Tony had left, but Steve stayed behind.
"Any other plans for tonight? I'm not too fond of this place want to grab a drink somewhere else?"
"Sorry, Captain. I have an interview on The Tonight Show tonight," Marcus Lee replied.
"A talk show?" Steve frowned. "That… entertainment show? Are you sure? They ask some… pretty strange questions."
"I know," Marcus said with a smile. "But people have the right to know their hero, don't they? Steve, we can't hide behind masks forever."
Steve nodded thoughtfully.
"…Maybe you're right."
Ding! Special popularity +2000!
Marcus thought: Getting Old Pops' approval was easier than expected.
Soon after, he donated £100 million at the charity gala, achieving massive success, skyrocketing into the next stage of his rise.
He understood perfectly well the importance of image.
"Damn…" Tony muttered under his breath, watching him leave, taking another gulp of champagne. "I hate that guy. One day, I swear, I'll build an anti-Patriot suit and smash that smug smile into pulp."
"Sorry, Mr. Stark, I'm afraid you'll have to wait in line," a cold female voice said behind him.
Natasha Romanov approached, martini in hand, her eyes fixed on Marcus's departing figure.
"Well, look who it is my dear Nat," Tony raised an eyebrow. "So you want to 'teach him a lesson' too?"
Natasha ignored his insinuation, speaking directly. "Fury's assessment is correct. He… is dangerous. More dangerous than Loki and the Hulk combined."
"Dangerous? No, no, he's just a show-off," Tony waved dismissively.
"Tony, he's too perfect. And in this world… nothing is truly perfect."
"Unless," Natasha took a sip, leaving a crescent of red lipstick on the glass rim, "he's faking it."
"…Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back! Honestly, I never imagined I'd get him on the show please welcome… the Patriot!"
In the Tonight Show studio, applause and screams nearly blew the roof off.
Amid heavy metal music and a wave of cheers, Marcus Lee, in his indestructible uniform and radiant smile, strode onto the stage.
"Wow! Wow! Please, have a seat!" Jimmy exaggeratedly fanned himself. "My goodness, the Patriot right here in my studio! This is insane!"
"Thank you, Jimmy. It's a pleasure to be here," Marcus replied, sitting gracefully.
"No, no, thank you!" Jimmy clutched his chest. "Seriously, man, this outfit you always dress like this?"
"Pretty much," Marcus said with a friendly boy-next-door smile. "It's… comfortable. And, you know, always ready."
Friendly laughter rippled through the crowd.
"Ha! Always on call! Fantastic!" Jimmy shouted. "You chase criminals, I chase guests so the question everyone wants to know is…"
He leaned in mysteriously.
"Can you really fly, or is it like Stark using some kind of propulsion?"
"Hmm…" Marcus glanced at the ceiling, then slowly stood from the sofa in full view of the audience.
He hovered half a meter above the ground.
The studio erupted.
"My God! He can fly!"
"So cool!"
Ding! Popularity +541!
Ding! Popularity +632!
Marcus slowly descended, shrugging. "Sometimes, it's better than dealing with New York traffic."
The studio roared again.
"Wow." Jimmy wiped his nonexistent sweat. "Patriot, you're the first guest to actually fly here. Amazing."
"We all know you, Anthony Starr. You survived that terrible maritime disaster, disappeared for a year, and now return as a hero… can you tell us what happened during that year?"
The question was part of the carefully crafted script by the Watt Company PR team.
Marcus's face displayed the perfect blend of confusion and resolve.
"Jimmy… honestly, much of it… is… blurry."
"I only remember the icy water. I thought I was dead. But… I survived and received this gift or curse."
He began to tell his trademark, deliberately vague story.
"It took me a long time to control it. I didn't dare come back; I was afraid… afraid I would become a monster."
The studio fell silent; the camera zoomed in for a close-up.
"Then came the Battle of New York." His voice was low and powerful. "I saw a giant hole in the sky, saw people crying. In that moment, I understood."
"I came back to protect them."
"Wow…" Jimmy was visibly moved.
"You're not a monster, Patriot," he said earnestly. "You are… an angel. Our guardian angel."
Ding! Popularity +1245!
Ding! Popularity +1058!
Ding! Popularity +1178!
Marcus's face held the perfect, heartfelt smile.
"Thank you, Jimmy."
The talk show was an overwhelming success.
Overnight, Marcus Lee's image as grounded, witty, and justice-loving hero swept across America.
Watt immediately arranged the next publicity event: visiting children who had lost parents in the Battle of New York.
Next, he arrived at the central location for the photo event St. Agnes Children's Hospital.
It housed children injured in the conflict.
The director rushed forward to greet him. "Oh, Mr. Patriot! Your arrival… is truly a blessing from God!"
"I should do this, ma'am." His voice was warm and gentle.
He walked into the activity room, and the children instantly quieted.
They looked at the stranger with awe and respect, tempered with a hint of fear.
Marcus's eyes scanned the room.
Suddenly, his gaze locked onto a small girl in the corner.
Weak and wrapped in a blanket, still traumatized months later, clutching a brand-new Patriot doll.
The actor radar in his mind pinged.
"She's the one."
He knew exactly what to do.
Slowly, calmly, he approached and knelt in front of her.
He remained silent, kneeling until his massive frame was level with hers.
"Sweetheart, what's your name?" His voice could melt snow.