Chapter Eleven: Nick Fury

Nick Fury?

Staring at the man before him, with that iconic, gleaming bald head shining like a polished black egg, dressed in black leather and boots, and sporting a pirate-like eye patch, he could not help but think that this fellow’s heart must be just as dark.

Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.—the world’s largest espionage and intelligence agency—renowned as the King of Spies. To see him appear at this very moment, standing before him, truly took Zhong Shenxiu by surprise.

This, he supposed, must be the “opportunity” the system had mentioned.

“Shenxiu Zhong, born March 27th, 1990, in New Mexico, USA. American of mixed descent. Ran away from home three years ago and came to New York. Awakened the power to heal others a year ago, and began practicing medicine illegally in the city.”

“But three months ago, you were incarcerated in Sing Sing Prison for first-degree murder and sentenced to death. The execution was scheduled for eleven days ago, but postponed by three weeks due to a malfunctioning electric chair.”

Nick Fury’s gravelly voice, always on the verge of breaking, recited Zhong Shenxiu’s history with a steady, measured cadence.

As the King of Spies, Nick Fury had plenty of experience dealing with brash, young upstarts like this.

An eighteen-year-old with newfound powers—when stripped bare by someone who knows their secrets, nearly all would inevitably panic.

That was precisely why Fury chose to open the conversation with the dossier he’d compiled on Zhong Shenxiu. When negotiating, the one who seizes the initiative in the exchange of words is often the one who comes out on top.

And Nick Fury was supremely confident that, when facing this young man, he would always hold the upper hand.

But… even if you gave him three more bald, shiny heads, he could never have guessed that the real Zhong Shenxiu was a transmigrant. In fact, his carefully constructed opening had just provided Shenxiu with the perfect opportunity to learn about the life of the body’s original owner.

At first, Shenxiu had only a vague idea of his predecessor’s circumstances. But with Nick Fury’s introduction, everything became far clearer.

Thank you kindly, Baldy.

So the original had awakened his powers a year ago. No wonder the system had prompted him at the time.

As Nick Fury spoke, Shenxiu pondered quietly.

Then he realized something else: three months ago, he was imprisoned for murder and sentenced to death!?

It had been mentioned before—New York law has a complex process for executing capital sentences, requiring the case to pass through every judicial department in turn.

For a death sentence to be carried out in just three months—he hadn’t blown up the Twin Towers or anything—there was no way it could move that quickly!

Even without thinking too hard, Shenxiu sensed something was off.

In other words: the real reason for the death sentence must lie elsewhere—deeper, more hidden causes.

A flood of thoughts rushed through his mind.

Could Fury be lying? Shenxiu considered the possibility but dismissed it at once: for Fury to lie to “Zhong Shenxiu” about Zhong Shenxiu’s own history would only make sense if he somehow knew Shenxiu was a transmigrant—which was impossible.

There was no way Nick Fury could know that. If he did, he wouldn’t be called the King of Spies, but the God of Spies.

So, although Fury was a man known for his lies, Shenxiu concluded he would not fabricate basic information about him.

In the warden’s office, Shenxiu remained silent.

To Nick Fury, this silence was confirmation—proof that he’d perfectly predicted Shenxiu’s reaction:

This kid is starting to panic.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Fury’s lips, though on his jet-black face, it was nearly invisible.

With a dramatic flick of his coat, Fury leaned back in the warden’s luxurious chair, crossed his legs, and drummed his fingers on the desk, the steady tap—tap—tap sounding like the countdown of a clock’s second hand.

At last, it was Shenxiu who broke the silence. “Superpower? What superpower? If I had powers, would I still be sitting in prison?”

As any normal person would, he denied it outright.

But Fury said nothing. Instead, he pulled a jet-black phone from his coat and tossed it to Shenxiu.

Shenxiu caught it and glanced at the screen.

A video was playing—crystal clear, in 4K. The protagonist was a long-haired version of himself, summoning two streams of green light as he worked, drenched in sweat, to heal a blood-soaked white man.

He’d never seen himself with long hair—that must have been before he entered prison…

“You’re not the only one in this world with special abilities,” Fury said smoothly. “There are many others like you, but most live obscure lives, hiding from the world. Do you know why?”

“Why?” Shenjiu prompted him, playing along.

“Because they lack information, lack a team, lack true understanding of the world.”

With his monologue complete, Fury rose from his seat and continued:

“But I can offer you all of these. Your evaluator has already sent me your report.”

“He speaks very highly of you. That’s the only reason I’ve come here today.”

Evaluator?

Could it be White?

Feigning surprise, Zhong Shenxiu asked, “Who’s that? Who are you?”

“Nick Fury, Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division,” Fury replied. “As for your evaluator, you’ll find out in due time.”

Well, I think I already know, Shenjiu thought.

With that, he was almost certain it was White. He hadn’t expected that “White” had approached him at Fury’s behest.

Could it be that his grievous injury back then was just an act?

He really went to all that trouble.

“Director of the—what was it, Strategic Defense Agency? Sounds like a big shot. But you wouldn’t come all the way to prison just to chat with a death row inmate like me, would you?” Shenjiu pressed, tired of playing along with riddles.

“Of course not,” Shenxiu replied softly, as if it were a trivial matter. “I can have you released, your name cleared.”

“And the conditions?” Shenxiu asked. There are no free lunches in this world, nor rewards without effort.

“I need you to join the Strategic Homeland Enforcement and Logistics Division,” Shenxiu said bluntly.

He was determined to recruit him.

The inconsistencies in the execution timeline that had caught Shenxiu’s notice would have been obvious to a seasoned operator like Fury.

He had investigated as soon as he learned about Shuji’s case.

The deeper he dug, the more tangled the web became. The names involved were so significant that even “Shu Xu” would have to tread carefully.

And even the infamous “Shu Ke Green” had gone to great lengths behind the scenes, expending considerable resources to push forward the execution.

In this stagnant, seemingly uneventful world, “Shu Ke Green” had sensed undercurrents beneath the surface.

And the one who had led him to these ripples—these subtle yet dangerous hints of turbulence—was this “Superpower Healer, Green Energy” who had awoken his abilities just three months ago.

His instincts, which had saved him more than once, told him: he must secure this young man.

And that, in truth, was the real reason for Shu Ke Green’s visit today—not the “Green Show” agent who, due to his injury during the mission to monitor “Green Show” and perform “Super Power Healing,” was lying in a hospital bed and merely biding his time.