Harry maintained the flow of magic while gently reassuring her.
"Don't worry, Wanda. Your body is in great shape—you'll adapt quickly. It'll hurt a little at first, but once the magic starts remodeling and strengthening your body, you'll feel a comfort you've never experienced before."
Just as expected, only a moment later, an indescribable rush of pleasure surged up like a tidal wave from the depths of Wanda's limbs and bones, rapidly spreading through her entire body.
The magical talent that had been hidden inside her seemed to have its shackles unlocked by some miraculous key—part of it was successfully awakened, and even her physical condition was noticeably enhanced under the nourishment of that strange power.
She subconsciously lifted her hands slowly. Thick, almost tangible crimson magic flowed from her fingertips, and in the blink of an eye, it completely wrapped around both hands, releasing a mysterious, enchanting glow.
Facing the ocean in the distance, Wanda gently closed her eyes, focused her mind, and tried to move the seawater outside the villa.
In an instant, ripples spread across the surface. Then, several tons of seawater, as if lifted by an invisible hand, slowly rose from the sea and hovered steadily in midair!
In just two days, Wanda's telekinesis had reached an astonishing intermediate level—extremely close to advanced.
On one hand, it was thanks to her terrifying inborn talent. Her comprehension of magic and natural affinity for it made learning feel effortless, like a fish in water.
On the other hand, it couldn't be separated from Harry's all-out help. Over those two days, Harry had continuously poured magic into her body, like a heavy wagon hauling a little pony—almost extravagantly excavating her potential.
At this moment, the magic around Wanda had already begun to change in subtle ways. Her once pure, blood-red crimson magic gradually blended with a faint, barely-there trace of gray—slowly becoming "Harry-shaped."
Just as Harry was about to go deeper and help Wanda further develop the magic inside her, a sharp, urgent phone ringtone suddenly shattered the quiet.
Harry frowned, clearly annoyed, and pulled out his phone. The caller ID showed Coulson.
The moment he answered, Coulson's anxious voice burst from the speaker, telling him to get to S.H.I.E.L.D. immediately—there was something important that needed his help.
Harry listened with a helpless look and glanced at Wanda beside him.
Wanda's face was flushed red, still breathing hard, clearly still immersed in that wondrous state from the surge of magic just now.
He took a deep breath and had to stop what he was doing for the moment, slowly guiding the chaos magic to withdraw steadily from Wanda's body.
He softly comforted her a few times, told her to adapt on her own to the chaos magic still roiling inside her, then opened a portal and vanished from the villa—reappearing inside S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dim conference room.
…
Inside S.H.I.E.L.D., Harry looked at Fury with confusion and asked, "Alright, can you say it now? What exactly did you call me here for? And who did you say you wanted me to test for magical aptitude?"
The moment Nick Fury saw Harry, his already dark face turned black as the bottom of a pot. The anger he'd been holding in for a long time flared up all at once, and he roared, "Fix my hands first!"
Last time, because Nick Fury insisted on playing the Riddler and talking in riddles, Harry had turned his hands into whips.
Even now, the residual magic on the whips hadn't dispersed, so his hands were still in whip form.
Harry curled his lips and grinned teasingly. "Honestly, I think those two whip-hands suit you. Your subordinates will definitely work faster the moment they see them—after all, cracking a whip to make laborers work harder is your ancestors' tradition!"
Veins bulged on Nick Fury's forehead, throbbing. Inside, he couldn't help roaring, That's bullshit tradition—we were the ones being oppressed and whipped!
Once his hands finally returned to normal, Nick Fury forced down his rage. He closed his eyes, took a slow breath, and started giving himself mental coaching over and over.
Don't get mad. Don't get mad. Even if you get mad, you can't beat him.
Besides, the entire United States put together might not even be a match for Kamar-Taj. It's not worth getting yourself worked up over this…
After a good while, elite agent Nick Fury relied on his iron discipline and finally suppressed the urge to beat Harry into the ground. His expression returned to a bit of calm.
He nodded at Harry, signaling him to follow, then turned and led Harry toward the training grounds.
When they arrived, there was a small room that had been artificially constructed in the middle of the field.
Harry's gaze was drawn to the area outside the room's window. A painting had been placed there, depicting a New York street scene from the 1940s.
Old buildings stood in uneven rows, period-looking cars drove down the streets, and pedestrians' clothing carried the distinct style of that era.
Harry turned to Nick Fury, his eyes full of questions.
Having learned his lesson from last time, Nick Fury had no intention of playing the Riddler again. Before Harry could even ask, he explained directly:
"Do you know Captain America? He's still alive. He didn't die—we found him in the Arctic.
"These past few decades, he's been frozen beneath the ice. Even so, when we found him, he still miraculously had vital signs.
"With modern top-tier medical equipment supporting him at full capacity, his life signs have gradually stabilized. He should wake up before long.
"We know that forcing him to face the reality that decades have passed could cause an enormous shock—possibly even a complete psychological breakdown.
"So we carefully set all of this up, hoping to help him adjust to this new society step by step.
"But the situation has changed. You previously discovered traces of HYDRA. They've returned and pose a major threat to global security.
"And Captain America—he fought HYDRA his entire life. He has extensive experience противing them. We believe he'll be a key force in stopping HYDRA.
"So we've decided to wake him early.
"The problem is, with our current level of technology, we can't safely wake him ahead of schedule without damaging his brain.
"That's why we had to contact you. We're hoping you can help—and we'd also like you to test Captain America's magical aptitude. If the conditions are right, we want him to become your borrower as well.
"After all, even if Captain America was the top combat hero of the last century, times have changed. Relying only on his original abilities won't be enough to handle how complex things are now. Teaching him magic is, without question, the best way to strengthen him."
Harry nodded, genuinely interested. He scratched his chin, patted his chest, and promised, "Captain America was my idol when I was a kid. Don't worry—I'll take good care of him!"
For some reason, seeing the smile on Harry's face made Nick Fury feel even more uneasy.
Handing Captain America over to Harry… was that really reliable?
…
Steve vaguely felt the chill around his body gradually fading, replaced by thin threads of warmth. That warmth was like gentle hands, constantly stroking his body, little by little pulling him out of the long darkness of sleep.
Finally, Steve's eyelids trembled. He slowly opened his eyes, awakening once more from decades of slumber!
A陌生 ceiling.
Steve slowly propped himself up, his movements stiff with disuse as he scanned his surroundings.
It was a completely unfamiliar room. Sunlight poured through the window without restraint, and the white curtains were lit until they were nearly transparent.
He was lying on a small bed. The layout of the room gave him a sense of familiarity—so similar to the ward he'd stayed in when he'd been treated at Bellevue Hospital after being injured.
But soon, his brows knit as he noticed something off.
The sunlight shining in was a harsh, glaring white, carrying an inexplicable eeriness—nothing like the warm, gentle sunlight in his memory.
Even the smell of disinfectant in the air was subtly wrong. It deviated from what he remembered, carrying a sharper, more unfamiliar chemical sting.
And what puzzled him even more was the commentary voice in his ears—oddly familiar… like he'd heard this match commentary before.
Just then, the door to the room was pushed open softly. A young doctor walked in, with a woman following behind him.
In an instant, Steve's eyes locked onto the woman. Her brows, her expression—she looked astonishingly similar to Peggy Carter, the girlfriend he'd longed for day and night.
Obviously, judging by how they were dressed, these two were probably trying to pretend to be a doctor and a nurse. But for some reason, whether it was the surroundings or the details, it was riddled with obvious holes.
It was as if they didn't understand the current era at all!
Was this some kind of prank?
Or had he truly been captured by the enemy?
Steve sat on the edge of the bed, back straight, eyes sharp, his presence steady and alert—ready to see what these two were trying to pull.
That ridiculously young "doctor" wore a broad grin and strode over. He completely ignored Steve's guarded stare, plopped down on the chair beside him, and made himself comfortable.
He looked Steve up and down, examining him carefully. Then, as if very satisfied with what he saw, he nodded and casually tossed out a line:
"Mm, not bad. You've recovered really well. The surgery was a complete success—you're not a boy anymore!"
Steve: "???"
Sharon Carter: "???"
Everyone watching from outside: "???"
What the fuck are you talking about?!
Steve heard that and felt like he'd been struck by lightning. The color drained from his face in an instant, turning deathly pale, and he reflexively reached for his pants…
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