“Your taste is quite unique.” Luke didn’t reply.
He performed an extremely natural movement—he pulled his sunglasses out from his neckline and snapped them back onto the bridge of his nose.
Then he took a step back, shoved his hands into his pockets, and tilted his head to look at Natasha.
“Beautiful, you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” Natasha stared at him.
Luke stared back at her.
The two of them stood in a standoff with less than a meter between them.
The wind kicked up gravel from the ground, blowing between the two of them.
The atmosphere was, for a moment, very heavy.
Natasha raised her hand.
Fast and precise, two fingers pinched the temple of his sunglasses and plucked them straight off Luke’s face.
Luke’s face was exposed to the setting sun once again.
He blinked.
“…” With a backhand motion, the sunglasses returned to the bridge of his nose.
“Mistaken me for someone else.” Natasha’s hand reached out again.
Plucked off.
Luke put them on.
Plucked off.
Put them on.
Plucked off— Luke clamped his hand over the sunglasses, stepped back twice, and pointed a finger at Natasha.
“Hey!” His finger was almost poking Natasha’s nose.
“I hate beautiful women who don’t know when to draw the line!” Natasha raised an eyebrow.
Luke’s finger jabbed forward another half-inch.
“If you do that again, I’m going to harass you!” When he said this, Luke’s confidence wasn’t actually that high.
It wasn’t that he was afraid of Natasha.
A man who could pin Iron Monger to the ground and trounce him with his bare hands—what did he have to fear from Black Widow?
It was mainly…
He looked down at his floral shirt.
A yellow suit, large floral patterns, half-open collar.
How could one describe the feeling of being recognized by an acquaintance while dressed like this?
It was probably like meticulously cosplaying an anime character, walking around a convention feeling great about yourself all afternoon, only to turn around and find your colleague standing right behind you, filming a ten-minute video.
Social death.
Pure, unadulterated social death.
And the kind without any room for buffer—a direct hit of social death.
Watching the undisguised embarrassment on Luke’s face, Natasha’s mood suddenly improved significantly.
When this guy was at S.H.I.E.L.D., he always had that same deadpan look.
Clocking in on time, clocking out on time, sitting in the back row during meetings, and slacking off more skillfully than anyone else.
When you talked to him, he would either brush you off or be sarcastic.
She had never seen him make this kind of expression before.
It was a first.
Luke could actually feel embarrassed.
Natasha crossed her arms, trying to suppress the corners of her mouth, but failed.
“Then go ahead and kiss me?” She tilted her head, her speaking pace neither fast nor slow.
“Feel free to do it.” Luke’s brain short-circuited for 0.3 seconds.
Looking at Natasha’s face, which clearly read, “Go on then,” three thoughts flashed through his mind.
First, she was taunting him.
Second, she thought he wouldn’t dare.
Third— She definitely thought he wouldn’t dare.
Luke licked his lips.
To be honest, he had never encountered such a request in his life.
Literally, “in his life.” He hadn’t seen it in his past life either.
But Luke had one characteristic.
The more you thought he wouldn’t dare, the more he would.
He took a step forward.
Natasha didn’t move.
She was still smiling, that “I want to see how you’ll clean up this mess” kind of smile.
Luke took another half-step forward.
The distance between them was compressed to less than twenty centimeters.
Natasha could smell the scent of gunpowder and cheap cologne mixed on his shirt.
She still didn’t move.
Then Luke lowered his head and kissed her.
There was no fancy foreplay.
No deep, soulful gazing.
No hesitation.
It was just a very plain, mouth-to-mouth, physically literal kiss.
Natasha’s smile froze on her face.
Her brain took a full two seconds to process this information.
You actually did it?!
During those two seconds, her body didn’t react at all.
No dodging, no pushing, no counter-shoulder throw.
For a woman trained as a top-tier Agent, this was almost impossible.
But it happened.
Luke took a step back.
He pursed his lips, tilted his head, and looked thoughtful.
“Tastes like wine.” He nodded.
“Quite fragrant.” Natasha’s fists were already clenched.
On her face was a very subtle expression, somewhere between shock and rage.
Her lips were slightly parted, unable to form a complete sentence.
She, Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, Red Room graduate, top-tier S.H.I.E.L.D.
Agent— Had just been kissed by a colleague in a floral shirt.
On the battlefield ruins.
Under the sunset.
This was more absurd than any failed mission.
Luke’s heart was actually quite conflicted as well.
Although Westerners were relatively open, let alone kissing, even sleeping together counted as daily socializing.
But he wasn’t from here in his past life, and deep down, he was still a Chinese lad.
This kind of thing…
was still a little embarrassing after the fact.
But he couldn’t lose face.
Absolutely could not lose face.
He was just about to say something to smooth things over when his ears suddenly caught a sound from the distance.
The sound of an engine.
A jet engine.
And…
the sound of webbing whipping through the air.
Luke’s expression changed instantly.
He clamped down on Natasha’s fist as she raised it, leaned in, and lowered his voice.
“Outsiders are coming.” Natasha’s fist was still suspended in mid-air.
“I’m leaving first.” Luke had already started backing away.
“Don’t tell anyone I was here.” “You—” “Goodbye!” The last two words were still vibrating in the air, and Luke had already disappeared from the spot.
Not even a shadow remained.
Natasha’s fist struck the air.
She stood there, her right fist still in the position of having thrown a punch.
The wind blew in, causing her Red Hair to drift backward.
She slowly retracted her fist.
Deep breath— No.
She gritted her teeth.
Ran away so fast.
Faster than he clocked out every day.
Vroom— A golden-red light streaked across the horizon, and the steel armor landed steadily a dozen meters away.
The mask flipped open, revealing Tony Stark’s face.
He glanced at the ruins covering the ground, then at Natasha standing alone in place.
“Wait—are you an Agent?” Natasha turned her head.
She was full of anger now and just happened to need a punching bag.
“Great.” She pulled the corner of her mouth at Tony, but the temperature of that smile was probably around minus forty degrees.
“You’ve finally managed to see something else.” Tony opened his mouth, but the quip on his lips was stifled by that smile.
Natasha had already pulled out her communicator.
“Someone will come to handle the scene in a bit.” She walked away without looking back.
“If you have any conscience, you’ll pay for some of the reconstruction.” “Reconstruction?
This isn’t even all my—” Natasha looked back at him.
Just one look.
“…Fine, I’ll pay.” Natasha disappeared around the street corner.
Spider-Man swung down from mid-air, crouching steadily on a crooked utility pole.
He took off his mask and cautiously sidled up to Tony.
“Mr.
Stark…
you two don’t seem to get along?” Tony stared in the direction Natasha had left, silent for two seconds.
“What would a kid know?” He was silent for another second.
“I’ve never failed with a woman before.” Peter didn’t respond to that.
He looked around, hopped down from the utility pole, and circled through the ruins.
“Mr.
Stark.” He scratched his head.
“Where did that Righteous Uncle go just now?”
Maybe it’s not a big deal now… maybe it will be later.
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”