Chapter 109: Atonement for Sin - part 1

A pale blue light illuminated the sterile room, accompanied by the sound of a pen moving across paper.

The girl in front of me was the one making that sound. Expressionless, she was completely absorbed in writing in her notebook.

On the page were names… causes of death, dates, times. The names of those who had died—no, the names of those she had killed—were being recorded one after another.

I watched her silently.

The girl kept writing… until eventually, she closed the notebook.

"…Bucky, the notebook’s filled. I need another one."

She spoke to me.

Not too long ago, she had called me "Winter Soldier," but now she used "Bucky." Because I had told her I wanted to be addressed by my name, not my codename.

In her eyes, I could see the reflection of my face. I glanced at my watch and closed my eyes briefly.

"…No, that’s enough for today."

I took the notebook from her and gestured for her to stand up.

This was Avengers Tower.
Basement level four—a vacant room without any specific purpose.

"…But I still—"

"I won’t allow it. That’s enough. Rest."

A look at the clock told me three hours had passed since we came here. In that time, she had been silently filling the notebook.

No… transcribing into it. From her memory. Memories of sin, mistakes, confessions.

I picked up the notebook. The number written on the cover was… 58. Next would be the 59th.

I looked at her face. Her expression was flat, but regret lingered there.

Michelle Jane Watson.

Once known as "RedCap."

The organization she belonged to had been destroyed. Now she was a cadet candidate for S.H.I.E.L.D. But she hadn’t joined any training or missions yet.

Because something else came first.

Mental care.

She had lived her whole life in a world of killing and being killed. She never had a choice—only missions she had to follow in order to survive.

Kill and kill again… until her heart became twisted. To shield herself from being destroyed by guilt, she protected her own heart.

But now, free from those chains, she was beginning to live like a girl her own age.

That was something to celebrate. But the path she had walked had left deep scars.

Regret rose from the past and tore at her heart.

I didn’t blame her. No one in S.H.I.E.L.D. would. She was a perpetrator, yes—but more than that, she was a victim.

Everyone around her believed that. But she still couldn’t forgive herself.

…I understood. Because I was the same.

There was a time when I had been the Winter Soldier, under mind control, working as Hydra’s agent. I had killed countless good people—innocent people. That guilt still cast its shadow over me.

Even so.

Blaming yourself doesn’t change anything.

That doesn’t mean you just shrug it off. You face your sins. You atone.

Save more people than the number you killed.

That’s why I’m still alive.

She… still couldn’t think that way. Though, at least, she seemed to understand it in her head. Her classmates said she was intelligent.

Even so, somewhere deep down, she kept blaming herself. Needlessly. Awkwardly. Excessively.

I closed the notebook.

"This goes to Fury as usual. We’ll continue next week."

I pushed my chair back and stood. The girl in front of me stood as well.

"…Thank you, Bucky."

Gratitude— No. I decided to accept it honestly.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was using the information in her notebooks to make reparations with money. That would eventually be paid out of her future service.

She wanted to apologize directly to the bereaved families… but her existence was classified. Red-Cap and Michelle Jane Watson could never be linked.

It was for her sake, and for S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. A global peacekeeping organization couldn’t openly employ a former criminal.

We opened the door and walked out together. As she passed by my side, I realized just how small she was. A smallness I had never noticed when she wore her Red-Cap gear—because the thick plating on the legs had been deliberately hiding it.

With or without it, the difference was over ten centimeters.

"…Your next counseling session is Wednesday."

"Understood."

Michelle walked a few steps, then turned back. Her platinum-blonde hair swayed.

I wondered why she had turned back—until she spoke.

"Really… thank you."

"…Yeah."

She bowed her head and walked away.

…She had brightened a little.

When we first began counseling, her tone had been harsher. Her brows always furrowed, her face always dark.

Something had changed within her. Perhaps it was when she volunteered to become a S.H.I.E.L.D. cadet. No—probably just before that.

She had found a reason to look toward the future, not only the past. And so, she applied.

"…Haa, honestly—"

I let out a quiet sigh and touched my cheek. The chill of my cybernetic arm seeped into my skin.

"So alike, it’s unbearable."

Red-Cap… Winter Soldier.
Unseelie Court, Hydra.
Mind control.

I had been there, too.

But now…

Back when I was at rock bottom, a friend had saved me. And though it was late, she had been saved as well.

That’s why I understood what she was thinking.

She could face her sins. She could bear them.

But sins like hers—like mine—were too many for one person to shoulder. If you tried to carry them all, sooner or later you’d collapse. Your legs would give out. You’d no longer be able to stand.

"…That’s something I won’t let happen."

In a way, thanks to her, I had been able to look back on my "past self" with some objectivity.

Since I had been saved… I couldn’t allow myself to live without meaning.
Sin is something to be atoned for.
Hurting yourself and running away is not forgiveness.

That’s why I too—

"…Steve, what are you doing here?"

A figure appeared.

Yes—Captain America, Steve Rogers. The friend who had saved me.

"No, Bucky… I was waiting for you."

"What’s wrong?"

I hadn’t told him when I’d finish. It varied day by day. He must have been waiting here a long time. Smiling wryly at the thought, I didn’t slow my pace. Steve fell into step beside me in the hallway.

"It’s about her…"

"Michelle Jane?"

"Yeah. How is she doing?"

"She’s doing well. Getting better little by little."

"I see…"

Steve exhaled deeply, as though relieved. Watching him, I smiled.

"Steve. If you’re that concerned, why not go see her yourself?"

"No, but, that… however—"

For some reason, Steve seemed unwilling to meet her. Now that I had asked outright, it was clear: his expression was troubled.

"You don’t like her?"

"It’s not that… it’s just—"

Steve scratched his cheek, his brows drawn in.

"She and I once tried to kill each other. And I injured her badly."

"…That’s true."

"After that, how am I supposed to face her…?"

"…………"

I rubbed the corner of my eyes.

"She probably finds me hard to deal with too. Not seeing her would be—"

"Steve."

I put a hand on his shoulder. Since it was my left, he staggered slightly.

"She doesn’t hate you."

"…You think so?"

"Yeah. If anything, she’d probably be thrilled if you shook her hand or gave her an autograph."

"…That’s a funny joke."

Steve chuckled, thinking I was joking. …But no, I was dead serious.

Michelle Jane Watson—she actually liked heroes. She’d confessed that during our counseling sessions.

That’s why, if it were Steve… I was sure she’d be glad.

Steve frowned at my silence.

"No, Bucky… you were joking, right?"

"I’m serious. Go see her soon."

"…No, well… yes. Alright, Bucky. I’ll go meet her next time."

Steve gave a resigned laugh and nodded.

As Captain America, he was a man who could decide without hesitation when it came to justice and freedom. But in private, he worried like anyone else.

Very few people knew that side of him. Myself included.

…She had people like that too. Fellow cadets she got along with.

I had seen it once: the carefree smile she showed only to her friends.

I wanted to protect that. Protecting children—that’s the work of heroes—

"No… it’s the work of adults."

I muttered it softly.

"…Did you say something?"

"Nothing."

"I see."

"That’s right."

When I laughed, Steve laughed too. I knew this ability to laugh together wasn’t something given—it was something we had fought to earn.

"Bucky, do you have lunch plans?"

"No, I don’t."

"Perfect. I made Tony promise to treat me. Why don’t you come along?"

"…Heh. Sounds good. What’s he treating you to?"

"Burritos. A promise is a promise."

And so, I kept moving forward.
And she would, too—surely.

---

I parted ways with Bucky and walked down the corridor.

Avengers Tower.
Whenever I walk through here, I lose sight of where I really stand.

Is it really okay for someone like me to be walking in a place like this—

…No, don’t think about it.
There it is again. Self-loathing.

Even though I’ve been told to stop.
Again…

"…Haa."

I exhaled deeply, trying to calm my nerves.

The doctor prescribed me medication as part of my mental care, but… the problem was, I had an unusually high resistance to drugs. Maybe because, during my training days, I kept drinking all sorts of poisons to build up tolerance…

When it comes to this, I’ll just have to handle it on my own.

I clenched and unclenched my hand.
It was a little sweaty.

I have to help people… atone, serve, give back… yes, I’ve been impatient.

I know I’ve been impatient.

But even so… I want to wipe away this suffocating guilt in my chest.

"…I…"

I have no intention of running from responsibility.
I don’t plan on dying, either.

For the sake of the people who told me they wanted me to live… I have to live, and prove that I can be happy.

Faces of my friends came to mind.

Gwen—I see her almost every day.
Even after learning about my past, she treats me no differently. If anything, she feels even more overprotective now.

Ned—not as often as Gwen, but we’ve met several times.
He’d been hospitalized because I shot him… but he’s fully recovered now.
I visited him during his stay to apologize, but instead of blaming me, he broke down crying—just because I was alive.

Peter—I meet him twice a week.
Yes, exactly twice a week.
If we didn’t set a limit, I’d probably end up going every day, so we made it a rule together.
The memories I lost won’t come back, but we’re slowly building new ones.

They’re all good friends.
…Including that one other friend.

Up ahead in the hallway, I saw a figure.

"…Harry?"

When I called out, he lifted his head to look at me.
His expression seemed… a little dim.

"A-Ah, what a coincidence, Michelle."

Coincidence?
There’s no way it was.

He was clearly waiting here for me to finish counseling.

"Something wrong?"

"…No, I just… wanted to talk for a bit."

Harry scratched his cheek.
His eyes… wouldn’t meet mine.
He’s been strangely distant lately.
I don’t know why.

When I started walking, Harry adjusted his pace to match mine.
That kindness of his—I didn’t dislike it.

"Mhm, sure. What do you want to ask?"

"Thanks, Michelle."

"Harry, you’re my friend."

When I said that, Harry’s expression twisted ever so slightly.
So faintly that if I hadn’t been watching closely, I might have missed it.

"…Harry? What’s wrong?"

"Ah, no… it’s nothing."

"…I see."

Harry is hiding something from me.
But I have no idea what.

Seeing me puzzled, Harry spoke up.

"…Michelle—"

"Yeah?"

"How have you been… lately?"

Such a vague question made me tilt my head.
I had no idea what he was getting at.

"Lately…?"

"Yeah, it’s just… you’ve been smiling more, recently."

I instinctively touched my cheek.
Smiling?

Me—whose facial muscles were practically on the verge of death from not smiling enough—smiling without realizing it?

"Harry, I… I didn’t even notice I was smiling."

"I see…"

The conversation trailed off.

Feeling a little awkward, I glanced at Harry.
Our eyes met—only for him to quickly look away again.

At this point, even someone as dense as me could tell.

Harry still liked me.
…Even though I’d already turned him down once, he remained steadfast.

Honestly, he should just give up on someone like me and set his sights on a cuter girl.
Someone as kind and considerate as him wouldn’t have any trouble finding a girlfriend.

Not with someone like… me—

…There it is again. Self-loathing.

I quickly pressed a hand to my forehead and rubbed at the space between my brows.

"…Michelle?"

"Mm, no… it’s nothing."

But even so, I couldn’t return his feelings.

Friendship can be shared with many people.
But when it comes to love, there’s only one seat at the table.

And for me… that seat is already taken.

"Michelle, do you have any plans this afternoon?"

"…Yeah, I’m meeting someone."

"O-Oh…?"

Harry gave a strained smile. Then he spoke again.

"So… um… is it someone I know?"

From his tone, I could sense what he was really getting at.

For some reason, Harry already knew I was dating Peter.

Where had it leaked from?
…Process of elimination says Cosmo.
The image of a dog sticking its tongue out popped into my mind.

Ah, but… I guess from his perspective, since he doesn’t know, it must look like I’m dating some stranger.

That would make anyone uneasy.
And for someone who liked me, it must feel unbearable.

"Mm, yeah. I think you know him."

But the truth was, I wasn’t meeting Peter today.

It wasn’t a date.
There was something I had to do—nothing more, nothing less.

"I-I see…"

Harry looked stunned, clearly misunderstanding.

…Did it seem like I was lying?

Like I was sneaking around for some secret rendezvous?
Well… okay, I was sneaking around, but… not today!

I couldn’t help but feel guilty. But still… why did he like me so much?

It’s not like I’m particularly attractive.
If anything, I’d say I’m a half-baked excuse for a woman.

"Well then, see you later."

"A-Ah, yeah…"

I abruptly ended the conversation and waved at him.
Harry looked as if his mind was elsewhere entirely.

I couldn’t just let this situation drag on pointlessly.

So I turned back and called out.

"Harry, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to sometime."

If he could see what kind of person Peter was, Harry wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

I was sure they’d get along, even become friends.

And it wasn’t just Harry—I’d need to introduce Peter to Gwen and Ned too.
I wanted to help restore the friendships he’d lost.

That’s what I thought when I said it.
I said it because I believed it would be for the best.

But—

"…Harry?"

"…………"

Harry was looking at me with an expression I had never seen before.

---

My name is Herman Schultz.

They call me "Shocker."

I got myself wrecked fighting some villain way out of my league, just to save a kid… well, more like some punk. After months in the hospital, I was lucky enough to walk out without any lasting damage.

People knew I was a criminal, but those damn heroes still saved me. Can’t deny, I appreciated that much.

And now, about my current situation—

"Therefore… good and evil depend on one’s own beliefs and values, but—"

Crap.

"If you feel guilt, that’s nothing more than proof of your weakness, and—"

Crap.

Crap, crap.

"Only you can look back and recognize your own shortcomings, and—"

When the hell is this crappy speech going to end?

They dragged me into this rundown excuse for a church, making me sit through this boring-as-hell seminar.

Why? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I volunteered.

After I was discharged, S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me two options: get tossed in prison or join their rehabilitation program.

I don’t want to rot in a cell. So I chose the latter.

And this is what I get.

"If you do evil, misfortune will return to you. Humanity is about mutual aid, and if you step out of line, no one will guarantee your safety."

Some middle-aged guy sits in a chair, preaching like he’s on a throne. It’s just a folding chair, though.

Looking around, I see the others—rehab cases just like me.

There’s a guy who looks like a vampire, another like a bull, another like a hippo, and one covered in spikes like a hedgehog.

What the hell are these guys supposed to be? Cast rejects from a kids’ comedy show?

"Alright then, everyone, come together."

The old guy waves his hand, and the guy sitting next to me stands up and walks over. The others follow suit.

"You too."

"……"

Damn, I don’t wanna. But if I refuse, it’s prison for me.

Crap. Why’s my life gotta be such crap?

I get up, walk over, and we all join in some stupid group hug. Well, not all of us—the hedgehog guy stood outside the circle. Probably because he’d stab somebody.

"That’s it for today. Next session is next week. I look forward to seeing you all again."

……Maybe I should wear something spiky next time.

I see the door open and make my way out, annoyed.

"Oh, right. Herman, could I have a word with you?"

I stop, frowning hard, and turn back.

"My name’s Shocker."

"Ah, is that so. Then I am Emil Blonsky."

The old man, Emil, doesn’t flinch at my glare. I click my tongue, drag a chair over, and sit across from him.

"So? What, I get detention now that the others left?"

"Ah, that too, perhaps… but no, I wanted to talk about you."

Emil touches his nose. He’s got that frail old-man look, but something about him feels… dangerous.

"First of all, I can tell the other members are at least trying to rehabilitate."

"So am I."

"No. You aren’t."

Did this bastard just scoff at me?

"You got a problem with me?"

"Of course. I’m the instructor here."

"Yeah, well, sorry about that."

"You’re not sorry in the slightest. That’s the worst attitude I’ve ever seen."

Emil sighs.

"Anyway, let’s get back on track. You don’t seem interested in changing… but I hear the reason you’re here is because you saved someone, isn’t it?"

"…Yeah, so what."

"That means someone recognized your goodness, and you were granted a pardon. Someone out there believes you can become a better man."

"…Don’t make me laugh."

I fold my arms.

Be a good guy? Now?

No way.

A girl’s face flashes in my mind.

I’m not like her.

She chose her path for others. I chose mine for myself. That’s the difference.

I can’t change. I don’t even want to.

"…You really are a tough case."

"Thanks for the compliment."

I stand up, waving him off behind me.

"Think it over before the next session."

"Yeah, not happening."

---

I step out of that shabby excuse for a church—barely better than a prefab shack—and walk down the night road.

Summer’s almost here, but the air’s still cold on my skin.

A guy like me doesn’t get to drift along the straight and narrow.

Allowed? Not allowed? Who decides that?

That’d be my "former colleagues," of course.

Scum who betray scum rat out their pals to the cops. To the heroes too.

And that’s why traitors aren’t forgiven. They’ll come to kill you, no matter what.

As an example.

That’s what betrayal means: danger.

And the bigger the crew you were part of, the bigger the danger. Makes sense, right?

The more info you’ve got, the more people you’ve dealt with, the scarier the bastards coming after you.

"Death to traitors."

That’s the one law even outlaws stick to.

I shove open the door to my room and flop inside.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

I used to work under Fisk. The Kingpin himself. A top-tier criminal.

And the bastard’s a genius. He wears the mask of a clean-cut politician on the surface, while behind it all he’s the boss of a massive mafia empire.

S.H.I.E.L.D. knows who he really is, but they’ve got no proof.

Because he’s too damn careful—always covering his tracks, leaving nothing behind.

So what happens when you betray a guy like that?

Ah, crap. This is serious crap.

I sigh and drop onto the sofa. It creaks under me.

Fisk hasn’t contacted me once since I was hospitalized. But if he does? What then?

If I refuse, I’m dead.

"Crap."

I’ll never be a good guy. Can’t afford it.

Life comes first.

The chance to turn back’s long gone. I already walked past it.

Where I am now is a dark dead end… with just one step left before the wall.

And maybe the only reason I’m even thinking about this—

"Tch…"

I don’t regret it. Not even a little.

I don’t regret going to save her.

She’s not like me. We’re not the same.

So it can’t be helped.

If she can live in the sunlight, full of energy… Tinkerer would be glad.

Ah, crap, crap, crapcrapcrap.

I’m screwed. My future’s pitch black.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

The doorbell rings.

"Huh?"

I get up from the sofa, rolling my shoulders.

Crack, crack—the joints pop loudly.

…Guess I’d been sitting there lost in thought for a long time.

"Tch… who the hell is it now?"

Nobody decent ever shows up at my door. But at this hour, if anyone’s coming, then…

"…Morris?"

Morris Bench. In other words, Hydro-Man.

He was an alcoholic to begin with, robbing and stealing just to buy booze… until he finally got arrested last summer. Now he’s stuck in rehab and "recovery."

And every now and then, he drops by my place.

Yeah… he’s a friend, I guess.

He brings DVDs from the rental shop and watches them here, since he doesn’t even own a damn player himself. Buy your own, you bastard.

And even though I told him to knock it off with the rom-coms, he still brings them half the time. What the hell’s the point of two guys watching rom-coms together? Idiot.

That’s the kind of guy he is. A piece of crap, sure—but a comparatively decent piece of crap.

The doorbell rings again.

When you’re already brooding, that shrill sound really grates on your nerves.

Scowling, I unlock the door and yank the knob.

"Shut it! Quit pressing the damn thing over and over!"

I shout as I look outside—

"Huh?"

It wasn’t Morris.

I lower my gaze a little.

Had to, to meet her eyes.

At Morris’s height, all I could see was hair. Silky platinum blonde hair.

"…Um, it’s been a while, Herman."

The one standing there was… the girl who’d gotten me into this mess in the first place.

Red—no, not anymore. Now she’s…

"Michelle… Jane, right?"

She wore clothes I didn’t recognize, spoke in a tone completely different from before… and smiled at me awkwardly.