Marvel: Sign-In System – Starting with the Glint-Glint Fruit Chapter 9 9: You Don’t Belong in This Country

"He trafficked what they called 'high-end goods'—white girls and virgins."

"But the FBI isn't interested in this criminal network. Soone stepped in and shut down further investigation, and even the people behind issued a warning."

"The docunts?" Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"They were destroyed."

Reacher spread his hands casually. Matthew let out a faint laugh—mocking, almost amused. Both of them understood exactly what that implied.

"The organization in the United States has already gone underground. It'll likely resurface under a new identity after so ti. I can't track it down for now—but there's an auction in Paris. Two days from now. The buyers are a group of wealthy elites."

Reacher emphasized the word "wealthy elites."

"You seem very certain I'm short on money," Matthew said, glancing at him with mild surprise.

Reacher fell silent for a mont. Then he finished his beer in one gulp, opened another bottle, and took a long drink before speaking in a low voice.

"I don't know what happened to you that gave you the power to take on dozens of ard n, and I don't know what you plan to do next either."

"I've analyzed you based on your behavior. Given your previous actions, I think you're the kind of person who's about to do sothing that would shock a lot of people. I don't know what it is—but I'm pretty sure it'll require a lot of money."

"A group of human-trafficking scum, holding wealth that most people will never even see in their lifeti."

"If that wealth is going to exist anyway, it might as well end up in your hands instead of theirs."

"Due to certain pressures, I can't personally send those bastards to hell—but you can."

Matthew t his gaze for a few seconds, then raised his bottle and clinked it lightly against Reacher's.

"You don't belong in this country," he said.

"Maybe," Reacher replied calmly. "I can only do what I'm capable of."

"In that case, you might as well co work with ," Matthew said casually. "I might be able to take you down a completely different—more interesting—path."

"I'd like to say yes," Reacher replied after a pause, "but not right now."

Matthew understood. He didn't press further and simply continued drinking. After so casual conversation, Reacher left after handing over his partner's contact information.

He still needed to investigate that mysterious organization.

Reacher never liked being watched or monitored by any agency. He preferred to understand his enemies in advance—that was his usual style. Matthew didn't stop him. In truth, as far as "mysterious organizations" went, there were only a few possibilities.

Hydra, S.H.I.E.L.D.—that kind of thing.

To ordinary people, those organizations were indeed massive and terrifying. But to Matthew, they were just that. The only ones he wouldn't underestimate were the scientists.

After all, in this universe, scientists were often walking anomalies themselves.

At present, even Charles Xavier posed a greater threat than most of those organizations.

Reacher conducting counter-surveillance shouldn't run into any serious danger. The big man wasn't simple either. From how he had cleaned up the aftermath in Margrave, it was clear he had considerable backing of his own. Combined with his cautious nature, eliminating Reacher wouldn't be an easy task for anyone.

As for Matthew, it was ti to begin the first phase of his own plan.

In truth, because of the uncertainty of the sign-in system and its rewards, his plans might shift over ti—but the overall direction would not change.

He intended to build his own organization.

To address the hidden risks brought about by his rapidly growing physique, the best solution was nutritional enhancent drugs. Matthew never rejected the power of technology; on the contrary, he believed such supplents were currently the most suitable way to solve this problem.

So, for now, he needed two things—money and people.

Conveniently, this upcoming opportunity could solve one of them.

…

In a standalone luxury villa in Paris.

A middle-aged man wearing a black sweater and glasses, his appearance carefully grood and orderly, sat at his desk in front of a computer, thodically verifying information one entry at a ti as he prepared for an upcoming and highly important auction.

Even the slightest mistake would an total ruin for him.

This residence had been specially chosen as his working base. Located in an affluent district, it was not only patrolled regularly by security guards but also equipped with a full surveillance and protection system, ensuring a high level of safety.

After finishing his final check, he stretched lazily, picked up his empty coffee cup, and prepared to head to the living room to brew another one.

But the mont he stepped out of the room, sothing made him stop dead in his tracks.

His pupils narrowed slightly. His expression shifted.

Because, without him noticing when it had happened, two unfamiliar figures were now standing in his living room.

One was a young black-haired man wearing a black overcoat, tall and straight-backed, with a strikingly handso face.

The other was a woman dressed in a simple shirt, a dark green jacket, and jeans. She looked ordinary at first glance, around 1.7 ters tall, with slightly dark skin and black hair tied into braids typical of African descent. Her deanor, however, was sharp and capable.

A pair that should never have been here—yet now stood inside his ho.

A bad feeling instantly rose in the middle-aged man's chest.

Still, instead of panicking or fleeing, he tried to initiate communication.

But what happened next completely shattered his composure.

The young man in the black coat suddenly vanished from where he stood—like a blink of motion itself—and reappeared directly in front of him.

The middle-aged man staggered back in shock, his grip loosening as the empty coffee cup slipped from his hand.

Before it could fall, the young man casually reached out and caught it with ease.

Then, in clear English, he called out his na.

"Clent."

"What?" The man steadied himself after stumbling back two steps, his mind still reeling from the ghostlike speed he had just witnessed. Fear began to creep in—but the mont he heard his na spoken aloud, his heart sank completely.

There was no doubt now. These two had co for him.

He forced himself to stay calm and spoke a line in French, pretending ignorance.

But the capable woman had already walked past him. As she brushed by, she responded with a teasing tone in fluent French.

"I speak over a dozen languages, including French. And I think you should be a little smarter than this, Mr. Clent."

Without stopping, she entered the room behind him.

Clent's expression shifted again as her words sank in. At the sa ti, he felt the young man's cold gaze locking onto him, and an inexplicable fear began to rise in his chest.

"Who the hell are you people? You'd better think carefully before—"

He tried to threaten them, but the young man had already grown impatient.

Stepping forward, he grabbed Clent by the neck with one hand and, ignoring his struggling completely, lifted him effortlessly and carried him straight into the room.

They arrived at the desk.

The woman was already rifling through the docunts and computer files on top of it.

In an instant, Clent understood their purpose. His mind raced rapidly—international police? A rival organization? Or so unknown faction?

While he was still thinking, the woman's voice rang out.

"Looks like we're in luck, Boss. We've got the full list of participants for this auction… along with detailed information."