69novels Page 125
Page 125
Rhythm.
Spin.
dancing.
"!!!"
Ian was stunned.
What did he see!
I saw Spider-Man dancing wildly on stage!
The background music was deafening.
The passersby surrounding the television set cheered just like the viewers inside.
"They're here! They're almost here!"
"Whirlwind Jet!"
Two children appeared unusually excited.
I saw.
Let's get hyped!
Peter shouted into the microphone, then slid to his knees, braced himself with his hands, and suddenly lifted his hips—at that moment, Ian, who had been staring blankly, finally understood what a whirlwind jet meant.
"puff!"
Spider-Man's butt is spitting webs!
A large clump of white spider silk shot out in a fan shape, precisely covering the faces of the judges in the front row! At that moment, the audience in front of the television and those watching on TV erupted in enthusiastic screams.
The atmosphere seemed quite lively.
A young man with a mohawk waved a fluorescent sign that read "Spider-Man Boy, I love you" and fainted. Even next to the TV, several girls looked like they were about to collapse at any moment.
"??????"
It had been a long time since Ian had a question mark on his face.
His eyes were wide open, like kettlebells, but not brass bells.
"My eyes! My new eyes are going to go blind!" Ian closed his eyes and rubbed his chin hard to make sure it hadn't fallen directly onto the snow.
It's terrifying!
Is this true?
It's even scarier than the horror stories Jonathan loves to read!
"An impersonator! Or a fake!" Ian refused to believe what he was seeing. He had a bad feeling and, somewhat dazed, backed away and stood in the middle of the street again.
"Is the Creator here? If so, squeak..."
To prevent the Great Fortune Celestial Venerable from reappearing, Ian lowered his voice as he looked up and said, "If he's there, throw hundreds of golden apples the size of my head on my head?"
They had already been cautious enough in their probing.
Ian still received no response.
“No, is this reasonable? Is this correct? This…” Ian’s voice stopped abruptly before he could finish expressing his genuine astonishment, because he turned his head and saw the clothing store on the street.
That man.
The man in the Marvel Universe who always believed he wasn't cheating was standing in front of the glass window of a clothing store, holding his iconic shield.
It is not a human model.
Because of Ian's excellent eyesight, he caught the subtle movement of the other person's neck.
The boy's breathing stopped again.
Perhaps sensing Ian's gaze, the live mannequin in the shop window, wearing only short shorts and bare-chested with perfectly muscular muscles, flashed Ian a bright, white-toothed smile.
Yes.
The famous Captain America, the original leader of the Marvel Universe, is now posing in various bodybuilding positions in front of the display window, with the olive oil applied to his abs even shimmering under the spotlight!
"Boom boom boom!"
Ian rushed forward.
He pressed his face directly against the cold shop window glass, his breath condensing into mist on the surface. Suddenly, the mannequin came to life and gestured for him not to tap on the glass.
"I'm afraid I've fallen for Tony's illusion!" Ian's gaze was fixed on the shield in the model's hand, which the iconic shield was once again being held in mid-air like a dumbbell.
"Are you really Steve Rogers?"
Ian, refusing to believe it, flung open the door and rushed into the store, the doorbell ringing cheerfully. A gust of cold wind, carrying snowflakes, chased after him, leaving a few marks on the antique-style wooden floor.
"That's right, it's me, your favorite Captain America." The model flashed a standard eight-tooth smile, his abs rising and falling with his breath; his muscles certainly looked high-tech.
"Child, I know what you want to do."
Steve struck a pose, showing off his biceps. "Want to touch them? A classic that modern technology can't replicate. Just one dollar and you can touch them for a full minute."
Good guy.
They've even started charging fees.
"..."
Ian was struck by a silent blow.
"How did you end up doing this here?" He hesitated for a while, but finally couldn't help asking, his mind filled with a strange animal called "alpaca" galloping through his mind.
"Forehead."
Steve was taken aback at first, then showed a helpless expression.
"Well, what can I do? I have to eat, after all. Those politicians are just money-grubbing bastards. Can you believe they're paying me a pension based on World War II standards?"
He dropped his flamboyant display, looking somewhat dejected, and muttered under his breath, "Retirement pension based on 1945 standards? What kind of person could come up with such a trick to deal with me, fuck! I've slept in the ice for decades and never had a nightmare like this!"
Perhaps because Ian was a child, Steve used very restrained swear words, almost equivalent to interjections like "motherfucker".
"..."
Ian's silence reflected his inner state at that moment.
Deafening.
"I'm sorry... but this has nothing to do with me. It's Tony, it must be him. He's not mentally stable. He doesn't want to see a doctor himself and he wants to force the doctor on me."
Ian's expression was quite complicated. If he still couldn't figure out by now that the problem lay with this reopened world, he would be letting down his super brain.
"what are you saying?"
Steve paused, not understanding what Ian meant. He glanced at Ian's clothes, then suddenly pulled a small card from his shorts.
"Looks like you're a rich kid. I'll be live on YouTube tonight at 8 PM, leading you through the [American Butt-Making Project]. Remember to subscribe on time!"
"If you want a butt like mine, you have to start training it from a young age." Ian didn't dare take Captain America's card; the man maintained his professional smile.
“I’m handsome enough that I don’t need a perky butt anymore. It’s the other perky butts that need me.” Ian said, picking up a clothes support pole next to him.
He helped Steve adjust his super short shorts, which were slightly revealing.
"Subscribe to my channel, and you can become even more handsome." Steve was still trying to sell, but when he saw the clothing store owner coming out from the back room, he quickly got back into position.
"Remember to subscribe!"
Steve gave his final instructions in a voice barely above a whisper, then returned to a statue-like stillness, as if afraid of being penalized for moving around.
"Sir, is there anything I can help you with?"
The clothing store owner approached Ian.
"Pray for me that none of this is real, thank you." Ian knocked over a row of clothes racks as he turned around, and the mannequins' wigs rolled all over the floor like colorful mushrooms.
This shows just how much of an impact the little boy was on his heart at that moment.
"Feel sorry."
Ian pushed open the door of the clothing store and rushed out. He wasn't running away in a panic, but rather he suddenly realized a problem and turned back to the area he had passed through earlier.
Greenwich Village, Black Street
He carefully sent Steve's overly lush, mysterious hair back into his tight shorts.
As the protagonist jogged closer to the brownstone townhouse, the man who had set up his stall seemed to have already packed up; not only was the small table gone, but the villa's front door was also completely shut.
The cold wind swirled the snowflakes.
Ian stood before the oak gate, which was carved with mysterious runes, looking up at the Victorian-style super villa. If he wasn't mistaken, this should be the so-called Sanctuary.
The sanctuary of Kamar-Taj.
From the outside, it looks much like the surrounding houses, except that it is a bit more aesthetically pleasing, with the charm of French Baroque architecture and a unique Mansard roof.
Before the buildings were built, this place was used by a Native American shaman as a place to seal away demons, and later became a mass grave and a site for cult killings.
It later became Kamar-Taj, the territory of the sorcerer's sanctuary on Earth in the Marvel Universe. At some point, the originally evil place became the Sorcerer Supreme's base in New York.
It is also the residence of Doctor Strange.
If Captain America and Spider-Man were to become characters like that, then the identity of the street swindler Ian encountered here would be self-evident.
“I can’t accept this at all; this isn’t the Marvel journey I wanted.” Ian was very frustrated. The gargoyle on the spire tilted its head, as if mocking his hesitation.
After more than ten seconds of hesitation.
The boy took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock on the door—thump, thump, thump.
The sound was very loud.
Unfortunately, no one responded to him.
“That’s really strange,” Ian muttered, withdrawing his hand, a fine layer of verdigris clinging to his fingertips. “Don’t the mages of Kamar-Taj even maintain the door knockers of their temples?”
It wasn't Ian nitpicking.
This is indeed quite puzzling.
As an important building that protects Earth and the universe, the Sanctuary is a crucial node in the protective barrier and should therefore be regularly maintained.