Marvel: Father of Superheroes

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*****

That unmistakable hairline… that familiar smile… When Mike saw that face, his mind went into complete chaos. C–Coulson!? What the hell was g

That unmistakable hairline… that familiar smile…

When Mike saw that face, his mind went into complete chaos.

C–Coulson!?

What the hell was going on here?

Could it be… they failed to travel through time?

No—that couldn't be right. They had definitely succeeded. But then… why this face?

I've time-traveled, and you still followed me here? Are you cursed or something!?

Damn it, what kind of twisted fate is this?

Mike's thoughts were a jumbled mess.

Seeing Mike's expression, the man who looked exactly like "Coulson" smiled even more warmly. In a low voice, he said to his lackeys, "See that? That's the charm of your grandpa Coulson!"

The lackeys immediately showered him with flattery.

Coulson breathed out in satisfaction. Standing squarely in front of Mike, he gave a sinister grin, slipped a hand inside his jacket, and said, "Sir, mind if I borrow some money from you?"

His lackeys played along, letting out a chorus of sinister chuckles.

Mike's brows furrowed.

This guy wasn't Coulson. Coulson would never dare talk to him like that.

Looking closer, Mike realized—this guy was a shade darker than Coulson.

So… they just looked alike. Was this Coulson's evil twin?

"Hey!" Coulson snapped, annoyed at Mike's silence. "I'm talking to you—did you hear me?"

Mike nodded. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Huh?"

Coulson had robbed plenty of people, but never met someone so calm.

"Kid, you looking to die?"

"How dare you talk to our boss like that!"

The lackeys started shouting.

Coulson raised his hand, and the lackeys obediently began brandishing their knives. Then Coulson himself pulled out a handgun.

"Hand over the cash!"

His voice was cold and sharp.

Before Mike could answer, Gwen asked quietly, "Will you write an IOU for it?"

"…"

"Pfft!"

Mike couldn't help but chuckle, but the thugs were instantly enraged.

They felt like they were being mocked.

"Damn you!"

With a furious shout, Coulson pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Bang!

The gunshot rang out, and a bullet shot straight toward Mike's forehead.

Coulson's face lit up with bloodthirsty excitement—he could already picture the man's head bursting apart.

But the very next second, his grin froze. His expression shifted as though he'd just seen something terrifying, and he instinctively stepped back two paces.

Mike tossed the bullet lightly in his hand, pinched it between his fingers until it flattened into an orange-yellow disc, and smiled at Gwen. "Wait here for Daddy."

Gwen nodded, let go of Mike's hand, and stepped aside.

Mike turned to Coulson, his smile growing more eager.

"W–what are you!?"

Coulson swallowed hard, aiming his gun at Mike again while his lackeys charged forward.

The next instant—before anyone could react—Mike was gone from his spot.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Several sharp sounds rang out as Coulson's lackeys went flying, and Mike appeared holding Coulson's gun in his hand.

Under Coulson's trembling gaze, Mike crushed the gun into a mangled lump and tossed it aside, walking toward him with a pleasant smile.

"D–don't come any closer!"

Moments later, Mike, looking perfectly refreshed, was walking away with Gwen.

He'd been wanting to do this for a long time.

Damn Coulson!

The real one was always causing him trouble, but since Coulson was a good man, Mike couldn't actually hurt him.

This one, though? No guilt whatsoever.

A long, black Chrysler limousine moved quietly through the night, driven by a middle-aged man with graying hair and beard.

There was an air of deep weariness about him. His eyes, dulled and numb from years of hardship, still held a faint glint of sharpness deep within.

He was Logan—the Wolverine.

In the back seat, several young people were drinking and partying noisily.

"Cough, cough."

Logan cleared his throat softly and glanced at them in the rearview mirror, worried they'd spill alcohol on the seats.

The car was a rental. If they damaged it, he'd be paying a hefty fee.

When he finally opened the door for them to get out, he checked the back seat. Seeing no obvious stains, he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Loosening his tie, Logan carefully wiped a small smudge off the door before returning to the driver's seat.

He pulled out his phone, put on his reading glasses, and checked for new jobs.

No new messages. He sighed in disappointment.

Money…

He'd never craved it so badly before.

He needed money to live, to support himself and two others, to buy medicine for Professor X—and he was even trying to save enough to buy a boat and spend his last days out at sea.

"Ahh…"

He sighed again, parked the car by the roadside, and settled in to sleep.

To save money, he often did this.

His sleep had never been good anyway—paying for a hotel was a waste.

Lying in the back seat, Logan tried to empty his mind and just rest.

Suddenly, he sat up, muttering a curse. He pulled a half-filled bottle of liquor from his pocket and downed it in one go before collapsing back into the seat.

Alcohol never used to affect him, but with his healing factor fading, he could finally feel the beginnings of intoxication.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to help him fall asleep.

Gradually, his consciousness drifted.

His shallow sleep was filled with flashes of memories he couldn't forget—his past, the days at Xavier's School, his friends, and… what had happened in Westchester a year ago.

That day, Professor X's degenerating mind had suddenly spiraled out of control, causing a catastrophe.

The memory hit him hard, and Logan snapped awake, breathing heavily, clutching at his chest in pain.

"Cough, cough."

He coughed twice, and something shiny slipped out of his pocket.

Logan reached for it, but it slid through his fingers and landed at his feet.

He bent down and picked it up.

It was a bullet—made of adamantium.

Professor X was his only remaining attachment in this world. Once the professor was gone, Logan planned to use this bullet to end his own life.

That was his decision.

"Haa…"

He blew away imaginary dust from the bullet, his expression calm as he returned it to his pocket. Then he opened the car door for a bit of fresh air before lying back down again, forcing his eyes shut.

Sleep. Just sleep…

Otherwise, he wouldn't have the energy to work the next day.

The night dragged on, and when sunlight finally spilled into the car, Logan quietly exhaled a breath of relief.

(End of Chapter)