Marvel x Genshin: Mavuika, The Sun Goddess Rules Asgard — Chapter 152

Chapter 152: An Unwelcome Encounter

The afternoon sun cast a warm, lazy glow over the city, its golden light filtering through the canopy of leaves in Central Park. The three siblings walked at a leisurely pace along one of the winding paths, the gentle hum of the city a distant backdrop to the park’s tranquil symphony.

The scenery around them was a vibrant tableau of life: lush green lawns stretched out like carpets, the surface of the lake shimmered under the sun, and families strolled without a care in the world. Children, their laughter like chimes, ran and played freely across the grass. In the distance, the colossal skyscrapers of Manhattan stood as silent sentinels, a stark reminder of the modern world that lay just beyond this verdant oasis.

Thor, ever the curious warrior in a strange new land, took in everything with wide, fascinated eyes.

“Big Sister, what are those people doing?” he asked, pointing toward a group of figures in the distance.

Mavuika followed his gaze. A cluster of children was energetically chasing a ball across a field. “They’re playing soccer,” she explained. “It’s a type of game they have here.”

Thor’s eyes lit up with an almost boyish enthusiasm. “A game? Can I join them?”

Mavuika glanced at the children again, noting that the oldest among them couldn’t have been more than ten. A faint, amused smile touched her lips. “I think you might scare them if you went over.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed Thor’s face, but he didn’t argue. He simply stood there for a long moment, watching intently as the children shouted, ran, and vied for the black-and-white ball, their small forms a whirlwind of motion on the grass.

“It looks quite interesting,” he muttered to himself, a thoughtful look on his face.

They continued their walk, and soon a new sound drifted toward them on the breeze. It was the clear, melodic strumming of a guitar, accompanied by the deep, soulful voice of a young man singing.

Thor stopped in his tracks, his head tilting as he listened.

He followed the sound to its source. There, in the cool shade of a large oak tree, sat a young man in a plaid shirt, his fingers dancing across the strings of his instrument. An open guitar case lay on the ground before him, holding a few scattered bills and coins.

“This is…” Thor’s voice was filled with a sudden, reverent excitement. “A bard?”

Mavuika paused, considering the term. In Asgard, bards were keepers of sagas, weavers of epic tales. This was different, yet… the essence was the same. She nodded slowly. “You could say that.”

Without another word, Thor strode over and stood before the young man, listening with rapt attention. The song was an ordinary pop ballad, a simple tale of love and parting, but Thor listened as if it were a heroic lay being sung in the halls of Valhalla. His expression shifted, mirroring the song’s emotional journey from focus to heartfelt sentiment.

When the final chord faded, Thor erupted in vigorous applause.

“Excellent! That was wonderfully sung!” he boomed.

The young musician looked up, startled by the tall, powerfully built blonde man standing before him. He blinked in surprise, then a shy, pleased smile spread across his face. “Thank you.”

Thor knelt, pulling a few bills from the pocket of his trousers—the spending money Mavuika had given him that morning—and carefully placed them in the open guitar case.

The young man’s eyes widened at the generous offering. “Thank you, sir! Thank you so much!”

Thor grinned, his good cheer infectious. “Don’t mention it! I, too, enjoy listening to the songs of bards!”

The musician looked a little confused. “Bard?”

Mavuika walked over, gently taking Thor by the arm. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t disturb the man’s work.”

Thor glanced back reluctantly as she led him away. “But his song was truly good…”

Mavuika let out a soft, fond sigh. “If you enjoy it that much, I’ll take you to a concert later.”

His eyes sparkled with renewed excitement. “A concert? What is that?”

“It’s a gathering where many people come together to listen to someone sing.”

“Wonderful!” Thor declared. “I want to go!”

Loki, however, had not followed them to listen to the ‘bard.’ His attention had been captured by something else entirely. He had stopped beside a bench near the lake, where two old men were hunched over a chessboard.

He stood to the side, watching in silence.

The board was a tangled battlefield, a snarled knot of black and white pieces locked in a tense stalemate. Both players were completely absorbed. One, with a deeply furrowed brow, agonized over his next move. The other, a faint, confident smile playing on his lips, waited with predatory patience.

Loki observed for a few minutes, the corners of his own mouth slowly curling into a knowing smirk. He understood this. This wasn’t merely a game. It was a contest of strategy and will, a duel of intellect and patience. Every move was a potential feint, every piece a hidden threat. Each decision could unravel the entire board.

It was, he mused, very much like the work he so enjoyed.

“Interesting,” he murmured softly.

The frowning old man suddenly looked up, his gaze landing on the silent observer. “Young man, do you know how to play?”

Loki considered the question for a moment. “A little.”

The old man’s opponent had just gotten up to take a phone call, leaving his seat empty. The old man smiled and gestured to the vacant spot. “Come, play a round with me.”

Loki’s gaze flickered from the empty seat to the old man’s challenging eyes. Then, with a quiet grace, he sat down.

Fifteen minutes later, the old man stared at the board in stunned silence.

His king was trapped, utterly checkmated. It was impossible. His queen and rook were still on the board; his advantage had seemed overwhelming only moments ago.

And yet, he had lost.

He slowly lifted his gaze to the young man seated across from him. That youthful face held a placid, almost gentle smile, but his emerald eyes shimmered with a sharp, cutting light—an intelligence the old man found he couldn’t begin to fathom.

“You…” the old man began, his voice a bit hoarse. “Who did you learn from?”

Loki tilted his head, as if giving the question serious thought. “I’m self-taught.”

The old man fell silent again, utterly dumbfounded.

Loki rose from his seat and gave a slight, formal bow. “Thank you for the lesson.”

He turned and walked away, leaving the old man sitting alone, staring blankly at the chessboard that had become the scene of his swift and inexplicable defeat.

Mavuika and Thor happened to walk over just as Loki rejoined them.

“You won?” Mavuika asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Loki simply nodded.

Thor, oblivious, asked curiously, “Won what?”

“Chess,” Loki replied.

Thor scratched his head. “You know how to play chess?”

Loki shot him a sidelong glance, his expression one of faint disdain. “I know many things you do not.”

Thor just curled his lip, deciding it wasn’t worth the energy to argue.

Just as the three were preparing to leave the park, a commotion from a nearby street shattered the peaceful atmosphere. The sound was ugly—an angry, shouting argument, punctuated by a woman’s desperate crying.

Thor’s ears twitched, his relaxed posture instantly vanishing. He stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s happening over there?”

Mavuika had heard it too, and a slight frown creased her brow. Loki looked up, his gaze fixed in the direction of the disturbance.

“That sounds… unpleasant,” he remarked dryly.

Thor had already turned and was striding purposefully toward the noise. “Let’s go and see.”

Mavuika and Loki exchanged a quick glance before following in his wake.

The sounds were coming from a narrow alleyway bordering the west side of the park. As Thor rounded the corner, a grim scene unfolded before him.

Three men, dressed in garish, flashy clothes, had a middle-aged couple cornered against a brick wall. The leader was a burly, bald man with a face full of rough, angry flesh. A thick gold chain hung around his neck, and a cigarette dangled from his lips. His two cronies, both in loud floral shirts, flanked him; one casually held a baseball bat, while the other idly flicked open and closed a folding knife.

The husband, a man in his fifties with graying hair and fresh bruises blooming on his cheek, stood protectively in front of his wife. The woman’s face was streaked with tears, and she clutched a manila envelope to her chest as if it were a lifeline, her entire body trembling.

“…The interest has to be paid today!” the bald man’s voice was a harsh, arrogant rasp. “You’re not ignorant of Mr. Kingpin’s rules, are you?”

To emphasize his point, he raised a heavy boot and kicked over a nearby trash can. It clattered and rolled across the pavement, spilling garbage everywhere. The few pedestrians nearby gave the scene a wide berth, hurrying past with their heads down. No one dared to intervene.

The husband pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. “We’ve already paid the interest three times, and half the principal… How can the interest have gone up again? Mr. Viktor, I’m begging you, just give us a few more days…”

The bald man, Viktor, let out a sneering laugh. “A few more days? Do you think Mr. Kingpin is running a charity?” He took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I’m telling you, today is the final deadline. You either pay up, or—”

His gaze slid from the man to the terrified woman behind him, his mouth twisting into a disgusting, predatory smile.

“Or you can bring your daughter to us. I hear she’s quite the looker. Maybe she could…”

The husband’s face went deathly pale. “No! No! Mr. Viktor, I beg you…”

Viktor contemptuously shoved him aside and lunged for the envelope in the woman’s arms.

The woman screamed, holding on for dear life.

But in that exact moment, a hand clamped down on Viktor’s wrist.

The strength in the grip was staggering. Viktor felt as if his arm had been caught in an iron vise, rendering him completely immobile. He grunted in pain and surprise, turning his head to see who had dared to interfere.

Standing behind him was a tall, blonde, powerfully built man, his blue eyes fixed on him with an expression of cold fury.