Chapter 116: I Wish…… Part 1

Fidget.

Fidget, fidget.

I, Captain America — Steve Rogers — was now sitting face-to-face with an anxious young girl.

Avengers Tower, Basement Level 7.
In a simple interview room with nothing but a plain table between us, I was across from Michelle Jane Watson.

She kept shifting her gaze restlessly, and whenever our eyes met… she quickly looked away.

…I understand why she’s uneasy.

"I'm sorry, but Bucky is busy with another matter today. For the next few days, I'll be handling your sessions instead… is that alright?"

"Y-Yes…"

She nodded timidly, visibly nervous, almost fearful.

…It’s probably because she doesn’t feel comfortable around me.
That’s understandable.

After all, she and I had fought each other several times before.
I even once cut off her arm.
It’s only natural she wouldn’t think of getting friendly with someone like that.

"…I apologize. You don’t have to force yourself. We can postpone this until Bucky gets back, if you'd prefer—"

"N-No… I’ll be fine."

Seeing her try to force a smile, I couldn’t help but feel a deep pang of guilt inside.

S.H.I.E.L.D.’s — no, more precisely, Nick Fury’s — "Red Cap Rehabilitation Program."
Its purpose was to help her recover mentally, relearn social norms, and rebuild the ethical framework that had been shattered.
To reintegrate her back into society… that’s the goal.

And in that sense, she’s been doing better lately.
Her complexion has improved — whether that’s thanks to therapy, other factors, or both, I can’t say.

Originally, I was supposed to handle her mental care myself.
But considering the state of her mind and our past conflicts… Bucky became her primary counselor instead.

But today… was an exception.

"What do you and Bucky usually do together?"

Truthfully, I wanted to talk to her personally.
I wanted to know what kind of mental state she was in now… because I was worried.

"Me and… B-Bucky usually… we just talk… and stuff."

She stammered awkwardly, mumbling her words, but she managed to say it.

I silently praised her for opening up, though I didn’t voice it.
If I complimented her directly, she might think I was mocking her.
Better to keep that thought to myself.

Instead, I allowed a small, gentle smile.

"I see…! What kind of things do you two talk about?"

"About… the people I’ve… killed."

I couldn’t stop my cheek from twitching at that.

Bucky and she are alike in many ways.
Their upbringing, their skill sets… even their mindset.
They’re very similar.

That’s why Bucky can empathize with her… and give her answers with real weight behind them.
Honestly, it’s a conversation I’d struggle to handle.

Bucky understands human weakness better than most.
He knows how to accept his own flaws, confront his past, and keep living.

Both he and Michelle carry the weight of their sins… and walk forward under that burden.

"I’m sorry, but… can we change the topic?"

"…Okay."

Still… she’s so different now compared to when she wore that red mask.
If someone told me this was the same person, I’d find it hard to believe.

Back then, she was forced to kill despite having a naturally kind heart.
To protect her own mind, she behaved as though she were someone else entirely… or so it seems.

…And then there are her memories — those of another world.
It’s likely she built that persona upon those foundations.

But it’s not dissociative identity disorder.
She’s a single person, but within her coexist two contrasting sides:
The innocent, vulnerable teenage girl… and the violent, battle-hardened adult male.

Lately, though, she hasn’t shown that violent side.
She’s become much calmer.

"Would you tell me about something good that’s happened to you recently?"

"Something… good?"

I knew I couldn’t erase her guilt, but maybe I could at least ease the fragile, sensitive part of her heart.

"Yes. It could be something simple — like enjoying a delicious meal, or seeing something beautiful. Anything at all?"

"…………"

Michelle’s eyes wandered for a moment, then she seemed to realize something and spoke.

"My friend…—"

"Yeah?"

"My other friend… accepted them. That’s… what happened."

I paused, thinking it over.

One of her friends… Gwen Stacy, perhaps.
Or maybe Harry Osborn… or another classmate she’s mentioned before.
So, one of them accepted another friend of hers…

I didn’t know the details, but—

"That’s wonderful. I’m happy too, when I see friends getting along."

I affirmed it warmly.

That’s just like her… considering it a “good thing” when someone else’s relationships improve, rather than focusing on herself.

"…Captain, you too?"

"Of course. Whether as a hero… no, as an adult, human relationships only grow more complicated over time."

I recalled the faces of several of my own friends and comrades as I continued.

"Everyone has their roles, and things they must protect. Ideally, we respect each other… but sometimes, there are things neither side can compromise on."

Michelle nodded at my words.

"And yet, when people overcome those walls, build friendships, respect each other, and admire each other… that’s difficult, but also a truly wonderful thing. Don’t you agree?"

"…Yes. I… think it’s a really good thing."

"Thank you."

When I expressed my gratitude, she blinked in confusion, as though wondering why I was thanking her.

It was simple.
She had affirmed my words — my thoughts — and I was grateful for that.

Mutual respect for one another’s opinions.
That’s the first step toward building trust.

"A bit of a lecture, I know… but what you consider a ‘good thing’ is something that’s actually very difficult for people like us to achieve."

"…I don’t think that’s—"

"It is. Building trust is one of the hardest things there is. You have to open up, talk, and approach one another with respect. You’re lucky to have good friends."

"…Yes."

When I praised her, she nodded with a shy, almost embarrassed expression.

Somehow, I felt like I’d just glimpsed something about her true nature.
It seemed like she felt happier when her friends were praised rather than herself.

That’s a sign of her kindness… but also of her low self-esteem.

"…Your friends—"

I decided to guide the conversation in that direction.

"They’ve stayed by your side as friends, even after learning about your past, haven’t they?"

"…Yes. That makes me really happy."

"That’s probably because they trust you… and respect you, don’t you think?"

"…I-I guess…?"

"Exactly."

Seeing her uncertain expression, I nodded firmly.

"You have wonderful friends. And I’d bet they consider you a wonderful friend, too."

"…You really think so?"

"Of course."

As I reassured her again, a faint smile finally appeared on her face.
For a moment, she looked like an ordinary girl her age… and I found that comforting.

…It made me feel like helping her had been worth it.

When I glanced up, I noticed the short hand of the wall clock nearing the top of the hour.

"There’s still a little time left. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?"

"Something I want to talk about…?"

"Or even something you’d like me to do. If it’s within reason, I’ll do my best."

At that, she hesitated for a moment, fidgeting slightly… and then—

"In that case, there is something I’d like—"

"Sure. Anything. Just tell me."

"I… um… I… want—"

She looked nervous, almost tense, as she slowly opened her mouth.

"I’d… like your autograph."

"…An autograph?"

I blinked, slightly puzzled, but then nodded in understanding.

"Do you mean there’s some paperwork that requires my signature? If so, let me take a look. I should have a pen somewhere—"

"Eh, n-no…! That’s not what I mean!"

She shook her head quickly.

"Um… I mean, the autograph… I mean…"

Her words trailed off, and she lowered her gaze slightly.

"Actually… never mind."

With a hint of disappointment, she fell silent.

…Was it something difficult to ask for?
Still, I didn’t want to let the moment pass.

"Michelle."

When I called her name, she hesitantly looked up at me.

"I won’t dislike you or be disappointed in you for asking. If it’s something that’s hard to say, I’m sorry… but could you tell me anyway?"

"Captain…"

Hearing that, her expression softened a little.

"I respect you, Michelle. Not just as a fellow member of S.H.I.E.L.D.… but as someone who carries the will to protect others. That’s why I want to hear what you have to say."

At my words, her eyes trembled slightly, and her brows lowered as though overwhelmed.

"…Captain, you really are amazing."

She whispered it softly, almost to herself… but my enhanced hearing, courtesy of the super-soldier serum, caught every word.
Still, I didn’t bring it up. That would only embarrass her.

I waited quietly for her to speak.

"The reason I want your autograph is… um, I…"

"You…?"

"I’m… a f-fan of yours, Captain."

Her cheeks flushed bright red, and she dropped her gaze, fidgeting awkwardly.

…A fan?

I understood the word.
I understood why she wanted my autograph, too.

A faint memory surfaced — years ago, Agent Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. had once asked me for the same thing.

Of course. It makes sense.
After all, I’ve been active as a hero for a very long time…
Ever since before I woke up from the cryogenic sleep — even back in the days of the world war.

I’m aware that I have my fair share of fans.

At charity events and similar occasions, I’ve signed autographs plenty of times.

But… her?
Michelle?

Back when we fought… she never once showed even the slightest sign of something like this.

The shock hit me so hard it was as if someone had blindsided me with a blunt weapon straight to the head.
I was… genuinely stunned.

"…I-I’m sorry. I guess… it’s no good, is it?"

Maybe she mistook my silence as rejection, because she spoke apologetically, almost shrinking into herself.

I quickly scrambled to correct her misunderstanding.

"N-No, that’s not it at all! I was just… surprised, that’s all. Of course I’ll sign it."

When I said that, she let out a soft breath — one that carried relief, maybe even happiness.

In that moment, I truly felt it.
There was something in her expression — that same innocent admiration I often see in children who look up to me.

…So that’s how it is.

She admired heroes.

And yet, despite having that dream, she’d been forced to do those terrible things…
The thought made my chest tighten with frustration.

But that’s in the past now.

From here on… she can be one, too.

She can become a hero.

Anyone can, as long as they have the will to help others.
If you have the courage to act… anyone can become someone’s hero.

I picked up the pen lying on the table and looked at her.

"What should I sign on?"

"…Ah, um…"

Flustered, she hurriedly dug into her bag.
After rummaging a bit, she pulled out something like a binder.
Opening it revealed a blank page inside.

"…Here, please."

"Ah, sure. No problem."

I placed the pen to the paper—

──────────
From Captain America
──────────

I wrote my name, and then—

──────────
To Michelle Jane Watson
──────────

Her name, and finally—

──────────
Anyone can be a hero
──────────

A message for her.

It’s a phrase I often write when signing for children.
I felt it was the perfect message to give to her.

I pressed each letter onto the page with intent, filling it with a wish—
that one day, she might share the same ideals…
and that someday, we might stand together, fighting for someone else.

---

I was humming softly to myself as I walked down the hallway of Avengers Tower.

"...I actually got his autograph."

Captain America.
A hero I’ve admired for so long.

Smiling faintly, I stroked the surface of my binder.
Lately, I’d started working on my scrapbooking hobby again.

This scrapbook was a little different from the ones I’d made before.
It wasn’t just clippings or headlines anymore—this was my scrapbook, filled with photos I took with the people I met and little pieces of my own memories.
And now, Captain America’s autograph was part of it.

Honestly, this was the kind of moment every hero geek dreams of.

…Ah.
Right, I should make one for Peter too.
『Another』 Spider-Man scrapbook… wait, huh?
Have I even made one before?
…I should probably check with Peter about that later.

Anyway, I was in a great mood.

Well… except for one thing.

Today’s work wrapped up by noon, and I had the afternoon free.
I wanted to go see Peter, but… I couldn’t.
Unfortunately, he had an unskippable shift at his part-time job today.

Nothing I could do about it.

I’m an understanding girlfriend—MJ.
I didn’t pout or complain; I just smiled and nodded.

Even so… I still felt lonely.

I thought I was hiding it well, but Peter noticed and comforted me.
…Funny, considering there was a time he used to say he was bad at reading people’s expressions.

Maybe I’ve just been so happy lately that my facial muscles started working again.

I was thinking about that when I spotted someone up ahead.

"Ah, Gwen…"

"Michelle, fancy running into you."

We fell into step together, walking side by side down the hallway.
She was wearing a tight black outfit—or rather, an official S.H.I.E.L.D. agent’s uniform.

"Gwen, are you heading to training now?"

"Yeah, something like that. You’re off this afternoon, Michelle?"

"Mm."

I nodded, and Gwen reached out to pat my head.
…She has this habit of doing that.
Lately, it’s gotten even more noticeable.
I guess that just means we’ve gotten closer—both emotionally and physically.

From my side, it’s also because I don’t have to keep secrets from her anymore.
That guilty weight I used to carry is gone.

"So… you going to see your boyfriend then?"

Gwen asked the question with a slightly sour expression—just a little.

She doesn’t think Peter’s a bad guy anymore.
But still… she doesn’t like the idea of me doing couple-y stuff with him.
She says it makes me look like I’m relying on him too much.

"No, he’s working today. I was thinking I’d go stock up on some groceries instead."

"Ah, you mean snacks."

…She translated “groceries” into “snacks” without hesitation.

Well, to be fair, she wasn’t wrong.
I barely cook, and most of what I buy is sweets anyway.

"Alright then, see you later."

"Yeah, see you."

After parting ways with Gwen, I stepped into the elevator.
The latest model had glass walls, but since we were in the basement, there wasn’t much of a view—just darkness.

Just before the doors closed, someone ran in.

I pressed the 『Open』 button, and a man slipped inside.

"Oops… coming in from the left, excuse me."

He bowed lightly.
I recognized his face immediately—well, not personally.
I’d only seen him from afar before.

My heart thumped as I froze, unable to speak.

Sam Wilson.
The man known as Falcon was standing right there.

I felt a little awkward as the elevator began to ascend.
I glanced at Sam briefly out of the corner of my eye.
This was the first time we’d crossed paths since Madripoor…
Though, thinking about it, he hadn’t really been trying to kill me back then.

Thanks to Nick Fury’s gag order, my photo hadn’t been circulated within S.H.I.E.L.D.
He probably knew I’d been rescued from the organization, but beyond that, he had no idea what I was up to now.

Still…

Our eyes met, and I quickly looked away.

"Hey, kid."

"…Y-yes?"

"Have we met somewhere before?"

I pressed my lips together tightly.
How is he this sharp?

…Or maybe I’m just acting too suspicious.

Falcon has good eyes.
He has to, considering his flying ability—like a hawk’s…
No, more like a falcon’s eyes.
Not just sharp vision, but a keen sense of observation.

"…Well, yeah. Once. Briefly."

Resigning myself, I answered, bracing for his reaction.

"That so? Huh… can’t remember where though—"

"Madripoor. Just once."

The elevator stopped at the first floor.
The indicator still pointed upward; Sam was headed to a higher level.

I stepped out of the elevator and glanced back.

He frowned slightly, like something had just clicked in his head.

"Well then… see you around."

I waved quickly and walked away, almost fleeing the scene.
As the doors slid shut, Sam headed upward—

"Hey, wait—hold on a second!"

He stepped out of the elevator and started following me.

"...Ugh."

"'Ugh'? What’s with the 'ugh'—your name’s Le—"

"Michelle Jane Watson."

I cut him off before he could finish.
The first floor of Avengers Tower has a reception area.
There could be civilians around who don’t know the whole story.

Linking that name to "Red Cap" here would be dangerous.
You never know who might be listening.

Sam seemed to catch on and gave a small nod, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Ah—sorry. Then… Jane?"

"Michelle is fine."

"Alright then, Michelle."

Sam shoved one hand into his pocket and scratched his cheek with the other.
He looked like he wanted to say something but was hesitating.

I decided to speak first.

"I'm sorry."

"...Huh?"

Sam tilted his head at my sudden apology.

"For what happened in Madripoor. I… hit you, and kicked you too."

"Ah—nah, don’t even worry about that. Stuff like that happens all the time."

"You get hit like that all the time?"

"No. I mean it’s common for someone you think is an enemy to turn out to be an ally."

Sam gave a wry smile.

"Though… yeah, I’ve had fights with girls your age before, too."

…Who is he talking about?
I racked my memory, but nothing came to mind.

"Who exactly—"

"She’s no longer around. Some people… can’t be saved."

His gaze dropped, and I found myself lowering my own.

"But—"

Sam spoke again, his tone softer this time.

"You’re alive. That’s something to be grateful for."

"……"

"So, I’m glad we met. That’s all. That’s all I wanted to say."

…Ah. Why is it always like this?

These heroes… they always treat me—

"…Falcon."

"Just Sam is fine. We’re colleagues now, aren’t we? I heard you volunteered to become an agent at S.H.I.E.L.D."

"…Uh, well, that’s, um—"

"That’s amazing. When I was your age, I was still just a punk kid causing trouble around the neighborhood. Never once thought about doing anything for anyone else."

"Uh, ah, y-yes—"

He kept praising me, leaning in with the kind of energy an uncle might have toward his niece—

"Sam, what are you doing?"

Salvation arrived.
Captain America—Steve Rogers.

"Steve, hey, this isn’t what it looks like—"

"Choose your time and place better. And maybe consider the age of the person you’re talking to."

"No, no, it’s not like that. You know it’s not like that."

"Do I, though?"

"Hey, come on."

Steve smirked teasingly, and Sam’s cheek twitched in frustration.
I couldn’t help but exhale a small sigh of relief.

Between talking with Gwen and then running into Sam, I’d lost more time than I realized.
Steve must have already finished reporting the results of my evaluation to Nick Fury.

Sam looked awkward as he turned back to me.

"Ah—Michelle. Sorry for holding you up."

Seeing him scratching his cheek apologetically, I couldn’t help but smile and shook my head.

"No. I’m glad I got to talk with you."

"Me too."

"Then…『see you』."

"…Yeah, see you."

We exchanged a brief handshake, then waved to each other before parting ways.

Light spills through the glass walls, cascading onto the floor.
That light touches me, illuminating my path.

As long as I remain under this dazzling brightness… I know we’ll meet again someday.
When that day comes… I’ll finally say all the things I couldn’t say today.

Not just my apology—but also my admiration, and my respect.

---

Carrying a plastic bag filled with chocolate treats, sugar candies… and marshmallows.
The bag is stuffed full, swelling with enough sweetness to make someone feel sick.

Today has been full of wonderful things.

I got to meet someone I’ve always admired.
I got to speak with someone I deeply respect.
I spent time with a close friend.

All that’s missing is seeing the person I love, and today would be perfect.

…but I can’t be greedy.

I keep walking, bag in hand, glancing absentmindedly at the displays in the shop windows.

　

…Then, I stopped.

　

A white—pure white—dress.
A wedding dress.
Right beside it, a tuxedo.

My gaze was drawn to the display, unable to look away.

The mannequin wearing the wedding dress held a bright red heart-shaped cushion in its hands.

And for just a moment, a thought passed through my mind—

　

…A future with Peter.

　

For now, we’re just lovers.
We haven’t promised each other a future… not yet.

But someday… will there come a day when I’ll wear a dress like this?
A day when I’ll stand there, smiling, in something like that?

Me?

　

"…Peter…"

　

He tells me he loves me.
But no matter how much time passes, he never… takes that next step.

I don’t know why.
Maybe if we spend more time together, eventually…

…Eventually. But when is “eventually,” exactly?

It’s not that I doubt Peter.
It’s just… our relationship is a little complicated.
I’ve been tying the knots carefully, desperately, trying to keep the threads from unraveling.

…Does Peter really… want someone like me?

"…It’s fine."

Peter loves me. I know he does.
I’m sure of it. I have to be sure.

It’ll be okay. It has to be okay.

Because… I believe in Peter—
I always will.

.

.

.

.

.

My gaze was caught by the reflection in the shop window.

Peter was walking alongside someone.

“…Peter?”

I muttered softly and turned around.

Peter was holding hands with a beautiful red-haired girl as they walked together.

Who… was she?
Why were they holding hands?

Why, when he told me he had work?
Is she someone he can’t tell me about?

My breathing grew shallow before I realized it. The plastic bag slipped from my hands and hit the ground with a rustle.

My eyes stung a little… I wiped at them with my hand.
My sleeve came away damp.

“……”

When I lifted my gaze again, Peter and the girl had already vanished into the crowd.

No… there was no mistake.

That was definitely Peter.

Why?

Why was he holding hands with such a beautiful woman… like they were lovers—

“Ah.”

Lovers?

But… isn’t that supposed to be me?

No, but…

“…No way…”

I forced myself into being Peter’s girlfriend, clinging to his guilt as my shield.

Because he’s kind.
Because he couldn’t just leave me alone.
But what if… what if he already has someone else he truly loves?

What if that’s the real reason he’s never touched me?

“…I see.”

Peter is kind, dependable…
Someone like him would be popular.

And compared to that, what am I?
A woman whose only redeeming quality… is her looks.

Deep down, I’d always known.
I’m not good enough for him.

My vision blurred.

I wanted to make Peter happy.
But what if… he thinks of me as nothing but a burden?

He wouldn’t leave me, I know he wouldn’t. He’s too kind for that.
Even if it hurts him, he’d stay by my side, trying—forcing himself—to love me.

But…

“That’s not… what I want.”

If Peter is going to be unhappy because of me…

“Then… what am I even…”

I should be the one to say it.
If we’re going to break up, I should be the one to let go.

Because Peter is kind.
If I stay silent, he’ll… he’ll keep trying to make me happy.

But that’s not what I want.

What I want is for him to be happy.

Even if, when that happens, I’m not the one standing next to him—

Even if I’m not—

Even if…

“…I… don’t want that.”

I pressed a hand to my throat to stifle the sobs, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

I forced myself to endure the black, swirling sadness inside me… and headed home.

The lightness I’d felt earlier had vanished completely.
I felt… like my head might shatter under the weight of this grief.

When I tilted my face upward to hold back the tears, a gray, overcast sky filled my vision.

An overwhelming sense of loss pressed down on me, as if a hole had opened up inside my chest.