Marvel: Copying Abilities

As soon as Bucky stepped into the shop, he was momentarily dazzled by the display of beautiful antiques. Then he turned to size up the long-lost Steve Rogers from head to toe.

"Steve, are you going through some second puberty or what?

You look taller, and your body's filled out too!

I was starting to think you got caught faking enlistment documents and ended up in jail!

I've been worried sick!"

"Hahaha—nah, I haven't tried to enlist lately.

I've been here at the shop learning martial arts from my master.

He's also been helping me improve my health.

The doctor says I'm healthy now. Even my asthma hasn't flared up in weeks!"

Steve puffed out his chest with pride, sneaking in a little flattery for Wang Ye.

At that moment, Wang Ye came down the stairs and immediately noticed the unfamiliar man in uniform, exchanging hugs and laughs with Steve.

"Master! This is the friend I told you about—Bucky, my childhood buddy!"

Steve quickly introduced them:

"Bucky, this is my master—Mr. Ye."

After more than two months together, Steve had come to understand Wang Ye better. While he looked cold and aloof on the outside, he was warmhearted—at least toward people he accepted.

Wang Ye nodded politely at Bucky and leaned against the counter, lighting up a cigar.

Bucky, meanwhile, was curiously studying Wang Ye. Dressed in a custom-made suit and exuding class, he looked about the same age as himself, yet didn't resemble a martial arts expert in the slightest. If not for the clear changes in Steve, Bucky wouldn't have believed it.

"Is your master always this cold? How'd you manage to get through training with him?"

Bucky leaned in and whispered.

"He's like that with strangers.

But if you bought an antique, it'd be a different story."

Steve replied in a low voice.

"Wait, for real? Lemme check the prices."

Bucky walked over to examine the tags.

But the moment he looked, his head spun. The long strings of zeroes were enough to trigger a latent fear of numbers.

"Master always says, 'Antique shops don't open often, but when they do, they earn enough to last three years.'

That's not just a saying—it's a fact!"

Steve chuckled as Bucky stared at the price tags in disbelief.

Bucky gave him a resentful glare in return.

Since it had been a while since they'd last seen each other, Steve asked Wang Ye for a break and went outside with Bucky to sit by the shop entrance and chat.

Bucky tried squatting like Steve but failed twice, landing on his butt in a cloud of dust—prompting Steve to burst out laughing.

"It's just a squat position.

What's there to brag about?"

Bucky, a little embarrassed, quickly changed the subject.

"So what kind of cool martial arts have you been learning? Tell me!"

"A bunch. Muay Thai, Judo, Sanda, Boxing...

You probably saw me doing Tai Chi when you walked in.

Master teaches me with great (brutal) care.

Whenever I mess up, he seriously (with fists and feet) corrects me.

He also often cooks me herbal (mysterious) soups to build up my strength.

Honestly, these past two months have been the most fulfilling and happiest of my life."

As Steve spoke, he mentally wiped away a tear.

But Bucky didn't notice the slight bitterness in Steve's tone. He just smiled.

"I'm glad to see you doing well. I was worried something might've happened to you."

Then Steve noticed that Bucky was dressed in uniform.

"Wait—did you get orders?"

"107th Infantry Regiment. Sergeant James Barnes.

We set sail for England tomorrow morning."

Bucky stood up proudly, straightening his uniform with a grin.

Steve stared at the uniform with envy and sighed, his face filled with longing.

"I should be going too…

But maybe I'll make it in the next round."

Seeing the determination in Steve's eyes, Bucky sighed too, and pulled a folded newspaper from his pocket.

"I'm sure you will.

But forget that for now—check this out!"

Steve took the paper and glanced at it, confused.

"What is this?"

"The World Expo—it's happening tonight!

There'll be tons of people.

It's my last night before deployment, so come with me and have some fun!

But first, you've got to change.

You can't show up in your training uniform."

Bucky chuckled, glancing at Steve's all-black martial arts outfit.

Steve shrugged honestly.

"I don't have money for new clothes right now."

Just as he said that a brick-sized object flew in from behind—ripping through the air with a sharp whoosh.

Reacting instinctively, Steve shoved Bucky aside and spun around, catching the flying object with both hands. He twirled twice to absorb the force and then looked down—only to realize it wasn't a brick at all, but a thick stack of fresh $100 bills.

He looked up at Wang Ye in shock and delight.

Bucky, who'd been shoved without warning, was about to complain—until he saw Steve elegantly catch a stack of cash out of midair. His jaw dropped, and he quietly rubbed his butt as he joined him.

At that moment, Wang Ye's voice drifted from the shop.

"Use that to buy a few proper suits.

The rest is your pocket money."

Steve and Bucky exchanged stunned glances.

"Thanks, Master!"

—Steve

"Uh… are you still accepting students?"

—Bucky

Wang Ye cleared his throat.

Steve got the message and quickly dragged Bucky off toward the bustling marketplace.

Back inside the shop, Wang Ye was about to grab an apple when the long-silent phone suddenly rang.

He casually picked it up.

Jon's voice came through the receiver:

"Leader, the Führer's secretary has been calling repeatedly to speak with you.

I've turned them away each time.

But now, they've sent people directly to the Norwegian base.

During my reception, I learned they intend to revoke your position and seize all of Hydra's research."

Jon's voice was filled with anger—his loyalty was only to Wang Ye, not the so-called Führer.

Wang Ye's voice turned cold, the air around him seeming to freeze.

"If they show no mercy, then neither will we.

Jon… handle this cleanly."

Jon broke into a cold sweat on the other end.

"Yes, Leader!

They'll disappear—naturally."

The call ended.

Wang Ye calmly returned to his earlier demeanor.

He pulled out a cigar from the box, sniffed it, placed it between his lips, and lit it.

"Violence, violence... Such an uncivilized solution.

It's not like I'm some kind of demon.

Why do people insist on making me do this?

I just don't get it…"

Smoke drifted lazily through the air, curling away with the breeze.