"Heydrich. Have your men make contact. If he can be brought back, bring him back. If not... you know what to do."
The Führer's voice was cold. Flat.
Life or death decided by a single sentence. That was the cruelty of WWII-fate determined on a whim.
"Yes, Führer. I will see to it."
The cold-looking, middle-aged officer rose and snapped a rigid salute. Every movement reflected absolute obedience.
Below, Schmidt smirked.
Not only did the weapons developer have to die, but that disgusting Howard as well.
Anyone who made him lose face had no right to live.
Across the Atlantic, Ryden had no idea that a conspiracy had already begun to close in on him.
Even if he did know, there was nothing he could do. Right now, he didn't have the strength to oppose a nation.
In the faculty apartments of the Second Middle School, a heated "battle" had just ended.
A reunion between lovers-better than a wedding night-was naturally intense, like lightning striking the ground.
"Dia, let me ask you something. Do you know anyone from the Wayne family?"
Ryden decided it was better to speak directly.
After her "nourishment," Dia-already a great beauty-looked even more stunning.
She dried her hair with a towel and poured her young husband a cup of black tea.
Her red lips curved into a sweet smile as she spoke slowly.
"Hehe, little guy, you figured it out. Aisha, the president of the Wayne Group, is my aunt. What's wrong? Are you upset that I didn't tell you?" She tilted her head slightly. "I was afraid you'd feel pressured. Honestly, it's nothing. My aunt won't interfere with my marriage. I grew up with her-she treats me like her own daughter."
Her soft, teasing tone felt like a spring breeze.
When a woman spoke like that, a man couldn't resist. Especially when she was this beautiful.
Ryden didn't mind.
In fact, if a rich woman worth over a hundred million took an interest in him, he wouldn't mind being a live-in husband.
Dignity? Sorry. For a bastard, dignity could always be exchanged for shiny Franklins.
"It's fine. I only found out when I went to see Howard yesterday." Ryden pulled her into his arms. "There's a Wayne Enterprises gala tonight. He invited me. You know-your husband is a genius."
It really was a small matter.
He already had several hundred thousand to his name. He was worthy of Dia.
He just hoped no "rich family drama" or "marry within your class" nonsense showed up.
He hated that kind of thing.
"Hehe, that's good then." Dia leaned into him gently. "Little husband, you really are smart. I believe you'll become a great inventor and scientist. Don't worry about me. Just face things normally. I'll always be your wife."
Women raised in great families were different.
More elegant. More composed.
Even though Dia wasn't a Wayne by blood, growing up beside the eldest daughter of the Wayne family had left its mark.
Looking at her gentle, understanding expression, Ryden felt both happy-and troubled.
Schemes didn't scare him.
But how was he supposed to explain having affairs?
And more than one.
...This was going to be complicated.
Building a harem clearly required real skill. As the saying went, keep the red flag flying at home while the colorful flags flutter outside.
First, he had to stabilize the home front.
After spending the morning with Dia, Ryden headed to the Stark Building in Manhattan that afternoon.
He began work on his next project-an improved magnetic weapon for self-defense.
"Fame brings trouble, just like a fat pig invites slaughter."
Ryden understood this well.
When you're famous, everyone wants to talk to you.
When you're down, everyone wants to step on you.
When facing schemes and obstacles, the most important thing was ability.
Only with real strength could you calmly resolve crises.
And then hang the people who dared to mess with you and beat them senseless.
Returning good for evil?
Sorry. He couldn't do that.
Even if he could, the readers wouldn't allow it.
Only idiots get hit and don't hit back. Grudges were settled on the spot.
Just like with the Dasco Gang.
Returning good for evil was impossible.
Returning bullets and fists, though-that worked just fine.
Two days ago, during the gang conflict, Ryden had tested weapons enhanced by magnetic fields.
Their power reached roughly half to equal that of traditional gunpowder weapons.
The firepower was sufficient.
But the flaws were obvious.
Battery life was the biggest issue-at most five minutes, and that was with a handgun.
If swapped to an AK or a submachine gun, it would be even shorter.
The components overheated badly. Continuous use carried a real risk of explosion.
They were also heavy.
Overall, it was a success.
But refinement and improvement were mandatory before practical use.
This result was the greatest encouragement Ryden had received since his rebirth.
No overpowered "golden finger."
No system cheat handed down by the heavens.
Everything relied on his own superior, well-read, talented, peerless, unprecedented intellect.
What a hard life.
...Wait. Why did that sound so pretentious?
The AK-47 had been designed using future knowledge. It wasn't truly his own original creation.
But magnetic weapons were different.
Even in the twenty-first century, nothing like this existed.
It was a pure concept.
Turning fantasy into reality.
That was real innovation.
And successful innovation built confidence.
At the very least, Ryden now believed he could invent advanced technology on his own.
Being original gave him real confidence. His earlier "borrowed" designs had always felt like luck.
From this moment on, a bastard's soul began its transformation.
He had taken the most important step on the road to becoming a superhero.
Of course, no matter how heroic he became, his bastard nature wouldn't change.
Just like Tony Stark.
Take away the armor, and he was still a playboy.
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