Herman sidestepped the strike with ease.
The move clearly caught Natasha off guard.
"Who… are you!?"
The young Black Widow's expression twisted into a mix of shock and suspicion.
She hadn't seen how Herman reacted—only that he had suddenly shifted backward several meters as if space itself had bent around him. The sight, faster than her eyes could follow, made her heart skip a beat.
What just happened?
Natasha couldn't make sense of it. Her mind raced with unease and speculation.
Could this man be one of those bioengineered soldiers her Red Room instructor had mentioned?
Her gaze hardened, sharp and wary, as the thought sank in. Instinct told her he might have been sent to capture her.
"Who am I?" Herman raised an eyebrow, a faint, amused smile tugging at his lips. "Before asking that, shouldn't you introduce yourself first?"
Compared to the Black Widow he knew from the future, this younger Natasha was clearly still raw—her cunning and composure not yet fully honed.
A question like "Who are you?" was meaningless.
Her eyes, alert and fierce like a cornered wildcat's, locked with his for a tense moment.
Then—she moved.
At what she believed was blinding speed, Natasha's gaze flicked sharply to one side. When Herman "fell for it" and looked in that direction, she suddenly bolted the other way, sprinting full-force toward his SUV. Within seconds, she was at the driver's door.
Clearly, she was rattled by Herman's earlier display—whatever he'd done was enough to convince her she couldn't take him head-on. So instead, she decided to steal his car and make a run for it.
From diverting his attention to reaching her target, her movements were smooth, trained, and efficient—clearly the result of years of grueling conditioning.
And to her credit, it worked.
With Herman seemingly distracted, she reached the SUV's door exactly as planned.
But then—
No matter how hard she yanked the handle, the door wouldn't budge.
What the…?
She was certain she'd seen the engine running before!
Confusion clouded her mind. Somehow, the vehicle had turned itself off, completely contradicting what she'd observed moments ago.
Broad daylight… and now the car was acting possessed? Was she hallucinating?
Staring at the SUV for a few seconds, she finally turned toward Herman, her expression a mix of disbelief and frustration.
"Were you trying to steal my car?"
Herman lifted his hand.
The SUV's keys dangled from his fingers.
Vroom—
With a light press of his thumb, the engine roared back to life, the custom off-roader growling with mechanical power.
"Ah!?"
Natasha froze in utter shock.
In the World War II era, technology like this simply didn't exist.
"Sorry," Herman said casually, "my car has remote control capabilities."
He pressed the key again, and the SUV's engine cut off smoothly. Natasha's stunned expression deepened—wide-eyed and slack-jawed, like someone seeing modern technology for the first time.
And for her, that was literally true.
No matter how skilled a WWII spy was, there was no way she could understand technology that hadn't even been invented yet.
"I need your help…"
Natasha suddenly snapped out of her daze, glancing nervously toward the jungle. Her face hardened.
"There are bad people after me—very bad people. If they see you, they'll kill us both without hesitation."
Realizing her attempt to hijack the vehicle had failed, she showed no embarrassment. Instead, she adapted immediately, trying to persuade Herman to take her with him.
She had already figured out he wasn't one of the Red Room's killers.
If he were, he wouldn't have wasted time talking.
The Red Room's agents—especially those trained under the Soviet banner—always preferred methods that were simple, direct, and lethal.
"You can take me with you. As long as I get out of here, I can give you a lot of money," Natasha said, making a hollow promise.
A war orphan raised by the Red Room… a lot of money, sure.
"Huh, that won't cut it. You couldn't even trick someone into sending you money on WeChat. You'd have better luck saying, 'Get me out of here and once I'm free, I'll summon an ancient ghost army and make you my commander,'" Herman said with a teasing grin.
Her words had reminded him of jokes from before his transmigration—like those about fake WeChat transfer scams or people claiming they needed 500 yuan for a taxi ride to resurrect an ancient general.
"???"
Foreign jokes about China.
Naturally, a war orphan born and raised in the Marvel Universe had no idea what any of that meant.
Natasha's forehead creased tightly, her face twisting in confusion, like someone constipated and bewildered at once. She couldn't make sense of a single thing the man was saying.
Did I just run into a lunatic? she wondered.
Her expression grew wary. Grinding her teeth, she decided to give up on the car and slip back into the forest instead. There was no helping it—Herman's strange abilities and behavior had unnerved her enough that she didn't dare make another move against him.
Hopefully this guy... can stall them for a little while, she thought.
However—
Before she could dash back into the woods, the young Black Widow froze in terror. From the treeline emerged four or five elderly women dressed in red, walking calmly onto the road. Each held a pistol in hand, the safeties already off.
"Damn it! They caught up too fast!"
Natasha felt her heart stop. Her face went pale as one of the women raised her gun, pointing it straight at her.
"I surrender!"
She knew exactly how powerful these instructors were. Without hesitation, she made the smartest possible choice—she threw up her hands and dropped to her knees with a thud.
That instant submission was so decisive that Herman couldn't help but be impressed.
Knows when to bend, huh?
Though… aren't you a little too good at it?
"Number Thirteen, you've disappointed us deeply. I've lost count of how many times you've tried to escape—only to fail so quickly every single time."
The red-clad matriarch at the front spoke fluent Russian, her gaze filled with mocking amusement and cold authority.
From the moment they appeared, none of the women had even looked at Herman. It was as if he didn't exist—just empty air.
"I just... wanted to take a walk nearby. I wasn't trying to escape."
Fear flickered in Natasha's eyes, but she forced herself to stay composed, putting on a fragile, pitiful look. She knew from experience—the more pathetic she appeared, the harsher the punishment would be when she was dragged back.
At the Red Room, escape attempts weren't punished for treason. They were treated as training exercises.
But even knowing that, many girls still tried to run. Because however small the chance, it was a chance.
Getting caught only meant torture—and what part of Red Room training wasn't torture anyway?
Natasha was no different from the others who still had enough of their humanity left to dream of freedom.
"You know we don't mind when you run," said the matriarch coldly. "But your execution this time was pitifully disappointing. You should have done better."
Her tone was frigid. The other women stared at Natasha with equal contempt—eyes filled with both disdain and cruel anticipation.
"I…"
Natasha wanted to explain. If she hadn't slipped and rolled onto the road, if that car hadn't nearly hit her, she might have actually escaped this time.
But the excuse died on her tongue.
She glanced nervously toward Herman, who stood nearby, seemingly stunned into silence.
Sigh.
Another innocent bystander… about to be dragged into her mess. And such a handsome one, too.
A pang of guilt pricked her chest. She was still just a girl then—one who hadn't yet hardened her heart into the steel it would later become.
The older women noticed the fleeting look she cast at Herman, their sharp eyes missing nothing.
"You need to learn a lesson," the lead instructor said with a cold sneer.
She lifted her pistol and aimed it squarely at Herman, who'd been quietly observing from the side.
"This man will pay for your failure. I just realized—you've never seen a human skull burst open while the body still screams."
Clearly, the Red Room instructor had no idea who—or what—she had just pointed a gun at.
...
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