Captain America's Famous Scene

When Luke and Bucky reached the cinema across the street, the future Captain America was getting beaten up in the back alley.

A punch landed with a thud against Steve Rogers' cheek, sending a sharp jolt of pain through him.

Without any suspense, Rogers was knocked to the ground.

His scrawny frame looked especially frail next to that burly thug.

That was also why no one in the theater had dared to step up and stop him.

Even though the hulking brute was making a racket without caring what anyone thought, nobody wanted to invite unnecessary trouble.

Only a "fool" like Rogers would risk getting pummeled to jump in and call out someone else's rude behavior.

Cornered against the wall, Rogers scrambled and grabbed the lid of a nearby trash can, holding it up like a shield in front of him.

There was no fear in his eyes—only a resolute expression.

Like a brave soldier.

Too bad the massive gap in build and strength couldn't be bridged by sheer courage alone.

The burly thug swung his fist and knocked Rogers down again.

But before long, the skinny little guy struggled back to his feet, raising his fists like a boxer, as if he couldn't feel the pain.

"I can do this all day!"

Rogers panted.

His punches were slow and weak, easily blocked by the thug.

"Looks like you haven't learned your lesson yet!"

The thug sneered, his clenched fist meeting Rogers' nose once more.

He was about to land a few kicks to make sure this clueless runt understood the price of meddling.

Bam!

A powerful force struck him from behind.

The thug let out a scream, lost his balance, and stumbled into the wall.

"Which block are you from, you bastard, picking on my friend in Brooklyn?"

A cold voice rang out from behind.

The thug whipped his head around and saw two young men.

One wore a crisp, pressed brown military uniform; the other had on a leather jacket.

The latter was staring him down with sharp eyes.

"Luke! This punk started it! I didn't know he was—"

Bam!

Without a word, Luke stepped forward and drove his fist into the thug's nose.

The man's head snapped back, and he crashed hard onto the pavement.

Blood gushed from his nose like a faucet that had been turned on.

Luke didn't stop there. He lifted his long leg, planting his dark black boot on the thug's twisted face, grinding it in.

"Mmph... Luke!"

Mud and coal dust from the sole forced their way into the thug's mouth.

Mixed with the blood leaking from his nose, it created a strange taste.

"Get lost. If I see you messing with my friend again, I might just come paint your house."

After a moment, Luke pulled his foot back and said coldly.

The thug, his face smeared with blood, scrambled out of the alley without even daring to throw out a threat.

No choice—the guy was Frank's nephew.

And he was well looked after by the Irish Mob. Not worth the trouble.

"This is why I had Luke stay in Brooklyn to look after you."

Bucky, in his uniform, reached out and pulled Rogers up, a helpless look on his face. "Sometimes I think you just like getting hit, the way you keep picking fights with punks you can't beat."

Rogers brushed the dust off his clothes and let out a sharp hiss.

The pain in his cheek and eye socket finally hit his brain, a fierce burning sensation.

Earlier, running on pure guts, he'd forgotten the physical ache.

Now, though...

Rogers figured he needed to find a doctor.

"You went to the recruitment office again?"

Luke picked up the draft form from the ground. It had Steve Rogers' personal information written on it.

The only change was that his residence shifted from Brooklyn, New York, to Paramus, New Jersey.

"Falsifying a draft form is illegal, Steve."

Luke rubbed his palms together.

Fortunately, this body had been trained for years and was quite strong—dealing with that thug was no problem at all.

He, Rogers, and Bucky had grown up together in Brooklyn.

But compared to himself, the other two had much more similar experiences.

First, both of their parents had died in the war.

Rogers's father had served in the 107th Infantry Division and was killed by German Mustard Gas in some battle.

His mother was a nurse in a tuberculosis ward, unfortunately caught the disease, and didn't make it.

In a way, the future Captain America fit the protagonist template of parents sacrificed to the heavens.

As for Bucky's background, it was about the same.

His father had also served in the 107th Infantry Division and died in a military training accident, leaving him to be raised by his mother.

So these two young men, who had known each other since childhood, became close companions.

"I just want to do something..."

Rogers lowered his head in slight dejection and coughed harshly a few times.

He wasn't just scrawny—he also had mild asthma.

He often experienced symptoms like chest tightness and difficulty breathing.

With a physique like that, sending him to the battlefield would practically be murder.

That's why every time Rogers went to the recruitment station, the officer in charge of enlistment would refuse to take him.

"You didn't have to be so... vicious just now, Luke."

Rogers looked up at his friend and spoke hesitantly.

Luke's brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed as he showed a friendly smile: "I had to do it. Otherwise, there'd be more people in Brooklyn bullying you, or even coming after us."

"Luke's right. If it weren't for his uncle having some standing among the Irish immigrant community, we'd have been pushed around by those thugs way more than we were."

Bucky nodded in agreement.

He and Rogers had been bullied plenty by those punks before.

Almost every day, it was the same routine—getting cornered in an alley, street brawls back and forth.

Until one day, they met Luke and became friends.

After that, it turned into them doing the cornering.

And in Bucky's eyes, Luke had a good head on his shoulders.

He came up with a money-making idea, taking advantage of the strict management at military bases where soldiers couldn't just leave freely.

A few of them would sneak into the camp and peddle small goods like cigarettes and alcohol.

With the protection of their parents' old war buddies, many people turned a blind eye and pretended not to notice.

They made a decent amount of money from this business.

Later, it caught the attention of the bootleggers in Brooklyn.

Luke was the one who proactively built ties with the Irish immigrant community and willingly gave up a share of the business to dodge that trouble.

"That's fine. You two stay on the home front and keep running the business. By the time I get back, maybe you'll both be tycoons—just like Howard Stark!"

Bucky joked.

No one knew how much longer the war would drag on.

For ordinary people, they hoped the smoke of battle would clear soon and life would return to normal.

But for others, this was a golden opportunity to get rich.

Capitalists never let a chance to pile up wealth slip by.

Many knew that before the US entered this world war, it had been selling massive amounts of weapons and equipment to both the Axis Powers and the Allied Nations, raking in huge profits.

Among them was Stark Industries, which had risen to prominence in recent years.

Its rapid growth, vaulting it into the ranks of established military-industrial conglomerates, was mainly because Howard Stark had seized the opportunity.

Not only did he use his sharp mind and some useful inventions to win the favor of the Department of Defense, but he also used the enormous wealth he earned to open doors into high society, laying a broad and solid foundation of connections.

In just a few decades, he became a military-industrial magnate.

Besides the fast-growing Stark Industries, oil companies also seized the chance.

They broke through the British blockade via neutral countries like Switzerland, shipping barrel after barrel of oil to Germany, profiteering off the nation's hardship.

The Ford Company, a multinational corporation and industrial giant, was even more outrageous.

He even helped the Germans produce trucks as a form of covert political investment.

So later, Henry Ford, the founder of Ford Motor Company, was awarded the Grand Cross—the highest medal the German Nazis ever bestowed upon a foreigner.

From this, it's clear that capital has no allegiance.

Its only purpose is to harvest wealth.

Even now, with the United States entering the war and joining the Allied Nations, the global situation growing ever more dire, it still can't stop speculators from stirring with restless schemes.

"Howard Stark, I don't have that kind of mind!"

Luke gave a faint smile, then turned to Rogers and said, "Steve, if you really want to enlist, there are plenty of recruitment stations. I can go with you a few more times, just to try our luck."

"Really?"

A delighted smile spread across Rogers' face.

Bucky had always opposed him joining the army, and the two had argued about it several times.

Luke rarely voiced an opinion, so his sudden support today made Rogers genuinely happy.

Standing nearby, Bucky was about to say something, but when he saw Luke shoot him a look that said, "I know what I'm doing," he held his tongue.

He knew Luke well—this quiet, taciturn friend never did anything without a reason.

"Alright! Tonight's my last night in New York! You guys planning to spend it in this alley?"

Bucky urged his two buddies impatiently.

He was shipping out tomorrow, heading to a foreign land.

Tonight, he'd specially lined up a few hot, shapely girls, planning to drag Luke and Rogers along for a wild time.