Knowing that someone was targeting his parents, John would not sit idly by. Judging from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tone, it seemed that the other party had intentions against him as well.
He decided to spend this holiday generously. He did not believe that, even shopping so openly, the other side would be able to sit still. If they wanted to play, he would lead the snake out of its hole.
It was a rare vacation, and a little tension and excitement might be good. Since he was seeking excitement, he would see it through to the end.
The next morning, John stood in front of the mirror and tapped his clothes with his wand. His suit and vest transformed into casual attire. He cycled through several outfits before settling on a brown one. Magic truly had conveniences that technology could not match.
"This young face really causes misunderstandings," he mused. At thirty, he still looked like a high school student. He joked that a wealthy woman would pay a hundred million for his secret to staying young.
He opened the garage, where luxury cars waited. Unfortunately, John did not have a driver's license. As a law-abiding citizen, he would never drive without one. Well, maybe not.
New York is a city of diversity. You can see all kinds of people. On Rivington Street, young men with dark skin, gold chains, and sagging pants gathered, calling it street rap. Suddenly, a speeding sports car startled one of them, who broke into an impromptu rap.
The yellow Lamborghini stopped in front of a bakery with a roar. John, dressed casually, stepped out with long strides.
"Kowalski Quality Baked Goods. I used to come here as a kid," he said to himself. His first stop was to revisit his childhood haunt.
Standing at the door, John took a deep breath. The aroma of baking and the unique shapes of the bread drew in passersby. The breads inside were whimsical—some shaped like woolly monkeys, others like rhinos, platypuses, or dodos. Only John knew these were all magical creatures from the wizarding world.
This old shop had been open for more than eighty years. In the short history of the United States, it was practically an antique. Its craftsmanship had been passed down for three generations. No one could quite explain why a Muggle bakery would make bread in the shapes of magical animals, but its loyal customers were long accustomed to the quirky designs and delicious flavors.
The glass door opened, and a long line stretched outside. There was a reason this shop had lasted so long. Women loved the cute shapes, while men appreciated the generous portions and rich taste.
Not long after John joined the line, he heard hurried footsteps behind him.
"May, hurry up," a ten-year-old boy called, holding a woman's hand. His face was flushed from running as they joined the queue behind John. The boy tried to peer past the crowd to see the bread inside.
The woman, May, had long brown hair, wore a simple striped shirt and colorless rimmed glasses, but she did not look plain. Her beauty and figure could not be hidden by her clothes, and her gentle panting drew the eyes of men in line.
John glanced back. The boy was on tiptoe, counting the delicious breads in the display.
"Oh no, the shaggy monkey bread is almost gone," he whispered. Only three were left. The jam-filled monkey bread was his favorite. He closed his eyes and prayed he could get one. Perhaps his prayers were working.
As the line shortened, the monkey bread remained. There were only two people ahead. The American lady at the front hesitated, making the boy anxious.
"Don't choose the woolly monkey, don't choose the woolly monkey, please, God," he muttered, even invoking divine help.
The lady seemed to hear his plea. She turned, smiled kindly, and bought some rhino jam bread instead. The boy smiled in gratitude.
Now only he and John remained, and three monkey breads were left. He began to imagine sharing the bread with Aunt May.
Full of anticipation, he heard the man in front say, "I want these three."
Reality hit the boy hard. He watched as the three monkey breads were bagged, and the man glanced back at him with a hint of mischief in his eyes.
After buying his bread, John leaned against his car and took a bite. The bread was soft, with jam inside.
He noticed the boy coming out. Despite not getting his favorite bread, the boy did not throw a tantrum. He accepted his disappointment calmly, not troubling his guardian. For a ten-year-old, he showed remarkable maturity.
The boy glanced longingly at the bread in John's hand. May could not bear to see him disappointed.
"Peter, wait for me," she said, then approached John. "Sir, could you exchange a piece of bread with me?"
John raised his eyebrows, set down his bread, and looked May over. She was not really an aunt—perhaps only ten years older than him. Maybe more like an older sister.
"It's fine to exchange, but why?" he asked, studying her.
May smiled confidently. "I think you might like other flavors."
John chuckled. "You are very considerate, but that is not a very good reason."
"But there is something you said that I admire," John added after a pause.
John handed her the bag of bread. "When you come to me, you are exchanging, not begging. I like equal exchange," he said with a shrug. "So, I agree."
The boy beamed with joy. "Thank you, sir. I will give you the rhino bread." Peter handed over the bread eagerly.
May was glad to see Peter happy. "Thank you, sir. Peter loves this bread. When his mother was alive, she would bring him here to buy it." She looked at Peter with a touch of sadness. In this city, they only had each other.
"This is nothing special, just an exchange of equal value," John replied, raising the rhino bread and smiling. "You paid a price too."
May found John interesting. He spoke often of equal exchange.
Just as John was about to say goodbye to this unique pair, trouble arrived.
"Hey, nice car," a bald man with a swagger approached. "Now we have to figure out what you did to scare my brother just now."
The younger man, with his pants sagging and leopard-print briefs showing, stood by his side. Others began to gather around John.
May and Peter found themselves caught up in the mess. The men whistled at May, their eyes lingering on her in a way that was anything but friendly.
"Are you flirting with her?" The bald man sneered, placing a hand on John's shoulder. "Honestly, I am the only one worthy of her."
"I am already calling the police," May declared, pulling Peter back and raising her phone in warning. "You had better leave now."
"Fiery, I like it," the gangsters jeered.
John ignored the bald man and asked, "Has this place always been like this?"
"No, this is not Hell's Kitchen," May retorted.
John turned to the bald man gripping his shoulder and said seriously, "You heard her. This is not Hell's Kitchen."
"You should be glad it is not," the bald man whispered threateningly in John's ear. "Maybe if you give me your car, I will let you walk away."
"Alright," John replied, handing over his car keys. "This will guarantee our safety."
The bald man smiled, reaching for the keys. But John paused, as if noticing something.
"Wait, look what I found," John said, pulling a pencil from May's pocket.
"May, you did not tell me you brought this," he said in a scolding tone.
"It's just a pencil," May replied, confused.
"This is a pencil!" John repeated, twirling it between his fingers. He turned to the gangsters and said calmly, "Now, you had better hand over your money."
The gangsters looked at each other in disbelief, as if John were crazy.
The bald man laughed. "I think you are seriously disturbed."
"You may not believe it," John said, "but this thing in my hand is very dangerous."
"Fu*k!" the bald man spat, glancing around for police. He stepped forward, ready to teach John a lesson.
With lightning speed, John reversed his grip and drove the pencil through the bald man's outstretched palm, pinning it to the car's hood.
Before the man could scream, John leaned in and whispered, "See, now you are connected to the car."
"Crazy, you are crazy!" the bald man howled, drawing everyone's attention.
John glanced at the stunned gangsters, grinned, and slowly pulled the pencil free. Blood trickled down the yellow paint, leaving a shocking trail.
The gangsters, used to bullying others, had never seen someone so ruthless. The bald man, clutching his bleeding hand, scrambled away, abandoning his brother.
May and Peter stood frozen in shock. The gentleman from before had become a dangerous lunatic in an instant.
It was hard to process.