Who is human? Who is a ghost?

In Los Angeles, a bar located in a poor neighborhood.

The bar owner was an old Russian man who loved vodka. In the eyes of the local residents and regulars, he was a stubborn old man with a sharp tongue but a kind heart. Although he would curse harshly whenever a customer tried to run a tab, he couldn't help but let them do it again when they pleaded.

As a result, this small bar became a popular evening hangout for nearby residents, bustling with activity every day.

Lin Hao, who had flown in from a seaside ancient castle using Geppo, stood across the street, observing the bar. He knew the bar owner wasn't actually Russian, but a Chinese person of Russian ethnicity. This bar was an independent covert line for S.P.E.A.R. in North America.

Six months ago, at the end of last year, S.P.E.A.R.'s intelligence network in the Americas suffered a severe blow. The head of the branch went missing, and a large number of agents were killed or captured. The perpetrator was none other than "Black Nick Fury," Nick Fury himself.

On the intelligence front, there was no right or wrong; everyone had their own stance. When paths crossed, it was a fight to the death.

According to S.P.E.A.R.'s internal regulations, this line in Los Angeles was only accessible to the head of the American branch. It was to be activated only for the most crucial intelligence or when arranging for important personnel to leave America, and it could only be used once.

Countless nameless heroes, in this way, played their roles throughout their lives in foreign lands, waiting for an "awakening" that might never come. But when the order arrived, they had to abandon their families and dedicate their lives and even their lives to the cause of their nation.

Success does not have to be achieved by me; my success will surely be achieved by me.

The bar was still there, indicating that this covert line had not been activated, but Lin Hao did not let down his guard. He first scanned the surroundings with his Observation Haki and found no hidden threats.

The Observation Haki he obtained from Whitebeard was of high quality, but it couldn't "listen to the sounds of all things" like Roger, nor could it hear others' inner thoughts like Princess Otohime. It could only distinguish the number and strength of the surrounding life forms.

Currently, the amount of Observation Haki within Lin Hao was not large enough to cover more than two kilometers.

Although Lin Hao still had "Ki" from the Dragon Ball world within him, he hadn't learned specific Ki sensing techniques. Moreover, "Ki" as an energy was unique to the Dragon Ball world. Beings in the Marvel world might possess another kind of life energy, but it wasn't "Ki." At least, there had been no interaction between Bird Guy and Stan Lee.

Without waiting any longer across the street, he glanced at the bar as if he were an ordinary customer, then walked towards it.

Inside the bar, the noise was deafening, and smoke filled the air.

The smell of sweat, body odor, foot odor, cheap perfume, alcohol, tobacco... countless scents mingled together. Even though Lin Hao was prepared, he still frowned.

He walked up to the bar and said to the owner, "A glass of whiskey."

The rare Asian face made the owner glance at him again before he busied himself.

The moment Lin Hao entered the bar, Grant Ward, a Level 7 agent at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Los Angeles branch, more than ten kilometers away, noticed the Asian man.

"Enlarge the screen," Ward instructed the technician sitting at the computer.

A new face Lin Hao was using appeared on the screen.

"Search for this person's information," Ward continued to order.

Before long, through the information network built by S.H.I.E.L.D., detailed personal information for this Asian face was quickly found.

Ward glanced at it. It was a Korean-American from Arizona. The information included flight records of this person flying to Los Angeles two days prior.

Seeing that everything was normal, Ward stopped paying attention.

At this moment, a woman in a tight leather suit walked into the duty room. She was not tall and also had an Asian face.

"Melinda, if you keep taking unauthorized leave like this, I really can't explain it to the Director," Grant Ward said with a helpless expression.

"I told you, I drank too much water and needed to use the restroom," Melinda May, known as "The Cavalry," glared at Ward.

At this time, the two were still maintaining a relationship as lovers.

Ordinary office romances were not accepted by bosses, but as agents, especially those frequently on field assignments, constantly teetering on the brink of death, they no longer cared about fleeting relationships. Supervisors even encouraged agents to pair up internally. When going on missions, posing as husband and wife or lovers was perfectly seamless.

"Melinda, we are agents. We have our own stances," Ward advised. "Don't forget, you are an American."

"You don't need to remind me," Melinda May replied coldly.

"Director Ward, we've been watching this bar for months, and the target has yet to appear," another agent beside them suggested. "Why don't we send in 'The Imposter' to stir things up? It might yield unexpected results."

"Have his wounds healed?" Ward asked.

"Yes." The subordinate nodded.

"What was the result?"

"The best plastic surgeon at the academy personally handled it, guaranteeing a complete match."

"And the accent?"

"A colleague fluent in Chinese has already assessed it, and there are no issues."

Seeing Ward deep in thought, the subordinate continued to persuade him, "According to them, this is just a covert line, and the bar owner might not have even met the previous head of S.P.E.A.R."

"I know you want to earn merit, and so do I," Ward said sternly, reprimanding them. "But as agents, caution is the first principle."

"But we can't just keep waiting, can we?"

The agents at the Los Angeles branch wore bitter expressions. They had been on standby for months without any other operations, and everyone from top to bottom was getting irritable.

What was even more critical was that without field assignments, there were no allowances. Many of them couldn't even cover their monthly bank bills on their base salary alone.

Americans generally didn't have a habit of saving, and as agents, their daily lives were often extravagant.

With a single order from above keeping them on standby for so long, many lower-ranking agents were struggling to make ends meet. They didn't care how important it was for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s overall strategy to sever S.P.E.A.R.'s reach into North America. All they knew was that if this continued, the bank would come knocking on their doors for debt collection.

Therefore, regardless of the outcome, the agents of the Los Angeles branch desperately wanted to end this operation immediately, even if it yielded nothing.

"Let's do as you say," Melinda May, who had been silent until now, suddenly agreed with the Los Angeles branch's plan.

"Mel!" Ward turned to look at her.

"If the S.P.E.A.R. people never show up, do you plan to wait here forever?" Melinda spread her hands. "Or do you have a better plan?"

Ward remained silent.

"Since there isn't one, let's have 'The Cavalry' give it a try," Melinda stated decisively. "I'm a Level 7 agent, and I have the authority to decide the action plan."

The agents from the Los Angeles branch immediately sprang into action upon hearing this.

They had had enough of this idiotic waiting.

An hour later, another Asian man pushed open the door to the bar.

Lin Hao, who was just drinking and hadn't made contact with the bar owner, suddenly turned his head and saw the newcomer, a meaningful smile appearing on his face: "Interesting."

He glanced back at the bar owner one more time, tossed down a ten-dollar bill, and turned to leave, brushing past the middle-aged Asian man who had just entered.

In the agent profession, there are people, and there are ghosts.

Who is a person? Who is a ghost?

Who can truly tell until the very end?

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