During the weekend, George spent most of his time practicing new spells, occasionally taking time to learn about magical creatures from Hagrid and communicate with Hagrid's magical creatures telepathically.
He didn't see Harry and Ron during this period, reportedly because they were being punished for driving and crashing into the Whomping Willow earlier.
By the second week, he was still furiously accumulating points while absorbing as much magic knowledge as possible, learning and practicing new spells.
Meanwhile, on the Marvel side, after more than ten days of investigation, some clues gradually emerged.
That evening, George rode his modified motorcycle from the Mutant School in the suburbs to Bronx, which was closer to the city.
On the way, he encountered a checkpoint and showed his expensive fake ID to bluff his way through.
During these ten-plus days of investigation, besides roughly understanding the situation of dozens of large and small families in Bronx, he also paid a high price for a local fake ID provider to get him a false identity.
Of course, this fake identity could only fool ordinary Police in daily life; it definitely wouldn't work against those from the Central Intelligence Agency, S.H.I.E.L.D., or the National Investigation Bureau.
Not to mention using this identity to open an account, deposit the money he acquired, and then use it to buy Stark shares.
So, he never intended to buy Stark shares himself from the start; his body was a product of a laboratory, with no identification whatsoever, and fake IDs wouldn't allow him to bluff his way through.
He needed to find a proxy, but he couldn't just pick anyone.
First, this person needed to have a certain status and position; otherwise, helping him buy Stark shares might arouse suspicion and attract the attention of various organizations.
Actually, he felt that even if he plundered all the gangs in the entire Bronx, and used all the cash to buy shares in Stark Industries, it would still be a drop in the ocean for a giant like Stark Industries.
After all, what he could plunder was cash, at most forcing those bosses to withdraw liquid funds from their accounts; it was impossible to take all the gang's assets.
Perhaps this cash, for the poorest and most chaotic Bronx, was already an astronomical figure, but for Stark Industries, it might not even compare to the value of the artworks in Tony Stark's mansion.
The money of truly wealthy people is unimaginable to the poor.
A single painting in Tony Stark's room might be worth hundreds of millions, but for him, hundreds of millions were actually completely enough for him to provide a stable life for those Mutant children.
He didn't need to cause big trouble now, nor did he need to confront various organizations; he just needed a stable life to study magic properly and improve his strength.
If he wasn't worried about the Chitauri invasion a few years later, and if the Avengers failed to resist, leading to the fall of the entire Earth, then he wouldn't be staying near New York.
Secondly, this proxy must have ties to Bronx and cannot leave here; otherwise, with so much money for the other party to manage, if they just absconded with the funds, where would he find them?
People die for wealth, and birds for food; he didn't believe that a few months of acquaintance would make someone loyal to him; he didn't possess that kind of domineering aura.
Fortunately, these ten-plus days were not wasted; he had gradually identified a potentially viable target.
Today was a good day to watch a good show; if all went well, the proxy could be confirmed.
After parking his motorcycle, he found an empty alley, put on a black robe to cover his body, donned the most common mask easily bought on the roadside, and fully activated his ability.
His specially made shoes with iron plates immediately lifted him, slowly floating him upwards into the alley.
After this period of development, especially influenced by the Wizard Bloodline, his control over magnetism had improved significantly; he could barely control objects weighing over a hundred pounds.
This had already exceeded the initial assessment of his potential limit by the laboratory Base.
If he encountered X-24 now, with his ability, he could easily toy with him; over a hundred pounds could make X-24, covered in Adamantium, unstable when walking.
So, with full activation, he could barely make his special iron-plated shoes carry him into the air.
Of course, the speed was, to put it mildly, slower than walking; in combat, he would be a definite sitting duck.
But in certain specific situations, it was still very useful.
For example, now, he could easily get onto rooftops, moving above them to avoid various surveillance and sightlines, making it very easy to infiltrate tightly sealed areas, and it was not easy to track him.
On the seventh-floor rooftop of the strip club controlled by the Chebel Family, a seventy-something-year-old man in a wheelchair looked at the middle-aged man, who was beaten to a pulp, and said with some regret:
"Leon, you are truly excellent, and I genuinely thought highly of you, always treating you like a godson.
Unfortunately, today you must die here."
"Mr. Che Bi'er, I truly didn't betray you; I was framed! I've always treated you like a father; how could I possibly betray you? You must believe me!"
The middle-aged man, his face covered in blood, struggled to get up, desperately trying to prove his loyalty.
He was originally the child of an addict; his mother secretly left when he was young, unable to bear the hopeless life.
At thirteen, he accidentally saved Mr. Che Bi'er, who was being pursued by a rival family, and from then on, he was appreciated by Mr. Che Bi'er and joined the Chebel Family's power, living the life he dreamed of.
For thirty years, he used his intelligence and wisdom to wholeheartedly assist the Chebel Family, developing from a small family to one of the thirteen families in Bronx today.
However, just one assassination attempt led to him being executed as the mastermind behind the attempt to seize control of the Chebel Family, and he was truly unwilling to accept it.
He had a beautiful wife who loved him, many brothers with whom he had faced life and death, and a newborn, adorable daughter; he had dedicated most of his life to this family.
"I know you didn't betray me; that assassination was a play I directed myself, otherwise, with your current position and prestige in the family, I really wouldn't have been able to execute you like this."
Che Bi'er sighed, his eyes somewhat complex.
Hearing Che Bi'er's words, Leon's eyes suddenly widened, and he murmured in disbelief:
"Why? Why would you do this?"
"I had no choice; I'm old, and the Doctor said that with my body full of injuries, I only have two years left to live at most.
But my son just turned twenty and has just taken over the family's affairs; his abilities and reputation are still immature in all aspects."
Che Bi'er coughed, looking at Leon with a hint of sadness; he wasn't without affection for Leon, but no matter how capable Leon was, and no matter how mediocre his own son was, he could never allow Leon the possibility of replacing his son.
"You're worried I might replace the Young Master in the future, but you should understand my loyalty to you; I would never do such a thing!"
Leon slumped onto the ground, as if all the strength had been drained from his body.
Che Bi'er pushed his wheelchair forward and shook his head:
"Leon, I trust your character, but I don't trust your subordinates.
This position of mine, sometimes, is not something you can choose not to take; your subordinates will push you into it."
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