Seeing the cold sweat forming on John Wick's forehead, Smith simply smiled and said nothing.
Meanwhile, Fox couldn't help but roast him inwardly: This guy can really spin a tale. Since when was the Brotherhood's mission to "observe and guide"? Still, she couldn't help but wonder—are the Dragon Balls real? Can they really grant any wish?
Why does John believe so deeply? Is it really because of that crystal orb?
But John paid no mind to the sweat on his brow. He asked:
"I… I just want to bring my wife, Helen, back."
"So? Have I passed your test?"
Smith chuckled and replied:
"The evaluation is still ongoing."
Hearing this, John stood and said:
"Then I hope I pass. For now, I need to take care of something personal."
For John, the matter of his dog and car—Helen's last gifts—had to be dealt with. It wasn't just about revenge. If he abandoned the fight midway, the Brotherhood might not deem him worthy, and Viggo and Iosef Tarasov would only continue to be obstacles in his path.
Smith nodded gently:
"Handle your personal matters. Your observation continues."
"Thank you."
John gave a nod of gratitude and left the room.
Once the door was shut and they confirmed no one was nearby, Fox turned her gaze to Smith, sizing him up:
"God, was all that true?"
Smith grinned:
"Partly."
Fox's eyes widened.
"So the Dragon Balls are real?"
Smith nodded.
Even though she had suspected as much, the confirmation left her stunned.
"As for the rest… well, it's about to become true soon enough."
Fox paused, then asked:
"If they are real… don't you want to make a wish?"
Smith shook his head:
"I don't need to."
Fox opened her mouth to say something, but then decided against it. After a few seconds of silence, she said:
"You really live up to the title of 'God'. Your realm of thought is too far above us."
Smith didn't bother explaining. After all, the Dragon Balls were born of his own power. There was no wish he needed granted. What Shenron couldn't do, he could not do either. And what he could do, he didn't need Shenron for.
Armed with foreknowledge of the Marvel Universe, he already held the upper hand.
Smith pulled out his phone and dialed Winston.
The call was picked up within seconds.
"Smith. Calling an old man at this hour is deeply rude."
Smith smirked:
"Winston, someone broke the rules of the Continental."
"As a kind soul, I thought I'd help clean up the trash."
The voice on the other end turned instantly serious:
"Are you sure someone broke the rules?"
"What exactly did they do?"
Smith glanced at Perkins, still bound in the chair.
"She went after John Wick's bounty. Tried to kill him inside the hotel."
"The hallway cameras should be enough to prove it."
Without waiting for a reply, Smith drew his pistol and shot Perkins in the head.
Bang!
The shot rang out, and she slumped over, dead.
There was a three-second silence on the line before Winston said:
"Understood."
Smith ended the call and muttered:
"I wasn't going to babysit this one until sunrise. We've got more important things to do."
Fox rolled her eyes:
"Let me guess—you noticed she woke up and was eavesdropping?"
Smith nodded:
"That pounding heart gave her away. Seems the Dragon Ball talk got her a bit too excited."
"Let's head to Little Russia and see how John handles things."
The two left the Continental. Not long after, Winston arrived with staff, inspected both rooms, and removed Perkins' body.
Before sunrise, Smith and Fox reached a church near Little Russia, one of Viggo Tarasov's strongholds.
It housed crucial assets: bribery records, leverage on politicians, and large sums of cash.
After scouting the area, the two found what seemed to be John's target warehouse, then positioned themselves on a rooftop—high visibility, low exposure.
Morning came.
With binoculars, Fox spotted John Wick, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, walking into the church.
"Smith, he's here."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Gunshots rang out—the Baba Yaga had begun his carnage.
Smith took out a second-generation scouter from his system inventory and activated it.
4… 5… 5… 4… 3…
Huh. The Russian mob really has some weaklings.
Let's see what John Wick's power level is…
6.
Higher than expected.
Stronger than the average weakling by a little bit, Smith thought with a grin.
John's shots were precise and lethal. He moved fluidly, with no wasted words or motions. No posturing, no grandstanding. Just efficient, silent death.
That, more than anything, was what made Smith bring Fox along for this performance.
Meanwhile, Fox had stopped watching the carnage. Her eyes were locked onto the device Smith wore.
"Smith, what is that thing? I've never seen it before."
Smith gestured to the device.
"It's a power level scouter. It detects energy and displays a person's combat strength as a number."
(End of Chapter)
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