One month later
Renzo had been back in this world for a month. Every day, he studied recipes, teased Wanda, made her angry—and then got thrown down the stairs for it.
Pietro, meanwhile, was happily living with his girlfriend and went out far less often than before.
"Team leader!"
Renzo sat in the conference room, facing Stark. That seat had once belonged to Natasha, but now, his status clearly placed him above the older members.
Azazel sat at the far end. His eye had been healed by Tony, and he had joined the Avengers, though Tony still insisted on calling him "Red Lizard."
"It's about Natasha."
"The Red Room?" Renzo immediately understood. "Where is she?"
"She slipped out last night and bought a ticket to Budapest." Tony tapped his watch, displaying surveillance footage and the purchase record.
"I think she can handle it," Renzo said, puzzled. Natasha and her family were more than capable—there was no need for the Avengers to intervene.
"The problem is, she took Barton with her. The two of them acted without authorization, violating protocol. Ross wants us to go to Budapest immediately and bring them back."
Tony cursed under his breath. His teammates never made things easy.
"That's not necessarily bad," Renzo said. "Doesn't this give us the perfect excuse to wipe out the Red Room in one go? After that, Natasha and Barton can come back and turn themselves in. At most, they'll be under house arrest for a while—and Barton probably wouldn't mind spending time with his family."
That earned a laugh from Tony. He looked at Renzo with approval—this kid's talent for stirring up trouble was starting to rival his own.
"Fine. Sam and I will head to Budapest. The rest of you stay at base."
"Also," Steve added with a faint smile, "if Sam leaves, no one will be managing the San Francisco facility. Tony and I decided to send you and Wanda there until he gets back."
Renzo agreed immediately. A paid trip? He'd be a fool to refuse.
"Haha… Wanda…"
Certain vivid images replayed in his mind, and he barely suppressed the grin tugging at his lips.
…
"Azazel," Renzo called out as he caught up with him, "are you getting used to this world?"
"Not really…" Azazel stopped, walking slowly to the floor-to-ceiling window. Through the glass, New York's dazzling lights stretched endlessly before him.
He reached out, touching the surface. Reflections of colorful advertisements flickered in his eyes—superheroes everywhere, with Hulk and Thor merchandise selling the most.
"I've never been respected before," Azazel said quietly. "When people saw me, all I saw in their eyes was fear and disgust."
His gaze flickered as he picked up a Hulk-shaped toy.
"Mutants were always feared—even by their own families. Parents… relatives… they all saw us as monsters. They'd do anything to get rid of us. Some even abandoned their children."
"But we didn't do anything wrong. We just… couldn't control our power." He stared at his hands, pain flashing across his face.
"This world is different," he continued softly. "The technology… the laws… the heroes people admire…"
Since arriving here, he had discovered something he never believed possible—people like him could be accepted.
In the past month, he had visited the Captain America museum, lived in Stark Tower, read mythology, and even helped recover stolen money on the streets.
At first, people looked at him strangely. But soon, they stopped caring. They didn't avoid him. They didn't fear him.
It was exactly the kind of world he had always wanted.
Now, when he walked down the street, people still glanced at him—but only briefly, like noticing someone unusual.
He loved it.
"In their eyes… you're a hero now," Renzo said, standing beside him as they watched the streets below.
Azazel said nothing. There was nothing more to say.
In time, he would experience everything this world had to offer—the warmth, the chaos, the ordinary beauty of it.
…
New York at night shimmered with wealth and excitement, drawing people in—especially on the eve of Christmas. Families gathered in warm homes for dinner, laughter filling the air. Couples lingered on the streets, reluctant to part, sharing quiet moments together.
But this warmth belonged mostly to the wealthy.
For others, the city was a predator—draining happiness and health until nothing remained.
And in the darkness, another kind of life emerged.
Rox was one of those consumed by the city.
Once, he had been middle class—with savings, a loving wife, and well-behaved children. To some, he had been successful. To others, a symbol of wealth.
And he had enjoyed it—fine dining, a private home, luxury…
Until it all collapsed.
After the economic crisis, his company went bankrupt. His house was lost. His wife left him—taking the children with her.
He hadn't seen them in years.
He had begged to see them—but was always refused.
"You can't trust a child to an addict."
What else could he do? That was the only thing that eased the pressure. He couldn't give it up.
So he drifted—from city to city—becoming a petty criminal. He hated the rich, convinced they hoarded wealth that should belong to everyone.
Seeing well-dressed men dining with beautiful women filled him with burning jealousy.
"They all deserve to die!" Rox muttered, pulling his coat tighter as he glared at the brightly lit restaurants.
His gaze shifted.
An old woman walked alone, leaning on a cane—frail, vulnerable.
"You'll do."
He followed her into an alley.
Suddenly, he lunged—covering her mouth and pressing a dagger against her side.
"Hand over all your money!"
The blade sliced through her outer clothing.
"Please… that's all we have… without it, we'll starve…" she pleaded, tears streaming down her wrinkled face.
"Shut up!" Rox kicked her to the ground and grabbed her bag, rummaging through it.
"That's it? This is all you've got?" he snapped, holding up a few crumpled bills.
"Shouldn't we stop him?" Wanda stood on the rooftop beside Renzo, scarlet energy gathering in her hands.
"Wait," Renzo said, pointing.
A thin figure dropped silently into the alley, wearing a cheap red suit, pressed awkwardly against the wall.
"Where did that come from?" Wanda frowned.
Renzo smiled faintly.
They finally met—Peter Parker.
Without the events of the Civil War, Peter had never met Tony. No advanced suit, no mentorship—just a fifteen-year-old kid trying to do the right thing.
"Ahem… hi!" Peter said nervously, stepping forward.
Inside his head, thoughts spiraled wildly.
Oh my god, I'm stopping a robbery. Will people see this? Will the Avengers hear about it? Will they recruit me? What do I even say to Aunt May if that happens—
Rox turned, startled.
"A kid?" he sneered, pointing the dagger at Peter. "Get lost, or I'll kill you too!"
"No—!" Wanda tensed, but Renzo held her back.
Rox charged.
Before he could strike, something white splattered across his face.
"Didn't your mom ever tell you stealing is wrong?" Peter disarmed him, pinning the knife to the wall with webbing.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" he added, trying—and failing—to sound intimidating.
Rox didn't respond.
Instead, he slammed his head against the wall, over and over, until blood streamed down his face. Then he collapsed, sobbing.
"Hey—are you okay? Someone help!" Peter panicked, unsure what to do.
For all his bravery, he was still just a kid.
In the end, he stuck Rox to the wall and returned the bag.
"Thank you… thank you…" the old woman sobbed, clutching his hands.
Peter's face turned red beneath the mask.
Before leaving, he gave her the money he had.
Then he swung away.
"He's… really kind," Wanda said softly. "Though… that web stuff is kind of gross."
Renzo glanced at her, then down at himself, and sighed.
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