In a damp, shadowy alley of Hell's Kitchen, Big Apple City, stood a tall, well-built young man of Chinese descent with a black crow perched on his shoulder. He was speaking to a Slavic woman with platinum-blonde hair, a devilish figure, and modest clothing.
"Miss, let me make this clear—saving you was pure coincidence. All you need to do is say 'thank you,' and we're done here." The young man's expression was stern, his tone unyielding. He seemed entirely unmoved by the fact that he was speaking to a stunning beauty, as if this Russian woman held no allure for him whatsoever.
"But I don't know where to go. I remember nothing of my past. The only thing in my memory is you pulling me from the shore." Anna clutched the collar of her shirt, her voice trembling. Her pitiful expression was enough to make anyone want to protect her.
Yet the young man remained unfazed. His lips twitched slightly, and his gaze involuntarily drifted toward the trash cans at the side of the alley, where several unconscious thugs lay with limbs twisted at unnatural angles.
He sighed. Whoever this woman was, she had appeared without restraint, her acting so half-hearted that it seemed she had already decided he was an easy mark. "Miss Natasha Romanoff," he said wearily, "let's cut the crap. What do you—or the people you work for—actually want?"
The young man knew exactly who this woman was: a former Soviet super-spy trained in the Red Room, now an agent of SHIELD, and likely over 80 years old.
Unfazed at having her cover blown, Natasha adjusted her expression slightly. She ran her fingers through her deliberately bleached platinum hair and lifted her chin, instantly transforming into the seductive super-spy of SHIELD. "Mr. Alvin Yé," she purred, "how about we start with how you know who I am? Because now, you're the one who's caught our interest."
Alvin was just as puzzled as to why SHIELD had taken notice of him. Since crossing over into this world three years ago, he hadn't done anything that should've drawn their attention.
In his past life, Alvin Yé had been Ye Qing—an ordinary middle-aged man from China with a wife, a son, and a relatively stable life. His journey to this world had been absurd: while moving houses, he'd found an old laptop from his high school days. On a whim, he'd booted it up and decided to revisit the classic game Diablo II.
Being the type of gamer who had to use cheats, he'd naturally downloaded a character and item editor. Eagerly, he'd created a Druid with all stats maxed at 20 and every summoning skill unlocked, planning to casually roam the maps for nostalgia's sake.
Of course, his modified inventory and stash were stuffed with runes for crafting gear—and, naturally, the essential Horadric Cube.
But whether it was due to the ancient laptop or the cheat software being too overpowered, the moment he launched the game with that character, the notebook exploded—and Ye Qing found himself transported into the body of a young Alvin Yé in the Marvel universe.
Upon realizing he'd landed in the Marvel world, he'd resolved to keep a low profile. If he couldn't find a way back, he'd simply live out this life quietly.
Though he'd gained the full summoning abilities of a Diablo II Druid, he'd never once displayed them in public. So why had SHIELD come knocking? He was just a restaurant owner scraping by in Hell's Kitchen.
But from the way Natasha had spoken earlier, it seemed he hadn't been their initial target—which gave Alvin some relief. An organization like SHIELD was best avoided entirely.
After a moment's thought, Alvin said, "The day I pulled you from the sea, someone was calling your name through your earpiece. That's all. So I just dropped you at a hospital. Listen, Miss Romanoff—I don't want trouble, and anything involving spies usually means trouble."
With that, he waved a hand, signaling an end to this unpleasant conversation.
Natasha listened, tapped her left ear as if receiving instructions, then nodded after about twenty seconds. Smiling, she said, "Well, I suppose I should thank you for fishing me out of the water. So… thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, can I go? I've got a restaurant to run." Alvin made no attempt to deceive her with acting—she was the expert in that field. He simply made it clear he wanted no further involvement.
Natasha studied him, then bit her lip habitually and grinned. "You weren't my mission target. But your restaurant's location is perfect for approaching the real mark. That's why we're having this chat. You wouldn't mind an extra waitress, would you?" She placed a hand on Alvin's shoulder and leaned in.
But before she could make another move, Alvin shuddered and stepped back, raising a hand to stop her. Knowing she was an octogenarian and still engaging in physical flirtation was something Alvin, a Virgo, simply couldn't tolerate.
"Miss Romanoff," he said coldly, "show some respect. I don't care what you or your people are after—stay away from my restaurant. If nothing else, do it as a favor for the help I gave you. I really don't want trouble."
He gestured toward the unlucky thugs. This so-called mission of hers seemed less like a serious operation and more like a formality.
Natasha's expression gradually hardened. Few people refused her requests, and that only deepened her curiosity about this restaurant owner.
Straightening her collar, she slipped into the cold demeanor of a professional spy. "Alvin Yé. Chinese orphan. Parents died in a street shootout when you were eight. Raised in an orphanage until eighteen, then returned to Hell's Kitchen to inherit their restaurant property."
She smirked. "And within a month, every participant in that shootout died under mysterious circumstances. Care to explain how that happened, Mr. Yé?"
Alvin shrugged. "Who knows? If you've got answers, Miss Romanoff, do share. I'll send them a thank-you note. Or if you'd rather call the cops, feel free to borrow my phone for 911."
Natasha's eyes gleamed with mockery. "The police might not care about those scum, but the local gangs would love to know why two major factions vanished overnight."
Her threat ignited Alvin's anger. She clearly didn't care about his safety—to her, the mission was everything, and collateral damage meant nothing.
Sensing his rage, the crow on his shoulder let out two sharp "CAW! CAW!" cries and took flight, circling overhead.
Alvin locked eyes with Natasha, his voice colder than ice. "Is this how you treat someone who saved your life? A spy threatening an innocent citizen—who gave you that right? All I want is for you and your people to get the hell out of my territory."