A hero's choice

The rooftop of an abandoned apartment building in downtown New York City has extremely poor soundproofing, but it's secluded.

Ye Mo locked the door from the inside and checked the dust on the windowsill three more times. After confirming there were no tracking devices, he breathed a sigh of relief, took off the hood of his black hooded sweatshirt, and casually tossed it onto the cluttered sofa. He rubbed his stiff neck, feeling as if his head was stuffed with a wad of wet cotton, heavy and suffocating.

Emma Frost Thaddeus Ross sat at the old wooden table opposite her, her hands folded on her knees, her posture as proper as if she were attending a high-class dinner party, rather than having just escaped from a money-grubbing black market warehouse. Her face was somewhat pale, and the depletion of her Diamond Form energy made her look even colder than usual.

"Water." Ye Mo pointed to the plastic bottle on the table, his voice hoarse, "I ran too fast just now, and my throat tastes like rust."

Emma Frost didn't move, her gaze fixed on him. "You haven't answered my question yet."

Ye Mo unscrewed the bottle cap, took a big gulp, and the icy water slid down his throat, slightly calming the restlessness. "What's wrong? I'm tired, I want to sleep."

"Don't play dumb." Emma Frost stood up, walked over to him, and looked down at him. "The public outcry over the Superhuman Registration Act is huge. Tony Stark is giving a scathing speech at the press conference, Steve Rogers is giving a speech in the square, and what about you? Where are you? Are you watching the show? Or are you waiting for the system to send you a task prompt?"

Ye Mo gripped the water bottle tightly, his knuckles turning white. He didn't refute, because Emma Frost had hit the nail on the head.

"Neutrition isn't about escaping; it's a survival strategy." Ye Mo put down the bottle, leaned against the wall, and tried to mask his inner turmoil with his usual cynicism. "Look, I'm like a sandwich. On my left is the government's big stick, and on my right is the public's spittle. Whichever side I take, they'll use me as a target. If I don't take sides, at least I can survive and still do something practical for you."

"Facts?" Emma Frost sneered, a mocking smile curving her lips. "Ye Mo, you're too naive, or rather, too selfish. In this era, silence means taking sides. When you see innocent people being harmed by radical rhetoric, when you see superhumans being treated like monsters and hunted down, you hide behind the scenes calculating the pros and cons. That's not survival; that's Coldblood."

"I'm not Coldblood." Ye Mo frowned, his tone hardening. "I just don't want the situation to get out of control. If I choose the wrong side, the entire Avengers Reserve Team's plan will collapse. Do you know what that means? It means all our previous efforts will be wasted, it means more people will get hurt."

"Then if we do nothing, who will bear the consequences?" Emma Frost's voice rose a few decibels, carrying an undeniable force. "Do you think the identity of ' Mr. X ' can allow you to remain invisible forever? Natasha came to your door, Scott treats you as a mentor, and even that always-blustering Spider-Man trusts you. The burden you carry is far heavier than you imagine."

Ye Mo fell silent.

The room was so quiet that the only sound was the distant traffic outside the window. He looked down at his ordinary hands. These hands, which used to be used only for typing and playing games, now held the power to decide the fates of countless people.

The system's consciousness was deathly silent. There were no notification sounds, no task assignments, and no red warning boxes. It was like a cold stone, silently floating deep within his mind, without any reaction.

This silence made Ye Mo feel an unprecedented sense of loneliness and fear.

In the past, when faced with difficulties, he could rely on the system's guidance and experiment with and combine those fragmented abilities. But now, facing this complex situation involving humanity, morality, and political stance, the system is useless. It won't tell him who to believe, who to oppose, or what to fight for.

He has to rely on himself for all of this.

"I'm scared," Ye Mo suddenly said, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.

Emma Frost paused, clearly not expecting him to say that. Her tense shoulders relaxed slightly, but she didn't look away.

"I'm afraid of making the wrong choice." Ye Mo raised his head, his eyes less cunning and more filled with genuine confusion. "I'm afraid that once I take this step, there will be no turning back. I'm afraid my choice will disappoint Emma Frost, make Scott lose faith, and put everyone who trusts me in danger. I'm even more afraid... I'm afraid I'm simply not qualified to be a hero."

Emma Frost looked at him, the sharpness in her eyes gradually fading, replaced by a complex mix of sympathy and understanding. She slowly sat down, moving closer to Ye Mo.

"No one is born a hero," Emma Frost said softly. "I also struggled in the Hellfire Club, afraid of losing my power, afraid of being abandoned. But later I realized that true strength is not about how much power you have, but about daring to make choices in the dark and taking responsibility for them."

She reached out and gently patted Ye Mo's arm, her movement soft yet firm.

"You don't need to give an answer now. But you can't hide anymore. The veneer of neutrality has been torn off, Ye Mo. You must face the true answer in your heart."

Ye Mo took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Countless images flashed through my mind: Tony Stark's confident smile, Scott Lang's awkward yet sincere eyes, Natasha Romanoff's cool and reliable figure, the crowds protesting in the streets, and the children crying in the news.

These images intertwined, forming a vast net that trapped him firmly.

He realized that the so-called "peaceful life" was just a luxurious fantasy in this unpredictable Marvel Universe. Since he couldn't escape it, he could only face it head-on.

But he wasn't ready.

Right now, he's like a child standing on the edge of a cliff, with an abyss below and a high wall behind him with nowhere to retreat. He needs time, he needs space, and he needs to sort out this mess on his own.

"Leave me alone for a while." Ye Mo opened his eyes, his voice returning to calm, but with a hint of determination. "I need to sort out my thoughts. Tonight, cut off all contact with the outside world."

Emma Frost nodded and stood up. "Okay. I'll stand guard at the door. I'll wake you if anything happens."

She turned and walked towards the door, paused when her hand touched the doorknob, and glanced back at Ye Mo.

"Remember, no matter what you choose, I'll stand by you. Not because you're ' Mr. X,' but because you're Ye Mo."

After saying that, she opened the door and went out, gently closing the door behind her.

Silence returned to the room.

Ye Mo sat on the sofa without turning on the lights. Neon lights from outside shone through the gaps in the blinds, casting dappled shadows on his face. He took out his phone from his pocket, glanced at the time on the screen, and then pressed and held the power button to turn it off.

Next, he took out a piece of black tape and sealed the phone's charging port and SIM card slot. After doing this, he threw the phone into the deepest part of the drawer, as if it were some kind of dangerous weapon.

He leaned back on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling. There was a noticeable water stain there, shaped like a twisted bird.

He began to recall every moment since his transmigration. From the initial panic to the ecstasy of awakening the system, and then to the bonds he formed with various heroes. He had always thought he was in control, constantly searching for the optimal solution. But now he realized that life is not a game; there are no save/load systems, and no walkthroughs to consult.

Every choice is a one-way street.

He recalled Emma Frost's words, "Silence is taking sides."

These words struck his heart like a hammer.

He had been waiting for the perfect opportunity, for a foolproof plan. But reality told him that such an opportunity would never exist. Situations changed, people's hearts shifted, but the only constant was his own heart.

Ye Mo sat up straight, his hands clasped under his chin. His gaze gradually deepened, and the restless atmosphere that had been surrounding him slowly settled down.

He stopped thinking about the system's reaction, stopped thinking about the noise outside. He focused entirely on his breathing, one breath in and one breath out.

In this cramped safe room, time seemed to stand still.

Ye Mo closed his eyes, and a new map began to form in his mind. It was no longer a simple relationship between friend and foe, but a more complex network of emotions and value judgments. He tried to find his own path within it.

This is a difficult road, full of thorns and traps.

But he knew he had to keep going.

After some time, the sky outside the window began to lighten with the first hint of dawn. The city began to awaken, garbage trucks roared in the distance, and early morning buses drove through the streets.

Ye Mo remained in that position, completely still.

The confusion and anxiety that had been on his face were gone, replaced by an almost cold calm. It wasn't indifference, but a kind of resolute certainty that came from deep thought.

He slowly opened his eyes, his pupils reflecting the faint morning light.

He stood up, walked to the window, and opened it. A gust of cold wind rushed in, dispelling his fatigue. He took a deep breath of fresh air, feeling the fullness of his expanding lungs.

At that moment, he felt as if he had woken up from a long dream.

Although the road ahead was uncertain and fraught with danger, he was no longer afraid. For he knew that true heroism was not about receiving cheers in the sunlight, but about holding fast to one's beliefs in the darkness.

He turned around and looked at the other corner of the room. There was a spare set of combat uniforms there, next to a few simple everyday clothes.

He walked over, picked up the black hooded sweatshirt, carefully folded it, and put it in his backpack. Then, he rummaged through the cabinet and pulled out a worn notebook, opened to a blank page, and picked up a pen.

The pen tip hovered above the paper, hesitant to fall.

He hesitated over what to write.

Should I write down my predictions for the future? Or record my current feelings? Or perhaps create a detailed action plan?

In the end, he simply wrote down a date and time.

Then, he closed the notebook and hugged it tightly to his chest.

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door.

It's not a rapid patting, nor a casual tapping, but a specific rhythm of three short pats followed by one long one.

Ye Mo's body tensed instantly, his muscle memory quickly putting him into battle mode. He didn't open the door immediately, but instead listened intently, catching any subtle movements outside.

The knocking sounded again, three short knocks followed by one long one.

This was the secret code he and Natasha had agreed upon.

Ye Mo frowned, a complex emotion welling up inside him. He had thought he could have a quiet night to think, but reality didn't seem to be giving him that privilege.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his expression, and resumed his nonchalant demeanor. He walked to the door, placed his hand on the doorknob, but did not turn it.

"Who is it?" he asked through the door, his voice steady.

Natasha's familiar voice came from outside the door, tinged with a barely perceptible weariness. "It's me. I have new information. About the mastermind behind that storm."

Ye Mo's fingers rubbed against the doorknob.

He knew that from this moment on, his peace was completely over.

He opened the door. The hallway was dimly lit, and Natasha stood in the shadows, holding a thick folder. Her eyes were still sharp, but there were a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes, showing her recent fatigue.

"Come in." Ye Mo stepped aside.

Natasha entered the room, her gaze sweeping over the excessively tidy living room before finally settling on Ye Mo.

"You look like you've had a good rest," she said casually, placing the folder on the table.

Ye Mo closed the door and drew the curtains, cutting off the outside light. He walked to the table, looked at the black folder, but didn't reach for it.

"Speak," he said, "What is it this time?"

Natasha didn't answer immediately. Instead, she took out a cigarette from her pocket, lit it, and took a deep drag. Her face appeared somewhat blurred in the swirling smoke.

"It's a name." She exhaled a smoke ring, her eyes turning sinister. "A person lurking in the shadows, manipulating everything."

Ye Mo's heart skipped a beat.

He awaited the next installment, awaiting the name that would be enough to overturn the entire landscape.

However, Natasha simply stared at him, a meaningful smile playing on her lips.

"Want to know who it is?" she asked. "Then you'll have to tell me first which side you're planning to stand on."

Ye Mo looked at her, his eyes deep and unfathomable.

He didn't speak, but just quietly watched the burning cigarette, watching the ash fall little by little and accumulate in the ashtray.

The atmosphere in the room became heavy again, like the calm before a storm.