Choosing an Agent

Over the weekend, George spent most of his time practicing the spells he had just learned. Occasionally, he also made time to visit Hagrid and learn about magical creatures, communing with the magical creatures Hagrid kept.

During that time, he did not see Harry or Ron. Apparently, it was because they were being punished for driving the car and crashing into the Whomping Willow.

By the second week, he was still farming points like mad while absorbing as much magical knowledge as possible, studying and practicing new magic.

Meanwhile, on the Marvel side, after more than ten days of probing around, things were gradually starting to take shape.

That evening, George rode his Modified Motorcycle from the Mutant School out in the suburbs toward the Bronx near the city.

Along the way, when he ran into a checkpoint, he flashed the fake ID he had paid a high price for and muddled his way through.

Over these ten-odd days of investigation, apart from roughly figuring out the situations of dozens of families, big and small, in the Bronx, he had also paid a high price to have a local forger make him a fake identity.

Of course, that fake identity could only fool ordinary cops in everyday situations. If he ran into the CIA, S.H.I.E.L.D., or the FBI, there was no way it would hold up.

Let alone using that identity to open an account, deposit the money he made into it, and then use it to buy Stark shares.

So from the very beginning, he had never planned to buy Stark shares himself. This body of his was a product of a laboratory and had no identification whatsoever. There was no way he could get by with fake papers.

He needed to find an agent, but not just anyone would do.

First, this person had to have a certain amount of status. Otherwise, if they helped him buy Stark shares, it might arouse suspicion and draw the attention of various organizations.

Honestly, he felt that even if he looted every gang in the entire Bronx and used all the cash to buy shares in Stark Industries, it would still be nothing more than a drop in the bucket to a behemoth like Stark Industries.

After all, what he could loot was only cash. At most, he could threaten those bosses into withdrawing the liquid funds in their accounts. It was impossible to take away all of a gang's assets.

Perhaps that cash was already an astronomical sum for the poorest and most chaotic Bronx, but to Stark Industries, it might not even compare to the value of the artworks in Tony Stark's mansion.

The wealth of the truly rich was something poor people could not even imagine.

A single painting in Tony Stark's room might be worth hundreds of millions, but to him, a hundred million was already more than enough to give those mutant children a stable life.

Right now, he did not need to stir up anything big, nor did he need to go against the major organizations. What he needed was a stable life first, so he could properly study magic and raise his own strength.

If he were not worried that in a few years, the Chitauri invasion might come and, should the Avengers fail to resist, the entire Earth might fall, he would not have stayed near New York at all.

Second, this agent had to have ties to the Bronx and be unable to leave this place. Otherwise, with so much money under their management, if the other party simply ran off with it, where would he go to find them?

Men died for wealth, birds died for food. He did not believe that after only a few short months of getting along, someone would become utterly loyal to him. He did not have that domineering kingly aura.

Fortunately, those ten-odd days had not been wasted. He had gradually found a target that might work.

Today, he was just in time to watch a good show. If everything went smoothly, then the agent could be decided.

After parking the motorcycle, he found an empty alley, put on a black robe that wrapped around his body, donned the most common mask that could be bought casually by the roadside, and activated his ability at full force.

The specially made soles of his shoes, which had iron plates in them, immediately lifted him up, slowly carrying him into the air above the alley.

After this period of development, especially under the influence of the Wizard bloodline, his control over magnetism had also improved quite a bit. He could just barely manipulate objects over a hundred jin in weight.

That had already exceeded the laboratory base's original assessment of the limits of his potential.

If he ran into X-24 now, with his ability, he could toy with the other party. Over a hundred jin was more than enough to make X-24, whose entire body was filled with Adamantium, unsteady on his feet.

So, when he activated it at full force, he could also just barely make those special shoes with iron plates embedded in them carry him into the air.

Of course, as for speed, it could only be said that it was slower than walking. In a fight, he would absolutely be a sitting duck.

But in certain specific places, it was still very useful.

For example, right now, he could easily get onto rooftops, move through the air above them to avoid all kinds of cameras and lines of sight, and slip very easily into heavily sealed-off locations without being easy to track.

On the rooftop of the seventh floor of a strip club controlled by the Chebel family, an old man in his seventies sat in a wheelchair. Looking at the middle-aged man in front of him, who had been beaten to within an inch of his life, he said with some regret:

"Leon, you really are very good. I truly did think highly of you, and I always treated you like my godson.

"Unfortunately, today, you have to die here."

"Mr. Chebel, I really didn't betray you. I was framed. I've always treated you like a father. How could I possibly sell you out? You have to believe me!"

The middle-aged man, his face covered in blood, struggled to get up, doing his utmost to prove his loyalty.

He had been the child of an addict. When he was young, his mother had been unable to endure such a hopeless life and had secretly left.

When he was thirteen, he had accidentally saved Mr. Chebel, who was being hunted by a rival family. From then on, Mr. Chebel had taken a liking to him and brought him into the Chebel family's forces, giving him the dreamlike life he had always wanted.

Over thirty years, relying on his own intelligence and talent, he had devoted himself completely to helping the Chebel family grow from a small family into one of the Thirteen families of the Bronx today.

Yet because of a single assassination attempt, he was being executed as the mastermind who wanted to seize control of the Chebel family. He truly could not accept it.

He had a beautiful wife who loved him, many brothers who had gone through life and death with him, and a lovely newborn daughter. He had dedicated more than half his life to this family.

"I know you didn't betray me. That assassination was a play I directed and acted out myself. Otherwise, with your current status and prestige in the family, I really wouldn't have had a way to execute you just like this."

Chebel sighed, his eyes somewhat complicated.

Hearing Chebel's words, Leon's eyes suddenly widened, and he muttered in disbelief:

"Why? Why would you do this?"

"I had no choice. I'm old. The doctor said that with this body of mine, covered in old wounds, I have at most two years left to live.

"But my son has only just turned twenty. He has only just taken over the family's affairs, and his ability and prestige in every respect are still immature."

Chebel coughed once and looked at Leon with a trace of sadness in his eyes. It was not that he had no feelings for Leon. It was just that no matter how capable Leon was, and no matter how mediocre his own son was, he could never allow Leon the possibility of replacing his son.

"You're worried that I'll replace the young master in the future. But you should know my loyalty to you. I could never do something like that!"

Leon slumped down onto the ground, as if all the strength had been drained from his body.

Chebel pushed his wheelchair forward and shook his head.

"Leon, I trust your character, but I don't trust your subordinates.

"My position isn't always something you can simply refuse to sit in just because you don't want it. Those subordinates of yours will push you onto it."