the two "Kings" the same person?
Fury no longer looked at Hawk Lane's sunny smile. His single eye turned toward the dense, simulated darkness outside the window. The temperature in the office seemed to drop several degrees, and his tone was icy:
"Truly audacious…"
...
Late-night New York, Manhattan, Steinway Tower, penthouse apartment.
The night wrapped the immortal city standing in the clouds like expensive velvet. Below lay a flowing river of stars—billions of lights merging into an unextinguishable ocean between the Hudson and East Rivers.
Hawk Lane leaned back against the headboard of the bed, the amber liquid in his crystal glass swishing slightly with a minimal shift of his wrist. The area beside him was decidedly messy. The light sliced across Aunt May's naked back on the rumpled sheets.
Her sweat-damp brown hair clung to the curve of her slender neck. When she pushed herself up, the velvet comforter slipped away, and her exposed skin instantly tightened. She suddenly felt Hawk's young fingers still resting on the small of her back.
Fragments of memory from two hours ago surged backward: his hands lifting her, pressing her against the icy glass of the floor-to-ceiling window, her damp spine tracing swirling patterns of fog on the pane.
"Oh God, what have we done…" Aunt May slightly raised herself, her eyes wide with shock. Her lips moved silently. She snatched a crumpled piece of fabric to cover her chest, curling her toes as the Persian carpet's fibers tickled the soles of her feet. "This is crazy…"
She swore to herself, it was just a chance "encounter" with this man, a fixture on the business and entertainment headlines. She never expected him to actually know her nephew, Peter Parker, and offer her a way to get him into Midtown School of Science and Technology—all for the price of one dinner date.
Sensing the shift beside him, Hawk turned his face to her.
"Crazy?" Hawk rubbed his chin, a slight smile touching his lips. "Well... how should I put it? Aunt May, you're already a widow, so I can't let you keep living like a nun. Besides, since Peter Parker is your nephew, that makes him my nephew too."
Aunt May: ???
She widened her eyes, listening to his shameless words with utter disbelief.
It was this close contact that made Hawk marvel at how well Aunt May had maintained herself. At this time, Peter Parker hadn't even started high school yet, and Aunt May, in her thirties, had skin that glowed white, supple, and elastic—truly the peak of a woman's appeal. That sophisticated and elegant demeanor was utterly captivating, full of intoxicating charm.