Chapter 24: Art is an Explosion!

"Hawk Lane! What the hell do you think you're doing?! That's..."

At that precise moment, Hawk slowly turned to face Nick Fury, a smile of utter coldness blooming on his handsome face. His voice was clear, calm, and echoed with a chilling, ritualistic cadence across the cold night terrace:

"Because, Director Fury..." Hawk's gaze seemed to fall directly upon the frantic Bates family members about to board the helicopter.

"...Art is an explosion."

The instant his words finished—

BOOOOM!!!

A massive roar erupted.

The top floor of the Bates Capital building—the expensive helicopter and the surrounding helipad—was instantly swallowed by an intensely blinding, expanding fireball of orange-red flame and billowing black smoke. The explosion's shockwave instantly shattered all the reinforced glass on the top floor. Shards sprayed into the sky like lethal hail, reflecting countless pinpoints of light under the moon and city lamps.

They could feel the ground shake beneath their feet. Even to the naked eye, the structural collapse and horrific twisting of the building's top floors were apparent!

The soundwave of the blast hammered Fury's eardrums. He recoiled violently, his lone eye fixed on the top of the Bates Building. His pupil dilated with extreme shock, his face contorted with unbelievable fury and the humiliation of being so blatantly provoked.

He couldn't believe it! This impeccably dressed, smooth-talking young man, this darling of Wall Street, had just ordered the demolition of a skyscraper's rooftop—in front of him, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.—using a casual but utterly arrogant line! And these were targets S.H.I.E.L.D. was protecting! This wasn't just corporate warfare; this was blatant, terrorism-level murder, committed right under his nose!

"You… you lunatic!" Fury's voice was hoarse with extreme rage. He instinctively reached for the sidearm at his waist.

Hawk remained standing, the cold smile on his face unchanged, as if he hadn't just witnessed a destructive fireworks show that claimed over a dozen lives, but a genuine artistic performance. His voice was terrifyingly steady: "Bates's play ends here. Their greed, stupidity, and the loose ends they left behind have all been completely wiped clean in this 'curtain call.' Please pass a message to former Director Alexander Pierce: You're welcome."

He elegantly straightened the cuff of his suit jacket, as if he'd only brushed off a bit of dust.

"As for the two girls you're so concerned about," Hawk's gaze refocused on Fury's face, twisted with fury, carrying an undeniable warning. "They are my assets now. Your company need not trouble itself. Any attempt to disturb their peace—or rather, to interrupt the work I'm currently engaged in—will result in a spectacle with much greater 'artistic impact' than the little fireworks display you just saw."

"The meeting is concluded." Hawk gave a slight nod, ignoring Fury's practically incandescent glare, and turned to leave.

Leaving the coffee shop, Hawk's expression was unperturbed, like a gentleman who'd just finished enjoying a grand opera. He disappeared into the crowds of panicked people flooding out from below the Bates Building.

Initially, Andy hadn't entirely approved of Hawk's action, feeling it was too murderous. She had even brought up Buddhist concepts of cause and effect, but Hawk had promptly convinced her otherwise.

This was no longer just a business war; the Bates family had crossed the line first, hiring the Tow Squad from Project Witch to wipe out the entire Lane Group, which included Andy. Hawk was simply returning the favor in kind. You say I'm guilty? Come, look into my eyes and say that! Heat Ray warning! Ultimately, Hawk had talked Andy out of her psychological burden.

The task of blowing them up was Won-bin's admission fee. Infiltrating the roof of the Bates Building and planting explosives under heavy S.H.I.E.L.D. protection was difficult, but Won-bin proved her worth as the leader of the Tow Squad. As a T1 Witch—second only to Goo Ja-yoon, Shin Si-ah, and the Noble Son in Project Witch—her superhuman strength, accelerated self-healing, and powerful psychokinesis made her an extremely capable metahuman, especially having received professional training in military and espionage disciplines. Therefore, this kind of task was well within her capabilities.

Now, Nick Fury, the King of Spies who had weathered countless storms, felt genuinely troubled for the first time by a rival so young yet so dangerous. The declaration, "Art is an explosion," lingered in his ear for a half-second before being carried away by the wind. However, he was more interested in Hawk's message for Pierce: You're welcome.

What did that imply? Simple instigation? Or did Hawk possess deeper intelligence? He sighed, thinking of the Avengers Initiative he had been planning for years. "I need to speed things up."

Behind him, Natasha was also shaken to her core. Committing an act like this right in front of Nick Fury was absolute madness.

Bang!

This wasn't the sound of the explosion, but the sharp crack of some inner ice breaking deep inside her heart. This madness, like a meteorite plunging into a lake, instantly shattered the layer of rationality upon which Natasha's existence depended. She had faced countless life-and-death situations and witnessed all forms of insanity, but Hawk Lane's madness was different. It was cloaked in the elegant suit of a Wall Street elite, articulated with the most appropriate language, and executed with lethal precision.

It held a fatal attraction for her, much like a top predator is drawn to another, stronger, more unpredictable one.

"Damn it…" Natasha cursed silently, forcing her eyes to focus on the plumes of smoke still drifting from the top of the bombed Bates Building. Yet, that madness still coursed through her spine like a cold current, bringing a near-paralyzing shiver.

She… was excited.

The excitement was minute, hidden beneath her cold rationality, but she distinctly registered it. Like the most lethal virus, awareness of its presence was already a declaration of infection. The low whisper of "always open" was no longer just a test of her psychological boundaries; it was an invitation to the abyss.