[AN: Chapter 4 is where we will pick up the pace]
The garage door screeched halfway up.
Cold evening air rushed in.
The five men outside shifted slightly, clearly not expecting him to reopen it.
Gu Xing stepped out calmly.
Streetlights flickered on above them. Shops nearby were already closed. A few pedestrians were still around, but no one was paying attention. In New York, people mind their own business.
"I thought this only happens in movies," Gu Xing said lightly.
The front man, tall with a red axe stitched on his jacket, sneered. "You got jokes, huh? Three months' protection fee."
"I don't remember asking for protection," Gu Xing replied.
A punch suddenly flew toward his face.
Whoosh.
Gu Xing tilted his head just enough for the fist to brush past his cheek.
Before the man could react—
Thud.
A short, compact palm strike landed on his chest.
The attacker flew backward and crashed into stacked plastic crates.
Silence.
The other four stared.
"…Get him!" the leader barked.
They rushed together.
Too slow.
One grabbed his shoulder.
Crack.
A simple wrist twist. The man dropped to his knees screaming.
Another swung a metal pipe.
Gu Xing stepped inside the swing and drove his elbow into the man's ribs.
Crunch.
The pipe fell.
The leader lunged with a knife.
The last one hesitated.
Gu Xing stepped forward.
Spinning back kick.
Boom.
The man slid across the pavement.
Five men.
Less than fifteen seconds.
Gu Xing adjusted his sleeve calmly. He had deliberately held back — barely thirty percent. Any more and it wouldn't look like a street fight anymore.
Gu Xing sidestepped, caught the wrist, and drove a knee into his stomach. The air left him instantly. A clean chop to the neck sent him down.
He pulled out his phone.
"Hello, I would like to report an accident."
—
Wee woo. Wee woo.
The faint wail of sirens grew louder before two police cars turned the corner and stopped in front of the gym.
Red and blue lights flickered against the metal shutters and brick walls of Chinatown's narrow street.
Gu Xing stood calmly by the curb, hands relaxed at his sides.
The doors opened almost simultaneously.
A black officer, around thirty years old with a steady, composed presence, stepped out of the first vehicle. He adjusted his vest slightly before walking toward Gu Xing.
"Good evening, sir," he said, voice firm but polite. "We received a report that a fight broke out around here. Have you seen anyone?"
Gu Xing nodded and casually pointed toward a pile of trash bags near the alley wall.
"Yeah. They're over there. All tied up."
The officer followed his gaze.
Five grown men — bruised, groaning, and very securely restrained — lay stacked rather ungracefully beside the dumpsters.
Another officer stepped out from the second car. A white man with blond hair and an easygoing expression. He took one look at the scene and let out a low whistle.
"Well, I'll be damned."
He glanced at Gu Xing.
"You did this?"
Gu Xing gave a small nod.
The blond officer blinked once, then twice. "That's crazy. What are you, Bruce Lee?"
"Bryce. Focus." The first officer said without even looking at him.
Bryce raised both hands defensively. "Alright, Cap, don't be too serious."
A third officer exited the second vehicle and immediately began helping secure the Axe Gang members properly before loading them into the back seats. The men groaned in protest, but none were in any position to resist.
As the group was being detained, the black officer turned back to Gu Xing.
"What's your name, sir?"
"Gu Xing," he replied simply.
The officer extended his hand. "Jefferson Morales."
They shook hands.
Morales had a firm grip — professional, observant eyes studying him briefly.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Morales asked. "From the start."
Gu Xing explained calmly — how they approached him, demanded protection fees, escalated first, and how he defended himself. He kept it straightforward. No embellishment. No unnecessary details.
Morales listened without interrupting.
"I see," he said after a moment.
His gaze shifted slightly, recognition flickering across his face.
"So you're Gu Xing? Owner of the Gu Martial Hall?"
Gu Xing nodded once.
Morales' expression softened slightly.
"I used to train here," he said. "With the last owner. I didn't know he was your father. My condolences."
There was no awkward pity in his tone — just sincerity.
Gu Xing's expression remained calm.
"It's fine. I was out of town for some time and rarely visited. He would've been happy someone still remembers him."
Morales gave a small nod.
"Well… he left an impression," he said. "Old school. Strict. But fair."
In the background, Bryce shut the car door a little harder than necessary.
"All loaded up, Cap."
Morales nodded without turning.
"For now, I'll handle this," he said to Gu Xing. "This individual—" he gestured toward one of the gang members being pushed into the cruiser, "—is a habitual delinquent and known Axe Gang member. You won't have to go down to the station tonight. The paperwork won't be complicated."
He paused, then added more quietly,
"You didn't disappoint your father. He would've been proud of how you are now."
The red and blue lights reflected briefly in Gu Xing's eyes.
He didn't smile.
But his voice was steady.
"Thank you, Officer Morales."
The sirens didn't turn back on as the cars pulled away.
The street returned to normal.
As if nothing had happened.
Say less, bro. Same events, same flow, same vibe — just refined, smoother, more novel-like, and detailed.
—
"Morales… that's oddly familiar."
Gu Xing stood there for a moment after the police cars disappeared down the street.
Morales.
Black officer. Calm. Composed.
For some reason, the name stuck in his head.
He couldn't help but think about that black-and-red figure swinging between skyscrapers in New York.
A spider slinging through the skyline.
He chuckled to himself.
"Must be a coincidence."
New York had millions of people. Morales wasn't exactly rare.
Shaking his head, he pulled the garage door down fully this time. The metal rattled into place.
Click.
Locked.
Thankfully, no more interruptions.
—
Two days later.
February 22.
Exactly ten days after Tony Stark was kidnapped overseas.
The air felt warmer than usual for February. Not hot — just comfortable. The kind of weather that made people linger outside a little longer.
Chinatown was lively but not chaotic. Vendors shouted in Mandarin, steam rose from food stalls, and red lanterns swayed gently overhead.
The Axe Gang hadn't made a move since that night.
No threats. No retaliation.
Either they were regrouping… or they were afraid.
For now, it was peaceful.
The gym had started seeing more walk-ins. Curious locals. A few office workers are asking about memberships. Some teenagers using the equipment.
But no one had applied for actual martial arts training.
Figures.
He wasn't exactly well-known.
Gu Xing walked slowly through the streets, hands behind his back, observing everything.
This was rare for him.
For nearly ten days, he had stayed mostly inside the Martial Hall — training, cultivating, testing his limits. Going out only when necessary.
His strength was steadily rising.
By his estimate, he was approaching Captain America's physical level.
Not quite there yet.
But close.
Very close.
He stopped in front of a bookstore tucked between a herbal medicine shop and a bakery. After browsing for a while, he picked up several books on Asian traditions, classical martial arts philosophy, and internal energy cultivation theories.
As he paid, a thought crossed his mind.
He should build a small library inside the hall.
A proper one.
Once Stark Industries' stock rose after Tony's inevitable return, funding wouldn't be an issue.
Gu Xing stepped back onto the street, carrying a small paper bag filled with books.
The city felt calm.
Almost too calm.
As he passed by a narrow alley between two aging brick buildings, a sound cut through the background noise.
"Help!"
A female voice.
Sharp. Panicked.
Gu Xing stopped mid-step.
He turned his head slightly.
From the alley's shadow, he saw three men cornering a woman dressed in office attire — heels, skirt, blazer. A handbag was clutched tightly against her chest.
"Hehe, give up, lady," one of the men sneered. "This is New York. No one gives a damn around here."
The others laughed.
Gu Xing looked down at the paper bag in his hand.
Then at the alley.
He walked over and gently placed the books beside the wall near the entrance.
He exhaled.
"Just my luck," he muttered. "Am I the main character in a novel? Why do these plot storylines keep happening?"
He rolled his shoulders once.
Then stepped into the alley.
Calm.
Unhurried.
But his eyes were no longer relaxed.