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The most important reason Henry couldn't say out loud was simple:
Because she was Barbara Morse.
If she had approached him under a fake name, maybe Henry would've already fallen—
He'd probably be dizzy right now from how hard he'd have fallen.
A gorgeous blonde woman throwing herself at you?
That's something most men never get even once in their entire lives.
Who cares if there's a conspiracy behind it—
Sleep with her first, ask questions later!
But "Agent 19 of S.H.I.E.L.D.—Mockingbird" was far too famous in this Marvel universe.
Just like every named character:
Anyone with a name is trouble.
Even if today's Barbara Morse wasn't the legendary agent yet.
Henry didn't dare gamble she was merely a namesake. Treating her as the Mockingbird was far safer.
Besides…
What would a girl with such excellent conditions want from him?
By Western standards, sure—maybe she just wanted to "leave a memory" on the West Coast.
A little stamp in the passport of her romantic scrapbook.
But collecting "stamps" required mutual consent.
And after being politely rejected several times earlier this year, she still came back after a whole semester?
That's either ulterior motive or revenge.
Who would be dumb enough to touch a woman under those circumstances?
Facing a sugar-coated bullet—
Not everyone has the ability to eat the sugar and throw away the bullet.
If it explodes in your mouth mid-chew, who's to blame?
So no—Henry wasn't unresponsive because he was immune.
He simply calculated risk vs reward.
Seeing Barbara put on her best shocked-but-I-have-no-idea-what-you-mean expression, Henry continued:
"On the surface, I'm someone with zero appeal. I'm very aware of that.
"So the only thing that could attract a beauty like you… would be my unpublished abilities and identity.
"Which leads to the real question:
From what agency or what country are you a spy or operative?"
Even a still-green trainee like Barbara knew denial was pointless now.
She shook her head frantically.
"No no no, how could I be a spy or an agent? I just like your humor! And your knowledge—"
Her words were so weak even she didn't sound convinced.
Henry laughed.
"Sweetheart, if you were a graduate of some three-bit, dumpster-level high school, I might believe you.
"But Georgia Tech?
"You're telling me that a top-tier university is filled only with nerds and steroid-saturated athletes?
"No rich guys? No funny guys?
"And you want to claim 'knowledgeable' is what caught your eye?
"That's spitting on Georgia Tech's reputation."
He added casually:
"You'd be more believable if you claimed we met as kids, and I once helped chase away some little bullies. Something like that—that I could almost buy."
Barbara's eyes lit up—she clearly took it as a prompt.
"Right right! Actually, I was going to tell you—I grew up in LA, and when I was little we—"
"The whole 'I'm Gary's ex-wife's relative' thing is fake too, isn't it."
Henry cut in.
If Barbara still didn't realize she'd been exposed, she might as well not have a brain.
She quickly composed herself, her face returning to its sharp, calculating calm.
"So… am I going to walk out of this forest alive?"
Henry snorted.
"Things haven't reached that point.
"And Gary knows I brought you out here—
If you don't go back, I'm Suspect Number One.
I'm not dumb enough to make trouble for myself."
"Oh.
So my safety is guaranteed then."
"I don't lose anything by letting you go.
Just… don't focus your organization's attention on me.
There's no point."
Barbara nodded.
"Because of confidentiality, I can't reveal much. But I can say this much—we represent the official side.
We work for justice and world peace.
Even so… you still resist us?"
Henry chuckled.
**"Justice is a matter of perspective.
Peace requires everyone's cooperation.
Don't you think those two ideas directly contradict each other?
"Unless the 'peace' you mean is the kind where everyone kneels under your version of justice.
Slavery in the name of righteousness.
"In that case, your organization might as well follow all those TV villains and loudly declare—
'I WILL CONQUER THE WORLD.'"**
Young, inexperienced Barbara—her worldview still soft and unset—was utterly shaken.
Henry wasn't attacking her.
He was attacking her conviction.
She scratched her head anxiously, trying to find a counterargument.
But with this kind of rhetorical trap, following the opponent's logic only dragged you deeper.
Like struggling in a net—the more you fight, the tighter it wraps.
Just like dealing with an online troll:
The only two winning responses were—
1. Real-life confrontation
2. Cursing them into silence
Stephen Chow style:
No matter what nonsense the other person says, respond with:
"Your mom."
But Barbara wasn't a netizen, nor had this era birthed full-blown keyboard warriors.
All she could squeeze out was:
"Aren't you a patriot?"
The term Patriot held a unique meaning in a nation founded by rebels who rebranded themselves as righteous.
Without that moral mask, the Founding Fathers were simply traitors who betrayed their homeland and ran away.
Henry sighed.
"I just happened to be here, that's all."
He woke up in Alaska.
Worked on a crab boat to earn his first money.
Got legal status through Old Tom.
He never "chose" America.
He simply got swept along by circumstance.
If he'd woken up in Norway, Britain, Australia, New Zealand, or anywhere else where he could stay legally—
He would've stayed.
Barbara heard this answer—not satisfying, but not hostile either.
Since the counterculture movement of the 60s, hippies had challenged every foundation of American patriotism.
Anti-war, anti-establishment, anti-authority.
Were they Americans?
Yes.
Just not the kind wearing red-white-and-blue underwear.
These days, the only people still shouting "Patriot!" were rednecks and the ruling elite—
And the latter required loyalty exams just to rise in rank.
Barbara worked for the latter kind.
Bringing Henry into the fold wasn't just Nick Fury's order—
It was also her wish.
But Henry had just kicked away the staircase she'd hoped he'd climb.
What else could she do?
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