Chapter 76: Gabriel Transfers Schools

When Egghead left, it was already dawn, the sky just beginning to lighten. Even a grandmaster needs rest. Though his body was as untiring as Captain America's, his mind could still grow weary—especially after staring at Egghead's shiny bald head for hours under the glare of the lamp, leaving his eyes spinning.

He locked the doors, turned off the lights, closed the windows, and dozed for a while with Skye. But as soon as daybreak crept in, a knock at the door startled him awake.

"Who is it? Can’t a person get some sleep around here?"

Skye struggled to get up, wrapped herself in a sheet, and opened the door. Two skinny boys stood outside. "Robbie? Gabe? It’s my day off. Go home and get some more sleep," she said, already closing the door.

A hand slipped in, caught in the door. Robbie quickly said, "Skye, I need to see the boss. It’s important."

"…Alright." Skye pushed the door shut. "Wait a second."

Robbie quietly withdrew his hand.

Skye went back to dress and wash up. Half an hour later, she opened the door again. "You guys talk, I’m going to buy breakfast."

"What brings you here?" Old Wang pulled on his clothes, picked up a stack of newspapers, and reclined in a rattan chair, leafing through them as he asked, "Does this have something to do with those three?"

Last night before leaving, Old Wang had asked Robbie to look after Matt, Erica, and Stick. Could it be that Erica and Stick had awakened, or did Matt want another heart-to-heart, clinging to him?

"No," Robbie glanced at Gabe beside him. "We’ve decided to settle in New York. Gabe hasn’t finished high school; he needs to transfer. I wanted to ask the boss if there’s a way to help?"

In America, transferring schools isn’t easy, especially when Robbie had neither connections nor money. More importantly, his only brother, his only family, meant everything to him—he wanted Gabe in a good high school, so that getting into Stanford or Berkeley would be easier, opening all sorts of doors.

Transfer schools? Old Wang smiled. That was no trouble. Among the old men and women he'd treated, at least thirty or forty had been teachers in high schools. There was even a school in Chinatown—he knew the principal well, but that school wasn’t great, and the staff and students were mostly Chinese, which might not be what Robbie wanted.

No matter. Old Wang had connections.

"Give me a moment." Old Wang pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Wang Master," Egghead’s voice came through, tinged with annoyance, fatigue, and a dash of accusation, not to mention a strong urge to punch someone. "It’s only seven! I just fell asleep!"

Sleeping in on a workday morning—do all bosses do this? The dawn is worth a thousand gold pieces... Old Wang grumbled inwardly and got straight to the point: "To better assist S.H.I.E.L.D., the newly appointed special advisor, 'Gabe Reyes,' has decided to transfer schools and settle in New York. Can S.H.I.E.L.D. help with the arrangements?"

Special advisor? Gabe Reyes? Who was that?

Egghead shook his head to clear it and recalled last night’s baijiu session—hiring Master Wang and members of the Zhenchun Society as special S.H.I.E.L.D. consultants to teach practical combat skills. Gabe? The apprentice Master Wang had taken on just two weeks ago? Making him a special advisor? Master Wang, aren’t you pushing it a little far?

Egghead silently reminded himself, "Don’t get upset, it’s just a title, not important. We’re in a honeymoon period; don’t let this ruin things with Master Wang." After pondering for two seconds, he said, "Then let him come to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy. We have the best facilities, the best teachers—his classmates are mostly postgraduates, and the teachers are renowned scientists."

"No!" Old Wang immediately refused. "Gabe is an advisor, not an agent. Just find him a good high school. He’s aiming for Stanford and Berkeley!"

If he goes to your turf and gets brainwashed, what then? It would be one thing if he became a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. But what if he ended up chanting 'Hail Hydra' and joined Hydra instead?

Egghead was used to scheming, every word and gesture carefully calculated. The more you scheme, the more failures add up, no matter how low each chance individually. But from Wang’s tone, was S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy not even on par with Stanford or Berkeley? Aside from never having produced a president, what doesn’t it have?

Egghead was displeased and snorted, "Then Midtown High it is—the best public high school in Manhattan, maybe all of New York State."

Midtown High? Old Wang tapped the armrest; wasn’t there a little guy who went there? He wondered if the kid had become Spider-Man yet. Probably not—this was the MCU, after all, and here, Spider-Man should still be a grade-schooler. By Avengers 3, ten years later, he’d barely be in high school.

Best not to interfere with his life’s trajectory. If, thanks to the butterfly effect, he never becomes Spider-Man, wouldn’t this world lose a lot of its fun?

"I’ll have someone contact Mr. Robbie Reyes," Egghead said. There was no way he’d personally handle such a trivial matter—this was Hill's job.

As one of the very few Level 9 agents in the agency and the Deputy Director, Hill was responsible for the actual work. The Director handled the big picture, the Deputy took care of business, and as for downtime… ahem, the Director was very busy, year-round, never idle.

After hanging up, Old Wang gave Robbie a heads-up. The Ghost Rider and Gabe began their morning stance and form practice.

Old Wang continued reading his newspaper over tea eggs and soy milk.

Today's headlines: Shooting at Columbia University. One professor, two male students, and a female student were killed in the woods, with more than twenty others injured. The university expressed outrage and strongly condemned the police for inaction.

Columbia University alumnus, Dr. Stephen Strange—holder of both an MD and a PhD, renowned neurosurgeon—expressed deep concern over New York’s public safety and called on all sectors of society to protect humanity’s future.

NYPD Chief George reiterated his commitment to fighting crime to the end.

Kung fu—a word once again on everyone’s lips—could martial arts masters really stand up to modern weapons? Were the old legends true?

Could there really be dragons in this world?

Eighteen things to consider when choosing a martial arts school, and enrollment ads for the ten best dojos in New York—special coverage by Wang Dalong for the Chinese Daily.

...

"The impact really is huge," Old Wang mused.

As one of the nation’s top universities, Columbia had produced several presidents and dozens of world leaders. Now it was the site of a massacre, with multiple deaths—a huge shock to society. The NYPD, even the city government, was under immense pressure.

Neither the Hand nor Wilson Fisk would dare make any big moves for now. This was the calm before the storm.

Hopefully S.H.I.E.L.D. would step up. The Hand had to be eradicated.

Not just because they had something he needed—like that remaining piece of dragon bone.

More importantly, the Hand was a stepping stone—a brick to knock on the gates of K’un-Lun.

...

Somewhere in an apartment.

After nearly twenty-four hours of sleep, Stick finally woke.

"I’m not dead?"

A quick check revealed his body, though covered in dried blood, had not a single wound—not even a scar from the healing process. Was everything last night just a dream?

No, of course not. His heartbeat was weak, his breathing shallow, his body far from healthy, his internal injuries not fully healed.

Everything yesterday had been real.

Nobu and the ninjas were real. The Immortal Iron Fist was real, too!

So, was it the Immortal Iron Fist who saved me?

At the thought, Stick couldn’t help but grow excited.

"You’re awake."

Matt, who hadn’t slept, walked over from Erica’s bedside. He listened intently for seven seconds, then his face relaxed a little. "You’re in good shape. You’ll be fully recovered in a week at most."

Stick forced himself to sit up and took a deep breath. "Matt, did you call for the Immortal Iron Fist’s help yesterday? I want to meet him."