That evening, as Chen Mo stepped out of the lab intending to grab dinner, he ran right into Colonel Phillips.
"Off to be the doctor's lab rat again, are you?" The colonel gave him a look over from head to toe. "Just look at you! My best soldier, and that old man's turning you into a bookworm!"
After a brief round of grumbling, Phillips eyed him suspiciously.
"So? Can you still lift a gun these days?"
Chen Mo glanced down at his white lab coat and the heavy stack of biology textbooks in his arms, smiling helplessly at the colonel's sharp tongue.
Phillips was a soldier through and through—a man who measured everything by strength and results. Chen Mo's exceptional performance in combat and training had made a deep impression on him. The young man had everything: power, precision, intelligence, instinct. In Phillips's mind, Chen Mo was the perfect super-soldier.
And yet, that perfect warrior had been stolen away by Erskine and turned into a glorified assistant. Every time Phillips saw him, it felt like watching a priceless diamond being used as a paperweight.
"Anytime you'd like to test me again, Colonel," Chen Mo said lightly. "In fact, maybe we should have another match. I think I've grown a bit rusty."
Phillips's face reddened instantly. "Get out of my sight! Now!"
The last "contest" had left him traumatized; the word shooting alone was enough to make his temples throb. Still, deep down, he remained proud of Chen Mo. What commander wouldn't want a soldier like that—so long as he never mentioned pistols again.
"Well then, Colonel, your best soldier is off to do something very important," Chen Mo said, giving a small salute before striding off—straight toward the mess hall.
Watching him go, Phillips couldn't help but smile.
"That damn kid."
—
By the time Chen Mo sat down with his tray, he'd barely taken two bites before a familiar voice spoke up.
"I just heard the colonel shouting again. You teased him, didn't you?"
Agent Carter, crisp in her uniform, slid into the seat across from him—elegant, confident, effortlessly stunning.
"I just reminded him of a few painful memories," Chen Mo said dryly between bites.
Carter laughed. She'd been the referee during that infamous pistol match and had watched the colonel's pride being thoroughly dismantled. It wasn't often she got to see him humbled.
"Training again tonight?" she asked. "I'm rather curious about your knife work."
"Not tonight," Chen Mo said. "I've got to give Steve some extra lessons. Word is, he's been slacking off—skipped half of today's field run to hitch a ride back with you."
At the reminder, Carter couldn't help but grin, remembering the bewildered look on the drill sergeant's face when Steve toppled the flagpole.
"He's clever," she admitted.
"Too dumb and he wouldn't be my apprentice," Chen Mo said casually.
—
Steve arrived late to the training grounds, out of breath and apologetic. "Master! Sorry I'm late!"
Then he noticed Carter standing nearby and instantly fell silent, looking awkward.
"Agent Carter—you're here too."
Carter smiled politely. Both men left good impressions on her.
As a strong, capable woman constantly underestimated by male peers, she'd grown tired of the leering, condescending attitudes around her. But Chen Mo and Steve were different. Their eyes held no mockery, no lust—only respect. Around them, she felt at ease.
She could sense the difference, too. Chen Mo's regard was calm, almost platonic—a colleague's appreciation.
Steve's, though… held a shy, boyish admiration he barely managed to hide. It didn't bother her. In fact, it was rather endearing.
Chen Mo began instructing Steve while Carter stood to the side, watching intently.
"When you punch," Chen Mo said, "the power comes from the ground up—push with the legs, twist your hips, drive your shoulder, and release through the spine into your fist. On the battlefield, you don't have time to trade blows. Always strike the vital points, end the fight fast, and never give your opponent a chance to recover."
He demonstrated each movement until Steve began practicing on his own. Then Chen Mo noticed Carter still watching, eyes bright with curiosity.
"Looks like you're more eager to learn than he is," he said with a teasing smile.
Carter straightened, meeting his gaze. "I want to challenge you."
That made Chen Mo pause for half a second—then he chuckled.
"Fine," he said, "but first, you'll have to beat him."
Carter turned toward Steve, who was still shadowboxing, oblivious. A moment later she realized what she'd just agreed to. With Chen Mo's freakish strength, she wouldn't stand a chance against him directly. She adjusted quickly, nodding. "Then I'll start with Steve."
"Let's have a sparring match," she called.
Steve blinked, confused. "Uh—what?"
"Fight me," Carter said plainly.
Steve froze, his heart skipping a beat. The idea of fighting his crush was so absurd he didn't know where to look. His eyes darted helplessly toward Chen Mo.
"Agent Carter wants a sparring match," Chen Mo said calmly. "Don't hold back. Show her everything you've got."
Swallowing hard, Steve nodded. "A-alright then. But… let's go easy, okay?"
He took a breath and, out of habit, clasped his fists and bowed slightly. "Please teach me, Agent Carter."
Carter blinked at the old-fashioned gesture, momentarily puzzled.
Then, without a word, she slipped off her uniform jacket and handed it to Chen Mo. Beneath it, her white shirt hugged her curves tightly. She stepped forward and nodded once, signaling she was ready.
Steve's eyes flicked to her figure for a split second—and turned bright red. He quickly looked away, trying not to die of embarrassment.