At this moment, the "blood" and "wounds" on Antony's body were no longer symbols of disgrace.
They were the brightest medals imaginable.
Even the Hulk froze.
He looked at the trembling children, and within those eyes once filled with boundless rage, a trace of confusion surfaced.
He was the Hulk.
Not a demon.
The sound of children crying was like a stream of clear, icy water, dousing the wildfire in his mind.
"Hulk…"
The raised fist stopped in midair.
And Antony—slowly—straightened his back.
Though his body still swayed slightly, in the eyes of everyone watching, his figure had never seemed taller.
"Are you done yet?"
"If you want to fight, we can keep going."
He spread his arms, standing firmly in front of the children.
"Don't touch them."
As he spoke, Antony quietly summoned the system in his mind.
"System, activate Team Assembly."
"Detected team members within a 1500-meter radius: Antony, Jewel, Quicksilver, Firestar, Speedball, Invisible Man."
"Team Assembly Mode activated! Current all-attribute amplification: 360%!"
But it still wasn't enough.
For that decisive, show-stopping, one-punch finish he had envisioned, he needed more explosive power.
"Activate Bonded Strike!"
"Consuming 5,000 Special Popularity Points! Next attack damage increased by 1000%!"
Antony's right fist slowly clenched.
From the outside, nothing seemed different.
But within his perception, the power condensed into that single fist had reached a truly terrifying level.
"Come on, big guy."
Antony looked at the Hulk, sneering inwardly.
"I'll end this with one punch."
He had already planned the post-strike pose.
Even the line he'd say to the cameras—
Power exists to protect, not to vent.
But the Hulk looked past Antony—to the children trembling behind him, to the brave old nun standing with arms spread wide.
Then he looked down… at his own enormous fists.
The fury in his eyes faded rapidly.
He slowly, step by step, walked toward Antony.
"Good. That's it. Hurry up—I'm ready," Antony urged internally, his fist clenched tighter, waiting for the instant Hulk would explode into action.
But the Hulk stopped three meters in front of him.
Then—before everyone's eyes—his massive body began to shrink.
From a seven-meter-tall titan, he reverted to his normal state—around two-point-seven meters tall.
The Hulk lowered his arms.
Like a child who knew he had done something wrong, he spoke slowly, awkwardly:
"Hulk… not fight… not fighting anymore."
...
A light breeze passed through, lifting scraps of newspaper across the ground.
For the briefest moment, Antony's resolute expression froze.
This completely short-circuited him.
He struggled to keep his facial expression under control, suppressing the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
But inside his head, a thousand screaming marmots were roaring like dragons.
Are you kidding me?!
I've already activated my ultimate! I've spent 5,000 special popularity points! And now you're telling me you're done fighting?!
Where's your rage?! Your pride?! Weren't you going to tear me apart?!
You're supposed to roar "HULK STRONGEST," jump at me, and throw a punch! Then I counter with righteous judgment and end it perfectly! That's the script!!
"System! System!!" Antony shouted in his mind.
"If I don't throw this punch, can I get a refund? Seven-day no-questions-asked return?!"
The system remained silent.
Instead, a small interface popped up before him—
Bonded Strike remaining charge time: 59… 58… 57…
"…Damn it."
Antony wanted to curse, but every camera on Earth was pointed at him.
He couldn't lose his temper.
He couldn't show disappointment.
"Ha…"
He forcibly suppressed his frustration and rapidly adjusted his expression.
Slowly, he relaxed his clenched fist, warmth and tolerance flowing into his gaze.
A dozen Hummingbird drones closed in, their ultra-HD lenses capturing every detail.
Under the close-up, Antony's eyes—
What kind of look was that?
It was the compassion of a father or older brother, gazing at a lost lamb finally finding its way home.
"I know," Antony said softly, his voice carried clearly to the entire world through the drones' sensitive microphones.
"I know you don't want to hurt anyone, Hulk."
The Hulk looked up.
In those green eyes, something like grievance appeared.
"Everyone… afraid of Hulk…"
"Hulk… doesn't want to be… monster…"
Thump.
Before the eyes of the entire world, the embodiment of destruction—
The Green Hulk—
Dropped to his knees before the red-and-blue figure.
Like a child who had made a mistake, kneeling before a stern—no, gentle—father.
"Hulk… also want… be hero."
That sentence alone made countless viewers' noses sting.
Antony responded perfectly.
He reached out—
And gently ruffled the Hulk's messy hair.
"Want to be a hero?"
Antony smiled, a smile warmer than the midday sun.
"You already are."
"No one is born a hero."
"The moment you choose to use your strength to protect the weak—"
"That's the moment you become one."
The Hulk stood there, stunned, feeling the warmth on his head.
No one had ever done this before.
Before, people only pointed guns at him.
Only fired missiles at him.
A completely unfamiliar emotion spread through his heart.
The wind rose.
The sea breeze lifted Antony's cape and tousled the Hulk's hair.
Amid ruins and dust—
A god placed his hand on a beast's head.
Redemption was complete.
This moment was frozen forever by countless camera shutters.
"Ding! Special Popularity +15,000! (From Hulk)"
Hearing that notification, the last trace of bitterness in Antony's heart finally faded.
"Alright. Fifteen thousand. Not a loss."
As the Hulk's emotions stabilized, the green skin rapidly receded, his massive skeleton shrinking.
Seconds later—
Only Bruce Banner remained, clad in nothing but a pair of torn shorts, curled up on the ground, unconscious.
...
Several blocks away, on Park Avenue—
The tone of battle there was far less tender.
"BOOOOM!!"
A car was hurled through the air.
With Jane Foster, the Mighty Thor, joining the fray, the tide of battle flipped instantly.
Mjolnir seemed to have finally found someone who truly understood it.
Each swing unleashed storms of lightning.
"So… this hammer was always this good?" Jane muttered.
She executed a graceful backflip midair, dodging a missile, then casually smashed the ambushing armor into scrap with a single strike.
The sensation of divine power flooding her body was intoxicating.
Thousands of years of Asgardian combat instincts were etched into her mind, making her look even more like a true warrior than Thor himself.
And Thor—
Odin's son—
Was currently deep in an existential crisis.
"Why… why would Mjolnir reject me…"
The answer was already written in lightning above his head.
Because tonight—
Someone else had proven what it truly meant to be worthy.
And the world had already chosen.
You are the hero.
--------------
T/N:
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