90: They need a loyal, controllable... Captain America.

Tokyo, Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office, an interrogation room without any windows.

Kishimoto Masashi sat on a cold metal chair, his arms connected to the sensors of a polygraph.

The investigator opposite him was expressionless, repeating a question he had already asked no less than twenty times.

“Mr. Kishimoto, please explain once more the source of inspiration for the creation of Uchiha Madara.”

Kishimoto Masashi pushed up his glasses wearily.

“I've said it before: he's just a fictional character, a combination based on myths, historical figures, and dramatic conflict. He has no real-life prototype.”

“Purely fictional?”

The investigator's voice rose a few decibels.

“A purely fictional character summoned meteors in reality and nearly destroyed Hiroshima?”

“I don't know! I really don't know!”

There was a hint of a breakdown in Kishimoto Masashi's voice.

“I'm just a manga artist!”

In the monitoring room next door, several high-ranking officials frowned as they watched the steady polygraph waves on the screen and the micro-expression analysis system's conclusion of 'no signs of deception'.

The background check was also clean; Kishimoto Masashi was just an ordinary successful manga artist with simple social relations and nothing suspicious about him.

“It seems it really has nothing to do with him.”

An official sighed.

Finally, after being detained for thirty-six hours, Kishimoto Masashi was released.

He was warned not to leave Tokyo, not to accept any interviews, and to report his whereabouts every day... Just as the Sakura Country officials were overwhelmed with headaches, across the ocean, the internet in Huaxia was a sea of joy.

After a brief period of shock, the impact of the Hiroshima incident was quickly deconstructed by Huaxia netizens into an internet carnival, triggered by the explosive popularity of a couplet.

The image was made very simply, even a bit crudely, but its content hit everyone's funny bone with precision.

The picture was divided into upper and lower parts.

The upper part showed Archer Roosevelt standing atop the ruins of Wall Street, behind him countless stock codes hitting zero. He sat in his wheelchair with a composed posture. On the left was a line of large text: First line, the Martial Emperor of America burns Wall Street.

The lower part showed Assassin Uchiha Madara hovering above the dome of the Hiroshima atomic bomb ruins, with a massive meteor in the sky casting a doomsday shadow. On the right was a line of large text: Second line, the God of Japanese Manga brings down a meteor star.

And in the very center of the image was an even more eye-catching horizontal scroll: Our own ancestors are more reliable after all.

This image hit everyone's funny bones and sore spots perfectly, and the comment section exploded instantly.

“Hahahaha! Whoever made this map, come out and collect a Nobel Peace Prize!”

“Brilliant! It's an epic summary! Too perfect!”

“Hahaha, I declare that for this Holy Grail War, the arena can be divided into an 'Abstract Group' and a 'Normal Group'.”

“Martial Emperor: You don't manage your finances, and your finances won't manage you, so I'll just manage them for you. Madara: You aren't peaceful, and people aren't peaceful, so I'll just flatten things for you. Li Bai: Drinking, writing poetry, do not disturb. Furina: Eating melons, being cute, eating melons. Jeanne d'Arc: ???”

“The summary above is too insightful! Look at Roosevelt and Uchiha Madara—one is doing an economic revolution, the other is doing physical peace. Then look at our Li Bai and Furina, who stand out for being aloof from worldly affairs. The difference is clear!”

“I think little cutie Furina is the best. She just took a phone and even knew to leave a mora as payment. How polite!”

This internet carnival diluted much of the tension and fear previously generated by Uchiha Madara's arrival.

Through banter and ridicule, people seemed to find a way to dispel the sense of unease brought by transcendent powers.

And the meme 'Our own ancestors are more reliable after all' quickly evolved into a general consensus among Huaxia netizens when discussing the Holy Grail War, becoming a unique cultural phenomenon... America, The Pentagon.

Inside the highest-level secret meeting room, the atmosphere was even more solemn than the last time.

Secretary of Defense Mark Thompson stood at the head of the table, his face as dark as water. Behind him, two video recordings were playing silently on a giant screen.

One was of Uchiha Madara over Hiroshima, blocking a saturated missile attack with one hand and then summoning a meteor.

The other was of Saint Jeanne d'Arc deploying her Noble Phantasm, head-on withstanding the falling meteor to protect the entire city.

Present were the CIA Director, the FBI Director, giants of several major military-industrial complexes, and the top representatives of Wall Street.

Every person's face was written with unmaskable shock.

Thompson waited for the videos to finish before manually turning off the screen.

“Gentlemen, did you see that?”

“This is the current intensity of the Holy Grail War.”

“One can summon a meteor, and the other can withstand one.”

Thompson's finger tapped heavily on the tabletop.

“And we haven't even chosen a Master for our 'Protector' yet!”

“We've left him out there, letting him reshape this country according to his own ideas! Now, we must immediately, right now, bind this power completely to the state machine!”

Thompson's words broke the dead silence.

The Wall Street representative immediately spoke up: “I still insist that the Master must be one of our people! Only then can we guarantee...”

“Guarantee your stock prices?”

The CIA Director interrupted him coldly.

“Roosevelt has already wiped out seven major tech giants; Wall Street is next! Do you think he'll care about a puppet you've chosen?”

The representative of the military-industrial complex also said in a deep voice: “It must be a soldier! Only soldiers understand obedience and discipline! We cannot hand the fate of the nation over to a businessman!”

“A soldier? Will he listen to your orders, or General Thompson's orders?”

The FBI Director shot back.

Seeing that a new round of arguing was about to begin—

“Quiet, all of you!”

Thompson growled.

Just then, an assistant beside the CIA Director walked over quickly and handed him a tablet.

The Director took a look, and his expression instantly became even more solemn.

He looked up at Thompson.

“General, I've just received urgent intelligence.”

“Mossad and MI6 have jointly dispatched their top agents to secretly infiltrate our borders.”

“Their target is unclear, but appearing at this point in time, their intentions are self-evident.”

This news caused the temperature in the meeting room to drop sharply.

Everyone understood what this meant.

England and Israel also wanted a piece of the pie.

They likely wanted to reach Roosevelt first, before American officials could select a Master, or even... plant one of their own.

The sense of urgency instantly overwhelmed internal divisions.

General Thompson seized this opportunity and immediately interrupted everyone's thoughts.

“Now is not the time for arguing!”

“I have a compromise proposal.”

Everyone's eyes focused on Thompson.

“The candidate for Master must be a soldier; there is no doubt about that. Loyalty and obedience are paramount.”

Thompson's gaze swept over the military-industrial representative, who nodded with satisfaction.

“However,” Thompson's tone shifted, “to avoid him being influenced by any faction, this person's background must be absolutely clean, with no connection to anyone sitting here.”

“He must have enough prestige in the military to command respect, but his rank cannot be too high—a captain or a major is enough. This will prevent him from forming his own private power base too quickly.”

This proposal sent everyone into deep thought.

A military identity guaranteed controllability.

A clean background eliminated the possibility of any one party gaining sole control.

Sufficient prestige but a low rank was a perfect balance point.

It seemed... acceptable.

Seeing the others wavering, Thompson immediately signaled to the assistant behind him.

The assistant distributed a pre-prepared top-secret file to everyone present.

There was only one name on the file folder.

Evan Cross.

The group opened the files.

The first page was a photo of Cross.

A thirty-five-year-old white male with a resolute face and sharp eyes—a standard military image.

“Evan Cross, thirty-five years old, Army Captain.”

Thompson's voice sounded from the side, introducing him to the group.

“Honor graduate of West Point, former tactical commander of Delta Force.”

“During a mission in Afghanistan, he disobeyed a superior's order to 'eliminate threats' and chose instead to prioritize saving trapped civilians. This led to a flaw in the mission, and he was demoted. He currently serves as a combat instructor at West Point.”

“His record is perfect; he's received the Congressional Medal of Honor and countless commendations.”

“Clean family history—his ancestors for three generations have been ordinary middle class. He's an only child, with no criminal record and no political leanings.”

Thompson summarized.

“He is a standard, pure, American hero.”

Around the conference table, all the representatives silently flipped through the file.

Cross's resume was so clean they couldn't find any flaws to attack.

And that 'disobedience' record actually became the trait that most attracted the various factions.

The military believed that his essence was that of a soldier and that he would ultimately obey orders.

The CIA and FBI believed that someone with a history of 'disobedience' would be easier to 'guide' by external factors.

Wall Street and the military-industrial complex believed that a hero who had been removed from the center of power and treated 'unfairly' would be the easiest to win over with interests and promises.

Everyone saw what they wanted to see in this file.

Everyone felt they would have an opportunity in the future to turn this man into their own pawn.

Finally, everyone closed their files and looked at Thompson.

No one raised any further objections.

The screen in the meeting room lit up again, and the face of the current President appeared.

He had clearly been informed of the situation in advance.

“I approve this nomination.”

The President's voice brought the argument to a close.

“Execute immediately.”