American comic: I, JoJo, am going to heaven!

Chapter 178 The Gentlest Ability in the World

In front of the ICU ward at a New York hospital, Jon Snow stood expressionless, his features hidden in the shadows beneath his hat.

A middle-aged woman with bloodshot eyes and a look of rage gripped the collar of his white trench coat tightly with both hands, shaking it back and forth while repeatedly demanding, "Why are there explosives in the house?!"

Jon remained silent, letting the worker's family vent their anger, and silently took all the blame upon himself.

He was not good with words and couldn't explain such troublesome matters clearly. In his view, he was the cause of the incident, the person who planted the explosives was the murderer, and he bore some responsibility.

If doing this would make the grieving worker's wife feel any better, then he didn't care.

This is why Skye didn't stop them; at that moment, she was carefully holding the middle-aged woman's newborn child, skillfully soothing him.

Skye, who spent most of her childhood at St. Colin's Orphanage, is very experienced in taking care of children, and putting a child to sleep is a piece of cake for her.

After a long time, the middle-aged woman seemed to have cried herself to exhaustion. She finally let go of her collar and collapsed to the ground, her face ashen, because the cost of the ICU was simply beyond her means.

The man in front of her was wearing a custom-made white trench coat, but she had heard from her husband's colleagues that he only lived in a two-bedroom apartment.

"Don't worry." Jon put his hands in his pockets, hesitated for a moment, then bent down, his eyes firm, and said in a deep voice, "Your husband will be better tonight."

Meeting the middle-aged woman's gaze, which seemed to look at him as if he were a fool, he didn't explain much. Instead, he said softly in a convincing tone, "If you really need a reason, you can consider it a miracle by Santa Claus."

As soon as he finished speaking, Jon frowned and looked towards the end of the hospital corridor.

His extraordinary senses detected a series of chaotic footsteps that were getting closer and closer.

Judging from the sounds, there were at least a dozen people. The footsteps approached rapidly, and it wasn't until many microphones and cameras appeared at the end of the corridor that Jon realized—these guys were after him.

Because of his relationship with Pepper and Tony, he holds a sinecure as deputy director of the Disaster Control Bureau.

Although he was the deputy director, apart from Detective Wu, no one in the bureau took a 20-year-old seriously.

Regardless of the circumstances, he was an important official. The fact that an official was attacked by a criminal group, along with a worker affected by the explosion, made this a very sensational topic.

There was no need to guess who had brought the reporter. Jon glanced at the middle-aged woman still silently weeping by the wall and sighed inwardly.

And then there's this group of reporters, rushing into the hospital for a big story. Even though New York hospitals aren't exactly top-tier, they actually barged into the ICU area... It's unbelievable!

"Enough is enough." Jon pulled his hat down low, hiding his face in the shadows, and leaned against the wall in silence, hoping that the reporters would ignore him.

Unfortunately, this person was completely unaware of his towering height, and was wearing an eye-catching white trench coat. With that muscular physique, it was impossible for him not to be noticed.

Sure enough, the next second, a microphone was shoved in front of Jon.

The lead reporter immediately asked, "Deputy Director Yovik, there are reports that this was a terrorist attack instigated by the Mandarin. What is your opinion on this? Will you respond, or will you remain silent?"

Ugh, so annoying! These women, chattering away, so noisy!

Under the brim of his hat, Jon closed his eyes in frustration, veins bulging on his forehead. He took deep breaths, trying to convince himself to be patient, reminding himself that public opinion was a double-edged sword and he couldn't lose his temper.

But as he took a deep breath, the pungent and overpowering scent of perfume assaulted his nostrils, making him clench his fists. His mental preparation, which had lasted only three seconds, crumbled instantly.

He abruptly raised his head, his brow furrowed, and glared at the reporter with icy eyes, roaring angrily, "Shut up!! You're so noisy! You woman!!!"

"Uh...okay, so handsome." The reporter was startled by the roar, blinked, and couldn't help but stare at the rugged face under the brim of the hat, her face slightly flushed.

"This is a hospital, not your home." Jon said coldly, his strong body standing up straight, casting a shadow over the room. "Get out of here, all of you."

The female reporters nodded hastily and left without saying a word, their faces slightly flushed. The male reporters were also frightened by Jon's murderous expression and dared not linger for even a moment.

After a while, a series of hurried footsteps came from the end of the corridor, accompanied by Detective Wu's somewhat broken Mandarin.

"Zhang, Guan! Zhang, Guan!"

At that moment, Detective Wu ran over with the evidence he had just collected. As soon as he looked up, he was met with Jon's cold gaze, which startled him so much that he immediately fell silent.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to, but you really have to take a look at this." With that, he handed the file folder to Jon, while holding another clue he had found in his hand, awaiting instructions.

"This is a hospital, keep your voice down." Jon took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, and patiently opened the file folder to read it.

But as he looked at the report, his expression grew increasingly grim, because the report stated that no detonating device or explosive residue was found at the scene, but an explosion had indeed occurred.

"Mandarin..." Jon glanced at the intensive care unit and then at the report, his mind already pinpointing the person who planted the bomb—no, to be precise, the bomber himself.

The answer is simple, especially since he knew about the Extremis virus. Otherwise, how could there be no explosives at the scene?

He felt uneasy when he was in the hospital.

Who are the Mandarins' primary targets when they attack officials and important bases? Perhaps even the Mandarins themselves don't know.

But if there's someone you hate, who's also an official, and someone you really dislike, then it's not hard to guess who your first target will be—damn it!

"Any other clues?" Jon had just put down the documents and looked up to ask, only to find that Wu had already prepared the clues. "So thoughtful?"

"It's to share the burden with the superior." Detective Wu's expression turned serious, and he handed over the clue with a matter-of-fact look, saying, "It's a very strange container, and it seems to contain some kind of liquid."

"But because of the explosion, they probably won't be able to find anything, so I brought it here... Wait! What are you doing, sir?!"

Detective Wu instinctively reached out to stop him, but froze in mid-air—because he saw Jon had already opened the evidence bag and brought it close to his nose to smell it.

"It seems to be..." Jon's brain raced, trying to discern the lingering smell in the metal container. After a brief moment of thought, he concluded, "Some kind of stimulant."

"No wonder... that makes sense now." He pinched his chin, reconstructing the entire incident in his mind.

It was a very simple terrorist attack: the Mandarin had the carrier of the Extremis virus lurk in the room, and once he heard someone unlocking the door, he would drink the stimulant, and then the explosion would occur.

But who exactly is this so-called Mandarin?

Jon's memory was chaotic; he had images of several Mandarins in his mind, remembering only their features but not their specific names.

However, he vaguely remembered that the Mandarin who was researching the Extremis virus would disguise himself as a businessman and go to Pepper to discuss business, but he didn't know the exact day or whether the business had already been discussed.

"Never mind." Jon shook his head. Anyway, he still has the ability to read and write, so he can just read and write it down when the time comes. Any information or clues can be obtained with just a photograph.

After planning everything, he turned his gaze back to the ashen-faced middle-aged woman, glanced at Detective Wu in front of him, and calmly took out a phone to make a call.

The phone rang three times before being answered, but there was silence on the other end. Jon was already used to the guy's behavior on the other end, and said into the receiver, "Hello, is this Dr. Fury from S.H.I.E.L.D. Special Medical Center? I have a patient here, could you send someone to pick him up?"

Fury on the other end of the phone seemed to have a black line appear on his forehead. He took several deep breaths before saying calmly, "I thought you were blown up. Well, looks like because you're still alive, I'll have to hear your annoying voice again, damn it!"

"Fuck you, Fury, hurry up!" Jon said and hung up the phone.

"Hmph." A barely perceptible smile flickered across Fury's face, then vanished. He pressed the microphone beside him, his tone flat: "Two people."

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents quickly arrived at the New York hospital in a Chevrolet, accompanied by an old acquaintance.

Jon rolled his eyes as he watched the well-dressed, kind-looking, Mediterranean-haired old agent walk toward him from the end of the corridor.

"Phil, it's always you." He extended his hand, raised an eyebrow, and shook hands with the other person. "Is S.H.I.E.L.D. short of agents? Or does an eighth-level agent like you not need to go on missions?"

"Hey guys." Coulson released his grip, greeted those around him, then turned to Jon with a polite smile and said casually, "I'm here because I'm worried someone might do something stupid."

"I know you're probably furious right now, wanting to use your telepathic abilities to find the Mandarin quickly and storm his door. But that's not possible now. You know your abilities can only provide predictive clues, right?"

"So, you brought that thing with you?" Jon selectively ignored the previous words and held out his hand. "An old-fashioned camera."

""

Snapped.

Coulson snapped his fingers, and the agents behind him immediately took a camera out of the box and handed it to Jon.

Jon nodded, took the camera, and raised his white sleeve to stop the medical staff transferring patients. He was expressionless, but purple flames ignited around him as he whispered, "Crazy Diamond."

A blue and pink stand-in stood behind Jon Snow. The two-meter-tall humanoid figure was covered in blocky armor. With lightning speed, it reached out its hand towards the worker on the bed. The next second, golden light shone from its palm.

Under the golden light, the worker's wounds healed at a visible speed—he was restored to an uninjured state. This was the power of the Mad Diamond!

"This is!" Coulson's eyes widened. The middle-aged woman who was about to get up to stop him was also stunned when she saw her husband's injuries heal instantly.

"Shh!" Jon tilted his head back, raised a finger to signal for silence, and smiled broadly. "Merry Christmas, madam."

"Merry Christmas." The middle-aged woman blinked, and after repeatedly confirming that her husband was alright, she responded somewhat blankly yet excitedly, "Sir."

The next second, a confidentiality agreement was swiftly handed to her by Coulson. His eyes held a serious warning as he said in a deep voice, "Sign it. It's better for both of us."

The middle-aged woman nodded like a chicken pecking at rice. Compared to the miracle of curing her husband, what did signing a confidentiality agreement matter?

Skye returned the baby, who had been lulled to sleep, to the middle-aged woman. The three of them, carrying the old-fashioned camera, walked to a quiet spot in the hospital, ready to begin reading and writing.

Jon closed his eyes and activated his True Copy ability, targeting his Stand: Hermit Purple. Copy successful! In the blink of an eye, purple vines wrapped around his arm.

The next second, he suddenly opened his eyes, raised his right hand, and golden ripples of electricity and Hermit Purple vines wrapped around his black-nailed right hand. As he swung it down, he shouted passionately, "HERMITPURPLE!!!!!"

With a snap, the old-fashioned camera shattered, its parts flying everywhere. A photograph was ejected from the camera, but the three people who saw it all looked rather strange.

The background of the photo is a stage with a puppet on it. The puppet is manipulated by a pair of burning hands with a silver and a gold ring on their fingers. A terrifying figure is on the curtain.

As we all know, the ability to read and write does not give the answer directly, but rather condenses the answer into a metaphor and presents it in the form of a photograph. In other words, this photograph of a puppet show is the clue.

Damn it, it's that metaphor again! If the old man were here, he might see right through it, but I can only decipher the most superficial layer!

Jon picked up the photograph with a grim expression and examined it closely. Even Star of Platinum had appeared, but to little avail. The puppet symbolized the actor playing the Mandarin, which was indeed a result that had been analyzed long ago.

"At least this photo confirms your guess was right," Skye said, gently placing her hand on his shoulder in comfort. "Reading and writing don't always provide simple clues."

"Judging from the photos, those hands, along with the figure hidden behind the curtain, are the real Mandarin. The one on TV is just an actor. Your guess was correct."

"I'm thinking..." Jon rested his chin on his hand, pondering seriously, "First of all, the ability to read and write is essentially about seeing distant scenes by smashing a camera."

"If you use it to read or write about a person or place you know nothing about, you will only get a photo that is metaphorical, vague, but contains real clues."

"In other words, once the known clues are ruled out, the new content that appears in the photo may be the most crucial and direct clue."

"It's the ring on her hand! That's the clue!" Jon's eyes widened as he focused on the hands manipulating the puppet in the photo, but then his brow furrowed. "How can it be a fake?"

Jon Snow, with his limited professional knowledge, easily recognized that the ring on the man's hand was just a fake, nothing of value.

It's hard to imagine that the mastermind behind this would wear two obviously fake gold rings on their own hands. Why would they do that? It doesn't seem very Mandarin-like.

"A ring? A fake?" Coulson took the photo, looked at it, and then put it in his pocket. "Leave it to me. I'll follow this lead."

"Alright, then I'll leave it to you. I remember you guys could..." Jon started to say, but suddenly stopped, unable to recall the name of the system, "...that one."

Coulson patted Jon on the shoulder, indicating that he understood and reassuring Jon that S.H.I.E.L.D. would search the cameras and investigate the ring.

"Oh, right, I was attacked, and with such sophisticated methods." Jon thought of something else and looked at the two of them. "I probably wasn't the first target. Given the flamboyance of the person behind it all, he'll definitely hijack the channel again."

After saying that, he looked at Skye, a former member of the Rising Tide organization and one of the world's top hackers, wondering if her skills had become rusty.

"You might not know this," Skye shrugged, amusedly pinching someone's cheek, "I usually practice on S.H.I.E.L.D. servers."

"So please don't doubt my professional competence, okay?"

Coulson raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of the matter; otherwise, how do you think S.H.I.E.L.D. servers were fixed with so many vulnerabilities?

It's all because of this hacker, who, relying on being a member of S.H.I.E.L.D., used legitimate reasons to relentlessly hack into the database, driving the IT department crazy.

Now it's not so easy for Tony Stark to hack into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database; this is all thanks to Miss Skye's relentless hacking efforts.

Initially, Fury received numerous complaint letters accusing Agent Jensen of disrespecting their work and wantonly hacking into the database.

But Fury took a hard line. He felt that programmers were just expendable resources, and if you couldn't do it, someone else could. So he directly berated them for making the system garbage and said a bunch of other harsh things, which finally made them behave.

"Alright, then we'll proceed on three fronts." Jon snapped his fingers at Wu, who was standing not far away. "Wu, send two people to keep an eye on Stark Industries and record the faces of all visitors."

"It would be best if you could take a picture. You're from the FBI, you should know what to do."

"Yes, sir."

Detective Wu nodded, thinking that he finally had a mission. He had been waiting in the station all day without going out on fieldwork and had gained a lot of weight.

"Now, let's wait and see how it goes," Jon said with a cruel smile. "Let's see how long this so-called Mandarin can hide."

After all, very few people dared to attack him directly, the Mandarin? This was the first time he had encountered such a bold guy, which successfully piqued his interest.

Currently, S.H.I.E.L.D. is investigating the ring clues. There are still no leads on Jon and Skye, but the two have already gotten close to the Mandarin, so this matter is not yet insurmountable.

The plot he vaguely remembered was that the Mandarin disguised himself as a merchant to discuss business with Pepper, but he couldn't recall the exact date.

He traveled to 2024, while Iron Man 3 was a movie released in 2013. In addition, he had lived in the J0J0 world for more than ten years. Although his age became 20 after merging with his counterpart here, his memories as an ordinary person were indeed blurred.

"Forget it, let's go to the new house," he shook his head. "Everything's here, let's go."

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