Marvel: Sign-In System – Starting with the Glint-Glint Fruit Chapter 52 52: Long Time No See, Old Friend

Matthew's arrival stunned the Black Widows, leaving them in a collective silence for a mont.

His gaze swept across the field. Finally, he looked at Reacher. "A bit formal, don't you think?"

"You're the boss. You should at least get to know your employees," Reacher replied aningfully.

There was no doubt that Matthew was a good boss. He was never stingy when it ca to compensation.

The issue was—he didn't like managing things.

Delegating authority was a good thing. Trusting his subordinates showed confidence and decisiveness.

The problem was, he delegated a little too much.

Aside from core mbers like Reacher, he had barely t the others. Many of the newer recruits had never even seen him.

Matthew wasn't so behind-the-scenes figure who needed to maintain mystery to uphold authority.

Neagley, in particular, had complained to Reacher about this more than once.

Reacher understood that these Black Widows were a central pillar of Matthew's future plans. They needed to see him. Simultaneously, this eting served to eliminate the unease lingering within them.

Matthew agreed with the sentint.

As for the faint trace of Reacher's inner complaints that he picked up through Observation Haki—he chose to ignore it for now. There would be ti later to find an excuse and properly teach this brute a lesson.

Let him understand what the authority of a boss ant.

A re employee daring to complain about the boss—he'd make sure to arrange so proper "996 benefits (9 a.m. to 9 p.m., 6 days a week)" for him in the future.

After ntally noting Reacher's complaints in his little ledger, Matthew stepped forward, closing the distance as he looked at the Black Widows.

"My na is Matthew Brown. I am your future boss."

"The nightmare you once knew—Dreykov—is dead. From now on, you will no longer be controlled or enslaved. You won't have to live in that nightmare anymore."

"You've lost too much. Your past is filled with pain. You don't need to forget it—because that pain can beco the driving force that pushes you forward."

"From now on, no one can control your life… except ."

His tone shifted slightly, carrying a hint of lightness that caused the serious, attentive Black Widows to unconsciously curl their lips into faint smiles.

"I respect your choices. This is your final opportunity. You can choose to forget the past, leave this place, and start a new life. We won't stop you—just like those who have already left."

Matthew paused briefly before continuing.

"But if you choose to stay, there will still be killing."

"Your hands will still be stained with blood. But you will also grow stronger. You'll step onto an entirely new battlefield, facing enemies that may be human… or sothing else entirely. Creatures you've never seen before. You may even die."

"Ladies, it's ti to choose."

After speaking, he fell silent and waited.

Waited for their decision.

After becoming a boss, Matthew had instinctively mastered the art of leadership persuasion. It was a skill every person in power needed. Of course, so only made empty promises—but he didn't.

Neither Natasha, lina, nor the others expected Matthew to say such things. For a mont, their hearts were a swirl of complex emotions.

Did they want to let go of the past?

They had thought about it. They were tired of that cursed life as spies.

Before Matthew arrived, Reacher had already given them a choice—and yet, they had chosen to stay.

Perhaps it was out of gratitude toward Matthew and the others.

Or perhaps it was uncertainty—an inability to truly let go of the past.

Whatever the reason, though they had wavered, none of them chose to leave.

Even after so ti passed, not a single person stepped forward to walk away.

Matthew sensed through his Observation Haki that the girls' emotions were gradually settling, becoming firm and resolute. His brow lifted slightly.

He couldn't guess what the Black Widows were thinking, but he didn't dwell on it.

"Alright, ladies. Your first assignnt has arrived."

His expression turned serious.

Reacher frowned faintly, confused. He couldn't quite figure out what Matthew was planning.

lina and the others were equally puzzled, but they listened attentively.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Matthew suddenly changed tone. He rubbed his stomach and said with a troubled look, "I've been eating nothing but beef and lamb for a month—I'm sick of it. So, ladies, your task is to cook your best dish and win over your boss."

For a mont, everyone was stunned.

"Ha! Co on, ladies and gentlen—let's have a grand feast! Forget the past, forget the future, and enjoy the present!" Matthew spread his arms wide and called out exuberantly.

The group exchanged glances with one another—and then smiles broke out.

Soon, cheers filled the air. So even whistled.

The tense atmosphere vanished, replaced by warmth and lively excitent.

Reacher smiled as well, looking at Matthew with approval.

Whether it was deliberate insight into people's hearts or simply his nature, Matthew had handled this perfectly—dispelling negativity and strengthening their bond.

…

Baltimore, Maryland.

An elderly Black man in a gray overcoat, tall but slightly stooped with age, walked down the street carrying groceries he had just bought.

The February weather in Maryland was mild. The snow from the previous month had already disappeared.

There weren't many pedestrians on the street.

It was a quiet neighborhood, mostly inhabited by elderly residents.

"Hey, John."

"Hey, Bradley. I caught a big fish this morning—want to co by and have so later?"

"No, I've got to clean up the house today. There's dust piling up in the corners."

"Alright, old friend. Take it easy—don't throw your back out like I did."

"Haha, I won't."

The old man passed by his neighbor's house, chatting briefly with Old John, who had co out to take out the trash. Afterward, he continued toward his own ho.

His house was an old two-story brick-and-wood structure, with a front porch and red brick steps.

The surrounding hos were similarly low, standalone houses.

The place was quiet.

As usual, just as he was about to take out his key and open the door, his expression changed slightly.

His hand paused for a mont—but he still inserted the key, turned it, and opened the door.

However, instead of going inside, he turned around.

At so point, a car had stopped by the edge of the lawn.

Two people stepped out—a man and a woman.

The mont he saw one of them, the previously calm and gentle old man suddenly erupted with a fierce, overwhelming presence.

Like a sleeping lion awakening.

His gaze locked onto the tall man dressed in a simple black leather jacket and jeans.

He recognized that face.

His eyes shifted downward, landing on the man's left hand—now covered by a black leather glove.

"Did you get that scrap tal of yours fixed again?" the old man said coldly.

"Long ti no see, old friend."

...

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