Strange gathered the hexagram.
Golden magic condensed wildly in his palm.
He knew his spellcasting still had serious flaws. As a beginner, his experience was far from sufficient.
He didn't know the Killing Curse.
He hadn't mastered high-level offensive spells like Sectumsempra, which Noah had learned much earlier.
But he did have alternatives.
The Bone-Breaking Curse, for example-though in his hands it often degraded into a simple Fracturing Charm.
This time was different.
He had time.
He had focus.
He had energy.
Strange believed he wouldn't fail.
As his limited magic reached its peak, he felt the spell stabilize.
There shouldn't be any problems.
Then he glanced at Adam Lestrange.
The werewolf knelt on the ground, eyes closed, waiting quietly for death.
And Strange hesitated.
To be honest, he had never thought he would soften at a moment like this.
As a top neurosurgeon, he had witnessed countless moments of life and death.
Partings.
Failures.
Endings.
He had believed that compassion like this wouldn't touch him anymore.
But he was still human.
Completely human.
He couldn't ignore the humanity still left in this werewolf.
And he couldn't bring himself to kill someone who had already lost everything, whose spirit was utterly broken.
Strange sighed.
He knew he couldn't go through with it.
Still, the werewolf wasn't resisting.
And that gave Strange another option.
If nothing else-
This could be his own form of redemption.
"I'm sorry," Strange sighed inwardly.
"I really can't do it."
In the next moment, he quietly altered the spell structure of the Bone-Breaking Curse.
The golden hexagram flared.
Light surged.
A stream of golden brilliance rushed directly into Adam's mind.
Adam collapsed.
Completely motionless.
As if dead.
Strange let out a long breath.
That spell had nearly drained him dry.
Because his earlier attempts had always failed, he had overcommitted this time.
The backlash left him dizzy.
But it was over.
Everett stood nearby, clutching his head, clearly having no idea what had just happened.
Strange, however, felt calm.
Relieved.
Even satisfied.
At the very least, he believed he had done something meaningful.
"So," Noah said calmly, accepting the black tea Everett handed him, "you forced yourself to cast Obliviate on that werewolf?"
He glanced at Strange, exasperation clear in his eyes.
"It looks kind."
"But it's forced."
"A spell isn't good just because you pour everything into it."
"The rhythm."
"The cadence."
"That's the core."
"Thank you for the guidance," Strange replied humbly.
Then he hesitated.
"Mentor... was what I did wrong?"
"Right or wrong isn't for me to judge," Noah said evenly.
"Our environments are different, Sherlock."
He glanced at Everett.
Then deliberately used Strange's current name.
"I entered the magical world at eleven."
"The education I received."
"The values I developed."
"They're completely different from yours."
He took a sip of milk tea.
"It's good that you have your own judgment."
"And you should trust it."
Trust his own judgment.
Strange looked at Noah, who sat there drinking milk tea as if nothing mattered, and slowly nodded.
They really were different.
In upbringing.
In mindset.
In how they approached the world.
Noah might want control over his apprentice, but he had no interest in molding a puppet.
Only in extreme circumstances would he force obedience.
Otherwise, he preferred bonds formed through understanding.
"I understand," Strange said.
"I know what I should do."
"Good," Noah said, draining his cup.
"Oh. Anything else?"
"...Yes." Strange swallowed.
"My future."
"Do you have any plans for me?"
"Future plans?" Noah tilted his head.
Of course he did.
Become a top-tier sorcerer.
Then maybe see if you're qualified to touch the Mind Stone.
But he understood what Strange was really asking.
Whether he could return to being a doctor someday.
Noah didn't see a problem with that at all.
Plenty of heroes had main jobs and side jobs.
Why couldn't sorcerers?
Smiling, Noah set the cup down.
"When you become a sorcerer I consider qualified," he said, "and pass a test, you can do whatever you want."
"Really?" Strange's eyes widened slightly.
"Of course," Noah nodded.
"Being a sorcerer is your main profession."
"Everything else is a side job."
"You can be a doctor by day."
"And do what a sorcerer should do at night."
"For example-"
He glanced at Everett.
"Take your friend along to deal with problems caused by annoying people."
"Doesn't that sound fine?"
Strange immediately understood.
Noah wasn't restricting him.
He was setting a bottom line.
Do your duty.
Everything else was negotiable.
Strange felt a surge of relief.
Then-
A tall, handsome man approached.
He looked at Noah with polite surprise and nodded.
Then turned to Strange.
"Mr. Holmes," he said, "someone is looking for you outside."
"Alright, Adam," Strange nodded.
He glanced at Noah, who gave a casual gesture.
"Let them come up."
"I hear you're looking for me?"
In Tony's private laboratory at the Avengers Compound, he took a sip of milk tea and calmly scanned the room.
The Avengers were all present.
As Tony himself had always said, he wasn't the passive type.
Rather than waiting to be questioned, he preferred to act first.
So once he learned they intended to confront him, he stopped holding back.
If they wanted answers-
He'd give them.
"Yes, Tony," Natasha said, exchanging a look with Barton before stepping forward.
"We want to know whether the theft of the Pym Particles had anything to do with you."
"Think whatever you want," Tony cut in flatly.
"That's your business."
"As for the truth?"
"You've already decided it in your heads."
"Tony-Mr. Stark-" Scott hesitated.
"I don't think it was you, but they-"
"Ant-Man," Tony interrupted again.
"You need to make your own judgment."
"Actually," he added casually, "I had Rogers and Barnes do it."
"I was hoping you'd guess right."
"You didn't."
The admission hit like a thunderbolt.
Every Avenger stiffened.
Even Banner and Rhodes, who usually sided with Tony, froze.
They hadn't expected this.
Not like this.
Didn't he understand the impact?
Steve and Bucky felt the same dizzy shock.
"Tony, you-" Steve started.
"Don't," Tony said, spreading his hands.
"I don't like dissecting people's morals."
"And I don't want to believe you're that dark."
"But there was a problem."
"And now that it's exposed, there's nothing left to say."
Tony looked at them calmly.
Almost curiously.
Their expressions were a mess.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Confusion.
Everything.
"Why did you do it?" Barton asked, frowning, but not aggressive.
"There has to be a reason."
"Why?"
"Why?" Tony tilted his head.
"Revenge, maybe."
"Or finding a way."
"Revenge?" Scott tensed immediately.
"You're not planning to go after Mr. Pym, right?"
"You shouldn't."
"He and your father-"
"And he's friends with sorcerers!"
"Idiot," Tony muttered.
He nearly rolled his eyes.
Was it really that hard to see?
Why would he go after Hank Pym?
Back then, when he wanted the Pym Particles, he had informed Noah first.
Tony slumped back in his chair.
"The target of my revenge," he said flatly, "was Bucky."
"Steve dragged himself into it."
"Clear now?"
"...And the path you wanted to find?" Banner asked carefully.
"Tony, you must have your own reasoning, so-"
Before Banner could finish-
A figure flashed into existence in front of them.
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