Marvel: The Super Player

"Has the information been leaked?"

"Yes."

"Reporters are already gathered at the hospital. Now, it just depends on whether he decides to show his face."

In that same dimly lit room, the three leaders who ran ICA and lined their own pockets through its operations were gathered once again.

Mister I sat completely shrouded in the shadows, chuckling softly. "If a young man isn't brash and aggressive, can he even be called young? Haha, it's been a long time since we've encountered a youngster like this."

Mister C added in his monotone voice, "That is because we usually break their bones before they can even grow bold."

Madam A let out a soft laugh. "And then, we perform surgery to help mend them back together."

Except... they would replace those original bones with ones bound in complete dog-like loyalty to them.

However, Locke was clearly not going to reach that stage.

They had originally intended to quietly abduct Locke Broughton, but they never anticipated things spiraling so wildly out of control. Not only did they fail to capture the target, but they also ended up turning the entire city upside down.

Fortunately, they were prepared for contingencies.

Mister I looked over at Madam A and laughed.

"Madam A's suggestion was excellent. If we hadn't shifted the public focus, the entire New York media apparatus would be targeting us right now. It would be hard to prevent those omnipresent reporters from digging up something incriminating."

Madam A asked calmly, "What about Number 46?"

Mister C replied expressionlessly, "He is still in the middle of his extraction. However, based on his biometric signals, he is no longer in danger and can withdraw safely and smoothly."

"How are things progressing on the side of our CIA allies?"

"Everything is set."

Mister I smiled thinly.

"While the CIA isn't entirely a monolith under a single command, its representatives may not have the clearance to authorize a high-level recruitment. However, blocking a cold-blooded high school student who left his classmate to die in a hostage situation is well within their capabilities. As long as the CIA handles their end, our primary problem dissolves."

They had plenty of time.

A single operational failure meant absolutely nothing.

It aligned perfectly with what the subversion specialists at the CIA always said: I can fail countless times, but as long as I succeed just once, your entire regime will crumble into nothingness!

No one ever stayed safe once their name ended up on an ICA contract list.

It was just like... those who received a notice from the Peerless Assassin. Very few ever walked away unscathed. The sole exception was that drug addict Barry Weiss, who technically survived but simply got transformed into an entirely different biological species.

...

Back in the hospital recovery room.

Kahn's parents and Cindy's parents had already headed back to their respective homes to fetch a fresh change of clothes for the kids.

Propped up against the pillows of the hospital bed, Kahn looked toward Locke and Gwen, "You two should head home. It's getting really late."

Locke checked his wristwatch. "Give it another half hour."

If he left now, how was the Peerless Assassin supposed to make his grand entrance?

Furthermore, Locke looked at Kahn with an earnest expression. "I haven't properly offered my apologies to you yet."

With that, Locke slid both hands into his pockets and fixed Kahn with a serious gaze.

"Rest assured, that bald hitman won't get away with this. I give you my word!"

Harming his friend and expecting to just walk away scot-free?

Keep dreaming.

Kahn let out a brief laugh. "Locke, to be honest, if I were in your shoes, I would have made the exact same choice. I completely understand why you did it. There was no reason to give him a buy-one-get-one-free special. Besides, look at me—I'm completely fine, aren't I?"

Standing to the side, Gwen muttered, "I just wonder if Dad and the others have managed to track down that absolute maniac yet."

Hearing her words, something suddenly clicked in Kahn's memory. "Oh, right! That bald guy had a barcode printed on the back of his head. There was a string of numbers underneath it. I saw it clearly."

Locke's eyes lit up slightly. "You saw it?"

Kahn gave a firm nod. "I can't recall the exact sequence of numbers before it, but he thought I was completely unconscious at the time. I distinctly remember the last two numbers at the end were 46."

46?

'Agent 46? Agent 47's older clone brother?'

'Heh.'

Locke smiled inwardly, then looked at Kahn. "You are my friend. I will absolutely give you a satisfying resolution to this matter!"

Kahn chuckled, automatically assuming Locke was intending to compensate him financially.

"There's really no need. Honestly, do you know what? I'm actually relieved that I was the one who ran outside to check out the commotion and got grabbed."

Locke raised an eyebrow.

Gwen blinked in surprise, seriously wondering if Kahn had sustained a severe concussion during the plunge into the river.

Sitting right at the edge of the mattress, Cindy spoke up without any filter, "Have you completely lost your mind? Should I call the doctor back in to run a neurological scan on your brain?"

Kahn glanced at Cindy, taking both of her hands into his own before shifting his gaze back to Locke.

'Uh oh.'

Locke's brow twitched. He sensed an incoming wave of sentimental nonsense.

"If I hadn't gone outside, that bald bastard would have still forced his way into the villa. And if Cindy had been right there next to me, she would have been taken by that hitman as well. If he had managed to secure two hostages simultaneously, then..."

Kahn continued, his eyes overflowing with deep affection as he gazed at Cindy, "...he would have had leverage to play with. He could have executed one of us right in front of you to force your compliance. That's why I'm incredibly glad I was the only one who got caught."

Cindy's eyes shimmered with tears. "Kahn~~"

In the very next second, Cindy could no longer restrain herself. She leaned across the bed, throwing herself into his arms. Completely disregarding the fact that Locke and Gwen were still standing right there in the room, the two immediately locked lips and began aggressively making out.

The corner of Locke's mouth twitched violently.

He had already sensed something was off the moment Kahn looked his way a second ago.

And now?

Locke and Gwen exchanged a brief glance, before turning around in unison and marching straight toward the exit.

The moment the heavy door clicked shut behind them, a muffled gasp echoed from inside the room—evidently, Cindy had accidentally bumped against one of Kahn's sore spots during their passionate display.

'Great. I just got a face full of expired public displays of affection.'

Oh well.

Locke shook his head. Considering Kahn had ultimately sustained those injuries as direct collateral damage because of him, he couldn't bring himself to hold a grudge over his friend's shameless display.

Beside him, Gwen turned her head to look back at the room door, which clearly lacked adequate soundproofing, and rubbed her temples.

"How long is it going to take those two to realize they are currently in a public hospital ward and not inside their own house?"

Locke merely shrugged his shoulders.

How could he possibly know the average endurance threshold of Kahn and Cindy? If he actually possessed that specific operational data, that would be truly alarming.

However... Locke quickly caught the underlying implications.

Gwen checked the time on her wristwatch, and as something crossed her mind, her lips curled into a subtle pout.

Locke looked over at her. "What is it?"

Gwen shook her head quickly. "Nothing."

The topics girls discussed when they were left alone together often reached a scale of candor that very few guys could ever accurately anticipate.

To put it plainly, close best friends kept absolutely zero secrets from one another.

Gwen let out a small, knowing laugh. "Cindy definitely lied to me before."

With that, Gwen began explaining to Locke exactly why she had come to that conclusion.

It went back to their time aboard the *Poseidon*. On the morning following the night Gwen and Locke had officially taken their relationship to the next level, Cindy had been incredibly curious about the details.

Gwen had shared some aspects with her, and then naturally turned the question back around to ask about Cindy's own experiences.

As it turned out... Cindy had completely fabricated her answers to preserve her pride.

Locke caught sight of Mr. Lawn stepping out of the elevator bank down the corridor. Hearing Gwen's deduction, a faint smile played on his lips as he looked down at her. "Gwen, this reminds me of an old idiom."

"Which one?"

"Why don't they eat minced meat?"

"??"

Locke watched as Gwen's analytical mind quickly began processing the historical context of the phrase. He offered a soft chuckle, stepped forward, and shook hands firmly with his attorney.

"Thank you for making the trip on short notice, Mr. Lawn. I have a couple of legal parameters I need to consult you on."

Mr. Lawn smiled professionally. "Does this pertain to the swarm of journalists currently occupying the ground floor?"

Locke nodded. "Yes, and no."

Standing a few paces back, Gwen finally made the connection so she recognized the historical anecdote instantly. However, it took her a moment to process how the idiom applied to the current context.

Fortunately, she was sharp. But right now, she almost wished she hadn't caught the implication.

'This bad guy.'

Gwen cast a playful glare toward Locke's back as he conversed with Mr. Lawn, subtly grinding her teeth.

'They itch!'

'My teeth are genuinely itching to bite him!'

...

Outside New Amsterdam Medical Center.

A massive crowd of media personnel had formed a dense perimeter around the entrance.

Initially, each network believed they had been handed an absolute exclusive when the anonymous audio file landed in their respective secure dropboxes. However, the moment they rushed to the medical center and caught sight of their rival networks deploying their own satellite trucks, the reality became instantly clear.

Someone was explicitly utilizing their platforms to orchestrate a narrative, intending to unleash a wave of public condemnation against Locke Broughton.

But... who cared about the underlying motive?

As long as it generated ratings and web traffic, it was viable news.

Journalists survived entirely on the revenue generated by breaking stories. Since the primary objective was turning a profit, what functional difference did it make whether they earned it standing upright with moral integrity or lying flat as an institutional tool? In fact, serving as a tool was demonstrably less taxing on their operational hours.

"Look over there!"

"It's Inspector Stacy!"

"Inspector Stacy, do you have a moment to provide a statement regarding the situation?"

"Sir, how do you explain the explicit comments made by your future son-in-law, Locke Broughton, during his confrontation with the kidnapper?"

"..."

Hearing a reporter loudly broadcast the phrase "future son-in-law" behind him, George's footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. He maintained his composure, maneuvering through the aggressive press line with the assistance of several uniform officers before disappearing into the hospital lobby.

Seeing the perimeter officers lock down the entrance, the media elements didn't attempt to force their way into the facility. Instead, they settled into their positions, waiting patiently for the targets to emerge.

George exited the elevator bank on the upper floor. Catching sight of Gwen standing in the corridor, he scanned the immediate surroundings before asking curiously,

"Where is Locke?"

Gwen pointed toward a consultation room a short distance away. "He's inside, consulting with Mr. Lawn."

George's brow furrowed deep.

A lawyer?

'What exactly is this kid doing summoning his high-end legal team to a medical facility? Who is he preparing to hit with a lawsuit this time?'

Given the current parameters of the incident, there wasn't an identifiable, living domestic defendant left standing for him to take to civil court.

Gwen asked with clear anxiety, "Dad, did the field teams manage to apprehend the suspect?"

George snapped out of his thoughts, shaking his head grimly. "The search is still actively ongoing."

Right then, the door to the consultation room unlatched.

Locke stepped out into the corridor, offering a concise nod to the attorney following closely behind him.

"I appreciate your prompt handling of the paperwork, Mr. Lawn."

Mr. Lawn smiled reassuringly. "It is entirely my professional duty, Mr. Broughton. I will proceed downstairs to finalize the logistical preparations."

Locke gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before turning to greet George.

George watched Mr. Lawn and his assistants walk toward the elevators, before fixing his eyes onto Locke.

"What exactly are you planning to do now, Locke?"

Locke maintained a completely calm, polite smile. "Fulfilling my promise, George."

George's frown deepened, completely unable to decipher the teenager's intent.

...

Ten minutes later.

Under the methodical coordination of Mr. Lawn, the massive assembly of journalists down in the plaza had been brought into a tight, organized press line.

When Locke emerged from the main elevator bank and stepped toward the microphone array, the crowd didn't devolve into a chaotic, screaming market like they had when George arrived.

Dressed in a clean, tailored suit, Locke took his position beside Mr. Lawn. He looked down at the array of high-end cameras and recorders pointed his way from the bottom of the steps, his face displaying a calm smile.

"Good evening, everyone."

Locke cut straight to the core of the matter without a single note of hesitation.

"I am well aware that all of you have gathered here tonight in search of a breaking headline. Allow me to give you exactly what you came for. Effective immediately, I am personally issuing a global bounty of thirty million dollars."

The journalists: "..."

****

Translator Note:

The "Minced Meat" Idiom meaning.

Locke uses the Chinese idiom "何不食肉糜" (Hébù shí ròumí), which literally translates to: "Why don't they eat minced meat porridge?"

The Backstory is During a devastating famine in the Jin Dynasty, millions of peasants were starving because there was no rice.

When the dim-witted Emperor Hui heard about this, he genuinely confusedly asked his officials: "If they have no rice to eat, why don't they just eat minced meat porridge?"

Today, it is used to mock someone who is deeply privileged, out of touch with reality, or completely oblivious to ordinary hardships.

Locke is teasing Gwen about her own "privilege." Because Locke is a top-tier protagonist with incredible stamina, Gwen's standard of what a "normal duration" looks like is completely skewed.

When Gwen complains about Cindy lying to her about Kahn's average time, Locke uses this idiom to jokingly tell her: "You're like the oblivious Emperor. Because you get luxury treatment every time, you have no idea what the average ordinary person actually deals with!"

...