George set down his fork.
"The tension between mutants and civilians is escalating every year," he said. "You don't think that's connected to people like you?"
Karl looked at him calmly.
"Mutants are humans," he replied. "They're born that way. Their genes activate, that's all."
He leaned back slightly.
"Are they suddenly not human because their biology diverges?"
George didn't answer immediately.
Karl continued evenly:
"The real escalation comes from fear. Government black sites. Sentinel research. Weapon programs. Forced registrations. Underground experimentation."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"When institutions treat a population as a threat, that population eventually responds like one."
Silence settled over the table.
"And when that happens," Karl added, "civilians suffer most."
George exhaled slowly.
"You're saying it's inevitable."
"I'm saying power doesn't create conflict. It accelerates it."
Helen quickly stepped in before the discussion deepened further.
"Alright, alright," she said gently. "We're here to eat, not debate policy."
Under the table, she pressed George's leg lightly.
He stopped.
Karl nodded and shifted the topic.
"Gwen's finishing high school?"
Helen brightened.
"Yes. Senior year. She's already completed most of her credits and is preparing for college entrance exams."
Gwen rolled her eyes slightly but smiled.
Karl nodded thoughtfully.
"Impressive."
After a brief pause, he seemed to remember something.
"Oh. I nearly forgot."
With a subtle movement, he retrieved several neatly packaged items and placed them on the table.
Gwen blinked.
Helen stared.
Luxury brand packaging.
Cosmetics sets.
Handbags.
A silk scarf.
A premium leather belt and wallet set.
George's brows rose despite himself.
"These are too much," Helen said immediately. "We only invited you to dinner."
Karl smiled lightly.
"In my culture, hospitality is reciprocal. It would feel improper to leave empty-handed."
He kept his tone light — not forceful.
"And to me, they aren't excessive."
That part was true.
For him, it wasn't.
Helen hesitated.
George studied him carefully — not seeing arrogance, just quiet confidence.
After a moment, Helen nodded slowly.
"Then… thank you."
George's expression softened slightly.
He didn't speak, but he no longer looked hostile.
After dinner, Karl prepared to leave.
Gwen walked him out.
George made a motion to stop her.
Helen touched his arm gently.
"She's eighteen soon."
George didn't argue.
Outside, the night air was cool.
Gwen stood beside the Lamborghini, fidgeting slightly.
"Um… Karl?"
He paused before entering the car.
"My eighteenth birthday is soon," she said, gathering courage. "Would you… maybe come?"
She tried to sound casual.
She wasn't.
Karl regarded her briefly.
Not dismissive.
Not overly warm either.
He handed her a simple black business card.
Minimalist design.
Just his name and a number.
"Call me."
He stepped into the car.
The engine purred.
And he drove off.
The Next Day
Karl had intended to check on Tony's vibranium integration progress.
And possibly meet Dr. Helen Cho in person.
In his previous life, he had remembered her as elegant and composed.
Reality would determine the rest.
But before he could leave, Yelena entered the room.
"An elderly woman. Calls herself Madam Gao. Says she represents The Hand."
Karl paused.
Of course.
Dragon Bone.
He had expected retaliation.
Not diplomacy.
"Bring her in."
A few minutes later, Madam Gao entered.
White hair immaculately arranged.
Skin aged but healthy — unnaturally so.
Yellow silk robe.
Dragon-headed cane.
Her presence was calm.
Controlled.
She sat opposite him without waiting to be invited — but not disrespectfully.
"What brings one of the Five Fingers of The Hand to my estate?" Karl asked evenly.
Madam Gao inclined her head slightly.
"Mr. Zhang."
Her tone was respectful — not submissive, but pragmatic.
"I represent The Hand. We wish to negotiate regarding the dragon bone."
Straight to the point.
Karl sipped his coffee.
"Interesting. I expected assassination attempts."
Madam Gao's expression did not change.
"You destroyed Wilson Fisk. Confronted the X-Men. Forced military withdrawal. Eliminated a private installation overseas."
Her eyes held his calmly.
"We are ancient, Mr. Zhang. Not suicidal."
That was accurate.
The Hand survived by adaptation.
"Very well," Karl said. "Let's talk business."
He set down the cup.
"Ten billion dollars per pound."
No smile.
No theatrics.
Just a number.
Madam Gao remained silent for several seconds.
Then:
"Ten jin."
Approximately eleven pounds.
She did not bargain.
For beings who had lived centuries, wealth accumulation was trivial.
Money compounded across generations.
Karl studied her carefully.
She hadn't flinched.
Interesting.
"Do you have that much available?" she asked calmly.
…
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