While the White House typically operated with glacial efficiency, it had demonstrated remarkable alacrity when faced with an unstoppable death threat. Within a single night, they had arranged a comprehensive compensation package and provided Richard with what appeared to be a sincere explanation.
Richard vaguely recalled that the Wesley family's combined assets had totaled approximately three million dollars. Though nowhere near the billions commanded by someone like Tony Stark—and not even comparable to the overseas deposits and liquid assets "gifted" to him by Sebastian Shaw of the Hellfire Club—the Wesley family had still been undeniably affluent.
He had demanded triple compensation, yet the White House had delivered at least five times the original value. Beyond the increased financial settlement, they had also eliminated every Department of Mutant Affairs employee who had interacted with the original Richard's father. Both in appearance and substance, the White House had demonstrated sufficient sincerity.
Richard didn't bother taking the documents Natasha had placed on the table. He wasn't concerned about deception—the White House wouldn't dare attempt such a ploy. He spoke deliberately:
"I'm not an unreasonable person. Since they've shown proper sincerity, I'm willing to reciprocate with mercy. Tell them they can sleep peacefully tonight." His voice carried no particular menace, just cool certainty. "As long as they don't provoke me, I won't pay them an unexpected visit."
Relief flickered across Natasha's features. "I'll convey your exact words," she replied promptly. "If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."
She rose to depart, but Richard's voice stopped her. "Wait. There's one more matter."
"What is it?" Natasha sat down again, her tone carefully respectful.
"Does Tony Stark know I killed Rogers?"
Surprise registered on Natasha's face. Though she couldn't fathom Richard's intentions, she answered without hesitation: "We haven't informed him yet. We also haven't told him that Bucky Barnes killed his parents."
"Evidently, you and Barton don't consider him a true friend," Richard observed coldly. "It's been nearly twenty-four hours, and you haven't planned to notify him. He finances the entire Avengers operation, and this is your gratitude?"
Had anyone else spoken to her with such derision, Natasha might have demonstrated precisely why she'd earned the title "Black Widow." Unfortunately for her, the man mocking her was Richard—someone neither she nor S.H.I.E.L.D. could challenge.
Before Natasha could formulate a response, Richard continued: "That's all. You may go." He paused, then added, "One piece of advice—if you don't want to watch Tony Stark die by my hand, you'd better tell him the truth. Should he foolishly attempt to avenge Rogers, I can't guarantee he'll leave alive."
On a personal level, Richard rather admired Tony Stark. In his estimation, among the original six Avengers, only two and a half members earned his genuine respect: Tony, Thor, and Hulk. Of course, this applied only under ordinary circumstances. If any of them positioned themselves as his enemy, he wouldn't hesitate to eliminate them, admiration notwithstanding.
After several seconds of tense silence, Natasha replied slowly: "I understand. I'll tell him the truth when I return."
She rose, gave Richard a slight bow, and departed from the apartment.
Once Natasha had left, Emma Frost approached Richard and asked softly: "The matter of your father and the Department of Mutant Affairs has concluded. What will you do next? Will you establish an organization like your father's to assist vulnerable mutants?"
"You're overthinking," Richard replied with a smile. "If I harbored such intentions, I wouldn't have dissolved the Crimson Manor my father built—certainly wouldn't have burned it to the ground with my own hands." He shook his head. "There are countless vulnerable people in this world. I have no interest in playing the saint. I'll help only those I choose to help." His smile widened. "For now, I intend to enjoy the decadent lifestyle of a billionaire for a while."
Though most people remained unaware of his actions the previous day, the White House's unexpected press conference had thrust him into the headlines. While major news outlets reported on him extensively, online forums buzzed with speculation about his activities.
If ordinary citizens merely wondered what he had done to prompt the White House to publicly rescind an S-level warrant, the mutant community—especially younger mutants—felt not just curiosity but admiration and envy.
Since its inception, the Department of Mutant Affairs had issued only two S-level warrants. Common knowledge held that once issued, such warrants were virtually never canceled. Typically, warrants remained active until the target was either captured or confirmed dead.
Yet not only had Richard's S-level warrant been canceled, but the announcement had come through a special White House press conference. To the younger generation of mutants, Richard had not only shattered the myth of the Department's invincibility through direct action but had proven a crucial point: with sufficient power, both the White House and the Department of Mutant Affairs would become remarkably "accommodating."
After the incident at the Los Angeles branch, approximately one-fifth of mutants residing in the United States had regarded Richard as something of an idol.
Now, the number of mutants who regarded him as an idol had reached an astonishing two-thirds of the population.
Richard had anticipated his following would grow, but after observing the skyrocketing membership on his personal website and forums, along with statistics from major media outlets, he realized he had vastly underestimated his impact on the mutant community. According to previous data from the Department of Mutant Affairs, approximately 6.6 million mutants resided in the United States—roughly one mutant per fifty people. Including global populations, the total mutant census approached 140 million.
Though Richard questioned the Department's methodology, the figure of 140 million mutants worldwide aligned perfectly with data he recalled from the comic event "The Genosha Massacre." This meant that in the United States alone, over 6.6 million mutants now viewed him as an idol.
Numerically, 6.6 million followers might not seem extraordinary—many internet celebrities could claim tens of millions of fans. But the influence Richard now wielded exceeded that of all internet celebrities combined.
While browsing a forum created by his more enthusiastic followers, Richard encountered a particularly intriguing post. The author, a senior member using the handle "Data Analyst," had compiled detailed statistics on Richard's known battles.
Through meticulous analysis of environmental damage and impact patterns, "Data Analyst" had reached a conclusion that appeared scientifically sound: Richard was effectively a "Humanoid Self-Propelled Nuclear Bomb"—specifically, one with an explosive yield equivalent to 3,000 megatons of TNT that could detonate repeatedly within short intervals.
To provide context for this staggering figure, the analyst had included comparative data from the Tsar Bomba, which had a yield of 50 megatons. That historic detonation had produced a fireball with a 4.6-kilometer radius and a mushroom cloud reaching 64 kilometers high and nearly 40 kilometers wide. Its shock wave had propagated over 1,000 kilometers, and the blast had shifted the Eurasian continent southward by 9 millimeters.
Though Richard's theoretical yield fell short of the Tsar Bomba's, the analyst emphasized a crucial distinction: while the Tsar Bomba could only detonate once, Richard's "humanoid nuclear capability" could activate multiple times in succession.
The post had not only generated over 3,000 replies in the forum but had been cited by newspapers and television news programs for its data and conclusions. The analyst had even factored in the destruction at the Department of Mutant Affairs headquarters.
Though the White House had attributed the headquarters' destruction to a chain reaction caused by a natural gas pipeline leak, anyone who had seen images of the building would find this explanation laughable. The perfectly smooth, flat fracture through the structure bore no resemblance to damage from a conventional explosion.
Yet the White House's absurd explanation surprised no one familiar with American politics. This was, after all, the same country that had once classified laundry detergent as a weapon of mass destruction. By comparison, claiming that a natural gas explosion could produce mirror-smooth fractures through reinforced concrete seemed almost reasonable—though the probability approached zero, it still exceeded the plausibility of laundry detergent as a WMD.
Noon A prestigious French restaurant in Manhattan—one that typically required reservations three weeks in advance
Richard and Emma Frost savored their meal with unhurried elegance. Though they hadn't made advance reservations, the maître d' had welcomed them enthusiastically upon arrival.
Neither had employed telepathic persuasion or intimidation. Their effortless entry stemmed from a simpler reality: Emma Frost owned the establishment.
While not as wealthy as Sebastian Shaw, Emma Frost remained exceptionally affluent by ordinary standards. Beyond the typical feminine penchants for designer clothing and accessories, she maintained keen business interests. According to her philosophy, a woman required her own enterprises. This acclaimed French restaurant represented one of her many ventures.
They ignored the curious glances of fellow diners, conversing and laughing as they enjoyed their meal. Having just finished their amuse-bouche, they were preparing to sample the appetizers when a red and gold figure streaked toward the restaurant at supersonic velocity.
Despite its incredible speed, onlookers immediately recognized the distinctive silhouette cutting through the air.
Iron Man.
Within moments, Tony Stark, encased in his armor, hovered above the restaurant. Under the astonished gaze of pedestrians and waitstaff, he landed at the entrance. His suit disassembled around him, revealing casual attire beneath.
Ignoring the flustered maître d', Stark strode directly into the dining room, making a beeline for Richard's table, his expression thunderous.
"You killed Rogers?" Tony demanded, his voice carrying throughout the restaurant.
His tone conveyed not mere displeasure but raw fury. Not only did Richard and Emma Frost hear his accusation, but most of the restaurant's patrons did as well. Predictably, diners turned toward Richard with expressions of shock and disbelief.
"Yes, I killed him," Richard replied, his demeanor perfectly composed. "If you're here to avenge him, I suggest you carefully consider whether it's worth the cost."
Unlike Tony's barely contained rage, Richard's expression remained utterly serene. He casually lifted his wine glass, took an unhurried sip, and regarded Tony with cool detachment.
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