"Zenkichi is in good spirits."
Tony Stark couldn't help but comnt, his tone carrying both amusent and disbelief. He had noticed how calm the man was—smiling even—as if these killers were nothing more than a passing distraction. If it had been Tony, he would have blasted them into scrap the mont they showed their faces.
Why waste ti?
"I think Zenkichi sees them as ants," Thor remarked, his deep voice steady. "He isn't fighting them. He's playing with them, the way one idly flicks aside insects. His sense of battle is far different from ours."
Since the villa lacked rooms, they were forced to pair up. Each shared a room with two beds. For Thor and Stark, that ant they had a clear view of the events unfolding.
...
"How is he dodging all our attacks?!" one of the assassins shouted in disbelief.
The group of killers were rattled. Every strike, every shot, every carefully calculated move had failed. According to their predictions, their target should have been long dead, but Zenkichi had slipped through each attempt with infuriating ease.
"Don't get cocky," another snarled, his voice cutting through the tension. "We won't give you another chance!"
The third assassin stepped forward. His face was blank, but his movents were sharp, precise. Dropping low to the ground, he mirrored Zenkichi's posture and slithered forward with calculated intent. From the sheath at his ankle, he pulled a compact pistol and aid directly at Zenkichi's neck.
"Bang!"
The shot cracked through the air, the bullet screaming toward its target's heart.
The killer's lips curled into a smirk. There was no avoiding it this ti. He had Zenkichi dead in his sights, and he was certain of victory.
Hawkeye, watching from the side, narrowed his eyes. Sothing about the assassin's marksmanship made his instincts prickle.
"Why does that look so familiar?" he muttered.
"Familiar?" Nick Fury, standing nearby, glanced at him.
Hawkeye didn't take his eyes off the gunman. "His technique. The rhythm, the precision. It's almost like I've seen it before, but I can't place where."
"Interesting," Fury replied, his tone unreadable, though his single eye glead with thought.
...
"Your aim is sharp," Zenkichi said, his voice carrying an almost mocking respect as the bullet streaked toward him. "But even with perfect marksmanship, you can't kill ."
The words fell like a verdict.
The bullet struck Zenkichi's forehead—
—only to flatten uselessly against his skin. Not even a scratch.
The room went silent.
The killers froze, horror flooding their expressions. Their strongest shot had landed, but it had achieved nothing. Zenkichi didn't even blink.
To them, it was like watching a nightmare unfold.
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