Inside the Triskelion, Nick Fury and Agent Coulson continued their review of the new intelligence from the Assassin's League.
SHIELD had previously been interested in the League's unique techniques, particularly the bullet-time-like ability and the Sacred Loom. However, discovering that the special ability was bloodline-inherited and that the Loom had been destroyed led them to conclude the League was mostly irrelevant to their core mission.
Coulson provided the basic profile of the new leader. "Our staff didn't pay much attention to the new leader of the Assassin's League in the early stages; we didn't even expect him to become the leader."
"So there's no detailed psychological description or analysis, but basic information is still coming through. Smith Doyle, male, 18 years old, orphan. Adopted by the top brass of the League, he has been living in their headquarters. His code name is GOD."
"We believe he currently adheres to the League's principles and will not lead the organization down a path that undermines social stability in the short term. Dealing with the High Table was his first target after taking office."
Nick Fury smiled faintly. "GOD, that's a pretty big name. It seems the 18-year-old leader is highly regarded by the higher-ups."
Fury's single eye narrowed. "We need to monitor Smith Doyle closely and understand why he can become a leader at the age of 18. Is it because of their special abilities, or because he was specially selected?"
"As for the Assassin's League and the High Table, let the undercover personnel collect information and intelligence normally," Fury concluded. He wouldn't commit major resources to the underworld war unless $Item\ 084$ (the code for any suspected alien artifacts or threats) was involved.
Coulson nodded. "Yes, I understand."
At the Assassin's League Recovery Room, Fox was resting, having suffered internal bruising from the car crash. Smith Doyle gently removed the layer of solidified wax that had covered her eyes and mouth for the duration of the deep-sleep treatment.
"You're awake," Smith said. "How do you feel?"
Fox opened her eyes, looking at Smith, then immediately felt the dryness in her throat. "I'm a little thirsty."
Smith shouted, "Poole!"
"Yes, Master Smith," the blue entity replied.
Poole, transforming into a tiny dispenser, rolled up a glass of whiskey from a nearby cart and poured a small sip into Fox's mouth.
Fox sputtered, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What is this?"
"A talking and flying blue cat?"
Smith thought for a moment. "My mate, Poole." He then introduced them. "Poole, this is my friend, Fox."
Poole floated in the air and greeted her with a small bow. "Hello, I'm Poole."
"Alien?" Fox asked, still bewildered.
Smith paused, considering the complexity. "Not really. It's related to Dragon Ball."
Fox nodded blankly, accepting it as "Another mystery in Smith's life."
"What do we do next?" she asked, sitting up suddenly, the solidified wax cracking away. "Shall we go kill Viggo together?"
Smith shook his head. "Viggo is dead, and the Russian gang is destroyed." He smiled faintly. "By the way, I'm the leader now."
Fox's excitement was instantaneous. "Congratulations!" She then looked confused. "How long did my treatment last? I remember the injury wasn't serious. It shouldn't take more than a week, right?"
"No," Smith chuckled. "You just slept all night."
Smith then recounted the events of the previous evening, bringing Fox up to speed on the swift, brutal end of the Russian gang and his ascension to the role of GOD.
Meanwhile, John Wick had successfully recovered his beloved $1969$ Ford Mustang Boss $429$. At his home, he sat watching a heartwarming video taken by his late wife, Helen, then looked down at a specific Dragon Ball he held—a globe with Three Stars glowing faintly inside.
"Helen, wait for me," he whispered.
Just then, the doorbell rang. John Wick, hoping it was Smith, immediately rose.
When he opened the door, he was disappointed. Standing there was Santino D'Antonio, a powerful Italian crime boss, and an old acquaintance.
"Come in," John Wick invited, his mood sinking.
After entering the living room, John Wick offered a reluctant welcome. "Nice to meet you."
Santino D'Antonio returned the greeting, then looked at the photo of John and Helen. "I'm so sorry about your wife, John."
John Wick paused, his grief raw. "Thank you."
After John Wick returned with two cups of coffee, they sat facing each other on the living room sofa.
Santino D'Antonio began the painful conversation. "Listen, John. To be honest, I didn't want to come either."
John Wick already knew why he was here; he had once given Santino D'Antonio a Blood Oath contract. Thinking of his urgent Dragon Ball hunt, he preempted the request. "Please don't do that."
Santino D'Antonio took out the silver Blood Oath Marker that John Wick had given him. "I'm sorry, but no one can quit and come back without consequences."
Placing the contract marker on the coffee table, Santino continued: "I'm in a dilemma, too, John. But don't forget, if it weren't for me, I wouldn't have helped you complete the impossible task that night. You wouldn't have had the chance to sit here and have five wonderful years."
Santino pointed around the room. "All of this is thanks to me, and in a way, it all belongs to me."
John Wick's face was etched with pain and resistance. "Take it back."
Santino D'Antonio was genuinely surprised. "Take it back? Blood Oath contracts are no joke, John. If a person gives a Blood Oath contract to someone else, it means they are making a blood oath with their soul."
John Wick had just given one Blood Oath to Smith Doyle. Refusing a second would be an unprecedented breach of honor in the underworld. Yet, he needed to focus on the Dragon Balls.
After hesitating, John Wick asked, "Is it urgent?"
Santino Antonio nodded. "It's urgent."
"Does it have to be me?" John asked, his final appeal.
Santino picked up the contract marker. "It has to be you."
Seeing John Wick still resistant, Santino D'Antonio took a deep breath, knowing he had to play his trump card. He pulled out his cell phone and pulled up a photo.
"I heard you were looking for this thing," Santino said.
John Wick stared at the image on the screen: a glowing, spherical object, identical to the one in his hand, but with Four Stars inside. He fought desperately to maintain his composure.
"Do you know what it is?" John Wick asked, his voice calmer than he felt.