Chapter 146: The Fangirl

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Compared to the NYPD Commissioner's terrible mood, Nick Fury was feeling much better. 

Setting down his newspaper, he walked over to the window, gazing down at the lake outside S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters with a pleased expression. 

Even though he had already anticipated Erik's capabilities, the report still managed to shock him. 

"And that… that wasn't even the kid's full strength." 

Muttering to himself, he was certain of his own assessment. 

A smug smile crept onto his face. 

They were on the same side—and far more reliable than this damn S.H.I.E.L.D. 

Nick Fury was fighting for the world's safety, not for some rotten HYDRA. 

Thinking back on all the years he had spent tirelessly working for S.H.I.E.L.D., the countless missions and efforts… he couldn't help but curse under his breath. 

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. 

The moment the line connected, he spoke. 

"Did you see today's news?" 

"Yeah, the mutant." 

"The police? You think they can handle it? Ha!" 

Nick Fury let out a short laugh. 

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is getting involved. I want all intel on this mutant sent to me immediately. No action is to be taken without my approval!" 

"He's strong. We need to avoid unnecessary casualties." 

With that, he hung up and took out his encrypted phone, typing up a message for Erik. 

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is moving. Stay in touch. Stay safe." 

---

 Meanwhile… 

As Erik stirred up trouble and Charles focused on preparing his school, Mike—having nothing better to do—found himself in New York. 

With nothing to occupy his time at home, he figured he might as well head to the city. 

Alright, fine—he just wanted to be closer to those two kids. 

Not that the actual distance mattered at all to him. 

Seeing Erik's face plastered across the headlines, he couldn't help but chuckle. 

"This kid… always has to make a scene." 

Hopefully, everything was going according to plan. 

Setting down his newspaper, Mike stretched and walked out the door. 

Owning multiple properties in New York, he casually chose one in Manhattan, bought some furniture, and settled in. 

Lately, he'd been considering selling the farm. 

After all, his kids had long since finished growing. 

But then he remembered—Clark was still out there somewhere, and the farm still housed the ship Clark had arrived in. 

So, for now, he shelved the idea. 

Locking the door behind him, Mike got into his car and drove toward a familiar restaurant—one he had visited countless times years ago. 

Upon arriving and seeing that the place was still standing, a smile spread across his face. 

Stepping inside, he ordered a plate of grilled pork ribs and a glass of beer, then leaned back in anticipation. 

It had been far too long since he'd last tasted them. 

 Meanwhile… 

In the far corner of the restaurant, a woman sat quietly, eating her own plate of ribs—her gaze locked intently on Mike, her eyes filled with shock. 

And when Mike finally noticed her? 

She didn't look away. 

Instead, she boldly stared even harder. 

Mike frowned. 

Something about this woman's face felt familiar… but he couldn't quite place her. 

However, before he could dwell on it, his attention was stolen by the arrival of his food. 

Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the familiar aroma before breaking into a smile. 

Same amazing taste. 

He sliced off a piece and popped it into his mouth—crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. 

Mike was very satisfied. 

Seeing his reaction, the woman wiped the grease from her lips and sauntered over, her movements deliberate. 

Yet when she finally reached him, she sat down properly—her demeanor suddenly serious. 

Then, she spoke. 

"Mr. Kent." 

Without even looking up, Mike replied, 

"You've got the wrong guy." 

"No. I know I don't." 

She shook her head, voice unwavering. 

"I've come here every week for the past ten years—just waiting for you. I know I'm not mistaken." 

Mike's brow twitched. 

He firmly shook his head. 

"Miss, you're mistaken." 

Waiting years for him? 

Had he wronged this woman in some way? 

A one-night stand gone wrong? 

Or worse… was she looking for someone to take responsibility? 

But before he could dismiss the thought entirely, the woman continued. 

"Mike Kent—King of Assassins from the League of Shadows. Codename: Ghost Wolf." 

"Four hundred seventy-three missions—zero failures." 

"And your final act? Killing the previous leader—Kochi, the former King of Assassins—before disappearing without a trace." 

The woman spoke in a calm tone, recounting Mike's past deeds. 

Mike's expression remained unchanged, but in that moment, she felt something shift. 

The man before her was no longer just a diner enjoying his meal—he had transformed into something terrifying. 

A suffocating killing intent filled the air, sharp and invisible, like a blade pressed against her throat. 

There was no room for resistance. 

A chill ran down her spine. 

"So this… is the strongest assassin of the previous era?" 

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she forced a smile and continued. 

"During your final year of active missions, you assassinated a man named Max Petrich." 

Mike kept eating his ribs at a steady pace, a faint smile still lingering on his lips, as if utterly unbothered by the conversation. 

"Max Petrich murdered a judge and his wife years ago. That judge… was my father." 

The moment she finished speaking, the suffocating pressure vanished. 

The air felt normal again. 

---

Mike looked up, still chewing on a piece of meat. 

"You're with the League of Assassins?" 

The woman nodded, a flicker of nervousness in her eyes before she quickly introduced herself. 

"Fox. You can call me Fox." 

Fox. 

Now that name jogged something in Mike's memory. 

Her face, once a distant blur in his mind, finally aligned with one from his past. 

Swallowing his food, he asked evenly, 

"So… this is your personal business? Nothing to do with the League?" 

"Yes!" Fox nodded, her eyes practically glowing, like a fan meeting her idol. 

And truthfully? 

That wasn't far from the truth. 

Ever since she was recruited into the League, she had dug into Mike's history. She had learned that he was the one who had eliminated Max Petrich—her father's murderer. 

Gratitude had turned into curiosity. 

Curiosity led to research. 

And the more she learned about his missions, his records… the more she idolized him. 

Mike Kent—Ghost Wolf. 

King of Assassins. 

Her role model. 

---

Mike hummed thoughtfully before flashing a calm, almost gentle smile. 

"Do me a favor, Fox—keep today's meeting a secret, alright?" 

Fox hesitated, but eventually nodded. 

"Thank you." 

Mike gave a slight nod of appreciation before adding, 

"I'm no longer with the League of Assassins." 

Fox sighed, almost disappointed. 

Mike, however, simply smirked. 

The League? 

At this point, they were nothing more than a footnote in his past. 

Raising his glass of beer, he clinked it lightly against the empty air in front of him—a silent toast to the memories of his youth. 

But more than anything, he was grateful. 

Grateful that he had met those three kids—the ones who had changed his life. 

"It was nice meeting you, Fox." 

Fox's face lit up with pure joy. 

Just as Mike was about to settle the bill, she suddenly jumped up. 

"Mr. Kent, I'll pay!" 

Without giving him a chance to refuse, she quickly handed her card to the waiter. 

Mike raised an eyebrow. 

"Thanks." 

Then, he reached out his hand. 

"Your phone." 

Fox blinked, momentarily flustered, before hurriedly handing it over. 

Mike entered his number and handed it back. 

"If there's ever something on your mind, feel free to talk to me." 

Fox carefully saved the number, exhaling in relief before calling out as he turned to leave, 

"Goodbye, Mr. Kent!" 

Mike waved a hand without looking back. 

Considering how good the ribs were… 

And the fact that he had nothing better to do… 

Maybe, when the time came, he'd step in and save her. 

(End of Chapter)