Hero’s Return

New York Central Square, War Hero Memorial Museum.

Before the museum stood two towering stone statues of young men in combat uniforms, one holding a sword and the other a shield. They stood back-to-back, their stern, piercing gazes fixed ahead.

After nightfall, lights shone down upon the statues’ heads like halos of sacred crowns.

A musical fountain had been installed at the statues’ feet. To the stirring music of modern warfare, it rhythmically sprayed jets of water, setting off an inspiring, impassioned atmosphere.

Quite a few office workers and tourists from out of town had brought along their families, young and old, gathering around the statues in twos and threes to look up at them.

Two tall young men, acting slightly furtively, lowered the brims of their caps.

Carefully avoiding the crowd at the entrance, they followed the endless stream of people into the memorial museum.

"Coming to see a war memorial that promotes and commemorates myself… Why was I doing something this boring?"

Amid the crowd, Kyle suddenly felt a wave of boredom. He glanced at the excited Steve beside him, sighed helplessly, and followed him farther into the museum.

In the memorial museum’s corridor.

Embedded screens lined both walls, endlessly playing World War II propaganda films. A young man in a black combat suit wielding a sword and another in dark blue tights carrying a shield were portrayed as the protagonists, leading soldiers at the forefront and dominating the battlefield.

This place wasn’t for me…

Kyle lowered his cap brim, afraid someone might recognize him.

Watching propaganda films about himself like this gave him an inexplicable sense of embarrassment.

Steve, on the other hand, watched with great interest. He was especially astonished by modern color video, his eyes continually shining with wonder as he took in these new things.

A crowd of tourists had gathered before an exhibition hall in one corner. A photograph of a small-framed young man appeared on the screen, accompanied by a clear, formal narration:

‘Steve Rogers. Before receiving the serum, he weighed 95 pounds and stood five feet four inches tall. Due to poor health, he had repeatedly failed to enlist. After receiving the serum, he weighed 240 pounds and stood six feet two inches…’

"Kyle, they’re talking about me over there." Steve smiled and lowered his voice.

Kyle nodded. The narration continued to drift over: "Steve Rogers was chosen to take part in an unprecedented World War II project. He became the world’s first Super Soldier. On his first mission, he rescued a thousand captured soldiers. He was Captain America, representing the nation’s justice! A legendary hero who dismantled Hydra and saved the world!"

Steve’s eyes brightened slightly. He patted Kyle on the shoulder and said proudly, like a child, "So? Pretty amazing, right?"

"Amazing." Not wanting to discourage his old friend, Kyle could only give him a thumbs-up.

Steve smiled. The sadness from before faded away, and his fist quietly clenched with renewed resolve.

At least this made him understand that although this path was lonely and arduous, as long as the world recognized it as a heroic act, everything was worth it.

The two continued deeper into the museum. They arrived at another vast exhibition hall, where everything, from photographs to videos, was dominated by dark tones. There were also model ornaments of single-handed swords.

The visitors gathered here had nearly filled the place to capacity.

‘Kyle Dove had rapidly risen to prominence during training from the moment he entered the recruit camp, becoming a dazzling new star among the soldiers.’

‘He was America’s youngest major general, as well as the greatest War Hero of World War II. Not only did he dismantle Hydra, he also dominated battlefields in numerous large-scale wars, saved the world, and hastened its return to peace. He was hailed as the Symbol of Peace of the modern era!’

The narrator’s explanation reached their ears.

Steve forced a smile and looked dejectedly at Kyle beside him, who had his hands in his pockets and an indifferent expression.

"Why do I feel like you’ve completely stolen my spotlight?" Steve said gloomily.

"You’re overthinking it."

Kyle patted him on the shoulder in consolation.

The War Hero Memorial Museum also contained photographs of important figures from the old Strategic Scientific Reserve and the Howling Commandos.

Kyle and Steve wandered around the exhibits, as if using them to commemorate their lost youth and that era of war gradually forgotten by the world and buried in the past.

"The twenty-first century, an age of peace… it’s nice," Steve murmured when they reached the end.

"Later, you might not think so." Kyle shook his head and said coldly, "Once this world is cleaned up and put in order, many people will want to destroy it and make a mess of it again."

Steve fell silent. After taking one last look at Peggy’s photograph on the wall, he turned and waved. "Let’s go. It’s time to leave."

Kyle nodded, and the two headed toward the museum entrance.

As they reached the corridor near the entrance, a burst of screams suddenly erupted outside. Then people began flooding back into the museum as if they were being forced inside.

"What the hell?!" A man inside who had been trying to leave cried out in shock.

"Shut the hell up!"

Several men outside answered with crude curses.

The man was about to say something when a loud gunshot rang out in warning, making him retreat inward with a pale face.

"Is this… a robbery?" Steve asked in surprise, beginning to understand what Kyle had meant earlier.

"Probably." Kyle had no energy to complain.

New York really did deserve its reputation as a city of crime…

But choosing a War Hero Memorial Museum to rob—he had no idea whether the leader of these robbers had a screw loose.

Or maybe a hero’s aura attracted criminals. That was practically an unspoken rule in hero movies.

The two remained standing motionless in the middle of the corridor near the entrance, like two iron pillars. Terrified visitors rushed past them and hid in the memorial hall behind them.

"Get inside, all of you!"

Five robbers in black clothes and hoods, each holding firearms in both hands, drove the visitors into the hall and sealed off the museum entrance.

The robber leader stood in the corridor and swept his gaze over the crowd. "Hands on your heads and squat down! Hand over your valuables, one by one!"

The moment he finished speaking, the tourists crouched down in terror. In the blink of an eye, only two young men remained conspicuously standing in the middle.

"You two don’t want to live?" The robber leader raised a brow and pointed his gun at them.

Yet neither of them even looked at him. They were quietly discussing something among themselves.

"Should I handle it, or you?" Kyle asked listlessly, his hands still in his pockets.

"Let me do it. I’ve been lying down for so long; it’s time to stretch my limbs a little." Steve shrugged.

"Don’t force me…"

The robber aimed his gun at Steve, but before he could finish, Steve suddenly moved.

With a swift step, he burst into a sprint. The robber leader reacted and instinctively put his finger on the trigger, about to fire.

But Steve was clearly faster. He ducked beneath the robber leader’s arm, swiftly reaching out with both hands—one seized the barrel and twisted it upward, while the other grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it behind him.

Bang!

The gun fired, and a light bulb in the hall’s ceiling shattered in response.

Steve flipped his hands. Before the robber leader’s scream could leave his throat, his body was flipped more than one hundred and eighty degrees, and his head slammed hard into the smooth floor.

"Not bad."

Kyle offered his assessment, then let out a sleepy yawn.