030, it's decided that it's you, Eugene!

The next morning, at eight o'clock, Zaire's aunt was just about to walk out the apartment door when she found her path blocked by two brightly colored mopeds. Zaire, standing nearby and pointing to the red and yellow scooters, smiled and said, "Auntie, even though your birthday is still months away, consider this an early gift. Just enjoy it!"

"You rascal! Always wasting money!" Auntie couldn't help but roll her eyes at Zaire, but the smile on her face was unmistakable.

"Auntie, let me show you how to ride it," Zaire offered, ready to teach her how to operate the moped. To his surprise, his aunt pushed him aside, her round chin held high.

"I used to be quite the biker in my younger days... Ah, those were the days," she said, hastily taking the keys from Zaire and choosing the yellow moped. With practiced ease, she started the engine, waved goodbye without looking back, and rode off.

"Wow, I really underestimated her," Zaire muttered, wide-eyed and amazed.

He hoped that receiving this gift might make his aunt more forgiving about him getting special permission for a makeup exam. Smiling, Zaire headed upstairs to their apartment. After an hour of studying, he grew frustrated. Grabbing his chainsaw sword, he began swinging it wildly in the living room, muttering angrily, "Why do students have to learn algebra and geometry? Isn't setting up lethal traps enough? Why study performing arts? Aren't Catachan fighting techniques and Krieger battle skills good enough?"

Exhausted after half an hour of wielding the chainsaw sword, Zaire dropped it and slumped onto the sofa, panting. He still hadn't found a reliable source for firearms, though the simulator could last a few more tries. However, dealing with life without a diploma was a persistent headache.

As time passed, Zaire dozed off. When he awoke to the sound of the door opening, he realized it was already dark outside. He had slept the entire day! He started to get up to make dinner for his aunt but stopped when he saw her sitting silently on the sofa, looking troubled.

"Auntie, what's wrong? Did something go wrong with the restaurant renovation?" Zaire asked, concerned.

"Jerry, Big Mouth Mike's missing brother, has been found," she said, her eyes red and voice choked with emotion. "Mike called me in tears, saying his brother was found, but in terrible condition. Their mother couldn't handle the shock and lost her mind. Mike resigned and apologized, so I didn't try to convince him to stay."

Zaire stayed silent, his face expressionless, like a corpse. He was actually the first to know about Jerry but couldn't tell Mike the truth due to the complicated circumstances involved.

"Mike said the police need to keep evidence, so Jerry's funeral will be in two weeks," Auntie continued, wiping her eyes. "He thanked us for all the help over the years and hoped we could attend the funeral."

Zaire nodded silently. "We should go; it's the right thing to do. Where does Mike live?"

"In Harlem, that famous minority community," Auntie sighed.

Zaire frowned briefly before his expression softened. "That area has bad security. You shouldn't go alone. Mike might be nice, but that doesn't mean everyone there is."

Auntie nodded. "I understand... Also, since Mike quit, we need to hire new staff for the restaurant."

Zaire, you're grown up now and have your own responsibilities. I don't know much about superheroes or Captain America, but I understand you want to do good. I won't stop you…"

"Auntie, I..." Zaire tried to speak but couldn't find the words.

Auntie continued, "I just want you to stay safe. No injuries, no life-threatening situations. That's all I ask."

Zaire nodded firmly. After a pause, he changed the topic. "Auntie, have you thought about what kind of person to hire?"

"Gender doesn't matter, just someone diligent and quick. They don't need to know how to cook; prepping ingredients is easy. We'll figure it out during the interviews," Auntie replied.

Zaire shrugged and chatted with her for a while before they ended the conversation.

Late at night, Zaire lay on his bed, one hand on his plasma pistol, the other clutching his chainsaw sword, staring at the dark ceiling. He had researched the number of missing children in recent years. The statistics were shocking. If disabled children were being exploited for their organs, where were all the healthy ones going? Was the tracksuit gang the only group involved in such crimes?

He pondered whether to alert superheroes like Iron Man or Captain America. But revealing his identity posed a risk, especially with HYDRA infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D. How could he secure firearm resources reliably? Should he risk raiding an arms dealer's warehouse or learn to make guns himself? What materials would he need for that?

As he drifted into a drowsy haze, a long-ignored idea burst into his mind.

"I might be out of the loop, but some people are well-informed!" Zaire thought, sitting up with a faint smile. "Like dear Eugene..."

.........

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