I'm absolutely terrified.

"Rookie Jos, is it? This is your gear. Take it and report to Section C; they’ll assign you to a squad," the US Army officer said.

Jos nodded, took the canvas bag indicated, and made his way toward Section C.

It had been four days since his conversation with Nick Fury. Now, his cover was no longer that of an Avenger, but that of a new recruit. According to Fury’s intel, the serum Jason had used had originated from this very base. Unfortunately, though Fury suspected Hydra had already usurped control here, S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't simply barge in to investigate without drawing attention, which rendered Jos, Natasha, and Hawkeye all but useless here—there was little they could do.

As for Steve and Tony, the former bore the codename ‘Captain America’; trying to have him infiltrate a US military base was absurd in every sense. The latter was so notorious in the media that virtually no one wouldn’t recognize Tony Stark; the idea of him going undercover was a joke.

After much deliberation, Jos was the only suitable candidate for this mission. Moreover, Fury had cautioned that since the operation was, at least on the surface, at odds with the US military, Jos should avoid using his telepathy on Captain America, lest everything be ruined.

To appear as unremarkable as possible, Jos was also advised to refrain from using any supernatural abilities; only those who seemed utterly ordinary were likely to be chosen as subjects for the super-soldier serum experiment.

Though this requirement was somewhat troublesome, Jos wasn’t overly concerned for his safety. The powers of the Flashfruit, along with the little black creature that now lay dormant as a tattoo upon his body, were his insurance. Coupled with his already exceptional physique, his life was in little danger under normal circumstances.

"Fury’s timeline is generous, but I can't afford to wait," Jos mused, glancing at the system’s countdown, which showed twenty-five days before his debt was due. An uneasy sense of urgency gnawed at him.

"It seems I’ll have to take some serious risks in this base within the next month," he muttered, discarding at least half of Fury’s warnings.

Yes, those so-called precautions were a sham. As long as he didn’t blow his Avenger cover and managed to uncover information related to the serum, everything would be fine.

Within those boundaries, Jos’s actions were only limited by his own restraint.

"Basic training lasts several months at minimum. To rack up points quickly, I’ll need to take part in field missions, maybe even get close to the secrets of this base."

In a US Army base, especially in a world like Marvel’s where might makes right, there were fast tracks to promotion. The best way was to prove one’s strength.

Jos had already devised a plan on his way to Section C.

"Listen up, you rookie scum! From today onward, you worthless lot are under my command for a year—if you manage to survive that long. You don’t need to know my name; just call me ‘sir’, got it?"

Standing atop a makeshift platform, an instructor bellowed through a megaphone at the assembled recruits.

He paid no mind to politeness—or perhaps he was deliberately using the most abrasive language possible, seeking to inflame the tempers of those hot-blooded young men below.

Clearly, his tactic worked. The recruits immediately began muttering and cursing under their breath. Were it not for the setting, they might have rushed the stage and beaten the instructor to a pulp.

"What? Not satisfied, are you? A bunch of brats barely out of your mothers’ underwear. If any of you have a problem, step right up!"

The instructor was pleased with the result. As with the fourteen squads before, these recruits were always so easily provoked.

He had a simple goal: provoke some hothead into challenging him, then make an example of him to establish dominance.

He knew full well that many of these recruits had a bit of training—just enough to think themselves invincible. Those who'd boxed for a few months, lifted weights for half a year, were precisely the ones who thought the world revolved around them, never having seen true strength. Their misplaced sense of superiority wasn’t just adolescent bravado; it stemmed from sheer ignorance of a world greater than their own.

And Sergeant Grant, as he was called, relished the moment when the confidence drained from these young men’s eyes as their illusions shattered.

A battle-hardened US soldier could easily crush these greenhorns.

It was all too common for mediocrities to vent their frustrations on those far more capable than themselves—especially those middle-aged men, greasy with failure, who knew their days were numbered before being surpassed by the next wave of interns. This bitterness was most apparent in them.

As for Grant, he had little natural talent, his best years long behind him. His continued presence at the base was owed only to a shortage of seasoned instructors. In truth, men like him were well-suited for this role—if the recruits couldn’t handle such setbacks, how could they ever face real combat?

"Well? None of you dare? Even an old-timer like me, nearly retired, scares you this much? Is that thing between your legs just for show?"

He spat forcefully onto the ground, ready to stoke the fire further. But before he could continue, he caught sight of a thin, frail-looking young man gazing at him with an expression of constipation. Grant knew instantly he had found his mark.

"You! Yes, you! What’s with that look? If you’ve got a problem, come up here and show me. I can’t stand these soft little sissies who crumble at a touch!"

"Ah... do I have to, sir?"

"Have to? That's an order! Understand? I am your superior officer. Are you refusing a direct order?" Grant roared, his face a mask of fury though his heart brimmed with satisfaction.

The kid was scared!

Grant was inwardly delighted, though he kept up the pressure. "What’s wrong? Too scared to spar with your superior, even now? If you’re that gutless, what are you doing here?"

"Uh... I really am scared, sir," Jos replied softly, scratching his head and looking at Grant with terror in his eyes. "I’m afraid I might kill you."