Chapter 85: The Caretaker Type

On the balcony atop a lavish hotel, Kyle gazed intently at Logan and spoke thoughtfully, “Since we’re all on the same side, I’ll be direct. There’s one final test I have for you. Only when you complete this task will you truly count as a member of the Carl family.”

“What’s the task? Whether it’s assassinating an enemy officer or infiltrating another country for intelligence, I can handle it all,” Logan replied, his tone brimming with confidence and cold resolve.

“The task is quite simple.” Kyle’s eyes glimmered with a touch of amusement as he spoke softly, “I’ll provide you with ample funds. You alone are to rent a large estate villa on the outskirts of New York. Then, under the guise of adoption, you’ll select ten children, boys or girls, aged eight to ten, from any orphanage in America, so long as they’re healthy.”

“Adopt ten children… me?” Logan’s mouth fell open, dumbfounded as he stared at the earnest Kyle.

Kyle nodded. “That’s right. It’s still wartime, and orphanages are so overcrowded with parentless children that they can barely accommodate them all. Bribe the director a little, and adopting ten—no, even twenty children—would be no trouble at all. Afterward, have Howard help you hire a few maids for meals and cleaning. That’s all there is to it.”

“That’s not the issue. How… how am I supposed to adopt children?” Logan shook his head, feeling a chill run down his spine as he gestured to his own rugged, hardened face. Look at this villainous mug, this frame and these abilities—he was the very model of a fighter, not someone meant for a caretaker’s role.

Kyle countered, “Why do you think you can’t do it?”

“All I know is killing and fighting. I don’t know the first thing about raising children. Give me another test,” Logan insisted, his attitude resolute. He was a lone wolf, claws always at the ready—how could he ever draw those hands back in kindness to guide a group of children?

“Logan, if you refuse, aren’t you just going back to your old ways?” Kyle smiled, saying, “You’ve lived alone for so many years, burdened with hatred and darkness, looting and killing, plotting and scheming, only to lick your wounds alone at night. When you killed Sabretooth in Germany, didn’t you say you wanted to leave behind that lonely, tragic life and find your true self again? If you can’t even accept this task, if you keep closing yourself off from others, you’ll never reclaim who you were—you’ll just become another Sabretooth.”

Logan trembled, his brow furrowed as he gripped the iron balcony railing, lost in thought. After a long silence, he finally relented, “I understand. I’ll accept the test.”

“That’s good.” Kyle quietly let out a sigh of relief. Convincing Logan to accept a task involving children had been no easy feat. This assignment would not only help ease Logan’s excessive wariness of others, but also lay a foundation for future allies—a plan that killed two birds with one stone.

And who said the Wolverine had no hidden talent for caretaking?

Logan sighed, “I can’t promise I’ll do it well, but I’ll try my best.”

“Don’t worry. All you need to do is be master of the estate and let the children live there. Maids and cleaners can handle the daily affairs, and for education, you can ask Howard to hire professional tutors. As for teaching them combat skills, that can wait.” Kyle reassured him, for now he only possessed one super-agent ability card, and couldn’t yet grant such skills to enough people.

Without someone inherently possessing super-agent abilities, he couldn’t keep drawing and granting blue ability cards to others. Many plans would have to wait until the war ended.

The night passed. After resting in their rooms, the two parted ways in the morning without meeting again. Logan went alone to Stark Industries to collect the new identity papers Howard had arranged for him, and to begin the test agreed on last night.

Kyle, meanwhile, decided that since he rarely had the chance to return to New York, and General Chester hadn’t yet sent orders, he might as well take this free time to check on Lucy, who was staying at his house.

He walked through the bustling modern streets in polished leather shoes, using the symbiote’s power to slightly alter his appearance. He wore a crisp gentleman’s suit, a wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his face, and a pair of dark sunglasses. Blending into the throngs on the sidewalk, no one recognized him.

Even if someone thought he looked familiar, no one would ever believe that the war hero whose face graced cinema screens and newspapers would suddenly appear as an ordinary gentleman on the street.

“Major Kyle leads over two million Allied soldiers to conquer Germany—arrived at a U.S. military base last night!” Newsboys ran back and forth, shouting headlines as they passed, prompting Kyle to lower his hat brim.

If he were recognized here, he might have to use his wall-crawling abilities to make a quick escape up a nearby building.

Kyle mused to himself: fame as the first superhero was a double-edged sword. But from a mere trainee soldier to this point, his goal had never been purely for others.

With great power comes great responsibility? Better first to live for oneself, to seize control of one’s own life and destiny!

That’s why he was never a true superhero in the traditional sense.

As he walked through the lively streets, Kyle suddenly halted, sensing a subtle wrongness in his surroundings. The passersby continued hurriedly past him, but now seemed no more than projected images—lacking any vitality.

The shouts of newsboys, the honking cars, the endless conversations of pedestrians—all these sounds seemed muffled by invisible layers, unable to reach his ears.

Soon, even their forms began to fade and blur.

America, the continent, the entire world—everything was gone, leaving only Kyle standing alone on a deserted New York street.

“Magic, is it?” Kyle murmured to himself. Though the world had shifted to this uncanny, empty space, he remained calm. Panic was useless; the more dire the situation, the more composed he needed to be.

“No wonder you’re the youngest major general in the country’s history…” A neutral female voice, devoid of emotion, sounded behind him.

Kyle turned calmly to see a young woman, bald and dressed in a simple white robe.

“General Kyle, allow me to introduce myself. My name is ‘Ancient One’—I am a sorcerer,” the woman said.