MARVEL: THOSE YEARS I WAS UNDERCOVER IN S.H.I.E.LD

New York, within the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters!

"Are you sure?"

Grimclaw asked with a smirk as he glanced at the USB flash drive Natasha Romanoff had just handed him.

"It's definitely certain. If I couldn't handle something this simple, I wouldn't have earned the title of Black Widow back then," Natasha replied confidently, sipping her coffee as she crossed her legs.

"I trust your skills, Nat. After all, you, Barton, and I have been on plenty of missions together,"

Grimclaw said with a gentle smile.

"But still, it's hard to believe that Obadiah Stane of all people would store something this critical on his computer!"

"Is he too confident or just careless? He didn't even delete his chat logs with the guys who kidnapped Tony Stark!"

"Who does that? Especially after Tony made it back from the desert."

"Shouldn't he have wiped everything clean the moment Stark returned?"

"It's almost too easy. I can't believe Obadiah Stane left this kind of evidence lying around."

Grimclaw shook his head in disbelief as he looked at Natasha.

In the original events, it was Pepper Potts who followed Tony's instructions and uncovered this evidence on Obadiah's computer.

That was how Stark learned the terrible truth—that the man he saw as family had orchestrated the attack against him.

Still… it was hard to imagine that someone who had safeguarded Stark Industries for so many years would make such a rookie mistake.

"Who knows? Maybe he thought no one would dare to check his computer," Natasha shrugged, setting her coffee down on the table. Stretching her arms above her head, she added, "If that's all, I'll be heading out to get some rest."

"This is your operation now, after all. Oh, and don't forget to give your favorite agent a few extra days off!"

"I haven't had a vacation in ages."

Hearing her playful complaint, Grimclaw chuckled and nodded. "Alright, you've earned it. Go get some rest. If nothing urgent comes up, I won't assign you any missions for the time being."

"Take a break while you can."

Watching Natasha's lazy, relaxed demeanor, Grimclaw couldn't help but smile.

"See? At least you still care about me. Not like Nick—he just works me to the bone without mercy," Natasha teased, winking at Grimclaw before getting up and strolling toward the door.

As she left, Grimclaw simply smiled, saying nothing in response.

Poor little Black Widow. Tsk, tsk…

Once the office door shut behind her, Grimclaw got up and locked it.

He returned to his desk, pressed a button on his watch, and activated a signal jammer to block all surrounding transmissions.

Only then did he pull out a palm-sized PDA, linking it to his computer by pointing his watch's screen at it.

After bypassing the first layer of security, the small device emitted a reddish light.

First, fingerprint scan—successful.

Next, the light projected onto his right eye—retinal scan initiated.

As the final security step completed, Grimclaw accessed a contact hidden among layers of encrypted files.

He initiated a call.

Soon, the video feed connected, and a middle-aged man appeared on screen.

"For the Dragon!"

The man spoke these words solemnly as soon as he saw Grimclaw.

Without hesitation, Grimclaw responded just as seriously:

"Never regret!"

Hearing the correct phrase, the man's stern expression softened into a warm, knowing smile.

"Well, well, kid, what made you reach out to your Uncle DeathStrike?"

"Judging by the time, it must be night over there. Don't tell me you're getting homesick!"

His voice was teasing, affectionate—almost fatherly.

Watching the video feed, Grimclaw couldn't help but smile warmly in return.

Because the man on the screen was none other than DeathStrike—the commander of the S.P.E.A.R. organization, the man who had raised Grimclaw as his own since childhood.

"I'm not a kid anymore, and who said anything about crying?" Grimclaw muttered, clearing his throat as he noticed the familiar, affectionate look in DeathStrike's eyes.

With a small smile, he continued, "Uncle DeathStrike, I have two things to tell you—"

Before he could finish, DeathStrike cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"That can wait. It's been seventeen months and nine days since you last contacted me."

"First, tell me—how have you been, my stray dragon?"

"Any trouble? Any injuries?"

"This is what I care about the most."

DeathStrike's voice was laced with both pride and concern.

Grimclaw wasn't just a soldier to him. He was family.

DeathStrike had personally raised him, trained him, and finally sent him off to work under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s watchful eye.

Even now, DeathStrike felt torn between pride, guilt, and worry.

But some things could never be changed.

It was a code. A promise. A way of life.

For the Dragon.

Never regret.

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