The Wayne Building stood beside the canal in Upper Manhattan.
New York was a major Atlantic port, its canals cutting through districts like veins. Land near the water was absurdly expensive-an inch of land worth four inches of gold.
How expensive?
A normal person could work an entire lifetime and still only afford a single square meter. About the size of a large floor tile.
It wasn't just expensive. It was outright outrageous.
More expensive than robbery.
Of course, there were benefits. Most famous companies clustered here. Close to the port. Close to the canals. Maximum commercial value.
Manhattan at night was a world of neon lights and wine.
Every man wore a suit and tie. Every woman an evening gown-some conservative, some daring. Either way, it was hard not to look.
This was Ryden's first time attending such a gala.
He wore a custom-tailored suit.
Howard had arranged everything well-no, that wasn't right.
Howard's secretary had.
Meticulous. Precise. Perfect.
Sometimes Ryden truly envied Howard and Tony. Those two jerks had terrible personalities, but their secretaries were top-tier-especially in work ability.
Handling everything flawlessly was a real skill.
Details were what defined a great secretary.
This designer suit had been commissioned by Howard's secretary.
Rely on Howard?
That man probably couldn't remember the name of the woman he slept with last night. Remembering a man? Impossible.
Even though it was 1938, the gala was luxurious, not inferior to modern parties in the slightest.
The decorations fit the era perfectly. Classical music flowed gently through the hall. Every guest looked relaxed and satisfied.
This was what you'd expect from a family business with decades of history.
Cultural depth.
Of course, a bastard like Ryden didn't understand any of that.
He just felt comfortable.
No awkwardness. No sense of not belonging.
Waiters moved through the crowd with trays of champagne.
In the center, long tables overflowed with exquisite food-pastries, sweets, roasted turkey.
Lavish.
One table probably cost over a hundred dollars. Enough for a normal family to live for half a year.
Here, it was just a single table.
High society.
No comparison to the poor.
"Ryden, enjoy yourself. You might even land a nice date." Howard winked. "You're a hot star in weapons design now!"
Ryden cursed him mentally.
You old pervert. I'm a decent man.
Neon lights. Glamorous women. Cigarettes. Fine wine.
This was upper-class life.
Ryden didn't recognize a single person. And that damn Howard had vanished somewhere.
In this era, there didn't seem to be many standout figures.
Or maybe he just hadn't met them yet.
Did Steve, who hadn't become a Super Soldier, count?
"Hi. Handsome. Do you have a partner?"
Ryden turned.
A young woman stood behind him, wearing an elegant black evening gown that revealed her smooth back.
Fair skin. Delicate brows. Phoenix-like eyes with a seductive glint.
Her presence drew attention from many men.
Yet something felt slightly unnatural, as if she wasn't used to wearing such clothes.
Interesting.
This was definitely a woman with a story.
Or a spy. Or an agent.
With a calm smile, Ryden replied, "I don't. I wonder if a beautiful lady would honor me by being my partner?"
The woman's heart skipped a beat.
She hid it well, but her trembling body betrayed her.
An incompetent agent.
Which organization trained her?
Still, it looked fun to play along.
He just didn't know who she was.
A jazz band played elegant music. Couples danced closely together on the wide floor at the center of the hall.
Ryden placed one hand on the woman's waist, the other holding her right hand.
He felt the calluses on her index and middle fingers.
From long-term gun use.
"Beautiful lady, I should warn you-I never learned how to dance. Please forgive me when I step on you later."
The woman stiffened, as if afraid she'd been exposed.
Then she relaxed.
Her red-painted lips curved into a charming smile.
"Hehe, you're joking. I don't know much either. It must be fate." She looked at him. "My name is Ophelia Sarkissian. Remember it. And you?"
"Ryden Hunt. Just a student."
Neither warm nor cold.
The distance was perfect. Close enough to advance. Easy enough to retreat.
Ophelia Sarkissian.
The name felt familiar.
Why couldn't he remember?
Wait.
Ophelia.
Wasn't that the legendary femme fatale?
Madame Hydra.
Viper.
A woman so beautiful and dangerous that countless men were willing to die for her.
Hiss.
Ryden sucked in a sharp breath.
He'd just thought he hadn't met any legends.
And now one showed up immediately.
A big one.
But something felt off.
She seemed... green.
Like a fledgling just leaving the nest.
Far from the Madame Hydra who would one day manipulate countless superheroes.
"Ouch!"
"Ah!"
"Sorry!"
"Ouch, you stepped on me again!"
"Uh-sorry, this time I stepped on yours!"
They were natural enemies.
Before the five-minute dance ended, they'd stepped on each other countless times.
Ryden was fine. He always pulled back the moment he felt contact.
Ophelia wore high heels.
If he'd been slower, those stilettos would've punched holes in his leather shoes.
Clumsy.
Yet they laughed at each other.
Like they'd found a kindred spirit.
Both beginners.
Neither mocked the other.
"Hehe, Ryden, you're really interesting. I'm very glad I met you tonight."
She extended her hand.
At this moment, she wasn't Madame Hydra.
She wasn't Viper.
Just a slightly clumsy, slightly cute rookie agent.
Ryden took her soft hand and gave it a light squeeze.
"I'm glad to have met you too. Your dancing was great. Thank you for teaching me."
Ophelia blinked.
Playful. Cute.
She covered her mouth and laughed, perfectly ladylike.
"You're welcome. You were great too." She tilted her head. "Ryden, can I have your phone number? You're really charming."
Ryden looked flattered.
"Thank you for the compliment. Of course you can. Call anytime." He smiled. "I might not always answer right away, but I'll call back. I thought I was just a blockhead who lived in the lab."
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