Ryden buried himself in his work, a spark of inspiration hitting him.
He thought he found a solution to the energy problem.
If nuclear fusion was too radioactive, maybe he could use high-temperature hydrogen-amine fission as a secondary new energy source!
His group watched him tensely.
Was he really going this far?
When the bell rang, Ryden was still lost in formulas.
Terrence had to shake him.
"Hey, wake up! You said we were buying parts. Let's go before we get locked in the lab!"
Ryden snapped out of it.
The hallways were already flooding with students eager to leave.
Only he, Terrence, and the beautiful Dia remained in the room.
"Goodbye, Teacher! See you next week! Have a great weekend!" Ryden packed up, glancing at his crush.
He knew the fastest way to win a woman was money and talent—Tony Stark was proof of that.
Dia smiled warmly.
"Thank you. Don't forget to review while you're out having fun!"
Terrence froze.
He had never seen Dia smile; she was always an "ice queen." He didn't know she could be so beautiful! Ryden had to tug him away before he started drooling.
Outside, Terrence gasped.
"Ryden, did you see that? She smiled! So pretty!"
Ryden remained calm.
"What's the use of looking? Winning her over is what matters. School's almost over—where are you planning to go?"
Terrence sighed.
Racial discrimination was still a thing, though not as bad as a century ago.
"I'll probably go to the Third Vocational School and join the army in a few years. I'm not a genius like you. I'm counting on you to pull me up later! Come over for dinner tonight; your house is empty anyway."
"Fine, haha. Let's hurry before Rocca spots us."
Rocca was a white supremacist who thought he was superior.
He bullied anyone without a background.
Ryden's "mad scientist" reputation and the "big explosion" had kept him safe so far.
Down the street, they saw Rocca and his goons bullying a scrawny boy, making him kneel while Rocca stepped on his head.
The streets were filled with ragged homeless people waiting for relief.
It was the Great Depression.
America's war profits from WWI had caused global financial imbalances, leading to a crash.
Factories closed, and workers were laid off.
On Wall Street, people were jumping off buildings every day.
The crisis also bred crime.
Walking down alleys meant getting mugged or worse.
Old Forest Street was the place for electronics.
During the Depression, everything was cheap due to overproduction.
McCorkle Building was the biggest wholesaler for electronic parts, even supplying the military.
Ryden and Terrence swept through the shops.
Ryden would buy something and toss it to Terrence before heading to the next.
Starters, high-density coils, insulation tape, resistors—the limits of 1930s tech.
He even found a decent vacuum tube circuit board—the heart of primitive computers!
Ryden bought in bulk.
He carried the important parts, while the wires and resistors were scheduled for delivery.
The shop owner only agreed because Ryden paid with shiny gold US dollars.
In this era, fifty dollars was more attractive than the most handsome face.
Terrence was huffing under sixty pounds of parts.
"Are you done? Save some money for food! My house doesn't have that much to eat!"
As they left the building, they bumped into a very thin man and a weary but gentle middle-aged woman.
With one glance, Ryden recognized them: the future Captain America!
He looked exactly like the movies—scrawny, but with eyes full of a steely confidence that no serum could provide.
They were carrying a black-and-white TV, looking to sell it.
They looked malnourished, their clothes old and patched.
Ryden had a thought: Being a hero is hard, but knowing one is great.
He'd let the Avengers handle the "saving the world" stuff while he scavenged alien tech and chased girls.
"Excuse me, are you selling that TV?"
Sarah stopped, looking at the boys—one Black, one a handsome mixed-race youth.
"Yes, can we help you, young man?" Her good breeding kept her polite even when interrupted.
Steve looked at them curiously, staying behind his mother.
"I'm Ryden Hunt, a student at Brooklyn Second Middle, and this is Terrence. I'm doing some experiments and need parts. If you're selling, I can buy it directly. You'll get a better price than a pawn shop, and I'll pay less than a retail store. Can I see it?"
Ryden's offer was impossible to refuse.
Sarah hesitated but put the TV down.
"It's our family's TV. I lost my job recently and need money to live. It's only a year old."
Ryden checked it.
"Not bad. I'll give you a hundred dollars. A shop would only give you fifty or sixty, and a new one costs me over a hundred fifty. It's a win-win. What do you think?"
A professional, fair offer.
Sarah nodded.
"Alright, but we need cash."
"No problem. But I need a favor: can you help me deliver this to my house? It's not far, on Blue Street. I spent my carrying money on parts, so I need to go home to get your cash. If you trust me, please follow me."
Sarah hesitated, fearing the high crime rate.
But Steve stepped forward, clutching the TV.
"It's okay, Mother. They're just students. Let's go, it won't take long."
Seeing her son's determination, Sarah agreed.
Terrence, the designated mule, carried his heavy bag while Steve carried the TV.
Blue Street was a suburban area of Brooklyn for the lower-middle class.
Ryden lived in a newly repaired three-story wooden house.
He lived alone; his sister worked at the police station and was rarely home.
Ryden hadn't even met her since his reincarnation.
"Make yourself at home. Sorry for the mess. Hey, Terrence, drop the stuff and go home. Tell Mrs. Rhodes to save a plate for me! Thanks!"
Ryden showed the guests in and went upstairs for the money.
Terrence dropped the parts, panting.
"Ryden, you vampire! Give me my commission! And you're crashing at my house again without even giving me a glass of water!" He grumbled and left.
Steve looked around the house, envious of the space.
He noticed the strange mechanical gadgets on the tables.
Ryden came down, gave Sarah the cash, and poured them coffee.
"Please count it. Also, if you're interested, I have a job for you."
Sarah confirmed the bills were real.
"What kind of job, sir?" In this economy, five thousand people would interview for fifty jobs.
She desperately needed work.
"How many people in your family? What's your experience? Name and age?" Ryden asked, looking like a professional recruiter.
"My name is Sarah Rogers, I'm forty. This is my son, Steve Roders. I used to be a nurse at a private clinic, but it closed. I can bandage wounds, cook, and care for the elderly!" She was nervous; this was her family's lifeline.
Ryden nodded.
"Where's your husband?"
Sarah's eyes dimmed.
Steve answered, "He passed away. He was a soldier in the 107th, died from mustard gas in the Great War."
Ryden feigned surprise.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. A war hero's family. That makes me feel even better about this."
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