After delivering his rocket headbutt, Rogers collapsed on the spot and slipped into unconsciousness.
For days, he did not wake.
Senju Haruto, of course, had no interest in lingering at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters waiting for Rogers to recover.
Once he had completed his system sign-in and gained the adamantium skeleton, he returned to the New York Sanctum.
There, he instructed Nick Fury to continue playing the role of S.H.I.E.L.D. director—
To assemble the Avengers.
To ensure that the very first team of superheroes would remain firmly in his hands.
Black Widow and Hawkeye, naturally, obeyed Fury's commands without question.
A few days later, Fury and Coulson learned Rogers had finally woken.
They hurried to the room where he was recovering.
The moment Coulson saw him, relief washed over his face.
"Captain, you're finally awake."
He struggled to keep his emotions in check.
To prevent a repeat of the last incident, Rogers had been securely restrained to the bed. His wrists and ankles were bound so tightly there was no chance of escape.
The moment his eyes opened, his head throbbed as though it would split apart.
Fragments of memory came rushing back—Haruto's cold eyes, his overwhelming power.
And the final moment, when Rogers had hurled himself forward without hesitation… only to crash into what felt like a steel wall.
Then—nothing but blackness.
The memory left him reeling. Who was that man, truly?
"Captain, please don't misunderstand," Coulson said quickly, seeing the confusion in Rogers' eyes. "We mean no harm. My name is Phil Coulson, Level Seven agent of S.H.I.E.L.D."
Fury stood silently at his side, saying nothing.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.? What's going on here?"
Rogers tried to break free but soon realized it was impossible. He forced himself to calm down. If he couldn't escape, then he'd at least gather information.
"You know the name Peggy Carter, don't you?" Coulson asked without hesitation.
Rogers stiffened. Of course he knew.
For someone like him, his life story was written in history books. And with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s vast intelligence network, every detail of his past was common knowledge.
But Coulson didn't bring her up for intelligence's sake.
He did it to soothe Rogers—to use a familiar name, a trusted memory.
"Carter? Where is she now?"
The instant the name left his lips, Peggy's face flashed vividly in Rogers' mind.
His chest tightened. He wanted—needed—to see her.
"She's being cared for, Captain. But… I know this will be hard to accept. She was the one who founded S.H.I.E.L.D., to protect world peace. But since the war ended, decades have passed. She's… elderly now."
Coulson paused, then added softly, "The year is 2008."
The words struck like thunder.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
Peggy Carter.
An old woman near the end of her life.
2008.
The war had ended more than half a century ago.
Rogers sat stunned, his nerves screaming.
He couldn't believe it.
Couldn't accept it.
"Truth is, we don't intend to imprison you," Coulson continued carefully. "But after what happened before, we had no choice. If you wish to leave, you can walk right out. There's no need for violence."
He explained the restraints, then produced a set of keys and unlocked the cuffs one by one.
With S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance systems, there was no fear Rogers would vanish.
And in truth, the world outside had changed beyond anything Rogers could imagine.
Even if he left, it wouldn't be long before he returned on his own.
Coulson's only concern had been that Rogers might wake up fighting.
Rogers flexed his freed wrists and sat up slowly, still dazed.
His mind was a storm.
"Captain, you're free to go."
Fury's voice was low, steady. He knew Rogers well enough to be certain: even if he left now, he'd come back.
Because Rogers would need S.H.I.E.L.D.
And S.H.I.E.L.D. needed him.
Rogers looked from Fury to Coulson. He wanted to ask about Haruto—but stopped himself.
What was the point?
Taking a deep breath, he swung his legs off the bed and slipped on his shoes.
Fury and Coulson only stood quietly by, making no move to interfere.
Memories came rushing back like a flood.
He saw again the bombs Hydra had prepared.
He remembered piloting the plane into the ice.
The fading of his consciousness, until there was nothing.
He had been certain his sacrifice had been final.
Now, like a ghost, he wandered the corridors, his body moving automatically.
People around him stared, whispering at his striking features. Some even approached to speak.
But Rogers was lost in his own world, deaf to them all.
And then—he stepped outside.
Onto the street.
And his heart froze.
Towering skyscrapers pierced the sky like blades.
Cars flowed endlessly along wide streets.
Crowds of people surged in every direction.
And on their faces—hope, despair, longing, determination.
But not war.
Not hunger.
Not death or disease.
It was as if those scourges had never existed.
The sight struck him to the core.
Was this… the utopia they had once dreamed of, for which they had bled and fought?
Here, every man and woman was free to choose their own life, to decide who they wanted to be.
Children laughed and played beneath a clear blue sky.
No one starved. No one froze to death in the streets.
The world glowed with warmth and sunlight.
For Rogers, this was the unreachable future he had fought for.
And yet—it was real.
He was standing in it.
As he stood there, lost, Fury appeared at his side.
"Well, Captain? This is the world you and your comrades built with your sacrifice."
"A world of true peace."
"For it, I would give anything. I would protect it at all costs."
"But my strength alone isn't enough."
"Will you fight with me?"
His words rang out with conviction, heavy as stone.
Rogers stood in silence for a long time.
Slowly, he began to believe Coulson's explanation.
This was the future.
And seeing it with his own eyes, how could he not want to protect it?
Yet before he could commit himself, there was something else—something far more urgent.
"Carter… where is she now?"
Rogers spoke each word with deliberate weight.