Yasuo in Marvel - Chapter 3

After executing his idea of justice last night, Yasuo returned to his knife shop and waited for business to come. To his surprise, he sat there all night without a single injured gang member coming in.

The Gucci Crime Family, aiming to consolidate Manhattan’s black market, tragically wiped out Skull and Bones, killing over thirty people.

Only at dawn, after muttering curses all night, did Yasuo accept reality and reluctantly closed the shop door to rest.

Unbeknownst to Yasuo, two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were already on their way to him.

On a highway in New York, a red sports car sped along, driven by a woman named Melinda May, also known as the Cavalry, a Level 7 agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Hey, Melinda! This isn’t an urgent mission. You don’t have to drive so fast. You’re not in the best condition. Try to relax a bit.” A white man named Phil Coulson, known internally as the Agent Template and a Level 6 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, sat in the passenger seat.

“Whatever. It’s my last field mission anyway. After this, I’m applying for a desk job,” Melinda replied absentmindedly.

“I know some things are hard to forget, but that child, you know, it wasn’t your fault. You did your best as an ordinary person then. I hope you don’t dwell on the past and find a way to move on.”

In the Bahrain incident, Melinda shot a girl to save others, earning the “Cavalry” title. But the deep guilt left her with significant psychological shadows.

“I know you mean well. I’m trying to adjust, but I need time. It’s not something a few words can fix,” Melinda said somberly.

“I hope you recover soon. After this mission, you’ll have a vacation. I hope it’s a perfect one.” Coulson noticed the car speeding up even more as he spoke.

“Hey, missions before vacations often end in danger. Don’t you know?” Melinda said with a strange expression.

“Where did you hear that?” Coulson asked curiously.

“From countless spy movies,” Melinda replied confidently.

“Hey, old buddy, I didn’t expect you to joke.” Coulson was surprised, but joking was good—it could help her recovery.

“We’re S.H.I.E.L.D., super agents among agents, and you believe movie plots. This mission is simple, trust me,” Coulson said with a smile.

“Oh, a simple mission needs both of us? Something’s off. I thought it was a Middle Eastern terrorist or a terror leader in New York.” Melinda seemed indifferent, having taken down top terrorists before.

“It’s really simple. No terrorists, no leaders, no missiles. Think of it as an early vacation.” Coulson responded lightly.

“I don’t believe Director Nick Fury is that kind-hearted,” Melinda said skeptically.

“Trust me, really simple. We’re just meeting a man, or more accurately, a boy!” Coulson said, flipping through a stack of files.

“Level 6 clearance, and you call this simple?” Melinda glanced at the files while driving.

“Director Nick Fury clearly told me we’re just contacting a boy. It’s still a Level 6 mission. Damn.” Coulson looked innocent, continuing to read.

“Hey, Coulson, did you join S.H.I.E.L.D. yesterday? You believe Nick Fury’s words?” Melinda rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Look here. A knife shop? Asian owner? Sells various knives. God! The world deals with illegal arms daily. Are we cracking down on illegal knife sales now? Even regular police don’t bother with this!” Coulson exclaimed, startling Melinda, making the car swerve.

“Hey, Melinda, careful! I don’t want tomorrow’s headline to be ‘Two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents die in car crash’.”

Once the car stabilized, Coulson continued, “Asian, orphan, turned sixteen six months ago, opened a knife shop on Ninth Avenue, Manhattan. Normal registration, paid all social insurance, no criminal record, never been to the police station.” Coulson still couldn’t see anything unusual.

“Don’t be surprised, keep reading. Nick Fury might be shady, but he wouldn’t put a boy in Level 6 clearance for no reason.” Melinda suggested Coulson keep reading.

“Okay, okay. He rented a room on Ninth Avenue, Manhattan, for only $100. Suspicious?” Coulson asked.

“Ninth Avenue, Manhattan? Not a peaceful place. You’ll find the real problem soon,” Melinda hinted.

“Ah, yes! An Asian living among Black and Mexican people on Ninth Avenue and never been to the police? That’s odd. He sells knives by day, performs surgeries by night, removing bullets for injured gang members. Those treated by him say he’s better than hospital doctors? What kind of praise is that!” Coulson exclaimed again.

“Coulson, you’re one of my few friends. If you keep yelling, I can’t guarantee you’ll remain my friend,” Melinda said calmly.

“Alright, alright. I’ll keep reading quietly. You stay calm and watch the road—oh, damn, you almost hit that car.” Coulson looked shocked.

“Here’s the main clue. Since opening his shop six months ago, nineteen gang members mysteriously died on Ninth Avenue. All were killed instantly with a single strike, wounds made by a katana? There are photos. Let me see.” Coulson got serious.

The color photos showed identical knife wounds, all from the same weapon. Only the last few were different.

First photo: A man in a jacket and hat talking to a white man.

Second photo: The man with the hat standing in front of a convenience store, the white man’s body being dragged away by another man.

Last photo: A man in red armor, holding a katana, standing in an alley. The body of the white man was at his feet, with nearby walls collapsed.

The caption read: “A man in red armor used a katana to release a powerful Dragon Tempest, killing several gang members and destroying nearby property.”

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