Seeing the visible beads of cold sweat gathering on John Wick's brow—a rare sign of genuine anxiety in the unflappable assassin—Smith simply smiled, letting the silence press the weight of the moment onto the former Night Demon.
Fox, meanwhile, was in an internal state of chaos. "Smith is such a charlatan!" she complained mentally. "Since when did the Assassin's League's mission become about investigation and guidance, like some cosmic probation officers?"
Yet, a more unsettling thought quickly surfaced: But were there truly such things as Dragon Balls? Could they really grant any wish? Why does John Wick believe it so firmly? Is it that crystal ball?
John Wick finally broke the silence, ignoring the sweat that traced a cold path down his temple. "I... I just want to resurrect my wife, Helen."
He then asked the crucial, terrifying question: "Also, have I passed your observation?"
Smith Doyle maintained his composure. "It's still under observation and assessment," he replied, keeping the pressure on.
Upon receiving the non-committal answer, John Wick stood up, his gaze hardened by resolve. "I hope I can pass your inspection, but now I need to take care of my personal affairs."
John Wick knew the stakes. The dog and the car were not mere possessions; they were the sacred treasures Helen had left him.
If he gave up halfway, he might not only fail Smith's obscure test, but more immediately, Viggo and his son Iosef Tarasov would become insurmountable obstacles to his future actions, even if he managed to retrieve all seven Dragon Balls.
Smith Doyle nodded, his tone gentle, almost encouraging. "Go and take care of your personal affairs. Your investigation is still ongoing."
"Thank you," John Wick said, a genuine gratitude for the hope—however fragile—in his voice. He left Smith's room without another word.
Cleaning Up the Mess
As the door closed and Smith confirmed no one was outside, Fox immediately rounded on him, her eyes wide with shock. "GOD, are you actually telling the truth about all that?"
Smith smiled. "Part of it," he admitted.
Fox gasped, the realization hitting her like a physical blow. "So the Dragon Ball thing is true?"
Seeing Smith nod in agreement, Fox was left speechless for a moment, even though she had mentally prepared for the possibility. "As for the rest," Smith continued, looking at her composed face, "I think it will soon become true."
Fox was silent for a few more seconds, then asked, her voice hushed with awe. "If it's true, don't you want to make a wish yourself?"
Smith shook his head. "I do not need to."
Fox opened her mouth, then closed it, utterly defeated. After a few seconds, she said, her voice filled with a reluctant admiration: "You are worthy of being our God. Your realm is simply too high."
Smith smiled but offered no further explanation. The Dragon Balls were a construct built upon his own power; he had no wishes that Shenlong could grant that he couldn't achieve himself. With the added benefit of his foreknowledge of the Marvel Universe, he already held the ultimate advantage.
Smith then took out his cell phone and called Winston. The call was connected almost instantly.
"Smith," Winston's voice, though groggy, was sharp with annoyance. "It's extremely rude to call an elderly person at this time of the morning."
Hearing Winston's complaint, Smith didn't apologize or show the slightest hint of embarrassment. He went straight to the point. "Winston, someone has violated the rules of the Continental Hotel."
"As a kind-hearted party," Smith added, a dangerous edge to his voice, "I will help you clean up the trash."
Winston immediately sat upright in bed, fully awake. "Are you absolutely sure a killer violated the Continental Hotel's rules?" he asked in a tone of extreme seriousness. "What exactly did that individual do?"
Smith glanced at Perkins, who was sitting, slumped in the chair, her rapidly beating heart betraying that she had been awake and listening to the entire conversation. "Perkins set her sights on John Wick's bounty and launched an assassination attempt directly inside the hotel. I think the surveillance in the corridor will give you the full story."
Without another word, Smith Doyle took out a suppressed pistol and shot Perkins in the center of the head.
"Snap!"
A muffled gunshot echoed in the room, and the bullet went straight through Perkins' skull, killing her instantly.
Hearing the distinct sound of the silenced gunshot from the other end of the line, Winston was silent for three agonizing seconds. Then, he simply said, "I see."
Smith hung up the phone. "I don't intend to watch over this woman until dawn," he told Fox.
"We have other, more interesting things to do."
Fox rolled her eyes. "You saw that she had been awake for a long time and had overheard our entire conversation," she stated flatly.
Smith nodded. "That violently beating heart betrayed her long ago. It seems the news about the Dragon Balls is indeed too exciting to risk leaking."
"Let's go to Little Russia and see what John Wick does next."
Smith Doyle and Fox quickly departed the Continental Hotel. Not long after the two left, Winston arrived with his team, inspected both rooms, confirmed the breach of contract and the cleanup, and removed Perkins' body.
The Killing Show Begins
It was still dark when Smith Doyle brought Fox to a vantage point overlooking the massive, unassuming church in the heart of Little Russia. This was a known, important stronghold of Viggo Tarasov—a place used to store evidence of bribery, leverage over politicians, and, crucially, a large amount of cash.
After arriving at the location, the two utilized their reconnaissance skills, quickly scouting the area around the church. They located a suspect warehouse and finally chose a secluded, high rooftop with an excellent view and minimal exposure to wait for the main event.
Daylight finally broke.
Fox peered through a high-powered telescope and saw the familiar, injured figure of John Wick walking into the church compound carrying a large canvas duffel bag.
"Smith, John is here," she announced.
Snap, Snap, Snap.
Accompanied by the dry, distinct sound of a suppressed pistol, the Night Demon began his long-awaited killing show.
At this moment, Smith Doyle took out the Combat Power Detector (Generation II) from his system backpack, adjusted the mechanism over his eye, and began to observe.
It's strange that the Russian gang members have such weak combat capabilities, he noted, observing the readings. Let's see what John Wick can truly fight at.
The scouter's digital display focused on John Wick, flashing: 6
"It's unexpectedly high. He's actually a little bit stronger than a pure Level 5 warrior," Smith mused, pleased with the data.
Inside the church, John Wick fired several shots in a row; each shot was lethal, precise, and necessary. The entire process was smooth, devoid of any unnecessary movements or wasted effort. He moved with a cold, focused fury that made him terrifyingly charismatic.
This decisiveness—the absence of the theatrical posturing or unnecessary monologue often seen in lesser villains—was exactly why Smith was willing to bring Fox to watch this "killing show."
Fox was now entirely distracted by the futuristic device on Smith's face. She no longer paid attention to the violence below. "Smith, what is this you brought? I have never seen it before."
Smith pointed to the device on his face and explained: "This is a Combat Power Detector. It observes the target's internal energy signature and expresses a person's combat power through a numerical value."