Steve Rogers

Steve Rogers was a young man born during the Great Depression in the United States. Originally a frail, sickly youth, he was determined to enlist but had been repeatedly turned away by the recruitment office because of his poor health.

Recruitment Office

Tall Black and white men stood together, looking at the war casualty numbers printed in the newspaper. A burly man asked the short fellow beside him, "A lot of people have died. Don't you want to think it over? Are you getting a little scared?"

The recruitment doctor called out, "Steve Rogers."

The short young man stood up. "No!" he answered crisply.

The recruitment doctor looked over Steve Rogers's medical summary: scarlet fever, asthma, high blood pressure, palpitations, fatigue, heart disease, and more.

"Sorry, kid. Asthma alone disqualifies you."

Steve Rogers said hopefully, "Can you help me?"

The recruitment doctor said, "That's exactly what I intend to do—save your life." As he spoke, he stamped 4F onto Steve's enlistment form.

Dejected, Steve went to a movie theater to watch a wartime propaganda film. He shouted at a man who was talking disrespectfully, "Shut your mouth!"

The small Steve was dragged into the alley behind the theater by a tall white man and slammed against the wall.

Han Lin had no idea how long it had been before he slowly woke from the excruciating pain.

A string of universally classic words reached his ears: "FXXK..."

Supporting himself with legs that still trembled from the pain, he slowly stood up.

He threw out another universally understood curse: "FXXK..."

The young white man who was beating Steve Rogers turned to look at Han Lin, covered in blood and grime. "What did you say? You yellow monkey, are you asking for a beating?"

Flawless American English exploded in Han Lin's ears. Completely stunned, he stared in shock at the broad, muscular white man.

He blurted out a Chinese curse, "Holy shit, I can actually understand him!"

But the instant he said it, he felt terrible, because he had said it in flawless English.

What the hell was this?

Still dazed, Han Lin watched the white youth approach him with an ugly expression. "What did you say? Say that again if you've got the guts."

The white youth had been in a good mood today, but Steve Rogers's provocation at the theater had enraged him. A short, scrawny little runt—what gave him the right to talk to him like that? He had only wanted to beat Steve up to vent his anger.

Then Han Lin had appeared out of nowhere, making the guy feel as if his forehead were about to burst into flames.

Seeing that this scrawny yellow monkey had stopped talking, the furious white youth reached out to grab Han Lin by the collar.

Han Lin was 185 centimeters tall and weighed 65 kilograms. He could not exactly be called small, but in front of a burly American man who was 195 centimeters tall and weighed 80 kilograms, he could only be considered frail.

Han Lin's sense of danger spiked. Looking at the hand reaching out to grab him, he felt an indescribable sensation.

So slow! Han Lin thought. He stepped forward, slipped past the man's hand, spun around, clasped both hands around the man's arm, kicked at his rear foot, and exerted force. The tall white youth flew through the air and crashed into a pile of garbage-filled trash cans.

A scream suddenly rang out. "Ah, FXXK! Who are you? You're dead! I'm going to kill you!"

The white man clutched his left ankle with the one hand that still had feeling in it and cried out in pain.

If a doctor had examined him, he would have found that the white youth's right arm was dislocated, his ligaments had suffered severe tearing, and his left ankle had a comminuted fracture. He would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

Han Lin stared at his own hands in shock, completely unable to understand why he was suddenly so badass.

Steve Rogers stared blankly, mouth agape, at the Chinese youth who was taller than him but looked relatively thin. Rubbing his stomach, he said, "If I were you, I'd leave as quickly as possible. When Americans beat Americans, the police won't care. But if an Asian beats an American citizen, he'll be imprisoned if he gets caught."

Han Lin turned around and looked at the small American youth as if he had gone insane. "This is incredible. I can actually understand everything. You mean I need to run now, right?"

Steve Rogers helplessly shook his head. Looking at the somewhat neurotic Han Lin, he nodded. "We need to get out of here! It would be best if you could help me."

Han Lin walked over, pulled Steve Rogers up from the ground, and supported him as they headed out of the alley.

After leaving that block, Steve introduced himself. "My name is Steve Rogers. You can call me Steve. Even though you saved me, I still think you were too heavy-handed."

The moment Han Lin heard that name, he stopped in his tracks. "Steve Rogers? Do you have a friend named Bucky?"

Having suddenly heard that name, Han Lin rattled off the names of characters he had been watching on his computer just hours ago.

It gave Steve Rogers the illusion that this Asian young man had known him for a long time.

"You know me?" Steve asked in confusion.

Han Lin looked speechlessly at the white youth who was even smaller than he was, inwardly ranting, I don't just know you. I know your entire future life. But he hurriedly denied it aloud. "I know of you because you've forged enlistment papers many times. Everyone in the circle knows."

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