"Where... am I?"

"Who are you people?"

The soldier who had survived the Second World War was instantly on high alert in these strange surroundings. He was especially wary of the group of people dressed in peculiar clothing. If not for the high-tech equipment all around, Steve Rogers would have doubted whether he was still in modern society.

"That is a question I should be asking you, outsider."

"How did you find the entrance to Wakanda?" Zuri, the current High Priest of Wakanda, countered the awakened Rogers.

"Wakanda? What's that? I'm sorry, I don't know. My name is Steve Rogers, from America." The soldier, noticing the bandages on his body, gave the group a friendly smile. He needed to talk—a talk filled with goodwill and friendliness.

While he didn't know what Wakanda was, the people in front of him had clearly healed his wounds. And Steve Rogers was not the kind of man to repay kindness with ingratitude. Figuring out the situation was the most important thing right now.

"Wakanda is the name of the land you're standing on, and the name of my country," a clear voice said from behind Steve. An old man in a suit and glasses, accompanied by a retinue, walked over.

"My name is T'Chaka, the current King of Wakanda."

"I am sorry for what you have been through. The destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D. is something no one wished to see, yet it happened in such a bizarre way." The eyes behind T'Chaka's glasses were not clouded by age, but his suit looked jarring against the surrounding environment.

"New York is a ruin, S.H.I.E.L.D. is almost completely wiped out, Nick Fury is dead, and the ones picking up the pieces are former senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agents Coulson and Hawkeye Barton."

"I think you know them." The wise T'Chaka gave Steve no chance to ask questions and spoke directly, sharing everything he knew.

The governments of the world were on high alert due to the repeated disasters in New York. The near-total collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D. had served as a wake-up call for the United Nations Security Council.

As King of Wakanda, his country had always remained hidden, but with things having escalated to this point, T'Chaka felt compelled to go out and gather information. When he returned, he found Captain America unconscious and wounded at Wakanda's doorstep.

"Give it to him."

Steve fell silent, but T'Chaka didn't. A young man from his group stepped forward at his command, holding something that was incredibly familiar to Steve—his shield. His shield, the one that had given him infinite confidence.

"Forgive me for making a decision without your consent, but I thought you would need this shield when you woke up. So I had it repaired with Vibranium."

Steve's eyes were filled with surprise as he took the shield. His shield had been completely shattered by that inexplicable energy blast; could it really be fixed?

"Wait, Vibranium?" Steve caught the key word.

The King of Wakanda smiled but said nothing. Instead, the young man answered him, "In Wakanda, Vibranium isn't in short supply." His understated tone had an air of baffling strangeness.

Vibranium? Not in short supply?

"T'Challa, my son." The old king in the suit genially introduced his son, the heir apparent of Wakanda and the successor to the title of Black Panther.

"Okay, maybe I just need some time to process all this information." Steve Rogers, now fully briefed, rubbed his aching temples and put on the uniform the Wakandans had prepared for him.

The Wakandans had also thoughtfully repaired his own ragged suit, which seemed incredible to Steve.

He couldn't believe S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone, that New York was ruined again, or that a technologically advanced country like Wakanda existed on the continent of Africa.

As he followed the crown prince T'Challa out of the medical ward, Steve's heart was filled with confusion and shock. Everything he saw on his way out challenged his preconceived notions about African nations.

"My father said that if you want to leave, you're free to go. We won't stop you."

"But there's one thing you need to know: we still don't know who is responsible for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s destruction. It could be dangerous for you to go out there right now. While we don't know each other well, I think it's best if you stay here and recover," T'Challa, a cautious Oxford-educated man, gave the legendary hero Captain America his advice.

"Thank you, but there are some things only I can do right now. I have to leave." Steve gave the young man a friendly smile. He stood at the corner of the corridor and looked up at the blue sky.

He had to go back to New York and help the surviving Coulson and Barton clean up the mess. With his reputation as Captain America, he could reduce a lot of resistance to the relief efforts.

"Alright, good luck." T'Challa shrugged. Just as he was about to lead Steve away, an alarm suddenly blared through Wakanda. It was loud and piercing.

"An invasion!" T'Challa's face changed immediately, his smile gone.

A blue energy shield went up at a speed visible to the naked eye.

A figure incredibly familiar to Steve Rogers slowly floated above Wakanda. With his arms spread wide, he looked like a king arriving to claim his throne. Like a priest's solemn chant, Loki, clad in Asgardian armor, conjured a powerful stream of magic. In a flash, a figure with a letter "S" emblazoned on his chest tore through Wakanda's fragile defenses!

The leader of the seven Justice League thugs—Superman, Clark!

"Who are you?!" The High Priest of Wakanda demanded. In the next instant, his swift body was pierced by Clark's heat vision, leaving him no chance to fight back.

"From now on, this country, this land, belongs to me."

"I am Loki, a god from Asgard."

"Now, kneel before your god." Loki slowly descended, with Clark, his eyes dark, hovering behind him—Loki's trump card to suppress all opposition.

"I said, kneel!" Seeing that the strangely-dressed warriors around him still weren't putting down their weapons, Loki lowered his voice and yelled.

Zzzt!

As he spoke, his magical energy burst forth!

"LOKI!!!"

A rebuke filled with fury, and a shield that descended from the sky. Captain America, clad in his star-spangled uniform, burst from the crowd and threw his shield. With his right foot, he stomped on the ground, and a manhole cover, made of Vibranium, perhaps, flew into his hand, which he held in front of his chest.

The sudden turn of events made Loki's eyes widen. Steve Rogers?! How was he here?! Also, his shield was already impressive, but how could a manhole cover block his magic?!

BANG!

The manhole cover shattered and fell to the ground. Unscathed, the favored son of the Marvel universe, the unofficially famous "50/50" fighter Steve Rogers, slowly walked out of the dispersing dust. He reached forward and caught his returning shield. His expression was stern, and his eyes were serious.

I, Marvel's 50/50, am not cheating!

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This fanfic has been fully translated!