Chapter Thirty-Seven: Fame Across the Nation

Over a month later.

Brooklyn, New York, Seabreeze Street.

With winter settling in, the pedestrian avenue began to bustle under the morning sun. Christmas had just passed, and the New Year was around the corner. Despite being in the throes of the Second World War, this European-styled metropolis had yet to feel even the faintest trace of gunpowder or destruction.

On the winter morning, people wrapped in overcoats hurried along the streets, busy with their daily work and survival.

Occasionally, one could spot a hooded child clutching a stack of black-and-white newspapers, darting through the crowd, shouting:

“Latest edition of The New York Times! Major Kyle and Lieutenant Steve lead their troops to destroy another German fortress!”

“The Wall Street Journal! America’s two great heroes shine once more—the German front retreats twenty miles due to lack of resources!”

“Victorious in every battle, the iron-blooded officer who’s turned the tide—today’s feature: the glorious path of Major Kyle, the enemy of thousands!”

At this time, the newspapers were mostly filled with the latest battle reports from the front lines, and stories of victory sold out faster than ever. As soon as they hit the stands, citizens scrambled to buy them up.

Indeed, the young paperboy, his cheeks rosy from the cold, managed to sell two whole stacks of newspapers in just half an hour on the wind-swept street.

It proved that, even if the war’s shadow hadn’t directly touched New York, it was enough to fill people with worry for the American forces at the front, and inspire hope and prayers for an early end to the conflict.

“Could I have a copy, please?” A golden-haired girl with a purple scarf smiled warmly, waving at the paperboy weaving through the crowd.

He jogged over, collected the change, and placed his last newspaper into the basket she carried for groceries.

He stared wide-eyed at her angelic features, unable to resist a compliment: “Miss, you’re really beautiful.”

“Such a sweet talker.” The blonde girl’s eyes arched into a smile, her warm expression seemed as if it could melt the snow around her. More than one gentleman on the street nearly walked straight into a lamppost.

“Time to go home.” Lucy exhaled a frosty breath, gracefully lifted her basket of groceries and the newspaper, and set off toward home.

Though she called it home, it was really just the house where Kyle used to live, located at 199 Seabreeze Street—a classic duplex villa with a balcony garden.

Stepping inside, Lucy slipped off her boots. The house was warmed by a heater, far cozier than the world outside. She removed her thick coat, revealing a shapely figure only partially concealed by her sweater.

After placing her basket on the table, Lucy shed her earlier elegance, her face lighting up with excitement as she quickly retrieved the newspapers from inside and spread them neatly on the table.

Each paper had headlines and photo spreads, and the main subjects of these were unmistakable: a stern young man wielding a round shield and commanding his troops, or a cold, dark-clad youth charging into enemy ranks with a long sword.

Beneath the photographs were detailed character introductions.

“Steve Rogers, age twenty-three, Captain America, Lieutenant.”

(The Captain’s very first battle was a daring foray into the enemy’s third line, alongside Major Kyle. Together they destroyed a factory base and rescued five hundred American soldiers from captivity, then broke out successfully. Known as Captain America, he always leads from the front, shield in hand, and in one month captured five German factory bases, minimizing casualties among his men. He is a patriot, a super soldier, and the very embodiment of American justice!)

...

Lucy skimmed through Steve’s biography, but her bright eyes quickly moved to the much longer, more elaborate profile beside it.

“Kyle Dolf, age twenty-three, the youngest Major in history.”

Seeing this, Lucy’s face blossomed with a sweet and satisfied smile. She parted her lips and read aloud the rest of Kyle’s account:

“Major Kyle is the youngest officer in American history to hold the rank of Major. In a counteroffensive, facing odds of one to a hundred, he infiltrated the enemy base, eliminated the German commander and main forces, and seized a turning point for the front lines. To date, every campaign he has led has ended in decisive victory, and he has single-handedly taken on entire enemy squads. According to incomplete statistics, the number of enemy soldiers he has personally dispatched has surpassed ten thousand—truly the enemy of thousands! He is the symbol of American might, a hero who strikes terror into the hearts of the Germans, nicknamed ‘Devil’ and ‘Dicide’—the Demon and the God-Slayer. Latest reports: the President has awarded Major Kyle the Medal of Honor.”

Finishing in one breath, Lucy’s cheeks were flushed with happiness. Although such glowing tributes to Kyle had become common in recent months, she would always buy these newspapers, poring over them day after day.

“A few months ago, he was just a rookie storming enemy bases. Now he’s a Major, the symbol of American strength. Hmph!” Lucy pouted her rosy lips. The pressure was truly on her now; not only all of New York, but every young woman across America was infatuated with the cold-eyed hero in the paper before her.

After all, the movie theaters in every major city would occasionally screen wartime newsreels. And for the past few months, Kyle and Steve had been the protagonists of those films—valiant, leading the charge, outnumbered but never outmatched, and their youthful, handsome faces projected on the big screen. One wave of a hand or glance at the camera was enough to send the hearts of young girls racing and incite shrieks of adoration.

“No matter what, I met Kyle first.”

“Come on, Lucy, pull yourself together. There’s no reason you should lose to those other girls.”

She tried to encourage herself, curling up on the sofa like a wife awaiting her husband’s return, finally whispering with a hint of longing, “The New Year’s nearly here… I wonder when Kyle will be back…”

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles from New York, in the icy mountain ranges behind enemy lines—

A treacherous train track snaked along the mountainside, surrounded by towering snowy peaks, where the wind howled and snowflakes drifted in the air.

Atop one such peak, a squad of dozens of American soldiers lay hidden beneath heavy army coats, listening for intelligence reports from the rear base via their radio equipment.

Fury spoke with certainty, “The information is confirmed. On the next train through here is an important member of Hydra—a newly appointed, middle-aged German scientist, Werner Tuels.”

“Alright, then let’s board the train,” Kyle said quickly, glancing at Steve. “We only need a few for this capture mission.”

Steve nodded. “The three of us—me, you, and Bucky. We’re all skilled operatives; no matter how many guards are on that train, we can handle it.”

“Okay.” Kyle agreed with a nod. Truth be told, he wasn’t worried even if he had to go alone.

Kyle, Steve, and Bucky.

The three prepared themselves, standing shoulder to shoulder on the biting, windswept summit, gazing down the sheer drop of several hundred meters, patiently awaiting the arrival of the enemy’s train.