"Pah! You worthless piece of garbage! You think you can escape me?" Logan scrambled out of the heap of debris, shaking off the residual dust and smoke like a wet dog. He looked toward where Frank had been running, ready to tear into the Punisher with renewed, gamma-infused vengeance, only to stop short.
Frank Castle was standing there, utterly still, a statue carved from rage, frozen mid-sprint.
"Huh? What in the…" Logan blinked, his feral senses already detecting the impossible stillness in the man's muscle tension and breathing. He quickly recognized the familiar, debilitating state. A grudging annoyance replaced his fury. Logan knew this was beyond his pay grade—this was the precise, debilitating touch of his boss.
"Get lost, you grumpy old bastard. Go back inside. I'll handle the cleanup." Huang Wen's voice, quiet and crisp, materialized right next to Logan's ear, sounding like a thought that wasn't quite his own. "Causing this much noise in the middle of the night—really, the lack of courtesy is astounding. You just don't launch grenades in the street! How incredibly rude."
"This guy? Manners? You're joking," Logan grumbled, glancing vaguely in the direction the voice came from. "He's known for breaking every rule, including the laws of physics if he could. As long as the target drops, he doesn't care about the collateral damage." He knew, however, that arguing was useless. Frank was locked up tighter than a drum.
Logan grunted a confirmation that Huang Wen was unlikely to hear but understood nonetheless. He turned and began moving toward the Wing Chun Kwoon, his sharp instincts telling him this whole encounter was about to get complicated—and messy—and he'd rather let the young master deal with the paperwork.
Meanwhile, Huang Wen, still completely invisible, issued his command to the armored tuxedo. Like a phantom, a long, thick length of black cloth—more akin to flexible polymer webbing than fabric—shot out from the tuxedo's sleeve and expertly wrapped around Frank Castle, securing him from head to toe.
With the Punisher firmly bound, Huang Wen deactivated Frank's paralysis and instantly engaged the invisibility field around them both.
Frank, though internally screaming, was utterly powerless.
What in the hell is happening? I can't move! I can't even clench my jaw, much less scream or draw a sidearm! Frank's world had gone from hyper-violent pursuit to a dizzying zero-G paralysis in the blink of an eye. Mutants? Is this some kind of high-level psychic power? Old Wolf's accomplices? How can Chinatown suddenly be crawling with this kind of advanced threat?
He felt the strange, constricting cloth wrap around him—cold, smooth, and shockingly strong. Then, the feeling of being lifted, effortlessly suspended in the air.
I'm being carried. And the cloth... it's not just holding me, it's wrapping me like a cocoon. Is this meant to prevent me from seeing faces? Seeing where I'm going?
Frank Castle was a man whose mental fortress had withstood years of combat, torture, and unimaginable grief. His mental fortitude was Legendary, his willpower truly Exceptional. If human determination alone could break a lock, Frank would have exploded out of the binding instantly.
But the power holding him—the Sunflower Acupressure Technique channeled by Huang Wen's Peak Extraordinary internal energy—was beyond the realm of human physiology. It was essentially a spiritual lock applied to physical nerves, a force that required not willpower, but an equal level of internal energy to counteract. Frank was fighting a ghost with a feather.
Huang Wen, now a silently floating figure carrying a bundled invisible package, sailed effortlessly through his second-story window. He landed lightly, deactivated the invisibility for himself and the Punisher, and felt the familiar, sweet chime of the system in his head.
"Ding! Mission to capture Punisher Frank complete. Reward: One draw for the Superhuman prize."
A wide, genuine smile broke out on Huang Wen's face. Superhuman! Not just Mortal, not just Extraordinary—but Superhuman! The reward was disproportionately rich for the target.
Frank Castle was deadly, yes, but he was fundamentally a mortal man who had merely broken the human limit barrier. Logan, the Wolverine, was truly Legendary-tier due to the Adamantium and the healing factor, yet his task only yielded Mortal-tier items.
Why the massive disparity? Huang Wen immediately theorized. Perhaps it's not the inherent power of the target, but the nature of the task. The mission involving Logan had merely been a friendly, pre-arranged sparring match—a low-stakes exchange between acquaintances.
The mission involving Frank was a hostile capture against a dangerous individual actively engaging in combat, necessary to halt an illegal action that could destabilize his territory. The System seemed to reward heroic intervention and conflict resolution far more than routine training.
"No need to rush. You won't be moving for a while, Mr. Castle," Huang Wen murmured, placing the trussed-up, paralyzed Frank gently against the back of his large antique wardrobe. The internal strength he'd poured into that remote strike was enough to hold even a master close to his own strength—which Frank certainly was not—for at least a full day.
He needed to keep Frank safe and secret. Frank was too valuable a source of Superhuman rewards to simply hand over to the corrupt local police. Also, the police were about to arrive, and Huang Wen needed to maintain his public image as the reasonable, upstanding head of the local martial arts school.
"Boss, are we going out now?" Logan asked, having re-entered the room just as Huang Wen finished securing Frank. He was already slightly cleaner, his healing factor having smoothed over the dirt and grime.
"Yes, let's go see the damage," Huang Wen said, nodding. He quickly threw on a simple silk robe over his tuxedo's armor and led Logan downstairs, opening the front doors of the Wing Chun Kwoon to the noisy street.
The quiet, tight-knit Chinatown community was in an uproar. The grenade blast had done more than just wake people up; the concussive sound and the smell of smoke had shattered the illusion of safety that Huang Wen had worked hard to build since taking over.
People were already gathering in nervous knots near the blast site, many of them having instinctively called the police, though American police response times were notoriously poor, especially in the dead of night.
The moment they saw Huang Wen, the crowds parted slightly. Huang Wen, despite his youth, had already become the new backbone of the community, filling the role previously held by his father, Huang Hong.
"Brother Wen! It was an explosion, definitely a grenade or something military grade," Zhong Qiang, the reliable neighborhood grocer, rushed over, his face etched with worry. "Who would infiltrate our Chinatown to do something like this? And why would they just throw a bomb on the street?"
"Did anyone call the authorities, Uncle Zhong?" Huang Wen asked calmly, maintaining an aura of control.
"Beep! Beep! Beep!"
As if on cue, the distant wail of a police siren finally pierced the night air. Everyone turned toward the sound as a patrol car, followed by a large police van, finally slid to a stop near the alley.
A heavy-set police inspector, Sergeant Reese, stepped out first, followed by several fully armed officers. He was clearly annoyed at being called out of bed.
"Alright, what's the situation here? Who's the first on the scene who can talk sense?" the inspector barked, immediately setting a hostile, no-nonsense tone.
"That would be me, Inspector," Huang Wen said, stepping forward. He nodded respectfully. "It appears a hand grenade exploded. I heard the sound and came out. We didn't see any suspicious persons, but the initial noise suggests a high-powered altercation."
The inspector frowned, taking in Huang Wen's calm demeanor and the giant, taciturn man (Logan) standing behind him. "And who are you, son? You look a little young to be managing security."
"This is Mr. Huang Wen, Inspector," interjected a slightly younger, slightly nervous police sergeant, pushing past his superior. "Hello, Teacher. He's the head of the Wing Chun martial arts school. He's got a great reputation and is well-respected here."
"Jack," Huang Wen acknowledged the sergeant with a familiar, polite smile. "I didn't realize you'd made sergeant already. Good work."
The inspector's glare shifted from Huang Wen to Jack, a clear sign of disapproval for the casual, deferential relationship. Ignoring the brief exchange, the inspector received the initial report from the officers examining the alley.
"No suspects found at the scene, sir." The officer reported.
The inspector immediately ordered, "Right. Pull the surrounding surveillance footage. I want to see exactly what happened here and who was involved!"
The officer assigned to the monitoring room quickly relayed a disturbing report: "Reporting to the police inspector, the nearby surveillance cameras appear to have been extensively modified. Not only was there no indication of trouble before the blast, but the feeds went dark or static right before the explosion. We weren't even recorded when we pulled up to the scene! It's clean digital manipulation."
The inspector's face darkened instantly. This wasn't local street crime; this reeked of highly organized, professional intervention.
"Ring! Ring!"
The police inspector's private phone rang—a number clearly reserved for the highest channels. His eyes narrowed slightly as he answered. "Hello, Chief? Yes, I'm at the location… Okay, I understand…"
The conversation was brief, the inspector's posture growing increasingly rigid and submissive. He hung up the phone and looked out at the concerned citizens.
"Listen up!" the inspector announced, his voice devoid of the earlier aggression. "Since no suspects have been found, and the damage is minimal, we'll call it a night. We will be increasing manpower for visible security patrols in Chinatown starting immediately. Call us anytime if you have any problems."
He nodded curtly at Huang Wen—a complete reversal of his earlier skepticism—waved his hand, and barked, "Dismissed!" The police officers, looking confused but obedient, quickly packed up their gear and departed, leaving the local residents bewildered.
The entire incident—a grenade explosion, a paralyzed target, a powerful cover-up—had been wrapped up and dismissed in less than fifteen minutes.