Deadpool.
He pointed a finger at Yongye. The fabric over his mouth shifted, and his voice came through in that unmistakable tone that never took anything seriously:
"Hey, you..."
"The dumbass who put on a suit of silver armor, beat Loki half to death, stole the Cosmic Cube, and then kidnapped Black Widow—that's you, right?"
Yongye stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at the red-suited king of trash talk before him. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.
"That's me. What, are you here for the Cosmic Cube too?"
Deadpool waved both hands wildly, as though shooing away a buzzing fly. "No, no, no. I'm not interested in that stupid blue box. It's been stolen back and forth eight hundred times on my set. Even the audience is sick of it."
He bounced a step closer to Yongye, the white patches on his mask seeming to widen. "I just came to ask one thing..."
"Are you a superhero?"
Yongye nodded at once, his expression perfectly serious. "Of course I'm a superhero. Getting close to the heroines is one of my dreams."
He put particular emphasis on "getting close," his tone practically dripping with mischief.
Deadpool sprang back a step and clutched his chest with both hands, posing like an actor in a tragic stage play:
"Getting close? To the heroines? You're telling me that's what a superhero should be doing?"
He lowered his hands and planted them on his hips. The white patches on his mask narrowed slightly, and his voice turned from clowning to aggrieved accusation:
"Do you have any idea what happened because you made such a huge scene? That gooey little sweetheart Venom bet me that you were definitely a supervillain."
"I said you had to be a superhero who'd wandered onto the wrong set.