Just then, the white, middle-aged man at the checkout, who was built like a mountain of flesh, finally finished counting the change.
Yawning, he looked out the window at the intensifying rain and cursed in a thick American accent, "God damn it! Why is it so cold? This hellish weather is even worse than bloody Siberia! I'm about to turn into a popsicle!"
Almost subconsciously...
Reze, standing at the counter, and Natasha, standing behind her, both let out a scoff at the same time.
"Heh." Reze slapped a few crumpled bills onto the counter and muttered in a very soft Russian under her breath, "Idiot. If you threw him into Siberia, he wouldn't even survive his first summer."
The Russian was idiomatic, using the kind of biting slang known only to those who had lived in that red nation.
「simulation value +42」
Natasha's originally nonchalant, contemptuous gaze froze for a split second.
Three minutes later.
Under the dilapidated awning at the convenience store entrance.
Rainwater dripped from the eaves, forming a natural water curtain.
"Click."
Reze pulled the ring on a soda can, tilted her head back, and took a large gulp of the sickly sweet liquid, a look of satisfaction appearing on her face. "Ha... Even though it's all artificial flavoring, it's not bad when it's warm."
Beside her, Natasha no longer used that clumsy New Yorker accent, but spoke in fluent Russian as if they were old acquaintances:
"You actually like drinking this stuff? People here don't understand what real bitterness is, nor do they understand what a real aftertaste is."
Reze turned her head and looked at this woman, who maintained an alert posture even on a rainy night, and suddenly found it a bit amusing.
Even though both knew the other's background wasn't clean—one being a top S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent and the other a Bomb Devil who had just caused trouble—they reached a bizarre understanding in this foreign night, fueled by the nostalgia brought on by the rain.
"I don't understand what a real aftertaste is either," Reze switched back to Russian and continued to complain.
"But the pickles here are as disgusting as mud soaked in sugar water."
Natasha smiled, a rare flash of nostalgia and agreement in her eyes.
"If you get a chance, go to Petrov's Restaurant in Brooklyn. It's one of the few places that makes Borscht without sugar. The owner is a penny-pinching miser, but the taste is passable."
"Got it, Auntie. See you around..."
Reze replied casually, pulled up her hood, and her figure quickly disappeared into the curtain of rain.
「simulation value +27」
Natasha watched her back disappear and stood there for a long time.
She took out a communicator and dialed an encrypted channel.
The voice of the one-eyed Director came through the earpiece. "Contact made? Confirmed it's the bomb girl?"
"Contact made." Natasha looked at the empty street, her tone calm.
"Assessment? Danger level?"
"Very dangerous, and... very simple." Natasha paused, giving an evaluation that didn't fit her usual cool style. "It might be my imagination, but she has a bit of the Red Room's scent about her, like a manufactured weapon."
"You mean she's also a Black Widow?" Fury asked.
In reality, Black Widow had never been a code name exclusive to one person, but rather a group.
Every female Agent who successfully completed training in the Red Room was a Black Widow; Natasha was simply the most famous among them.
This was very similar to Reze's past experience—one could even say it was almost identical.
Except her code name wasn't as pleasant... it was just "Guinea Pig."