Chapter 30: Birth of Black - Part 3

In front of me, Harry and Peter were exchanging glances, as if cautiously probing each other.

Ugh, this is so awkward.

Honestly, I thought the two of them would get along. I mean, in the original comics, they were best friends.

…No, this might just be my bad habit acting up.

This world isn’t the same as the comics or the movies.

If I keep living with those kinds of assumptions, I might end up making a mistake I can’t take back someday.

I need to fix that.

Anyway, they’re on edge with each other.

And I’m just stuck here, painfully uncomfortable.

Peter opened his mouth.

“Um, Harry-san, what’s your relationship with Michelle?”

“With her? Michelle and I are friends, Peter. Also, no need for the formal speech.”

“Ah… thanks.”

Peter nodded, his brow twitching slightly at the word her.

“…Hmm, and what about you, Peter? What’s your relationship with her? Are you two dating?”

Harry suddenly dropped a bombshell, and I quickly jumped in.

“N-no, we’re not.”

I denied it.

Wouldn’t that kind of misunderstanding be rude to Peter?

That’s why I denied it… but…

When I glanced at Peter… he was nodding with a somewhat complicated expression.

He really does seem a little put off.

Harry narrowed his eyes slightly at that.

“I see. So Peter is still just a friend.”

“That’s right.”

The phrase still just made me wonder—how does Harry know Peter? …Ah, that’s right, I remembered he said something when they first met.

And I recalled what Harry knew about Peter.

…Yes, when we went to the sweets festival.

The only thing Harry knows is that Peter showed up late and completely bailed on our plans.

…If that’s all you hear, then yeah—he sounds like the worst guy ever, ditching a friend like that.

It only just hit me that Harry’s probably worried about me and sees Peter as suspicious.

From an outside perspective, maybe I really do look like a girl falling for the wrong guy.

…Then why is Peter on guard?

I seriously have no idea.

I’m not a character from Detective Comics, and I’m not some kind of telepath.

If I don’t know, then I don’t know.

Ah… but maybe…

Is this tension between them actually my fault? Because of how I acted?

The two of them glared at each other for a moment… then Harry suddenly sighed.

“Let’s stop this. We’re in a hospital. Not the place for squabbling… I’ll leave her to you and be on my way.”

Harry looked at me.

“Sorry, Michelle. It’s just that… well, I had some concerns. If Peter says he’ll take you home, then I’ll step back.”

Then he turned to Peter, patted him on the shoulder, and whispered something in his ear.

Peter looked suspicious at first, but then nodded in understanding.

…Why whisper?

Is there something they don’t want me to hear?

I felt like I was being left out of the loop, and frowned a bit.

But, well… even if they’re talking behind my back, I can tell they’re not doing it out of malice or to hurt me.

Neither of them are the kind of people who would do that.

It’s probably just something awkward that would be uncomfortable for me to hear.

If I wanted to, I could eavesdrop with my super soldier-enhanced hearing.

But I won’t.

If it’s something they don’t want me to hear, then I won’t listen.

That’s fine by me.

And so we parted ways with Harry, and Peter and I headed home together.

NY Metropolitan Hospital is located in Manhattan.

And we live in Queens.

The two areas are separated by a major river.

In other words, it’s a decent distance away.

We took the NYC subway to get here.

And the return trip was the same.

…Maybe the timing was bad, but the train was pretty crowded.

People of all sorts of races and genders were aboard.

Queens is one of the more immigrant-heavy areas of NY.

You could call it a neighborhood of diversity.

We got on the train… there weren’t any seats available, so I stood by the wall.

…And Peter stood right in front of me.

He positioned himself so I wouldn’t bump into any other passengers—almost like he was shielding me.

…It’s thoughtful. I do appreciate it.

But still.

…Isn’t this kind of like a kabedon?

Isn’t that something you only do to a girl you like, or are at least interested in?

Peter’s face is so close.

His face is slightly flushed… maybe he’s a little embarrassed too.

...Not really pulling it off.

Realizing he was trying a little too hard to act cool, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

Peter noticed and looked at me, confused.

"What? What is it, Michelle?"

"Nothing. Just thinking you're pretty reliable."

I brushed it off casually, and Peter’s face turned red all the way to his ears again.

Well... yeah. I tend to forget, but from an objective standpoint, I am a pretty girl.

Even if it's a girl they’re not into, guys still get happy when someone relies on them. I guess that’s just how men are wired.

...I glanced over at Peter’s face.

No, seriously.

Yeah.

He's good-looking after all.

Not the sharp, chiseled kind, but with a kind expression—one that tugs at your maternal instincts.

...I’ve come to realize this lately, but there are a lot of good-looking people in this world.

It’s full of handsome guys and beautiful girls.

Maybe because this is a comic book world?

Thinking about it that way... maybe Peter’s looks are considered average in this world?

He’s a total heartthrob to me, but maybe others would just see him as normal.

"Uh, Michelle?"

"...What is it, Peter?"

"When you stare at me like that... I mean, it's kind of embarrassing..."

I quickly looked away from him.

Maybe... I was staring too much.

"S-Sorry."

My cheeks started to feel hot with embarrassment too.

A bit of awkwardness hung in the air between us as we made our way back home.

---

New York City, Brooklyn.

I—Natasha Romanoff—and Nick Fury were sitting in the back seat of a car.

At the wheel was fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Maria Hill.

"Fury, what's the objective here? No one’s told me anything."

When I asked that, Fury handed me the tablet in his hands.

Displayed on the screen was a spiral-shaped diagram—probably genetic data.

There was a bunch of detailed information written, but it was all beyond my understanding.

I’m not a scientist.

I’m a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent—Black Widow.

This kind of stuff would be more Bruce’s forte.

"Remember the red mask you fought during that mission in Manhattan the other day?"

"Oh, that one? My shoulder still hurts, you know."

I thought back.

Just a few days ago, I’d infiltrated a massive cargo ship where A.I.M. and the Life Foundation were conducting a deal... and ended up fighting that red-masked agent.

He had the kind of superhuman physical ability and reflexes you'd expect from someone like Captain America—Steve.

We managed to steal the item being exchanged, but in the end, we were cornered, and it was taken back. I got stabbed through the shoulder with a knife and ended up hospitalized for about a week.

Even with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s regenerative tech, it still took a week—so yeah, it was a serious injury.

Physically, I’m back in top shape, but mentally... I guess I’m still carrying the baggage.

As I rubbed my shoulder, Fury nodded.

"Right. The public’s taken to calling them 'Redcap.' But we’ve finally gotten a solid lead on who they are."

"Seriously?"

He pointed at the tablet in my hands.

"That came from analyzing blood taken during Captain’s assault. It’s real-time bio-data."

Fury tapped on his own tablet, and a sparse profile appeared on the screen.

Looks like they’ve filled in what little they know... but what is this?

Honestly, they barely know anything.

"Age range: 14 to 19. Sex: female. Nationality: Latverian. Definitely human. Her powers likely originate from drugs—her body produces neurotransmitters that wouldn’t naturally occur. Or maybe—"

"Wait, hang on. She’s a girl?"

"Ah, I didn’t mention that?"

No, you didn’t.

I glared at my overly secretive superior, silently pushing him to keep going.

"Her name and location haven’t been confirmed yet. But the genetic data came incredibly close to someone—likely a blood relative—who is located here in New York City."

Fury tapped the tablet again, and a map popped up.

The place marked was right here—Brooklyn.

"A small electronics repair shop in the borough. They go by 'Fix-It'—repairing clocks, radios, small gadgets. The owner is Phineas Mason Jr., age 24, male."

Fury brought up an ID-style photo of a blond man.

"He’s the adopted son of Phineas Mason, a well-known technician. No blood relation. After Mason’s death, he took over the business."

"A model young man, then."

"But he’s full of mysteries. What was his situation before he was adopted? What was his name before he started calling himself 'Junior'? No record—nothing."

Fury closed the tablet and stored it in the compartment behind the driver’s seat.

"Now, about your mission... I’ll handle the questioning. I just need you to quietly back me up."

...I frowned and shot a question his way.

"Then why bring me at all? If I’m not doing anything, why not go alone?"

"Ah, same reason I always carry this."

He pulled out a pistol from under his coat—a small sidearm he always carries for self-defense.

Ah. So I’m the gun.

In other words, there’s a possibility things could go sideways.

I nodded in understanding, and Fury slipped the pistol back into his coat.

"We're here. Romanoff, this is the place."

The car came to a stop, and the door opened automatically.

Fury exchanged a few words with Maria Hill in the driver’s seat before stepping out.

I followed him, and just ahead in a narrow Brooklyn alley, I saw a small sign that read "Fix-It."

A quaint wooden shop.

...I see. One of those neighborhood repair stores, huh?

Fury pushed the door open without hesitation, causing a bell to ring.

I glanced at the bell—it was rusted, and the sound it made was dull, like it hadn’t rung clearly in years.

Looked like an antique.

Inside, the shop was packed with clocks leaning against the walls.

A few outdated radios sat on wooden desks, displayed in a way that suggested they weren’t exactly for sale—more like antique decoration.

The faint scent of musty wood tickled my nose.

Not unpleasant, but it definitely had a smell… the kind that, oddly enough, made you feel a little at ease.

"Ah, welcome. Do you have an appointment?"

The shop clerk behind the counter addressed us.

A young man with blond hair and blue eyes.

In terms of looks, he was definitely well put together.

...There was something familiar about him—I tried to trace the memory when—

"You're Phineas Mason Jr., correct?"

Fury’s words pulled me back to reality.

"Huh? Oh, yes, that’s me..."

The young man—Phineas—answered with a slightly puzzled look.

He seemed timid, maybe even unreliable, I thought.

But... if he was the one Fury was looking for, then that meant he was the owner of this shop.

Thinking of it that way, if he’s managing a store at his age, maybe he’s more independent than he looks.

"I need a word. I'm with the NYPD..."

Fury pulled out a police badge.

Of course, it was a fake.

A forged ID. Just because we’re with S.H.I.E.L.D., a global peacekeeping agency, doesn’t mean this kind of thing is allowed.

Fury’s the kind of man who won’t hesitate to break the law if it means preserving world peace or city safety.

And I know that all too well.

"Detective Dum Dum Dugan."

That’s the alias he used.

Phineas glanced at me briefly, but I ignored it—I'd been told to keep quiet and follow his lead, after all.

"She’s my assistant. There are a few things I’d like to ask you. Do you have time now?"

"Y-Yes, sure."

Poor guy—he looked scared out of his wits.

Not surprising.

A tall, dark-skinned, broad-shouldered cop with an eyepatch and an intimidating face just walked into his store. Anyone would be scared.

"Do you have a sister?"

Given Phineas’s age, Fury was clearly trying to determine if Redcap might be his sibling.

"A sister...? Yeah, I had one."

"Had?"

Detective Dugan—no, Fury—stepped closer to Phineas.

"'Had'? Why the past tense?"

"Because... she's already passed away."

There was no trace of deception in Phineas’s face as he said that.

And I take pride in my ability, as an agent, to tell when someone’s lying.

In other words—she’s dead.

But that makes no sense.

I fought her myself. If she were truly dead, then who the hell did I fight?

...At the very least, something happened that made it seem like she died.

Or perhaps he thinks she’s dead.

It has to be one or the other.

"I see. Sorry to ask, but could you tell us a little about your sister?"

"Sure, I guess... but why?"

"Can’t say. That’s classified."

Fury pretended to take notes while subtly activating the tiny camera and recorder in his chest pocket.

"…About ten years ago, I was living in the Kingdom of Latveria. With my father, mother, and sister."

"Ten years..."

Fury pressed his thumb lightly against his temple as he repeated the number.

"Well, at the time, the king was fighting off a coup. It escalated into a full-scale civil war... and my family had to flee the country. During the actual escape, I was the only one who made it out alive... That's all there is to it. I’ve got nothing to hide."

"I'm not accusing you of anything."

That was a lie.

Fury absolutely suspected the man in front of him.

And once again, he spoke.

"Then you’re saying you have no idea what happened to your sister?"

"I already told you—she’s dead."

"Did you actually confirm she died?"

Fury was nearly certain that Phineas’s sister was Redcap.

That’s why he was so put off by Phineas’s insistence that she was dead.

"Yes. I said she died right in front of me, didn’t I?"

Phineas's eyes showed a flicker of irritation as he responded.

But judging from his tone, his expression, and the level of tension in his voice—there were no clear signs of lying.

He was telling the truth.

And that’s exactly why Fury looked unconvinced.

"...I see. In that case, we’ll leave it there. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Sure. But next time, could you call ahead?"

Fury extended a hand for a shake, and Phineas responded.

Fury gripped it firmly... Trying to read him through skin contact, no doubt.

But even with that, he must have sensed no falsehood—his expression shifted to a resigned one as he let go of Phineas’s hand.

I glanced at the clock on the wall—it hadn’t been long since we arrived.

Suddenly, something caught the corner of my eye—a painting hanging on the wall.

It depicted two fairies repairing a pair of bright red shoes.

Aside from clocks and radios, the room had almost no furniture.

No decor either.

Except for this painting.

"Oh, that? It was a painting my foster father treasured."

"...Hmm. He had good taste."

I spoke without thinking.

"The fairies finish the work while the old women sleep. The women never realize it happened... Even if you’re not seen, you can still help others from the shadows. That’s what my foster father wanted to be—someone like that. He poured that hope into this painting."

"I see."

"Yeah... the painting’s called—"

Phineas smiled softly.

"『Tinkerer’s Fairies』. Nice name, isn’t it?"

His gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the room as he said it.

---

Fury and I left the store and got into the car together.

"Fury, looks like that was a wasted trip."

"Hmm... but it seems he's hiding something."

"Really? He didn’t seem like he was lying, though."

When I said that, Fury gave me a look of exasperation.

"There's no need to lie. He can simply leave out what he wants to hide, supplement the rest with convenient truths, and steer the story exactly the way he wants it."

Fury brushed his hand through the air.

"But he clearly stated that his sister was 'dead.'"

"Exactly. That’s the part that bothers me most... We should continue monitoring him regularly."

The car started moving. The view outside the window shifted as we pulled away from Fix-It.

"So, Fury. Does that mean this mission is over?"

"No. There's one more stop I’d like you to come along for."

With a word from Fury to Maria Hill, a destination popped up on the car’s navigation system.

It was a hospital—NY Metropolitan Hospital.

"A hospital? Why?"

"A patient there has a genetic structure and biomatrix that match the specifications demanded by 'that thing' we received from the lab. Captain was against it, but—"

Fury pulled out a tablet. Displayed on it was the face of a teenage girl.

"Rejoice, Agent Romanoff. You might be getting a new protégé."

The car continued on, heading slowly toward the hospital.