"Just wait one month. The funds will be available then."
Zenkichi spoke calmly, his presence steady as he addressed Nick Fury, who sat in the corner of the living room with a storm cloud on his face.
Since S.H.I.E.L.D. had been shattered, Fury had been forced to take refuge here. In fact, not only him, but all of the Avengers had ended up staying under the same roof.
And what a roof it was.
Tony Stark had gifted Zenkichi a massive villa, sprawling enough to house them all comfortably. The walls gleamed with Stark's futuristic touch, the halls lined with quiet luxury.
But even in such a place, Fury's dark mood was impossible to miss.
"What did you just say?" Fury shot to his feet, his one eye fixed sharply on Zenkichi. "Trillions? You're telling me you secured that much?"
Zenkichi didn't flinch beneath the weight of his disbelief. He simply nodded, his gaze steady.
"You heard me correctly. It's done."
The words carried no room for doubt.
On the side, Tony Stark arched a brow, his disbelief painted across his face.
"Hold up. Trillions? Where the hell did you pull that kind of money from?"
His voice was sharp, but beneath the sarcasm was genuine astonishment. Even for him, with all his wealth, the amount was staggering.
"From the U.S. military," Zenkichi replied without hesitation.
The room fell silent.
Every Avenger in the villa stared at him, words stolen from their tongues. None of them had expected that answer.
Even Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, shifted uneasily, his expression conflicted. His entire identity was tied to protecting the ideals of America, and now…
Nick Fury's voice broke the silence.
"Do you have any idea what you're saying? The U.S. doesn't hand out that kind of money. A few hundred million, maybe, but trillions? That's the entire backbone of their power. How could they just hand that to you?"
Heads nodded. The same question weighed on every mind in the room. Their gazes all returned to Zenkichi, searching for an answer.
Zenkichi met their eyes with quiet certainty.
"It's very simple."
He raised one hand. Energy surged to life around his palm, dark and crackling. The air hummed as violet-tinted power swirled tighter and tighter, condensing into a sphere of unstable force.
The others tensed instinctively, their bodies recognizing the overwhelming danger even before their minds caught up.
Zenkichi didn't spare them a glance. He stepped toward the window and, with casual ease, hurled the sphere upward.
The energy streaked into the sky.
A heartbeat later, the heavens responded.
The clear blue above twisted violently, swallowed by rolling black clouds that spread like ink spilling across a canvas. Thunder cracked like cannon fire, jagged bolts tearing across the sky. The entire city was drowned in darkness within seconds.
The Avengers stood frozen, eyes wide, as the storm raged overhead.
It was not natural. It was not science.
It was power—pure, unrestrained power.
Zenkichi's voice carried through the room, calm and cold, as if he were stating the most ordinary truth in the world.
"The weak serve the strong. That is the way of all things. As long as my fist is large enough, the world has no choice but to listen. If anyone disagrees…" His eyes narrowed, sharp as steel. "…they can go to hell and file their complaint there."
The words sank deep.
No one spoke. Not Tony with his sharp wit. Not Steve with his righteousness. Not Fury with his iron resolve.
Because now they understood.
The U.S. hadn't given Zenkichi money out of diplomacy, nor out of alliance. They had given it out of fear.
Refusal wasn't an option. Resistance meant annihilation.
In the end, the government wasn't paying him with funds—they were paying him with their lives.