"You'll be staying here to oversee all of Brooklyn's underworld," Chen Mo said. "Without sufficient strength, that would be impossible. With the power you've just gained, I trust that no matter what happens, you'll be able to suppress it with ease. That's the only way I can leave without worry."
Wang Kun's eyes burned with emotion. His voice trembled slightly, but his expression was firm.
"Please rest assured, Master. I'll give it everything I've got. I'll make the Seven Commandments Gang thrive."
"No need to rush for power," Chen Mo said calmly. "Follow the plan I left for you — steady progress is what matters. And remember, never neglect your own strength. The gang is only an external tool. Strength is the foundation."
"Yes, Master!" Wang Kun answered firmly.
Chen Mo nodded in approval, then turned toward the others.
"As for you three, don't be impatient. I'll enhance you as well, once the time is right."
Although Chen Mo was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s founders and had full authority over the super-soldier serum, it would've looked bad if he immediately used all of it on his own followers. The serum had just been completed — and not even the agency's own people had been injected yet. If Chen Mo quietly enhanced all of his personal subordinates first, even Colonel Phillips might raise an eyebrow.
Still, giving a single vial to Wang Kun before departing didn't weigh on his conscience at all.
With the New York business handled — and several unexpected rewards in hand — Chen Mo finished the final arrangements at the martial arts hall. The next morning, he departed for Europe once again, accompanied by old Albert, Huang Quan, Han Qing, Luo Zhen, and of course, Howard.
After Chen Mo's departure, Wang Kun officially assumed leadership of the Seven Commandments Gang.
But instead of moving into the luxurious Lucian family mansion — now serving as the gang's headquarters — he chose to remain with his wife and child at the martial arts hall.
Inevitably, a few who had submitted only out of fear of Chen Mo's inhuman strength began to stir restlessly, testing their limits.
The newly enhanced Wang Kun, now vastly stronger than before, crushed every bit of resistance with overwhelming might.
Those who defied him were swiftly and ruthlessly eliminated.
Within days, order was absolute.
Once the instability was purged, Wang Kun began following Chen Mo's outlined plan for steady development. With the gang's affairs running smoothly, he devoted most of his time to training, refining his marksmanship and martial arts.
Occasionally, he would teach students at the martial arts hall — never revealing the full extent of his power.
Few outsiders could have imagined that the polite, disciplined instructor running that modest dojo was, in fact, the underground godfather who ruled all of Brooklyn.
As the years passed, the neighborhood surrounding the martial arts hall grew into a new Chinatown.
And that humble-looking dojo became a sacred site whispered about by the entire New York underworld — a place of legend.
Yet within the Seven Commandments' council chamber, the massive shield hanging on the wall silently reminded everyone: the legend was very real.
London, England.
After many days at sea, Chen Mo's group finally reached the Strategic Science Reserve's underground base.
But before he could even rest, new information forced him to move again.
The officers on site informed him that Colonel Phillips and Agent Carter had already departed for the Italian front — HYDRA activity had been detected there once more.
Even more pressing: Captain America, Steve Rogers, was scheduled to head to the Italian front as part of a morale-boosting tour.
And Bucky's unit — the 107th Infantry Regiment — had just been ambushed and decimated by a sudden HYDRA assault. Nearly a hundred men were taken prisoner.
The news caught Chen Mo off guard.
Even after all the interference and alterations he'd made, fate had somehow guided events right back to the original course.
He knew exactly what would happen next.
Steve would learn of Bucky's capture, defy orders, and — with Peggy Carter's help — fly across the war zone on a mission piloted by Howard Stark to infiltrate HYDRA's fortress and rescue the captured soldiers.
That battle would be his true debut, earning the soldiers' and the Colonel's respect — the moment Steve Rogers officially became Captain America.
Chen Mo exhaled softly, glancing aside — only to see Howard sprawled limply in a chair, refusing to move.
"Don't look at me like that," Howard groaned, clutching his stomach. "If you're going, go by yourself. I'm staying right here. After that boat ride, I'm done! I hate the ocean!"
Even with his enhanced physique, ten straight days of waves had left Howard utterly miserable.
He had vomited with such commitment that by the end, he felt like a hollowed-out shell.
Even now, sitting in a stable room, he still felt the world swaying beneath him, the ground rocking back and forth. His head was spinning so hard he half-suspected the serum had amplified his seasickness.
Chen Mo stepped forward, grabbed the half-dead scientist by the collar, and hauled him to his feet.
"We're flying this time."
Italy — Allied Forward Base.
"Are you ready to go kick Hitler's ass with me?"
On a makeshift stage, Steve Rogers stood proudly, dressed head to toe in the red, white, and blue of the American flag, holding a star-spangled shield in hand. His tone was as bright and heroic as a comic book cover.
Back home, Captain America was a national sensation — movies, comics, stage shows — a household name with an army of fans.
But here, standing before rows of battle-worn soldiers, it was a different world.
The men — sitting, standing, even lounging on tanks and trucks — stared at him in silence. Not one answered.
Steve hesitated, thrown off. These weren't the cheering crowds of New York.
"Okay then…" he forced a smile. "I need one volunteer!"
A voice called back dryly from the crowd:
"We're all volunteers, pal! What do you think we're doing here?"
Laughter rippled through the ranks.
"We're just waiting for the girls to dance!" another soldier shouted, earning loud cheers and whistles.
Compared to this flashy performer who'd never seen a battlefield, they clearly found the chorus girls more worth their time.
"They only do one dance," Steve protested awkwardly. "But… I'll see what I can do."
The men howled with laughter.
"Go on, sweetheart!"
"Nice boots, dollface!"
The catcalls followed him as he tried to retreat backstage, red-faced, utterly defeated.