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What Steve Rogers didn't realize was that Clint Barton was holding back.
Like, massively holding back.
Sure, Captain America was technically his new commanding officer, and Clint had been in the game long enough to know when to show some professional respect. Especially to a guy who had just woken up from a seventy-year nap. But if Clint had actually gone all out from the very first second? Steve wouldn't have just stumbled back a step or two.
He probably would have been launched clear across the training arena.
Even at half-speed, though, the raw strength Clint was throwing around was enough to leave an impression. A massive one.
"Steve!"
Peggy's voice cut through the heavy silence of the gym.
Before Steve could even turn, she grabbed the familiar circular shield resting against the wall and scaled it across the room. The vibranium disc spun through the air, catching the overhead lights.
Steve caught it out of midair, as if it were seamless and automatic. The kind of muscle memory that seventy years under ice couldn't erase. His arm slid through the leather straps, his fingers gripped the handle, and just like that, Captain America was truly back.
The shift in the room was instant.
Steve dropped into a low, braced stance. The lingering hesitation in his eyes vanished, replaced by the cool confidence of a soldier who finally had his best friend back in his hands. He raised the shield slightly, locking eyes with Clint.
"Impressive, Agent Barton," Steve said, a challenge bleeding into his tone. "Now show me what else you can do."
A slow grin spread across Clint's face. "Gladly, Captain."
With a powerful, deafening snap of his wings, Clint launched himself forward. The distance between them evaporated in a heartbeat.
But this time, the playing field had completely changed.
The shield re-wrote the rules of the entire fight. Clint's talons slammed into the vibranium surface over and over, each strike packing enough power to cave in a sports car.
*Boom! Boom! Boom!*
The impacts echoed like thunder through the chamber, but Steve barely blinked. The vibranium just swallowed the kinetic energy whole, neutralizing the force before it could even vibrate through Steve's arms. For the first time since they started, Steve actually looked comfortable.
"Not bad, Captain," Clint called out, flapping backward to catch a breath.
He wasn't just kissing up, either. Anyone watching could see Steve was a genius in motion. As a Zoan user, Clint's physical stats were fundamentally superhuman; comparing his raw power to Steve's wasn't even fair. Yet Steve was matching him beat for beat through sheer, unadulterated combat instinct.
"Is that all you've got?" Steve shot back, that old wartime smile flashing on his face.
Clint laughed. "Not even close."
The next second, the gloves came off.
Clint's speed exploded. The air literally cracked around him as he accelerated, and the pressure on Steve spiked instantly. It was a blur of feathers, talons, and silver reflections.
Yet, neither side could land a finishing blow.
Because Steve's shield was just ridiculous. There was really no other word for it. The thing had survived hits from guns, aliens, and literal monsters. Compared to that history, even Clint's enhanced strikes couldn't crack the defense. For a few frantic minutes, they were locked in a beautiful, high-speed stalemate.
To anyone else, it looked like a perfectly even match.
But the real pros watching from the sidelines knew better. This was a controlled spar, not a war zone. In a real, no-holds-barred fight to the death, the clock would already be ticking for the Captain.
Steve could block anything he could see coming. The problem wasn't the shield; it was his reaction speed. Clint was just too fast. If he stopped playing fair and started targeting Steve's blind spots, angles, and openings, Steve wouldn't be able to keep up. The falcon user could reposition around him faster than the super-soldier's eyes could track.
And deep down, as the shield vibrated against his arm, Steve was finally starting to realize that exact, uncomfortable truth.
"Alright, Captain," Clint called out, his voice echoing from above. "Let's take this up a notch."
The moment the words left his mouth, his body began to shift again.
The remaining human features of his hybrid form melted away rapidly. Glossy feathers erupted across his skin, his entire skeleton reshaped itself, and within seconds, a massive, predatory peregrine falcon hovered exactly where Clint Barton had just been hovering.
Powerful wings beat the air, kicking up mini-tornadoes of dust that swept across the concrete floor. He looked majestic. Lethal. Like a creature born to rule the skies.
Steve stared up at the massive bird for a second before shaking his head with a faint, breathless laugh. "Well," he admitted, his fingers tightening around the leather straps of his shield, "I can safely say this is the first time I've ever fought a giant falcon."
The next second, the bird vanished, and a literal sonic boom exploded through the arena.
Steve's eyes widened, 'Fast!'
Somehow, Clint had found a whole new gear. This transformation wasn't just a slight power bump; his speed, agility, and pure striking force had just vaulted into an entirely different league.
*BOOM!*
Steve blocked a brutal diving strike, the impact vibrating through his bones and nearly driving him backward.
*BOOM!*
Another attack slammed into the shield from a completely blind angle.
*BOOM!*
Then another. And another. Each hit felt less like a punch and more like trying to stop a speeding freight train with one arm.
For the next few minutes, the facility was deafening, filled with the non-stop, thunderous ring of metal against talon as the two pushed each other to the limit. Finally, both fighters backed off, breaking the engagement.
The spar was officially over. On paper, you could call it a draw.
But Steve Rogers wasn't stupid.
As he lowered his shield, his chest heaving, he knew exactly what had just happened. Clint Barton had been playing nice the entire time. The archer owned the sky, yet he had intentionally refused to exploit it. He could have stayed completely out of reach, rained down unpredictable angles, or just dive-bombed Steve into submission.
Instead, Clint chose to fight him head-on. He had matched Steve's pace on purpose. Not because he had to, but out of sheer respect for the legend.
The realization left a cold, heavy knot in Steve's stomach.
As Clint shifted back into his human form, Steve let out a slow, steady breath. If this was what an average, high-level Devil Fruit user looked like... how on earth was he supposed to keep people like this in check?
"Barton," Steve said, locking eyes with the archer. "Where exactly do you rank among other Devil Fruit Users?"
Before Clint could even open his mouth, Nick Fury's heavy boots clicked against the floor as he stepped forward. "The good news is, Barton ranks near the very top of our current database."
Steve let his shoulders drop a fraction, feeling a small wave of relief.
Then Fury ruined it. "The bad news is that ranking isn't going to last long."
That snapped Steve's attention right back.
Fury crossed his arms, his single eye deadpan. "Devil Fruit users are popping up every single day. The Home of the Devil Fruit is easily one of the most famous locations on the planet right now. New buyers are lining up constantly." His expression darkened further. "And just recently, Manager Rosh released a brand-new batch of high-grade fruits."
The implication was a slap in the face. The power ceiling wasn't just rising; it was skyrocketing. S.H.I.E.L.D. had to adapt right now, or the rest of the world was going to leave them in the dust.
Steve frowned, processing the words. "You said Barton is near the top. Near the top means someone else is clearing it."
"There are a few," Fury replied flatly.
"Who?"
Fury didn't hesitate. "Tony Stark."
Steve blinked. Next to him, Peggy looked visibly stunned.
"Howard's son?" Steve asked, memories of the eccentric billionaire flashing through his mind.
"The very same," Fury nodded. "He ate the Arms-Arms Fruit."
Instinct told Steve that an ability with a name like that couldn't possibly be simple or safe. Unfortunately, his instinct was underestimating it.
"It's bad," Fury confirmed, reading his face. "A lot worse than you're thinking. The fruit allows Stark to manifest weapons directly from his own body. Guns, missiles, heavy artillery, practically any modern weapon system you can dream up."
A suffocating silence fell over the room.
Then Fury dropped the final hammer. "Combine that devil fruit with the armored suits he built himself, and Stark possesses enough raw firepower to wipe out an entire fighter squadron solo."
Steve's face completely froze.
Just a few hours ago, he was sweating over a guy who could turn into a falcon. Now, he was being told that Howard Stark's kid had turned himself into a walking, breathing, one-man military superpower.
The more Steve learned about this century, the more a brutal, undeniable reality began to sink in. The battlefield he used to dominate no longer existed.
Fury closed the distance between them and calmly handed Steve a secure digital tablet. "This contains our current database of known Devil Fruit users," Fury said, his voice dropping an octave. "Take a look, Captain. You need to understand exactly what kind of battlefield you're stepping into."
Steve took the device and began to scroll.
The deeper he dug into the files, the heavier his expression became. Every new profile seemed to introduce another impossible, rule-breaking ability. Some didn't even look physically destructive at first glance, but Steve had spent enough time in the trenches to know that raw, explosive power wasn't the only way to win a war.
Sometimes, the most terrifying weapon wasn't the strongest. It was the one you couldn't counter. His eyes paused on one specific profile.
Name: Hope van Dyne
Devil Fruit: Liquid-Liquid Fruit
The file explained that she could move through solid objects as if they were nothing but water. Steve instantly recognized the absolute tactical nightmare that it posed. Walls, high-security vaults, prisons, heavily fortified military bases, suddenly, none of them meant a damn thing.
A few swipes later, another name caught his eye.
Name: Stick
Devil Fruit: Slow-Slow Fruit
An ability capable of drastically reducing the speed of moving objects. Steve frowned. It sounded almost simple. Until he actually imagined it in action, bullets freezing to a crawl in midair, missiles losing all momentum, tactical vehicles stalling out. Entire operations could collapse in seconds just because one person decided to rewrite the tempo of the battlefield.
The deeper he scrolled, the worse it got. There were fruits explicitly engineered for brutal, front-line combat. The Dice-Dice Fruit. The Steel-Steel Fruit. Abilities that literally turned the human body into a walking blade or a living metal fortress.
And those were just the wildcards S.H.I.E.L.D. actually managed to track down.
The truly alarming part was that the list was far from finished. Every single day, more people were buying from the Home of the Devil Fruit. Every single day, a terrifying new superpower emerged. The world was becoming completely unpredictable.
A suffocating weight settled right onto Steve's shoulders. Could a team consisting of just himself and Clint Barton actually manage a world like this? Was it even realistic to try to keep the peace when new superhumans were being born on a daily basis?
After a long, tense silence, Steve lowered the tablet. He looked across the quiet room straight at Fury. "Nick," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "If this is what we're up against... then I'm not the right person to lead this unit."
Peggy snapped her head toward him, her eyes wide with surprise.
Steve didn't let anyone interrupt. "You don't need a soldier from the 1940s." He glanced back down at the glowing screen, at the list of living gods. "You need someone stronger than this. Someone more enhanced. Someone who can actually stand on equal footing with the people we're supposed to be policing."
He looked back up, deadpan. "You need a Devil Fruit User."
Fury didn't look shocked by the rejection. In fact, a faint, almost amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"No, Captain," Fury countered calmly. "You're exactly what this team needs."
Steve frowned, but Fury just crossed his arms.
"I get your concern," Fury said. "But there's one vital piece of information you're missing." He paused for effect. "S.H.I.E.L.D. still has enough resources in reserve to purchase another Devil Fruit."
The entire room went dead silent.
"And as far as I'm concerned," Fury continued, locking his single eye onto the super-soldier, "there isn't a single soul on this planet more deserving of that power than Steve Rogers."
Standing nearby, Peggy instantly saw right through it. This had been Fury's master plan from the very beginning. Give Captain America a Devil Fruit. Upgrade his power. Keep him relevant in this insane new era, and, in the process, chain the world's greatest hero even tighter to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s leash. It was brilliant, practical, and undeniably manipulative.
Steve stared at the tablet for a few long, agonizing seconds. Then he slowly held it out and handed it back to the Director.
"I appreciate the offer, Nick." His voice was perfectly polite, but it carried the weight of an iron wall. "But you should give that fruit to someone else."
Fury's eyebrow shot up.
Steve just shook his head. He didn't know the exact price tag on a high-grade Devil Fruit, but after seeing what they could do, he knew it had to be astronomically high. Peggy's medical restoration alone was a massive debt he was already struggling to carry.
Taking another miracle from Nick Fury? Accepting another colossal, life-altering favor from S.H.I.E.L.D.?
That wasn't who Steve Rogers was. He wouldn't sell his independence for power, not even if the entire world told him he needed it to survive.
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Next Chapter: The Dawn of the Registration Accords
Next Next Chapter: Beyond the Shield, A New Power for Steve Rogers
Next Next Next Chapter: The Price of Luck
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