Chapter 137: Career Experience Card (First Update)

Mei Mumumu said with absolute certainty. What was his purpose in using his out-of-body astral magic to convert a lengthy segment of World of Warcraft gameplay footage into realistic character imagery via the Balance System, and then projecting it straight into the mind of a bitterly depressed Steve who had just been rejected for military enlistment?

Was it not precisely to hoodwink this scrawny boy—who would one day become Captain America—into falling for his Mei-style parlor tricks and buying into his nonsense beforehand?

What good was it if Captain America merely enhanced his physical body? At best, his strength would only reach the city-block level. Before a slightly more hardcore villain, Cap was nothing more than trash measuring five on the power scale.

Back in 1943, that kind of strength was barely passable.

After 2016, if you didn't possess planetary-level might, you'd be too embarrassed to even say hello; otherwise, you'd either be stuck playing games with small-fry fodder or only qualified to deal with minor bosses.

Sigh! In order to eventually beat Thanos into submission, Mei had truly broken his heart and wrung his hands.

Of course, he would never admit that his scheme to dupe Captain America into believing in the Light was driven by the desire for destiny-offset points.

Upon hearing these highly inflammatory words, tiny Steve felt his heart flutter for a fleeting second. Yet, he immediately reined in any arrogant notions of achieving overnight success and offered Mei Mumumu a polite, half-bowed salute.

"Thank you, sir, for letting me witness such a wondrous spectacle. But..."

Mei Mumumu knew that everything preceding the word "but" was utter bullshit. Still, he was not annoyed, for the system prompt chimed in: "Destiny's chosen Captain America has developed a keen interest in the [Paladin] class. He does not reject holy power. Congratulations, host, you have obtained 100 fragments of destiny."

Therefore, Mei's face maintained a faint, respectful, yet perfectly polite smile. He tilted his head slightly, signaling for Steve to continue.

"However, my late father warned me never to covet things that do not belong to me, nor to dream of getting something for nothing by acquiring windfall wealth or... power. So, I am terribly sorry, but I must decline your kind offer. You are..." A warm flush crept up Steve's face as he suddenly realized he hadn't asked the stranger's name from the very beginning, which was terribly impolite.

"Hello, Mr. Rogers! You may call me Mr. Mei, or perhaps Mr. Maybe." Mei Mumumu nodded gently. "A peculiar name, isn't it? But a name is merely a designation. This is simply my baptismal name."

Baptismal names—upon entering holy service, clergy in certain regions would abandon their given names and adopt their baptismal names instead, as a sign that everything they were belonged to the deity they served. Such a practice was hardly uncommon.

Steve nodded as well. "No, no, no, thank you all the same, Mr. Mei. Please forgive me for being unable to accept your gift, and since I am in rather poor spirits today, you must excuse me."

Mei Mumumu chuckled inwardly. Captain America had never been the superhero with the highest combat power, but he was undeniably one of the most resolute in will. If he could be hoodwinked with just a few casual words, he wouldn't be worthy of being Captain America.

With a gentle gesture of his finger pointed through the air toward Steve's chest, seemingly doing nothing at all, he actually planted a [Silver Hand Paladin Class Trial Pass]—redeemed for 10 fragments of destiny—directly onto Steve's person.

Heh!

These days, if you want to hook someone, you at least have to offer a trial pass or a demo version.

People aren't fools; without knowing the results, who would willingly jump into the trap?

At that moment, Mei's inner snake-oil salesman took full possession of him.

"This is no gift! This is the guidance of the Holy Light. The Light is already within your heart. As long as you cherish justice, hold fast to your resolve, and vow to resist evil, sooner or later, you will experience the power and magnificence of the Holy Light." Mei's words perfectly mirrored the thoughts and desires of the soon-to-be Captain America. Unconsciously, Steve developed a considerable degree of approval for this mysterious Mr. Mei.

Watching Mei step aside to clear a path, Steve nodded. "I don't know if we will ever meet again, but I..."

Mei interrupted him. "No need. I have already foreseen your future. When you become a true paladin, I shall appear before you once more."

"..." Steve departed with a turbulent mind.

Today should have been thoroughly depressing. But after the emergence of this Mr. Mei, Steve's mood felt just a fraction better.

He decided to go catch a movie to lift his spirits.

In the America of 1942, the film industry was already quite advanced, and practically every major city boasted a cinema showing black-and-white pictures.

Before the film began, the customary routine was a block of commercials—or rather, patriotic propaganda.

"The flames of war continue to ravage Europe..." Accompanied by the voice booming from the loudspeakers, the theater's grand screen displayed shattered urban ruins alongside a few scattered piles of smoldering ash.

"Yet the rescue forces have already set forth." The scene shifted to show rows of American youths dressed in ordinary civilian attire.

"Every able-bodied lad is geared up and ready to defend his homeland." Projected onto the screen now were shirtless recruits waiting for a doctor to check their heart rates.

At the sight of this, Steve could not help but be moved. He recalled his own recent experience—he, too, was one of them, yet his physique was simply too wretched. Being ruthlessly weeded out hadn't brought him shame, but rather the profound desolation of having no way to serve his country.

His mind was in a turmoil, and he inevitably recalled the illusion displayed to him by the mysterious Mr. Mei—at the juncture when the world was about to be consumed by evil, those paladins stepping forward one by one!

On the movie screen, the scene changed once more. It was a child, no older than five, scavenging for scraps.

Not ordinary trash, but jagged pieces of scrap metal.

The male voice from the theater's loudspeakers continued: "Even little Timmy is doing his part, collecting scrap metal—keep up the good work, little Timmy!"

Witnessing this, a deeper wave of shame washed over Steve: Even a mere child could contribute to the country, while I—what am I doing here? Good lord! Am I truly inferior to a five-year-old child?

Steve pressed his lips tightly together.

Just as Steve was immersed in his chaotic thoughts, a deeply discordant male voice rang out.

"What the hell do I care! Just roll the damn feature already!"

Steve couldn't help himself. "Hey! Can you show a little respect?"

The loudspeaker continued broadcasting its stirring rhetoric, but the man clearly grew impatient. "Fast forward! Hurry up and fast forward! Play the movie!"

Steve felt a stir of anger. "Can't you just shut up?!"

Ahead of him, the noisy man turned around and stood up. While perhaps not overwhelmingly built, compared to the scrawny Steve Rogers, he was vastly more imposing.

"Hey, pal! Let's take it to the back alley! Let's have a real man-to-man talk!" The man flashed a ferocious expression.

This, too, was a part of old American culture. When trouble arose, settle it in the alley—no whining, and definitely no calling in the military police. To refuse was to forfeit one's manhood.

At that moment, Steve already foresaw the ending.