Coulson's face almost couldn't maintain its composure.
He had seen greedy politicians, warlords who treated human lives like grass, and lunatics who clamored to bomb Manhattan flat.
But no one, under the shadow of S.H.I.E.L.D., that colossal state machine, and knowing their every secret had been dug up, could still be so righteous, even with a hint of condescension, to retort with, "Can you afford it?"
This was no longer a matter of courage.
This was an arrogance bordering on commercial instinct, precisely linking one's own value to risk.
"Mr. Rodriguez,"
Coulson took a deep breath, as if rebooting the smile program for his facial muscles.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s budget, theoretically, has no upper limit. We only care if the service you provide is worth the price."
"My service is non-negotiable."
William leaned back in his chair, and the confrontational pressure instantly vanished.
He won this round.
With a single sentence, he completed the class leap from "suspect awaiting interrogation" to "potential client."
He didn't touch the black card; whoever reached out first lost face.
These were the rules of the card table.
"I will prepare a proposal and a quote."
William wiped his mouth with a napkin, stood up, and straightened his suit.
"Contact me when your budget is approved."
He picked up his briefcase from the floor.
"I hope next time we're discussing terms, not life ideals, Mr. Coulson."
He left with a perfect business smile, turning to walk away with a swagger, as if he had just rejected a minor deal worth hundreds of millions.
Coulson didn't move, merely watching William's back disappear through the doorway, his smile slowly fading, his gaze deep, as if recalculating an uncontrolled variable.
He picked up the ignored black card and twirled it between his fingers.
Stepping out of the cafe, the clamor of New York's streets washed over him.
Car horns, pedestrian chatter, the distant construction noise from a building site, all blended into a vibrant, chaotic symphony.
William inhaled a breath of the free air, mixed with exhaust fumes and hot dog scent; the earlier confrontation had drained every brain cell.
The adrenaline slowly receded, leaving only the exhaustion of having survived a close call.
He hadn't been selling insurance; he had been selling his life.
Using his own life to leverage S.H.I.E.L.D.'s budget.
High-level business warfare often only requires the most basic recklessness.
S.H.I.E.L.D. dared not gamble.
He himself dared not gamble either.
Now, he had another troublesome matter to deal with.
A troublesome matter he had personally promised, concerning "neighborhood harmony."
Half an hour later, William stood in an security equipment flagship store with a minimalist, futuristic design.
The air was filled with the cold scent of metal and circuit boards.
"Sir, what kind of door are you looking for?"
A sales manager in a crisp uniform and a welcoming smile approached him.
"Sturdy," William said concisely.
"All our products are extremely sturdy, made from aerospace-grade composite materials…"
"When I say sturdy, I mean," William paused, recalling Jessica's earth-shattering kick and the door that flew off like a piece of paper, "sturdy enough to withstand a charging rhino or a direct hit from a small armored vehicle."
The sales manager's professional smile instantly froze: "Sir… do you live in a Hell's Kitchen themed community?"
"No, I just have an ex whose temper is a bit explosive."
William bluffed without batting an eye.
"And her way of opening doors is very… creative."
The sales manager's expression instantly filled with sympathetic understanding, conveying, "I get it, I totally get it."
William ignored his rich inner monologue and began to pace around the showroom. His Mechanical Induction quietly activated; within a fifty-meter radius, every door in his sight became a translucent structural blueprint.
He could "feel" their internal lock core structures, "sense" the density and stress distribution of the alloy frames, and even "hear" the "breathing" of the high-strength ceramic bulletproof plates hidden within the door panels.
"This one won't do; the lock core design is flawed. A high-frequency vibrator could crack it in three seconds."
"This one's door hinge is a weak point; the structural stress is too concentrated. It would break open here first during a forced entry."
"This one… looks good on the outside but is rotten on the inside. They skimped on materials; it's flashy but impractical."
He was like a critical art critic, appraising one expensive "artwork" after another, leaving the sales manager beside him utterly bewildered.
Finally, his gaze fell on an unassuming, dull black metal door in the corner.
"This is the one."
In his eyes, that door was like a miniature fortress.
Inside was a honeycomb titanium alloy keel, filled with shear-thickening fluid, and the exterior was covered with a layer of composite armor mixed with tungsten carbide particles.
The lock was an electromagnetically driven multi-point linkage, requiring both iris and voiceprint verification to open.
"Sir, this is our 'Hell's Kitchen' special custom model…"
The sales manager's expression was a bit strange.
"It's usually sold to… uh, clients with special security needs. And it requires an independent power supply; the built-in Sentinel mode cameras and non-lethal electric shock defense modules consume a lot of power."
"Perfect." William pulled out the black card.
"This is it. I need your fastest installation service. The address is…"
He gave Barbara Miller's apartment address.
Looking at the cost on the bill, William felt a bit of a loss.
But he quickly adjusted his mindset.
This wasn't spending money; this was "risk management expenditure."
Just as he signed his name, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
The caller ID was the note he had given it—"Neighbor Little Spider (To Be Developed)."
William's face immediately switched back to the friendly and amiable insurance consultant mode.
"Hey, Peter, no class today?"
Peter Parker's characteristic, vibrant youthful voice came from the other end of the line.
There was also a hint of wind in the background.
"Mr. William! I'm about to go somewhere super cool! I got a tour pass for the Oscorp headquarters!"
"That's great, Peter."
William's voice remained gentle, but his gaze was already unfocused, as if piercing through time and space.
A series of keywords automatically bolded and highlighted in red in his mind:
Oscorp.
Norman Osborn.
Green Goblin.
Genetic modification.
Spider.
"Don't worry, Mr. William! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"
Peter said excitedly on the other end.
"Oh, by the way, Mr. William, when I get back, can I talk to you about my new invention? The kind that feels like it could be patented!"
"You're always welcome."
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