The two of them chased each other for a while before finally stopping.
One didn't truly want to fight.
The other didn't really want to fight back.
They stopped at just the right moment, with tacit understanding.
Ophelia touched her lips and looked at the man in front of her, her expression complicated.
He was someone she couldn't bring herself to let go of.
Emotionally.
And practically.
Emotionally, he was the first man she had ever developed real feelings for.
In terms of benefit, the money, power, and equipment he provided were things she simply couldn't refuse.
So far, it seemed like he had only been giving.
And receiving nothing in return.
If she had to count something...
Did her first kiss count?
"Ryden, why are you helping me?"
Ophelia asked the question for the second time.
Her heart was a little unsteady after what had just happened.
"Because I want to take care of you," Ryden replied with a smile.
"You said you wanted to be the woman behind a powerful man."
"I'm trying to do exactly that."
His expression was sincere.
His emotions perfectly placed.
He had been a professional jerk for a hundred years.
Even an Oscar-winning actor would feel pressure standing next to him.
Ophelia lowered her head.
A happy smile quietly appeared at the corner of her lips.
"You idiot."
"You have to come back alive."
"No matter where you go, don't forget me."
"Take this."
She pulled out a strange ornament woven from grass rope.
Its shape was unusual.
But not ugly.
It felt tough and resilient in the hand.
"What's this?" Ryden asked, genuinely curious.
The future Madame Hydra was giving him something?
The curiosity.
The surprise.
His vanity spiked instantly.
"It's a talisman from my hometown," Ophelia said softly. "That's enough talking. Just wear it."
"And remember."
"Come back alive."
She pushed Ryden out of the office with visible shyness.
Then leaned against the door, pressing a hand to her chest as her heart raced.
This kind of talisman was made by women in Eastern Europe.
For husbands who went far away.
For safety.
For return.
It was said to carry the blessing of Queen Hera.
Some places believed in Greek mythology.
Some in Norse gods.
In the end, it was just spiritual comfort.
Ryden thought the thing itself was cheap.
But the gesture wasn't.
It was made carefully.
With intent.
Could it be that the rumored vicious Madame Hydra had really fallen for him?
Or was the Madame Hydra who hadn't undergone her great transformation still just Ophelia?
Maybe both.
In the end, a dark childhood really could twist a person.
Turn someone good into something terrifying.
Ryden hung the trinket around his neck like a necklace.
Then left the O'Shea Building in high spirits.
Ophelia's potential was indeed impressive.
In such a short time, she had turned a male-dominated gang into the second-largest one around.
By tradition, they didn't touch drugs.
They had no channels for smuggling.
They didn't rob or blackmail people.
At least not in ways that would spiral out of control.
Every shop on the street paid a "management fee."
One cent per day.
Only three dollars a month.
Not much at all.
And in return?
Protection.
Services.
If thugs caused trouble, a patrol arrived immediately.
Faster and more effective than calling the police.
They could run errands.
Deliver goods.
Even do hard labor.
A wide range of services.
Coincidentally, Ryden's sister was the police captain in this district.
Her life was easy.
She sat in her office.
Read newspapers and magazines.
Occasionally boxed for exercise.
Every month, a fixed thousand dollars went into her account.
Nothing ever happened in her jurisdiction.
She could go shopping freely.
Write letters to her brother in old-fashioned envelopes.
Unlike officers in other districts, dealing with robberies and gang violence daily.
Sometimes unable to even touch the core members.
That kind of frustration was unbearable.
Ryden wasn't worried about whether Ophelia could control the Spades Gang.
If anything, he preferred to win her over sooner.
After all, everything else was external.
The only thing he could truly rely on was himself.
Iron Man 3 proved that clearly when Tony fought Killian.
Ryden touched the magnetic pistol under his coat.
And felt much calmer.
This thing was true black technology for this era.
A five-pound 7.62mm pistol.
More powerful than a sniper rifle.
Maximum range of six hundred meters.
Though accuracy dropped at that distance.
Its optimal stability was between four and five hundred meters.
Enough power to tear apart anything that wasn't steel.
At close range, the kinetic energy alone could rip a person apart.
This weapon could not be leaked.
It was even more terrifying than the energy weapons Dr. Zola would later develop.
Energy weapons punched clean vaporized holes.
Pure energy.
No tearing effect.
If you were lucky, you'd walk away with a scar like Hawkeye.
If unlucky, you'd lose a limb.
If really unlucky, you'd die.
In terms of level, energy weapons were still more advanced.
After all, they were based on Tesseract energy.
Their potential was enormous.
The key difference was talent.
Dr. Zola wasn't someone like Ryden.
Someone who did both research and experimentation personally.
Only by using weapons himself could he understand their flaws.
Otherwise, his research facilities wouldn't have been wiped out by Steve and the Howling Commandos.
Theory alone wasn't enough.
No matter how much you refined it, progress would stall.
Magnetic weapons were the pinnacle of traditional gunpowder development.
Beyond that, stability problems became unavoidable.
Sera, the easygoing police captain, left work early.
She went home to cook.
She just wanted to eat with her brother.
After hearing Ryden was back, she didn't even know why herself.
She just wanted to see him.
Ryden, who had planned to have dinner with Ms. Dia, had no choice but to cancel.
He didn't understand why his sister was so clingy.
To be honest, Sera's steak was terrible.
Either raw.
Or overcooked to the point of being inedible.
But seeing the look in her eyes, Ryden still ate it.
"Oh my god," he muttered. "This meal is... intense."
"How is it?" Sera asked, hopeful.
Ryden pounded his chest, finally swallowing the beef stuck in his throat.
He almost choked to death.
If he had died there, he'd be the first transmigrator in history killed by steak.
"It's fine!" he said quickly. "Sister, you don't have to work so hard cooking."
This meal was genuinely dangerous.
"What?" Sera's eyebrows twitched. "You don't like it?"
She looked ready to explode.
"No, no!" Ryden hurriedly explained. "I just don't want you exhausting yourself."
"By the way, I'll be going abroad. Be careful while I'm gone."
"Take this. For self-defense."
It was hard to argue with a woman so close to him.
And she was his sister.
Sure, her brother complex was annoying.
But still acceptable.
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