Chapter 48: Suffer Just a Little Longer, Hell

Time passed, second by second, as the Black Widow trembled with dread.

She truly feared that the seemingly kind and handsome young man would strip her naked next, turning her into one of those captured interrogators from the videos.

Ding-ding-ding~

Suddenly, the landline rang again.

Alvin set down his glass and picked up the phone: “Well? Have you made up your mind?”

Unlike last time, a different voice answered—deep and resonant: “Mr. Valhuis, I am Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D. I sincerely apologize for the intrusion into your privacy by our agent, and I am prepared to offer one hundred million U.S. dollars as compensation.”

Oh, so the big fish has finally bitten—worth all the effort he’d put in.

“No need for apologies,” Alvin snapped his fingers, and the Black Widow, bound to the ceiling, crashed to the floor: “I’m releasing your agent. We’re even.”

“Wait, Mr. Valhuis!”

Sensing his intent, Fury rushed to speak: “We’d like to talk with you, Mr. Valhuis.”

“If I refuse, will you threaten me again?” Alvin countered.

“No, no, no, Mr. Valhuis—you’ve misunderstood,” Fury said with unshakable composure, as if nothing had happened: “Everything that just happened was a misunderstanding. We had no ill intent. If you’re willing, please set a time—we can meet and clear up your misconceptions.”

“Not interested. Goodbye.”

Alvin hung up the phone without hesitation.

The big fish had bitten, but it wasn’t time yet—he’d keep fishing, stoking their appetite until... the right moment arrived.

As he pondered, he looked toward the Black Widow, now free of her restraints: “Miss Natasha, your boss paid a hundred million U.S. dollars. I keep my word—you’re free to go.”

The Black Widow had broken free, but her skin still bore unmistakable marks from the ropes.

Especially on the insides of her thighs and her chest, where a searing pain lingered, reminding her constantly of the humiliation she’d just endured.

The female agent, both ashamed and furious, glared at Alvin with eyes blazing like fire.

“What? Has Miss Natasha developed a taste for this? Planning to stay and play some more?” Alvin smirked, his gaze roaming freely over her body: “If so, I wouldn’t mind helping you—I’ve got quite the expertise in S.”

“Disgusting! Bastard!”

The Black Widow clenched her teeth, wanting nothing more than to kill this bastard.

But she knew full well that charging him would be futile, so she forced herself to calm down: “I hope you’ll seriously consider our proposal, Mr. Valhuis.”

“Fine. A hundred million U.S. dollars—I’ll think about it.”

Alvin put on a greedy grin: “Your so-called Homeland Bureau shouldn’t be short on cash, right?”

Faced with Alvin’s unyielding greed, the Black Widow snorted, turned, and walked out, her hips swaying.

Yet her gait was uneven, every step carefully avoiding friction on her inner thighs—undoubtedly comical.

This was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s initial probe—and it matched Alvin’s predictions perfectly.

From the start, he never intended to keep his secret. After all, “spiritual energy”—a power beyond normal comprehension—wasn’t something he needed to hide from S.H.I.E.L.D.

There were too many powered individuals in the Marvel universe; he wasn’t the only one. No need for secrecy.

Better yet, use “spiritual energy” as bait to lure S.H.I.E.L.D. in—that suited Alvin’s plan far better.

Alvin sat alone in the room, sipping his drink, organizing his thoughts and progress.

“First, Norman’s side is a long-term plan—no point expecting returns yet.”

“Second, Tony Stark’s armor should be at its second generation by now—I wonder how Obadiah is doing... I hope he’s making progress.”

“Lastly, S.H.I.E.L.D.—it’s unlikely I’ll see returns anytime soon.”

Alvin pinched his brow, suddenly feeling melancholy. Among all the key characters he knew, there seemed to be no good opportunity to harvest source power.

He could simply kill the Black Widow—surely, as a future Avenger, she’d yield a massive amount of source power.

But... he had two uncertainties.

First, whether he could kill her under the protection of world will.

Second, killing her would brand him as a villain, creating major obstacles for his future.

After weighing it all, Alvin decided it wasn’t worth it—and abandoned the idea outright.

“Hell’s Kitchen...”

Suddenly, Alvin thought of the perfect place: “If I really have no choice, then I’m sorry... Mr. Kingpin.”

If he remembered correctly, Hell’s Kitchen was a goldmine.

Kingpin, Bullseye, the Hand... weren’t they all perfect sources of source power?

Well then, let Hell’s Kitchen suffer a little—let the blame fall on me alone!

“Hmm, time’s up. I should go check on Tony.”

Having dawdled long enough, Alvin prepared to rise and leave.

He’d never admit he’d lingered so long out of fear that Tony would mock him for being “too eager.”

Meanwhile, in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s top-floor office:

After the call ended, Coulson leaned over, curiosity etched on his face: “He refused?”

“Mm. But it doesn’t matter.”

Fury, unfazed, smiled with that enigmatic, all-knowing expression: “First contact—rejection is normal.”

In truth, Coulson had been holding back a question for a long time.

Seeing his subordinate’s expression, Fury guessed it and chuckled: “Say it out loud. Afraid I’ll scold you?”

“Not at all, Director.”

Coulson hesitated, then finally spoke: “I don’t understand why you want him involved in that program.”

“Because he’s suitable. That’s all.” Fury reached instinctively for his cup, found it empty, remembered it had been smashed, retracted his hand awkwardly, cleared his throat, and continued: “I know your concerns—about his loyalty and background, right?”

“Exactly as you said. I simply can’t understand.”

Coulson said seriously: “We’ve investigated Alvin Valhuis. He appears out of nowhere—no trace of prior existence. Isn’t that suspicious?”

“This matter is settled.”

Yet Nick Fury, usually so cautious, now displayed absolute, authoritarian decisiveness: “You’ll replace Romanoff. Approach Alvin Valhuis with friendliness. When the time is right, I’ll meet him myself.”

Coulson was a Level 8 agent. No matter how many doubts he harbored, he obeyed the Director’s order.

After Coulson left, Nick Fury sat in silence for a long while, then pulled a golden medal from his drawer, stared at it, and murmured: “Is he...? The answer will come soon, Alvin Valhuis.”