After the Disaster, a Funeral

Seven days after the Battle of New York, Baishan Cemetery.

Compared to Shamira, whose face was etched with sorrow, Luca appeared far more composed.

Because his father, Herman, was of half-Chinese descent, Luca had ultimately chosen to lay him to rest at Baishan Cemetery—a place said to have excellent feng shui and the final resting site of many notable Chinese figures.

Guests came and went to pay their respects, but Luca simply stared blankly at the tombstone.

A heavy, mournful atmosphere permeated the air.

Perhaps out of sympathy for the young man, even the guests who had been well-acquainted with Luca's parents chose not to disturb him, offering only a nod as they stepped forward to lay their flowers.

However, Luca's thoughts were not on the funeral.

Although no official figures had been released, the actual death toll from the Battle of New York was significant. Even in this high-end cemetery, many families were holding funerals at the same time.

After all, the Chitauri's guns and cannons made no distinction between the high and the low-born.

A week had passed, and while everything seemed to have returned to calm, the reality was that New York—or at least the areas centered around Midtown and Uptown Manhattan—remained in total chaos.

Street protests, prayers organized by various politicians and charities, disaster zone decontamination and reconstruction, the treatment of the wounded, and the burial of the dead; the myriad of aftermath issues stemming from the Battle of New York continued unabated.

Reality was far from the movies, where everything was perfectly resolved once the heroes drove back the enemy.

In fact, the most "farcical" aspect of these past few days had been the post-disaster reconstruction and compensation efforts.

The core of the debate—the main topic across television media, street protests, and even congressional hearings—remained focused on whether the event should be classified as war damages, a natural disaster, or a terrorist attack.

That was right; seven days later, the debate was still stuck on the most basic definitions.

The military was pushing hard to define the Chitauri invasion as an "extraterrestrial war," intending to leverage the Defense Production Act to expand their military influence. While this would require the Department of Defense to shoulder some of the compensation, it would also allow the military to seize full control of all extraterrestrial technological debris under emergency response protocols.

Meanwhile, certain capital interests, led by major insurance giants and bankers, hoped to define the invasion as "extraterrestrial terrorism." After all, since 2001, terrorism had been excluded from coverage by the entire insurance industry.

By avoiding liability, they could also reasonably refuse the government's push for low-interest loans to small businesses and individuals, allowing capital to flow instead into "sound lending" for other large corporations.

The government's position was even more complex. While both the federal and state governments believed the event should be defined as a "natural disaster" to appease the public, win over voters, and secure international aid, the Stafford Act complicated matters. Under this act, the federal government would have to cover 90% of reconstruction costs for a national-level natural disaster, compared to only 75% for a state-level one. The New York State government and the federal government were locked in a stalemate over this distinction.

In short, Congress, the military, intelligence agencies, capital interests, and even the news media were all involved.

Those looking to shift blame, those looking to burnish their reputations, and those looking to get their hands on alien debris—everyone, whether they had any connection to the Battle of New York or not, seemed to want a piece of the action.

Aside from the initial disaster relief efforts, the first aid to arrive had come from the personal resources of Stark Industries and international sources.

As for the rest, even individuals and minor, underground groups were setting their sights on smuggling alien weapons.

In fact, news had already begun to surface over the past few days of people using alien weapons to rob banks.

Well, even Luca himself had secretly stashed away a few Chitauri weapons.

He might eventually hand these over to his company's R&D department to see if they could reverse-engineer any useful technology.

However, every arms company was doing the same thing. As long as it wasn't brought into the open or used in public, even S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't bother to come looking for trouble.

The problem was that the company's R&D department had been led by his father, Herman. With Herman gone, it was hard to say how much capability the department still had.

Moreover, Luca didn't have much of a voice in his own company yet; everything would have to wait until later.

"Young Master Luca..."

Seeing Luca staring blankly at the tombstone, Shamira hesitated several times before finally speaking in a low, cautionary tone.

Luca snapped back to reality, took two steps forward, and laid the flowers in his hand down.

His father's death had brought a touch of sadness, perhaps due to the environment, but in essence, Luca was far more concerned with his own future.

Just as Luca placed the flowers and began to stand up, a hoarse, breathless, and unpleasant voice rang out from behind him, completely out of place.

"Heh~ Luca! Such a big event as my brother-in-law's funeral, and you didn't even notify me? You really do know how to break my heart, don't you?"

Everyone, including Luca, turned toward the sound.

A middle-aged man in a black suit with slightly disheveled hair was walking toward them.

The man bore a three-part resemblance to Luca's mother, Gina.

But compared to Gina's sharp, elite demeanor, the man before them was slightly hunched, his posture stiff, and his gait unsteady. Even though his attire was clearly meticulously chosen, it gave the impression of a monkey dressed in silk.

In particular, his pale, sickly face, sunken eye sockets, and vacant, greedy eyes made him look like a rat that had been starving in a sewer for far too long.

"Who is that?"

"Isn't that Ms. Orange's brother? I've seen him at the company before."

"I've never heard of this person."

Most of the guests, who had already begun to leave, chose to stop and whisper among themselves.

A few who were very close to the Orange family wanted to step forward, but were held back by others, causing them to pause.

Of course, these people weren't entirely cold-hearted spectators looking for a laugh.

It was just that although the newcomers seemed hostile, the gossip among the crowd suggested this was a private family matter for the House of Orange, and most people didn't feel comfortable rashly intervening.

As the middle-aged man in the suit approached, Luca's nostrils flared, and a look of deep disgust flashed in his eyes.

Luca had seen far too many people like this in his past life; he was all too familiar with the type.

Of course, he didn't need the knowledge of his past life to recognize him. Although the original owner of this body was young and lacked a comprehensive understanding of the man, his memories still contained a general profile of him.

Dragan Orange.

The younger brother of Luca's mother, Gina, and thus, Luca's uncle.

A hopeless gambler!