The Quidditch pitch roared with life as the Hogwarts All-Stars clashed against the Beauxbatons School of Magic under a sky streaked with golden clouds.

  The crowd was a sea of waving banners—scarlet and gold for Hogwarts, pale blue silk for Beauxbatons—each scream and cheer echoing through the stands. Bludgers rocketed through the air, Chasers darted in elegant formations, and the sharp crack of broomsticks cutting the wind filled the stadium.

  High above the chaos, Harry Potter scanned the field with hawk-like focus. His green eyes narrowed behind his glasses, wind whipping through his messy black hair. Then—a glint. A flicker of gold no bigger than a walnut zipped past the Beauxbatons goalposts. The Golden Snitch.

  "There!" Harry shouted to no one but himself, his heart leaping into his throat. He flattened himself against his broom and surged forward with a burst of speed that made the crowd gasp. The Snitch darted upward, a shimmering speck against the vast sky, and Harry gave chase, his cloak snapping behind him like a banner of war.

  From the Beauxbatons side, their Seeker—a wiry, brown-haired boy, after seeing Harry's movements —spotted it too. His sleek Nimbus 2000 tilted sharply, and he rocketed after the Snitch like a blur. The audience erupted, half rising to their feet, as the two Seekers streaked toward the prize.

  "Look at Potter go!" bellowed Lee Jordan's amplified voice over the commentary box. "He's got that Snitch in his sights—and Beauxbaton's seeker's hot on his tail! This is going to be a nail-biter, folks!"

  Harry twisted his broom into a steep climb, the Snitch zigzagging wildly as if taunting him. It looped around the Hogwarts stands, and he followed, pulling a hairpin turn that sent a ripple of "Oooohs!" through the crowd. His fingers stretched out, inches from the Snitch's fluttering wings, but it darted sideways at the last second.

  His counterpart was gaining, his broom humming with precision, his face set in fierce determination.

  The Snitch plunged downward in a stomach-lurching dive, spiraling toward the pitch. Harry didn't hesitate—he flipped the broom into a nosedive, the wind screaming past his ears, the ground rushing up to meet him. His opponent did not hesitate either and mirrored him, streaming like a comet.

  The stands blurred into a wall of noise—screams, cheers, and gasps blending into a deafening roar.

  "He's mad!" someone shouted from the Gryffindor section.

  "He'll crash!" shrieked a Beauxbatons supporter, clutching her friend's arm.

  Harry's world narrowed to the Snitch, its golden glow a beacon in the chaos. He yanked his broom into a sharp turn, skimming just inches above the grass while his knees brushed slightly against the turf.

  The Beauxbatons Seeker hesitated at the last moment, cursing in French as he looped back, but Harry was already climbing again, the Snitch weaving through the goal hoops.

  With a sudden burst of speed, Harry rolled his broom mid-air, dodging a Bludger that whizzed past his head. The Snitch veered left—he banked right, anticipating its feint, then pulled into a breathtaking dive.

  Again, the Snitch plunged, and again, Harry dove without hesitation toward the pitch. His opponent was only a couple of feets behind shadowing him.

  The crowd leaped up, shouting themselves hoarse, and in the VIP box, half the occupants rose, hands on the rail.

  "Mon Dieu, Albus!" Madame Maxime boomed, her voice rich and unrestrained. "Look at that little daredevil go! Eleven years old, and he's outflying his seniors."

  Dumbledore chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling as he watched Harry's reckless dive. "Oh, his father had that same spark on a broom, you know. Seems the apple didn't fall far."

  While he appeared calm on the surface, he was actually quite shocked by Harry's flying skills. This was his first time seeing the boy fly like this, and the confidence and control he was displaying at just eleven years old made the old headmaster reconsider some of his carefully laid plans.

  And sitting just two seats away from him, another headmaster shared his thoughts as well.

  "Too much flash," grumbled Volkov, the dean of the Russian magical school. "He flies like he wants a broken neck. No discipline."

  The Headmaster's murmured among themselves, the officials engaged in quiet discussions, and behind them, the many occupants of the VIP box shared their thoughts just as eagerly.

  In the third row, a couple dressed in aristocratic wizarding finery listened intently to the occupants in the first row. The man was Lucius Malfoy. He had neatly combed blond hair and a cleanly shaved beard and beside him was his wife, Narcissa Malfoy. She looked graceful in her sleek black robes, staying calm despite the commotion below.

  Lucius narrowed his eyes as he watched Harry Potter soar, captivating the dignitaries in front of him. The boy's showy display irritated him—a spotlight on a rival family he could never stomach.

  "He's rather good, isn't he, dear?" Narcissa murmured, her lips curving faintly as she glanced at her husband's furrowed brows. "Reminds me of his father…" She knew that scowl—jealousy simmering beneath his polished veneer, sparked by a Potter stealing the stage. Lucius was predictable that way, but he was her husband after all.

  The man humphed. "Typical Potter flair—more luck than skill."

  He would rather vomit than admit it. In fact, he had even tried to change the team selection when it was announced, but unfortunately, everyone gave the same answer. He was asked to take up any complaints with the new alchemy professor who was overseeing the team, but he didn't have the guts. It was common knowledge that this man wasn't easy to deal with.

  Most importantly, he simply didn't want to give a bad impression to someone who seemed to have connections everywhere. Mudblood or not, he wasn't foolish enough to offend a master alchemist.

  On the field, Harry swooped low, skimming the grass as the Snitch danced just out of reach, taunting him. He narrowed his eyes, heart pounding, and then—a reckless idea took over him.

  In a wild move, he pushed himself up and, with a sway, slowly balanced himself on the handle.

  The crowd sucked in a sharp, collective breath.

  Almost there!

  He out stretched his hand, then finally, lunged himself through the air at the Snitch.

  The crowd gasped—a sharp, collective "Oh!" rippling through the stands.

  Unfortunately, to Harry's disappointment, the Snitch only grazed his fingers, and he wasn't able to grab hold of it. But then, to his surprise, it darted toward his face. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened involuntarily at the sudden change. Coincidentally, the little golden ball with wings smacked straight into his mouth as he crashed to the ground, tumbling across the grass.

  The stadium fell silent for a heartbeat.

  Perhaps it was the explosion of adrenaline, but Harry managed to stagger to his feet despite the injuries from that obviously nasty lunge.

  Cough.

  The Snitch fluttered against his tongue.

  Cough.

  And finally, with one last cough, he spat it into his hand. A wide grin spread across his face as he gasped for breath and raised it for all to see.

  "Did he just…?" a stunned voice murmured from the crowd. Then the pitch exploded.

  "POTTER'S GOT THE SNITCH!" Lee Jordan shouted. "Jumped off his broom and caught it with his teeth—Hogwarts All-Stars take it, 280 to 30!"

  Just after he caught—or rather spat out—the Snitch, the Beauxbatons Seeker who had been right on his tail slowed his broom and descended toward him. He hovered a short distance away, studying the thin, frail-looking boy who had just outmatched him, perhaps searching for what made him so special.

  But this wasn't a video game—he couldn't simply appraise someone and check their talent by staring. In the end, he had to accept the truth: his opponent was monstrously skilled. With a grudging nod of respect, he acknowledged it.

  Harry grinned back. No words were needed, as somehow they both understood each others thoughts perfectly.

  Just as the Beauxbatons Seeker flew back to his teammates, Harry's own landed around him, leaping off their brooms to swarm him with cheers and claps on the back.

  While the Hogwarts team celebrated, taking to the air once again and flying over to the stands where their schoolmates sat, the occupants of the VIP box began congratulating Headmaster Dumbledore and the few Hogwarts staff present on their victory. And Dumbledore, ever so humble, accepted it all with his signature smile while offering some polite praise to the opponents as well.

  Lee Jordan was going mad with excitement, loudly calling out Hogwarts' name and praising the players. He even started to declare that they would guarantee the cup, but fortunately, McGonagall stopped him before he got too carried away.

  He then officially announced the end of the game and reminded everyone that tomorrow's match would be between Durmstrang and Koldovstoretz at the same time.

  The audience began exiting the stadium toward the Floo points, leaving in an orderly manner with the help of the staff.

  The same went for the VIP box. After offering their congratulations to the headmaster, most of the guests departed—except for one half-giant witch who remained behind. She wasn't alone. Maverick and Dumbledore were still there as well, seemingly about to have a private discussion.

  As the last person left the box, Maxime snapped her fingers, casting a silencing barrier around them. Maverick raised an eyebrow at her actions. He had been about to leave, but this woman had asked him to stay for a moment to discuss something. Dumbledore, being his boss and all, assumed she was trying to dig his staff, so he insisted on staying as well.

  Neither Maxime nor Maverick minded his presence.

  "Well, now that you've made sure no one can hear us, can you tell me what's this about?" Maverick asked bluntly. They now sat opposite each other, with Dumbledore beside him like a watchful parent.

  Maxime didn't answer right away and instead watched him with an unreadable smile. Just as Maverick was starting to grow annoyed, the witch finally spoke, and what she said threw him off for a second.

  "It's been a while... bird boy."

  —————

  The air inside the VIP box of the Hogwarts Quidditch stadium was heavy with tension.

  Olympe Maxime rested her elbows on the armrests, studying the young man before her with sharp, measuring eyes. And the young man sat perfectly still while returning her gaze with an expression that was equally sharp, unfazed without a hint of nerves across his face.

  The older witch's intrigue grew more and more. Most would fidget under her piercing stare, shrinking beneath the weight of her presence. But not this boy. However that still wasn't the reason she wanted to speak with him today.

  It was his magic, or rather, his magical signature.

  During the match today, her sharp senses finally caught a trace of it.

  It happened when the Hogwarts Seeker's broom was cursed, that his magic flared for the briefest heartbeat. But for someone like her, that was enough to tell whether a wizard was familiar or a stranger.

  Every witch and wizard had a distinct magical signature, though only those at the Arch-Magus level could truly perceive these differences. And the moment she felt Maverick's magic, she immediately remembered the mysterious figure from half a year ago who had left a lasting impression on her.

  It was hard to believe, but her senses had never failed her before. Setting aside her doubts, she grew genuinely curious. How could there be a Great-Magus so young, with such fine control over magic, in some aspects even comparable to her, an Arch-Magus?

  How was that possible?

  But then a thought struck her. Could it be a secret method of magical practice? It had to be. Or perhaps...

  Many thoughts ran through her head in the short span of time between Harry's broom getting cursed, him catching the Snitch, and the game finally ending with the audience vacating.

  Finally, she considered that maybe she could use the information she had to ask for his practice methods in exchange for keeping his secret.

  Was it blackmail? Of course not. But this kid and his teacher had played her like a fool that day. So, she sought to regain her dignity—or at the very least, some measure of interest in return.

  "How did you find out?" the boy's voice interrupted her thoughts. He sounded calm and curious, rather than surprised, even after she hinted that she knew his secret.

  Before she could answer though, a third voice joined in, laced with amusement. "Might I ask, Olympe, who this 'bird' you're referring to is?"

  Olympe's lips twitched. She had almost forgotten this old man was there with them as well.

  She glanced at the boy before answering Dumbledore, watching for any sign that he cared if the old man found out about this secret. And sure enough, judging by his expression, it seemed he didn't mind her revealing it while Dumbledore was present. Or perhaps he had already revealed it to him.

  "The raven figure," she said finally, looking at Maverick. "Last year... The one who brought down Morvain. That was you, wasn't it?"

  "Oh…" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows slightly, then turned his head toward Maverick, smirking with amusement rather than shock.

  Maverick exhaled slowly. He had a feeling this old man had known for some time now. So before answering Maxime, he glanced sideways at the wise wizard and asked, "I suppose you've known for a while, haven't you?"

  Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Oh, I've had my suspicions for a while now… You were careful... but I could still sense the rank from your magic every now and then..." He paused, smiling knowingly. "But what truly connected the dots was you being Edward Garling's apprentice."

  He leaned back slightly. "After the news of Morvain's death, I did a little digging of my own... And, unsurprisingly, Edward Garling's name came up more than once."

  Maverick nodded thoughtfully. What Headmaster Dumbledore said indeed made sense. He was Edward's apprentice, a Great-Magus, and it had been reported in the news that Bloodraven was also a Great-Magus. Connecting the dots wouldn't have been difficult for Dumbledore. Not to mention, his Patronus was a raven as well.

  Maverick sighed inwardly. Worthy of being called the wise wizard. Fortunately, not everyone knew him as well as Dumbledore did, so not just anybody could connect the dots. Even if they did, it didn't matter much now.

  That said, he still preferred to keep his alias a secret for as long as possible. His real identity, however, was a different story. He didn't mind people knowing Maverick Caesar's rank anymore.

  After that brief exchange with Dumbledore, he once again turned back to the tall woman across from him. His brows narrowed slightly as he considered her. How had she figured it out?

  He had been careful during the match, making sure not to alert her while using his magical sense. It wasn't that he was afraid—he simply didn't want to cause a commotion.

  His Magical-Sense talent had now reached a master level proficiency, allowing him to use it with even greater precision and subtlety.

  He was confident that no one below his rank would notice a thing, and even an Arch-Magus wouldn't detect it as long as he was careful.

  Unless, of course, he was wrong in his assumption.

  Was he? He wondered.

  "How did you figure it out?" He asked directly.

  "It was indeed impressive," Olympe answered with a knowing smile. "Hiding your magic... well, until a little while ago today. You slipped up for just a brief moment, but because your magic felt familiar... like someone I've met whose signature was the same..."

  Maverick raised a brow. It seemed her senses were more refined than he had thought. To detect his magic while he was being careful would take at least master-level proficiency, which he believed she had as well.

  "Is... that it?" he asked again.

  "Of course. My senses are quite sharp," Maxime said smoothly. "And we Arch-Magi can perceive unique magical signatures. If we've met once, it would be hard to fool me, even with a near-perfect disguise."

  That was news to him—something to look into later. And now was not the time to get distracted about it.

  Setting those thoughts aside, he finally asked the question that truly mattered.

  "So you know I'm Bloodraven... Now what?"

  He watched as the woman's expression change. Amusement flickered in her eyes as she leaned back in her seat, as if she held the upper hand.

  "I can keep the secret. If you join Beauxbato-."

  "Pass." He interjected before she could finish. "You can tell the world I'm Bloodraven. I don't have a problem." He shrugged without saying more.

  The tall witch raised a brow, surprised, while Dumbledore also... mirrored the same reaction.

  They had both assumed he treated that identity as a closely guarded secret and were momentarily taken aback by his straightforward response. Well infact, if it was week ago, their expectations might have been correct—but that was no longer the case.

  "What a rude fellow," she said after a moment, furrowing her brows "Just like your teacher."

  Maverick smirked but didn't retort to her remark. There was no way he would let this woman blackmail him.

  "Aren't you afraid of the attention you'll get?" she asked him, her voice laced with amusement. "I mean... you're barely what? 20? And already a Great-Magus. People are going to be curious. They would think you have some secret ways of practice..."

  Maverick chuckled. "Aren't you thinking the same?"

  She leaned forward slightly, her eyes glinting as she continued. "Of course I am." Then, after a brief pause, she leaned back again. "But unlike me, some wouldn't care whether you're a student of Garling or a master alchemist. Just because you're a Great-Magus and took down Morvain doesn't mean you're invincible. Who knows? Maybe one of us, a King, someone less concerned about the consequences might take action directly."

  "Then so be it," Maverick said without hesitation. "Even if both of you come at me, I won't care."

  Maxime scrutinized him for a long moment, her sharp gaze locked onto his.

  Then—

  Puff.

  She let out an uncontrollable chuckle.

  "Dear Merlin... you're just like that bastard Garling. I remember him charging straight at Grindelwald when he was merely a Great-Magus... but." She paused, narrowing her eyes. "Do you really think that just because you took down Morvain, a peak Great-Magus, you could stand against a King?"

  The temperature in the room began to drop along with her voice. Maverick felt her magic fill the space around them—not Dominant Spirit, but the pure, raw power of an Arch-Magus.

  A week ago, this might have made him flinch. No, even then, it would have only unsettled him because of the pressure.

  But now, her attempt to assert power over him meant nothing.

  He remained perfectly still, showing no outward reaction, and simply listened.

  She was trying to intimidate him with words. But at the same time, he knew she wasn't entirely wrong. In fact, what she said was very likely to happen.

  "Remember little boy. Every rank up gives you more longevity. There are many Magus who are children of Great-Maguses that look older than them."

  "What do you think they'd do if they realized there was a way for their children to regain their youth? What do you think they'd do if they realized there's this one person who has a miracle method to breakthrough the ranks..."

  She leaned in even closer, her tone lowering. "They'd flock in groups to steal whatever miracle you have... even resorting to taking your family hostage-"

  Rumble!

  Maxime's words suddenly stopped. Her eyes widened, as if she had seen something unthinkable. Even Dumbledore, the ever-calm old wizard, looked shocked.

  Rumble!

  The room began to ripple. The air grew dense—dense with something unseen.

  "Impossible!"

  Maxime jolted to her feet.

  "Well... I must say I wasn't expecting this..." Dumbledore added.

  In that moment, within the four walls of the room, Maverick allowed them to feel his magic fully for the first time. And just like Maxime, he didn't unleash his Dominant Spirit. Instead, he also let his raw magic surge. And both of them, being Arch-Magi themselves, could instantly recognize the presence of another Arch-Magus from the sensation of the magic.

  "How about it..." he spoke, looking right into her eyes. "Do you think I have the capital to protect my self and my family?"

  The room fell silent for a long while, until finally, they both eased off the surge of their magic, and Maxime slumped back down into her chair.

  She leaned back, letting out a sigh, her eyes narrowing as she studied Maverick. Her expression showed she was clearly frustrated.

  "Do you have a secret practice method or not?" she asked again, but more sincerely this time. She wanted only a simple yes or no.

  Maverick's lips curled into a smirk, but didn't respond right away.

  The half giant witch's patience began to wear thin. "Well?" she pressed, her voice tinged with impatience. "Are you willing to share it? If you do, I'll swear an oath to owe you an an unconditional favor."

  Her words this time caught him off guard. A favor backed by a magical oath from an Arch-Magus wasn't something trivial—it was a debt imbued with significant power.

  Maverick remained silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "I don't have a secret practice method," he said steadily. "I'm just... extremely talented."

  Maxime blinked, momentarily taken aback. Then she blurted out without thinking, "What kind of ridiculous answer is that?"

  "Professor here can attest to it." He turned to Dumbledore, who looked at him with a puzzled expression. "You know the extent of my capabilities. I've been able to tap into the talents of a Great-Magus when I was only a Magus. And when I became a Great-Magus, I could access the talents of an Arch-Magus." He then turned to Maxime.

  "You saw it for yourself. During my duel with Morvain. Back then, I was definitely not an Arch-Magus."

  The two older witch and wizard wore thoughtful expressions at that. It seemed… what he said was true.

  Maxime had witnessed his Dominant Spirit being unleashed that day, something only an Arch-Magus could do. And Dumbledore had heard from McGonagall that Maverick had been able to suppress his magic even two years ago. According to McGonagall, Maverick's magic had only been at the Magus level back then.

  "I suggest you still keep your rank a secret, Professor Caesar," Dumbledore finally said. "For the sake of your family's safety, it's better to keep it a secret for now."

  He then turned to Maxime. "Apologies, perhaps, Madam. You were not able to… get what you wanted. But for the sake of this old man and our friendship, please keep it to yourself as well. Besides, it's better to have Professor Caesar here as a friend than a foe, right?"

  Maxime sighed. "Fine. I won't ask about it again. But I do have a favor to ask of you..."

  Maverick gestured for her to continue.

  "Once a month, or even once per semester if that's easier, could you come be a guest lecturer at Beauxbaton's Alchemy classes? I'm sure that won't be too much of a hassle. I'll dedicate a direct Floo point for you, pay you, and you may ask something reasonable in return from me."

  "Guest lectures?" Maverick thought about it. It didn't seem like a troublesome thing if it was only once per semester.

  "I want access to your school's complete library—and your private collection," he added, laying down his condition.

  Maxime's eyes narrowed. "Quite the appetite." She paused, then nodded at the end. "I agree."

  Maverick smiled and stood from the chair. They had been talking for over an hour now. "Let's shake to a cooperation, Speaker."

  "Speaker?" Maxime raised an eyebrow. "Kid, now that you mention it, it feels like you're mocking me. We Arch-Magi don't call each other by our titles."

  "Really?" Maverick smirked. "Then Olympe?"

  The taller woman's mouth twitched. That sounded even weirder coming from a kid. To her, he was just a kid.

  "Just call me Dean. Or Madam," she said finally.

  —————

  The first Inter-School Quidditch Tournament turned out to be a resounding success, as proven by the packed stands at the opening match of the competition.

  Of course, none of it would have been possible without the exceptional work of the promotion team. Maverick had pulled every trick he knew to spread the word about the competition across Europe.

  Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—the magical world had very few large-scale sporting events where the public could gather in crowds to spectate. Apart from the Quidditch World Cup and, in the past, the Triwizard Tournament, opportunities for such grand spectacles weren't many.

  But unlike the Triwizard Tournament, with its life-threatening tasks and nerve-wracking challenges, the Inter-School Quidditch Tournament was something else entirely—lighter, brighter, and far more welcoming. It brought the schools together in a whirlwind of broomsticks and cheers, a celebration of skill and teamwork rather than survival and daring.

  Most importantly, it gave more students a chance to take part. Instead of a single champion carrying the hopes of their entire school, full teams took to the skies, each player with something to prove. It was competition at its best—fierce but fair, thrilling yet safe, and above all, a chance to show what they were made of.

  It was no wonder the biggest wizarding schools had jumped at the opportunity and agreed to take part. With no real danger involved, the competition was a win-win for both students and schools alike.

  And beyond the sporting spirit, there was another undeniable benefit—it was a fantastic way for the schools to bring in gold.

  Ticket sales alone would generate a considerable amount of Galleons, and that was before factoring in sponsorships and advertisements.

  Unfortunately for Hogwarts, even though it had been the one to initiate the tournament, it wouldn't be able to reap the financial benefits every year. That was the agreement between the participating schools. Starting next year, the tournament would rotate hosts, with the organizing school chosen through a fair and impartial draw.

  ...

  On the second day of the tournament, Durmstrang's all-star team faced off against Koldovstoretz's finest players in a fiercely competitive match. It was a much more thrilling contest than the tournament opener between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, with both teams flying at top speed, keeping spectators on the edge of their seats.

  In the end, Durmstrang claimed victory with a score of 150 to 120, as neither team managed to catch the Snitch before the first side reached 150 points.

  Each day, two teams that hadn't yet competed against each other soared through the sky, and by the sixth day, all four schools had faced off once, setting the stage for the next round of the tournament.

  The host school's team took second place, losing only one game to the Durmstrang team, who went on to win all their other matches. Koldovstoretz claimed third place, while Beauxbatons' Quidditch team had to say goodbye to the competition, as only the top three teams would qualify for the second round to be held next February.

  During the games, the players from the three visiting schools spent the week at Hogwarts, attending classes alongside the students.

  This was another benefit of the tournament, apart from promoting sportsmanship. It gave students the chance to experience the teaching methods of other schools. Both the visitors and the Hogwarts students were able to learn from each other, broadening their understanding beyond their own school's curriculum.

  After the first round ended and the participating teams returned to their countries, news of the competition exploded in the newspapers all around Europe and even the world.

  Maverick pushed for even more exposure, as his plan was much larger—to promote events like this in every corner of the globe. He dreamed that one day he could organize a regional champions competition, which, in turn, would elevate the tournament to the status of a world-stage event.

  Of course, there were some reports that criticized the competition, particularly from the Daily Prophet, which painted it as nothing more than a money grab for the school, and specifically for Maverick and his company.

  While it wasn't entirely false—after all, Maverick did monopolize most of the revenue generated from the event—he did ensure that a portion of it went to Hogwarts.

  The criticism largely came from influential figures who realized just how profitable the competition was and wanted to get their hands on some of the profits. When Maverick rejected them outright, they turned to the media in an attempt to tarnish his reputation. However, their efforts didn't create much of a stir.

  Maverick, however, didn't plan to let this go unnoticed. He had a plan to deal with the people orchestrating the smear campaign behind the scenes. And, of course, he had an eye on the so-called journalists like Rita Skeeter, who had played a part in publishing the biased articles.

  Maverick wasn't going to confront them just yet—but perhaps after the competition ended, or even before the finals, he would pay Skeeter a visit to show her exactly where she stood.

  As for the influential figures, the pureblood families who had tried to undermine him, Maverick intended to pay them a visit as well. He would make it clear that he was not someone to be messed with or drawn into conspiracies.

  ...

  The days that followed the excitement of the Quidditch tournament slowly settled back into routine. In the original timeline, nothing major happened after the Halloween incident and Christmas apart from the trio's adventures, and things somehow played out much in a similar way here.

  After Hermione recovered from the attack, she became best friends with Ron and Harry, and the three became practically inseparable after that. As in the original story, their adventures eventually led them to discover the forbidden corridor, where Hagrid's three-headed dog, Fluffy, was guarding something important.

  They then went straight to the one person they believed knew the most about dangerous creatures. And, as always, the most tight-lipped man in the wizarding world somehow managed to let a few secrets slip.

  That was all the encouragement the ever-curious trio needed. From there, they dove even deeper into the mystery.

  The only difference was that, unlike in the original story, they didn't suspect Snape as much this time.

  During the first Quidditch match, when Harry's broom had been cursed, Maverick had stepped in and resolved the situation before anyone could jump to the wrong conclusion.

  Of course, Snape had never been the one cursing Harry's broom in the first place. But in the original timeline, Hermione had mistakenly thought he was the culprit after seeing him muttering a counter-curse. She had assumed he was trying to harm Harry, rather than protect him.

  Still, that didn't stop the trio's curiosity and it got the better of them, and after Hagrid let slip that whatever Fluffy was guarding had something to do with Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel, they became determined to find out more.

  Maverick, of course, kept a close eye on their movements, and none of their adventures escaped his notice.

  Although he didn't interfere with their activities just yet, he planned to deal with Quirrell—perhaps even personally—before Harry did, and before the final match scheduled for April next year.

  The last thing he wanted was for any unexpected surprises to disrupt the school's peace, especially with the tournament drawing so much attention to Hogwarts.

  A major incident, such as another attack like Halloween, which had already been brushed under the rug after much difficulty, could lead to unfavorable PR—or worse, force the tournament to be canceled altogether. Who knew what Voldemort might have up his sleeve? Maverick wasn't going to take that risk.

  With that thought in mind, he paid extra attention to Quirrell, in addition to keeping an eye on the trio, as the days passed. However, nothing major—nothing worth taking immediate action over—happened, until finally, the Christmas holidays were just around the corner for the school.

  The air around Hogwarts had turned crisp and biting as winter settled in, and a thick layer of snow blanketed the grounds, turning the entire castle into a sparkling winter wonderland. The cold wind swirled through the trees, their bare branches dusted with white, as snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky.

  At the beginning of the third week of December, Maverick received a notification from Ali regarding a particular Muggle couple and their movements—something Maverick had tasked him to monitor. He had instructed Ali to inform him whenever their movements happened to coincide in a specific way.

  And so, when Ali gave him the heads up, he knew it was time. That very same evening after the dinner feast, he quietly slipped out of the school, apparated out of England, and made several jumps until he finally arrived on a remote road in the United States, leading to Washington, D.C.

  The road stretched out before him, a long, sloping ribbon of asphalt that wound its way down a gentle hill. To either side, the land rolled away into darkness, dotted with patches of grass and the occasional boulder. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale silver light over the scene, and the air was crisp and still, carrying the faint scent of damp earth.

  He glanced at his watch, then spread his Magical-Sense and quickly located his trusted subordinate up the hill standing alone under Disillusionment.

  With another jump in space, he appeared next to him, and of course, he was under Disillusionment as well. He then signaled to Ali that he had arrived, after which, he then enveloped them both in a barrier, making them visible to each other, while the barrier remained invisible to anyone outside.

  Ali wasn't surprised by Maverick's sudden appearance. He simply glanced at him before saying, "They'll be here soon." There was a hint of puzzlement in his eyes, though, as he had never been told why he was tasked with monitoring the Muggle tycoon couple. Despite this, he still followed the orders without question, trusting his leader's judgment. But that didn't mean he wasn't curious, and Maverick could see it in his eyes with just one look.

  It was time to reveal part of the truth. He thought to himself.

  Of course he couldn't explain everything—he couldn't share his knowledge beyond the Fourth Wall—but he could fabricate a plausible story.

  "No one knows this," he began while keeping his voice low. "You're the first person I've shared this secret with, Ali. I'm a Seer."

  Ali arched a brow but did not interrupt, and let Maverick continue.

  "A couple of years ago, I saw their future, or rather, part of it. Something... significant is going to happen to them soon, and I've been waiting for the right moment to act."

  "So, we're here to stop whatever's coming? Are they going to be in some kind of accident?" Ali asked, not questioning Maverick's mention of being a seer. After all, seers existed in their world—rare, but still real. And his boss was no ordinary man, so he believed him without a fuss.

  "Not an accident. An assassination!"

  —————————

  The hum of the car engine filled the quiet night as a couple, dressed in formal attire, cruised down a remote highway leading to Washington, D.C.

  The headlights cut through the thick winter darkness, revealing towering trees that lined both sides of the road. Their skeletal branches sagged under the weight of fresh snow, and the light cast long, eerie shadows over the frozen landscape.

  Inside the car, warmth fought against the cold pressing against the windows. Howard Stark tapped his fingers idly on the steering wheel, glancing at his wife. "You know, Maria, we could've just flown in the morning."

  Maria Stark, wrapped in a luxurious fur-lined coat, gave him a pointed look. "And spend another day dodging those insufferable politicians? No, thank you. Besides, you were the one who insisted on driving."

  Howard smirked, eyes still on the road. "Well, you always say we don't spend enough time together."

  She sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. "I meant a vacation, not a freezing midnight drive through the middle of nowhere."

  A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the radio, jazz mingling with static. The snow continued to fall in soft, swirling flurries, adding another layer to the untouched wilderness around them.

  Maria adjusted her gloves and glanced out the window. "At least tell me you actually booked a proper hotel this time, Howard."

  Howard winced slightly. "Well—"

  "No," she cut in, exasperated. "Not another one of your 'off-the-radar' places."

  "Hey, that last one had charm."

  "That last one had no heating."

  Howard chuckled. "Alright, alright. I promise, this one has all the amenities. Five stars, even."

  Maria gave him a skeptical look but let it go.

  Then, she frowned.

  "Howard… do you hear that?"

  Howard's eyes were on the road, but the sudden change in his wife's tone made him glance at her before tilting his head. To him, the only sounds were the smooth melody of jazz drifting from the radio and the steady hum of the engine.

  But then—

  All of a sudden, the rearview mirror flared a blinding light, forcing him to shut his eyes and slam the brakes in reflex.

  Crrrrrr!

  The tires screeched against the cold concrete, skidding for a brief moment before the car came to a sudden halt. Maria let out a sharp scream, her body jerking from the shock of the sudden stop. Everything had happened so quickly, and her heart raced as adrenaline surged through her, causing her to take quick, shallow gasps.

  She turned sharply to her husband, eyes flashing with irritation. "Howard, what the hell?"

  Howard, still gripping the wheel tightly, looked just as shaken as she was. He didn't answer. Instead, he quickly turned the key, trying to restart the engine, which had shut down with the abrupt stop.

  "Damn it," he cursed under his breath. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have picked this antique." He muttered as the engine refused to turn on. Frustration tightened his jaw. One, because he had chosen a classic car for their evening drive instead of one of his heavily modified ones. And two, because he was certain they were being followed.

  And whoever was after him wouldn't be some random thug. That much he knew for sure.

  Maria noticed the tension in his face, and her earlier frustration quickly faded into concern. "Honey…" Her voice softened, an attempt to reassure him. But before she could say anything more, the low, rumbling growl of the motorcycle engine filled their ears—growing louder. Fast.

  "That's the sound!" Maria blurted out, her voice louder than she intended—perhaps shaken by the sudden turn of events. "I knew I heard another vehicle earlier…"

  "I hear it too, hon…" Howard said, still yanking the key. "But whoever that is—I don't think they're here to say hello."

  The engine let out a painful whine but refused to start.

  "You mean—" Maria started, but she didn't need to finish. She had the same thought as her husband. After all, she wasn't just any woman—she was the one chosen by the smartest man in the world to be his wife.

  Before she could speak again, the car finally roared to life.

  Brumm… brumm…

  "Buckle in! Hold on to something!" Howard barked, giving only two instructions before slamming his foot on the gas.

  The tires screeched, burning against the cold concrete as the car lurched forward. But just as they started moving—

  BAM!

  A brutal impact slammed into the side of the car.

  Howard barely had time to register it before he lost control.

  Screeeeeech!

  The car swerved violently, skidding left and right as it accelerated uncontrollably. The world spun—

  CRASH!

  With a deafening crunch, it smashed into a tree at the side of the road.

  ...

  Some distance above the crash site, Maverick and Ali watched the scene unfold in eerie silence.

  Ali stole a glance at his boss, who stood with his hands in his coat pockets, watching the wreckage below with a flat expression.

  "I thought we were here to save them?" Ali asked, puzzled.

  "In due time," Maverick answered simply.

  Ali shrugged and turned his attention back to the road below. "Still, that kick... That was nothing a normal human should be capable of. He sent a moving car flying off course like it was a toy. Is he a mutant?"

  Maverick's lips curled into an unreadable smile. "You're right—he's not normal. But not a mutant either."

  Ali sighed, knowing his boss was doing that thing again—half-explaining and leaving more questions than answers. He knew better than to press now, so he turned his gaze back to the scene, watching as the assailant parked his motorcycle a short distance from the crashed vehicle.

  ---

  Back with the Starks

  "Arrgh…"

  Howard groaned as his eyes fluttered open. His head throbbed, and when he reached up instinctively, his fingers came away wet and sticky. Blinking through his blurry vision, he saw the dark stain of blood.

  His own.

  His forehead must have slammed into the wheel on impact.

  Then, memory flooded back.

  "Maria!" He turned in alarm.

  Beside him, his wife stirred with a soft groan. Slowly, she sat up, dazed but alive.

  "Howard… what just happened?" she muttered, still trying to process the crash.

  "Thank God." He exhaled in relief. They hadn't been going fast enough for the crash to be fatal. If they had…

  Shoving that thought aside, he reached toward the glove compartment, yanked it open, and pulled out a pistol.

  "Unbuckle. We need to get out. Now."

  Howard fumbled with his seatbelt, unclasping it before reaching for the door handle.

  Clank.

  It wouldn't budge.

  "Dammit," he cursed, ramming his shoulder against the door. The second time, it finally gave way, swinging open with a groan of protest.

  Wasting no time, he stumbled out and immediately turned, reaching a hand toward Maria.

  "Come on! Hurry!"

  Maria grasped his hand and climbed out, her feet unsteady on the cold pavement. But the moment she steadied herself, her breath hitched.

  "Ho-Howard… be-behind you," she whispered, her voice trembling.

  Howard froze. A cold dread curled in his gut. He didn't turn immediately—he felt the presence before he even saw it.

  Then, in one swift motion, he spun around, pistol raised.

  Boom!

  The shot wasn't from him—but at him. A single bullet struck his hand, knocking the gun clean from his grip. A sharp pain shot up his arm as he instinctively recoiled, crouching slightly from the impact.

  "Argh!" Howard recoiled, clutching his stinging fingers. It hadn't been a direct hit, but the impact alone was enough to send a sharp wave of pain up his arm.

  "Howard!" Maria screamed, falling to his side in panic. "Are you hit?! Are you—"

  "I'm fine," he gritted out, eyes flicking up toward their attacker.

  And then his breath caught.

  The man standing before them was clad in a dark combat uniform, a rifle slung over his shoulder. But what made Howard's blood run cold was the metallic sheen of his left arm—gleaming in the dim light.

  Then, finally, his gaze settled on the face.

  Howard's heart nearly stopped.

  "You…" His voice came out hoarse. Disbelief warred with recognition. "Sergeant Barnes?"

  The soldier halted mid-step.

  "You're… you're Sergeant Barnes. Bucky Barnes. But how—?" Howard's voice wavered. His mind raced, struggling to process the impossible. "Why are you trying to kill us?"

  Barnes' expression was unreadable, his eyes empty. But for the first time in a long while, something flickered within them. A hesitation.

  A memory—no, a feeling he did not recognize.

  But that intuition lasted only a second before his gaze hardened once more. Without a word, he reached for the rifle slung over his shoulder.

  "Wait!"

  "Wait! Bucky!" Howard shouted, desperation lacing his voice.

  No response.

  Click. Click.

  The rifle was loaded. And this time, Barnes didn't aim at Howard.

  He aimed at Maria. Why? Because aiming at the woman stirred nothing in him—no hesitation, no conflict. She was just a target. He decided to kill her first, then eliminate the other next.

  Maria froze. The panic seized her body, locking her in place. She wasn't even screaming—her mind had gone blank.

  Howard, despite his pain, moved on instinct, throwing himself in front of his wife.

  Barnes' finger tightened on the trigger.

  And then—

  "Would you mind not pointing such a dangerous thing at such a pretty face, Mr. Winter Soldier?"

  The voice was deep, smooth, and strangely mechanical.

  Barnes didn't hesitate. Without even looking, he spun toward the voice and opened fire.

  BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Gunfire roared through the night, bullets flying straight toward the newcomer.

  Then—

  Silence.

  When the dust settled, their eyes widened in shock—well, only the couple did. The Winter Soldier, however, remained expressionless, as if witnessing something extraordinary was nothing new to him.

  Because, the bullets had stopped.

  Not missed. Stopped.

  An invisible force had halted them midair, mere inches from a dark figure standing a few feet away.

  The couples breath caught as they took in the sight.

  The man was dressed entirely in black—a long coat draped over a fitted suit, his boots planted firmly on the cold pavement. A hat sat low on his head, shadowing most of his face.

  But that wasn't what sent a chill down the couple's spine.

  It was the darkness where his face should have been.

  Not a mask. Not a blur. Just… nothing.

  And in that nothingness, two crimson lights glowed where his eyes should have been.

  —————————

  Da-da-da-da-da-da!

  Da-da-da-da—Click. Click.

  Bucky Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier, fired round after round at the mysterious figure that had appeared out of nowhere, interrupting his mission.

  He was an assassin, and tonight's objective was clear to him and that was to eliminate the Stark couple.

  Anything or anyone that stood in his way would simply be added to the list, and he had no interest in engaging in dialogue to find out their identity.

  That was how he had always operated. It was his instinct—what he was, in plain terms, programmed to do.

  But for the first time, he realized tonight's objective might be more difficult to achieve than his previous, flawlessly executed missions. After emptying two full magazines, his state-of-the-art, modified weapons had proven useless, and his target turned out to be completely unaffected.

  Still, he didn't flinch. Even as the bullets froze midair—suspended by some unseen force—before clattering harmlessly to the ground, he remained unfazed.

  After all, as an agent trained to eliminate only the deadliest threats to his organization, he had more or less encountered people with special abilities. And he had dealt with them as well.

  So without a second thought, he discarded the now emptied automatic rifle, then drew his most comfortable pistol, and fired again.

  Bam! Bam!

  This time, he moved as he fired, taking a step with each shot, closing the distance between them. He refused to believe that whatever barrier protected the figure could hold indefinitely. More importantly, once he got close enough, he could let his enhanced physique and mastered combat techniques speak for themselves.

  ---

  Meanwhile, the Stark couple sat frozen beside the wrecked car, watching the violence unfold in disbelief.

  Maria clutched the fabric of her coat tightly, flinching with every gunshot, fear gripping her to the core.

  Although she was the wife of one of the richest and most influential men in the world, she had never experienced anything like this. She had always been protected, living in a sanctuary-like space no matter where she was.

  Until tonight.

  Tonight, she and her husband had decided to go out without their usual security detail—a decision that now felt like a terrible mistake.

  Howard, however, remained more restrained. Not calm, but not entirely shocked either. He had seen and even experienced situations—not quite like this, but similar.

  So, rather than panic, his expression was more composed, and his mind was already working on a plan for escape.

  Of the two men, he only knew Sergeant Barnes—and unfortunately, that was the one trying to kill him and his wife. The other, a complete unknown, had somehow saved them, but he had no idea who this person was or what they wanted.

  He would much rather be far, far away from both of them.

  ...

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  A consecutive bangs of gunfire filled the night, but the result was the same. Every single bullet came to a dead stop, frozen in place before clattering harmlessly to the ground.

  Barnes did not show any suprise. Not even frustration. He simply emptied the rest of the magazine as he inched closer and closer to the man.

  Click.

  The handgun turned dry as well, the last round spent, but he was now nearly an arm's length away from the figure.

  Then, he heard it—a low chuckle.

  "That was disappointing."

  The voice was smooth yet unnervingly distorted, like two voices speaking at once—one human, the other… something else.

  "Any other tricks, Mr. Winter Soldier?"

  Without a change in expression, Bucky Barnes discarded the pistol without a second thought and reached into his combat suit with precise, unhesitating movements.

  A glint of steel caught the dim moonlight as he drew two serrated combat knives.

  Barnes shifted into a low stance, the knives gripped in a reverse hold. His movements were smooth, like a machine, programmed for one thing and one thing only.

  "Interesting..." the figure said, tilting his head slightly as if intrigued. In a slow, deliberate voice, he murmured, "Humor me, then..."

  Barnes didn't need a second invitation. He lunged.

  His speed was incredible—far beyond that of a normal human. The first blade swept low, aiming for the figure's midsection.

  Miss.

  The figure shifted just enough to let the blade pass through empty air.

  Barnes pivoted, slashing upward with the second knife.

  Miss.

  A simple tilt of the head and the attack sailed past, cutting through nothing.

  Without breaking rhythm, Barnes launched a rapid series of attacks—each movement flowing into the next, each strike aimed at a vital point. The knives danced, their serrated edges glinting as they sliced through the air with deadly precision.

  Miss. Miss. Miss.

  The figure moved like a shadow, effortless, smooth. It wasn't just speed—it was as if he already knew where each attack would land before it even started.

  Barnes spun, attempting a brutal roundhouse kick.

  The figure leaned back just enough for the boot to pass an inch from his face.

  Barnes adjusted mid-motion, reversing his momentum into a downward slash with his knife.

  CLANG!

  The knife struck something solid—no, the figure had caught it. Or rather, pinched the edge of the blade between two bare fingers, stopping it just before it could slash his aorta.

  For the first time, Barnes hesitated.

  The figure's unseen eyes seemed to bore into him. Then, with eerie calm, he whispered, "Boring..."

  In a blur, the figure moved.

  THWACK!

  An open palm struck Barnes' wrist, disarming one knife.

  THUD!

  A precise strike to the chest sent Barnes skidding backward, boots scraping against the concrete road.

  The Winter Soldier straightened, gripping his remaining knife. He didn't breathe heavily, didn't react with anger or frustration.

  Like a machine, he simply recalibrated.

  The figure chuckled again. "I'm sorry, but it seems I may have overestimated the strength of a super soldier. Or maybe… my physique is simply on a different level now."

  Barnes lunged, ignoring the ridicule—but then, his body froze mid-step.

  "Sleep now, soldier. When you wake, your nightmare ends... and your real mission begins."

  The distorted voice echoed as if whispered directly into his ear.

  Then… nothing.

  His mind went blank, and his body collapsed, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

  Silence.

  ---

  "Is it... is it over?"

  Maria asked shakily, watching the man who had just tried to kill them collapse to the ground.

  Howard didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the mysterious figure, watching as he turned toward them and began walking forward with slow, deliberate steps.

  There was something deeply unsettling about those blood-red eyes. They had just been saved, and yet, looking into them, Howard felt anything but safe. His instincts flared, and without thinking, he pulled Maria closer.

  Step.

  Step.

  "Howard Anthony Walter Stark and Maria Collins Carbonell Stark. You need not be wary of me… yet."

  Howard gulped. Yet? What the hell was that supposed to mean? And why use his full name? The only time he ever heard his full name was when Maria was mad at him.

  "Thank you... Mr.?" He suppressed his unease, trying to maintain a composed front. "For saving my wife and me. When I get home, I promise to reward you generou—"

  His words trailed off, his eyes widening as the figure raised a single finger and pointed it at them.

  "Wait. Please don't kill us—"

  He tensed, instinctively shielding Maria, but before he could react further, a soft glow enveloped them both.

  A wave of warmth spread through his body. It wasn't painful—it was… comforting. He felt the tension in his muscles ease, the stinging from his wounds fade. He glanced down at his hands, watching as the bruises and scrapes disappeared before his very eyes.

  "What in the…"

  The words barely left his lips before the figure spoke again.

  "You will answer my questions truthfully. No lies. No attempts to steer away from them."

  Howard's mind raced, struggling to process the situation. But he was a man who adapted quickly, and he gave a curt nod.

  "Stand. You are both healed... more or less."

  Howard hesitated but ultimately complied. What choice did he have? He then helped Maria to her feet, and now they stood face to face with their mysterious savior—or perhaps their captor.

  "My first question," he heard the figure ask in that voice which sound nothing like a human at all. "Who is Sergeant Bucky Barnes to you?"

  But he didn't have the nerve to comment on that, except to obediently answer the question.

  "Bucky?" He glanced at the unconscious man on the ground before turning back to the figure. "Once a friend. A long time ago. I thought he had died..." He paused, thinking for a moment before adding, "He was a good friend of mine. We were acquainted through Rogers."

  The figure gave a slight nod before speaking again.

  —————————

  "Who is Sergeant Bucky Barnes to you?"

  "Bucky?" He glanced at the unconscious man before shifting his gaze back to the figure. "He was a friend… a long time ago. I thought he was dead." He hesitated, then added, "A good man, once. We knew each other through Rogers."

  Howard saw the figure give him a slight nod before asking again.

  "What do you know about the Hydra organization?"

  "Hydra?" His eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of a name he knew all too well. But it had been years since he had last heard it.

  He took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. "Hydra is… I mean, was... a terrorist organization. It was brought to an end decades ago by an agency I was a part of..."

  The figure nodded once more, showing no other reaction.

  "What do you know about the magical world?"

  Howard tilted his head. "You mean the stick-wielders?"

  Maverick raised an eyebrow under his disguise, his eyes twitching slightly. He remained silent, allowing Stark to answer his own question.

  Howard's thoughtful expression deepened. "If you're asking about magicians... I know of them." Then he paused, as if a realization had just struck him. "Wait—you're a mage, aren't you?"

  "Answer my question, Stark," the figure's voice cut through his moment.

  "Uh… yes, apologies." Howard straightened, regaining his composure. "I know about magical people and the hidden world beneath ours. I met some during the war, and I still know a few even now... like my country's super-magical, Edward."

  Beside him, Maria stood in silence, absorbing every word. Her world was shifting, her understanding of reality crumbling in mere seconds. But she didn't interrupt.

  Fortunately, having accompanied her husband to meet many of the world's most influential figures—and overhearing things a civilian technically shouldn't—she had learned when to speak and, more importantly, when to stay silent.

  So she simply stood frozen, absorbing the overwhelming revelations unfolding before her.

  "You have answered my questions truthfully, Howard Stark," the figure said in that smooth, yet unnerving voice.

  "You are correct. I am indeed a wizard... or a magician, as you put it. But more than that, I am an Arch-Magus—much like this Edward you mentioned."

  Howard's eyes widened in disbelief, and subconsciously swallowed hard. "An... Arch-Magus?"

  Of course, he understood the significance of what that meant. He remembers during the war, when Schmidt's forces were wreaking havoc across Europe, there had been another party—a so-called partner of Schmidt—who was causing disasters elsewhere.

  While Schmidt used technology trying to bring about nuclear devastation, this Arch-Magus was causing it, like a walking nuclear weapon. Yes, a walking nuclear weapon—that was the conclusion his team had reached about the particular magician who partnered with Schmidt during the war.

  And the only reason non-magicals hadn't dared to act against the magical world was that the latter had not one, but multiple reusable nuclear powerhouses such as that person amongst their ranks. Back then, the balance was simply impossible to tip.

  And now, standing before him, was one of those powerhouses.

  Howard felt a lump in his throat as his confidence wavered uncontrollably.

  "Th-then... Mr. Mage..." He forced himself to speak, though his voice was strained. "Can you tell me why... or what it is you want... in return for sparing me and my wife?"

  Maverick smirked under his mask, though outwardly, he showed no reaction. To the Stark couple, all they saw were those blood-red eyes burning within the darkness that should have been his face.

  "I'm not sure if you're aware of this... but among us magicians, some are born with unique gifts beyond regular magic. One such ability is the power to see... to witness glimpses of the future. I am one such individual."

  Howard listened in silence while his hands clenched at his sides.

  "I do not control these visions," the figure continued. "They come to me at random... about people I know, about complete strangers. Some show the next moment, others the next day, or even decades into the future."

  The figure's voice was eerily steady as he spoke.

  "Years ago, I saw this very night unfold. I saw what was meant to happen here today. And now, I will share with you what I saw... both tonight's events and what follows in the future because of them."

  Howard and Maria exchanged an uneasy glance.

  "Do not be alarmed. I am merely sharing my memories with you."

  With a snap of his fingers, the world around them shifted.

  Their vision went dark.

  Then, suddenly, they saw it.

  The same road. Their own car.

  From a third-person perspective, they watched as their past selves drove along the road, just as they had tonight.

  And then—

  CRASH!

  Their car was hit from behind, the force sending it spiraling into a tree like a mere toy.

  Maria gasped as she watched the horrifying scene play out before her.

  Then they saw him. Bucky Barnes emerged from the shadows, his expression just as emotionless as before—cold, unfeeling, like a machine.

  With chilling precision, he reached into the wreckage, grabbed Howard, and brutally struck him down. His metal fist came down again and again—crushing, breaking, leaving him a bloodied mess.

  Maria turned away, trembling, but the vision continued.

  After Howard was left barely conscious, they saw Barnes walk around the car… and grab her.

  Maria's breath hitched as she watched, wide-eyed, as her self in the vision struggled—helpless—while the assassin's hand closed around her throat.

  Then, before their very eyes—

  —he killed her.

  Howard's heart pounded violently against his ribs as he stared, unable to look away.

  He saw then their bodies were placed back in the car, carefully arranged to make it look like a tragic accident.

  And then, silence.

  "You both would have died tonight," the voice beside them said. "Killed by Sergeant Bucky Barnes. He is known as the Winter Soldier... one of Hydra's top-tier assassins."

  Howard's head snapped toward the figure. "Impossible! We eliminated Hydra after Rogers defeated Schmidt—"

  The figure slowly shook his head. "You merely cut off one head."

  A pause.

  Then, the voice asked: "Do you know the creed they live by?"

  Howard hesitated. "...What?"

  "Cut off one head… and two more shall grow."

  The realization sank in like ice in Howard's veins.

  "Hydra was only weakened back then," the figure continued, "but it has grown in the shadows, infiltrating your government… even the World Security Council. Sergeant Barnes is one of them. He was brainwashed by brutal means—his memories stripped away, his emotions erased, leaving only one objective embedded in his mind: Obey Hydra. Unconditionally."

  Howard clenched his jaw, his mind racing, but before he could speak, the figure raised a hand.

  "Observe. I shall now show you… the future."

  The scene changed again.

  Howard gasped.

  Tony.

  It was his son. But older.

  Maverick, of course, didn't conjure the image of Robert Downey Jr. Instead, he delved into Howard's mind, pulling forth the true appearance of this world's Tony Stark.

  "Your son," the figure said, his voice unreadable, "will grow up to be more than capable of continuing your legacy as one of the smartest men in the world. But… he will also be na?ve."

  Howard watched as the vision unfolded.

  Tony—now a grown man—stood at the helm of Stark Industries, the company thriving beyond imagination.

  "He will make more money than he could ever count. He will elevate your company to unprecedented heights. He will become the richest man in the world."

  Howard blinked, momentarily relieved. But then—

  "What did he do to achieve this?"

  The scene darkened.

  "He'll become the greatest arms dealer the world has ever known, believing he's only supplying weapons to the government without a second thought. But in reality, his creations will spread across the globe—some falling into the hands of some very dangerous people..."

  Howard's stomach dropped.

  "Your son, to put it simply, will have no regard for the consequences," the figure continued, his voice cold. "His weapons will shatter families, fuel endless wars, and leave unimaginable suffering in their wake."

  Howard's throat went dry. He knew the arms industry all too well. There was always an underground market, always buyers lurking in the shadows. As the figure had just said, it wasn't impossible for weapons to fall into the wrong hands if one wasn't careful. And judging by what he was hearing about his son—or rather, the version of his son who grew up without parents—it seemed Tony wasn't the careful type.

  Watching his own son become… that—

  It was a bitter pill to swallow.

  Maria turned to Howard, horror evident in her eyes.

  And the vision was not over yet.

  For over an hour, Maverick revealed glimpses of their son's possible future.

  By the end of it, Howard and Maria stood frozen, struggling to process the overwhelming visions. Their minds reeled from the weight of it all—Tony's rise, his fall, his struggles, and, ultimately, his death.

  Maria's face was streaked with tears, her hands trembling as she clutched her husband's arm. Howard, though outwardly composed, looked visibly shaken. The sheer magnitude of what they had just been shown was almost too much to grasp.

  Maverick had constructed the illusion with careful precision, pulling from his memories of the Marvel movies he had seen. He hadn't fabricated completely false scenes but had instead woven together a version of events that felt like genuine glimpses of the future. Some details had been altered, adjusted, but the essence remained the same.

  Then—

  Snap.

  A sharp sound echoed in the air, and their surroundings shifted.

  The visions disappeared, replaced once more by the cold, dark reality of the road they stood on.

  Maverick's voice broke the silence, now carrying a weight even heavier than before.

  "This is the fate of the world if you were to die today."

  His crimson eyes burned like embers in the darkness as he continued.

  "Some, if they knew this knowledge, would say it is necessary for your deaths to happen. After all, your son outgrows his narcissism, becomes a man respected by all, and ultimately sacrifices himself for the universe."

  Howard clenched his fists. Maria let out a shuddering breath.

  "But fate," Maverick said, "is not set in stone."

  A pause.

  Howard took a deep breath, his mind spinning. Then, after a moment, he asked, "So… now what?"

  Maverick turned to the couple, his presence suddenly heavier, more oppressive.

  His next words sent a cold chill down their spines.

  "I have saved you from death… because I require something from you."

  Howard exhaled slowly, the tension in his body lessening. Finally, something he could understand. A trade. A deal.

  "I see," he said, nodding. It was always easier to give something than to do something. And he was one of the richest men in the world. Whatever this mysterious figure wanted, he had no doubt he could provide it.

  "Go ahead," he said confidently. "Name it. Money? Rare items? If it's out there, no matter how expensive, I can get my hands on it for you."

  Maverick's silence stretched. Then—

  "You are mistaken, Stark."

  Howard's confidence wavered.

  "I do not need such material things."

  A pause.

  Howard's momentary relief shattered. The weight in that cold mechanical voice made him uneasy, and his gut twisted with unease.

  "Whether you agree or not," the figure continued, "depends on whether I choose to wake up Barnes and leave like nothing happened… or I save you... and him as well."

  Howard swallowed hard, feeling Maria's grip tighten around his arm. He didn't want to die—especially after witnessing the tragic future his son would face without him and Maria. And now, given a second chance, alive and well… of course, he wanted to live. To be part of Tony's life.

  Slowly, he nodded. "...Please... say it."

  Maverick's gaze swept over them. When he spoke again, his voice carried an unyielding finality.

  "Listen, and listen carefully. Both of you."

  Howard felt a strange pressure settle over them, as if the very air had become heavier.

  "You will pretend to be dead. I will arrange a scene exactly like what you saw in the vision—your original fate."

  Maria gasped softly, her nails digging into Howard's sleeve.

  "I require you to work for me," Maverick continued, his tone unwavering. "Until your son embraces his true destiny and becomes the symbol of this world."

  Howard's brows furrowed. "True destiny?"

  Maverick ignored the question.

  "After he recovers from the poison in his body caused by the arc reactor, only then may you reveal yourselves to him—or to the world."

  Maria took a step forward, her voice shaky. "You mean… we can never see our son again? Not for decades?"

  "Until the time is right," Maverick corrected.

  Howard's heart pounded. His mind screamed at him to reject this insane proposal.

  "Until then," Maverick pressed on, "you will disappear. You will not be held captive. But I will use magic to change your appearances whenever you need to go out in public. You will be given new identities."

  Howard and Maria's eyes widened in shock.

  This wasn't just about faking their deaths…

  It was a demand to erase themselves from the world.

  To leave everything behind.

  Their son. Their legacy. Their lives.

  Howard's mind raced. Was this even possible? Could they really give up everything just like that?

  But before he could fully process it, he forced himself to focus on the most immediate concern.

  "And… what is it," he asked, voice steadier now, "exactly that you need me to do?"

  The figure's red eyes glowed brighter.

  Then—

  He tilted his head to the sky.

  Howard felt a deep, unsettling sense of foreboding before the answer even came.

  "I need you," the voice spoke slowly, pausing after each phrase, "within the next twenty years…"

  Howard held his breath.

  "...With the help of your science and my magic…"

  The figure lowered his gaze from the sky, and his glowing eyes—like twin suns—locked directly onto Howard's.

  "...To help me terraform a planet."

  A dead silence fell over the road until—

  "...What?" exclaimed the genius billionaire, his voice laced with disbelief.

  But the figure didn't blink. Didn't move. Didn't waver.

  Instead, in a voice as calm as if he were merely asking for a cup of coffee, he said—

  "I need a world, Stark... and you're going to help me get it."

  —————————

  Howard Stark stared at the mysterious man before him, his mind still reeling from the absurdity of what he had just heard. Terraforming? It sounded like something straight out of science fiction, yet here he was, being told he would play a role in making it a reality.

  "You're talking about reshaping an entire planet," Howard finally said in a low but firm voice. "Do you even understand the scale of what you're asking? And what if I can't make it happen? What then?"

  Maverick remained unmoved. "With the science of this era alone? No, it wouldn't be possible. But with science and magic, I'm confident that we can make it work. You're the smartest man alive—apart from your son, perhaps. Don't underestimate your own genius."

  Howard stared at him for a long moment, searching for words but finding none. He then glanced at Maria, who looked just as shaken as he felt.

  Taking a deep breath, he pressed on, "Terraforming requires advanced engineering, atmospheric regulation, resource management—it's not something you just do overnight."

  "We have time. Two whole decades," Maverick responded, his distorted voice unwavering to the couple as he met their gaze.

  He needed them to understand—needed Howard Stark to see—that this wasn't an impossible task.

  And more importantly, that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

  "You're a scientist, and I'm an alchemist. With our combined expertise, it will be done. But this conversation will have to continue elsewhere." He turned his head slightly, as if sensing something unseen. "We've been here too long. It's time to leave."

  Before Howard could ask what he meant, Maverick lifted a hand.

  From the shadows, another figure emerged—a man in his late thirties, dressed in a dark suit. His features and complexion suggested Middle Eastern heritage.

  "Ali," Maverick introduced.

  Howard narrowed his eyes. "You look familiar..."

  Ali smiled. "We meet again, Stark."

  Howard studied him for a moment before realization struck. "You're the guy who came with that investor… what was his name? Trying to buy stocks in my company."

  Ali gave a small nod. "Yes… and I remember being decisively rejected."

  "We can talk about that later," Maverick interjected. "Can you handle the arrangements here?"

  Howard couldn't help but interrupt, "And what exactly does 'handle the arrangements' mean?"

  Maverick glanced at him before gesturing toward the wreckage. "Arranging the scene. Making sure your deaths remain convincing. With magic, we will create two bodies identical to you—both in appearance and in flesh," he explained vaguely.

  The Starks didn't need to know the details. The decoys wouldn't be mere illusions or artificial constructs—they would be real people, transformed with Polyjuice Potion to resemble them.

  The key advantage of Polyjuice was that if someone died while under its effects, their appearance wouldn't revert once the potion wore off. They would remain looking like the person they had transformed into—sometimes for weeks, even months. And Maverick had acquired a far more potent variation of the potion during his travels, one that ensured the disguise would last even longer.

  Howard stiffened. He didn't understand any of it. And he didn't like it—none of it—but he knew there was nothing he could do to protest.

  Maverick stepped forward, raising a hand, and made a slow vertical movement in the air. To the Stark couple's astonishment, a rift of deep blue energy tore open the space before them. Without another word, Maverick gestured for them to follow and stepped through first.

  Howard hesitated, glancing at Maria before taking her hand. Together, they followed Maverick into the unknown, Bucky Barnes' unconscious body silently levitating behind them.

  ---

  They emerged in a dimly lit chamber—a sleek, modern space lined with bookshelves, alchemical tools, and enchanted artifacts. The air was cool, the space eerily quiet.

  "This will be your home for now," Maverick stated, walking forward. "A safe house. It has everything you need to live comfortably—three bedrooms with attached bathrooms, a fully equipped kitchen, a living room, a library—"

  "I get it. The world's most luxurious prison. Congratulations, you've won the award," Howard cut in dryly.

  Maverick paused mid-step, turning to give him a long, dense stare. The weight of it made Howard flinch and unconsciously take a step back.

  "I—I apologize," he muttered after a moment, hesitant but sincere. "That was out of line."

  Maverick didn't respond. Instead, he simply continued as if the interruption had never happened.

  "You'll remain here until I finalize the arrangements. Don't think of it as captivity. Once your new identities are established, you'll be free to move as you please."

  Howard exhaled sharply. He still wanted to argue, to push back against the situation—but he knew it was pointless. And more importantly, he couldn't.

  Maverick turned his attention to Maria. "Do you need rest before we continue?"

  Maria had been silently listening all this time, following her husband's lead. When asked, she decisively shook her head, though the exhaustion on her face was evident. "I just want to know what happens next."

  Maverick nodded. "Very well. First, I'll provide you with an alchemic tool that will allow you to alter your appearance in public. I'll need about a week to prepare it. Remember, your old identities are gone—you're no longer Howard and Maria Stark. You'll receive new names, backgrounds, everything."

  Howard frowned. "And what if we... hypothetically, say try to contact someone we shouldn't?"

  Maverick's eyes glowed ominously. "That won't happen."

  He flicked his fingers, and a faint pulse of magic spread through the air, sinking into their skin. Howard flinched. Maria tensed.

  A small tattoo of a raven's head, no larger than a thumbnail, slowly materialized on their wrists.

  Howard and Maria raised their hands, opening their palms as they felt a slight itch where the mark had appeared.

  "Think of it as a temporary precaution until we can trust each other," Maverick explained.

  "Trust?" Howard scoffed involuntarily but immediately schooled his expression, realizing his situation. He didn't say anything else.

  In reality, Maverick didn't care about his attitude. If their positions were reversed, he would have reacted the same way—he knew that much. So, he continued. "The spell won't control you, but if you even consider reaching out to someone from your past—anyone who could compromise what we're doing—I'll know. And the spell will stop you before you act on it."

  Howard clenched his jaw but didn't protest. What was there to say?

  Maverick stepped back. "That concludes our arrangements for now..." He paused, then turned his attention to the unconscious super soldier lying on the couch. "Now, let's see about curing Mr. Barnes."

  Howard and Maria followed his gaze, their expressions wary. The man who had tried to kill them now lay motionless, as if he were just another person taking an afternoon nap.

  "I still can't believe this is Sergeant Barnes..." Howard muttered after a long silence.

  Maverick glanced at him. "If you want to see how I cure him, you're welcome to follow. I'll show you his memories—proof that Hydra is still operating in the shadows."

  Without waiting for a response, Maverick turned and walked toward one of the doors, Bucky's body slowly lifting off the couch and floating after him.

  Howard hesitated briefly, then took a step forward. Halfway to the door, he stopped and turned to Maria. "Sweetheart, why don't you rest? Maybe take a shower."

  Maria didn't argue. She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. Whatever was about to happen, she had no desire to witness it—not from a man who felt more like their captor than their savior.

  Howard gave her a reassuring nod before following Maverick into the next room.

  Inside, Maverick raised a hand, and a solid metal table formed in front of them. With a flick of his fingers, the Winter Soldier's body was gently lowered onto it, then secured tightly with thick, enchanted restraints. The table inclined vertically, positioning Barnes upright so that when he woke, he would be face-to-face with them.

  "Let's wake you up..." Maverick said, snapping his fingers.

  A pulse of magic surged through the air, and the unconscious super soldier's eyes snapped open with a sharp intensity. Instinct took over immediately—his gaze darted around the room, assessing his surroundings.

  To him, it felt like just moments ago, he had been in the middle of a mission, about to confront a mysterious figure who had interfered. Then—nothing. Just an empty void. And now, he was here, in a brightly lit space, staring at that same figure.

  Bucky tried to move, but his body refused to obey. His enhanced muscles strained against the restraints, yet not a single inch gave way. Whatever was holding him was stronger than any force he had encountered.

  His sharp, scrutinizing gaze locked onto Maverick, then flickered to the man standing beside him—Howard Stark.

  Maverick tilted his head slightly. "Not much of a talker, are you, Mr. Winter Soldier?" His voice, masked by distortion, was calm, almost amused. "Or is that the case with all of you?"

  Bucky remained silent, his stare unwavering, unblinking.

  Maverick let out a small, dismissive hum. "Doesn't matter." He turned to Howard. "I'm going to delve into his mind and project what I see. You'll feel as if you're inside his memories—don't be alarmed. It'll be just like before."

  Howard's eye twitched slightly. The casual way Maverick said that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. But after a tense moment, he gave a reluctant nod.

  Maverick raised a hand, a faint glow forming at his fingertips as he reached toward Bucky's forehead. Then—

  Darkness.

  Howard inhaled sharply as everything around him vanished into an abyss.

  "What just happened?" he asked, turning frantically, searching for the figure who had been beside him just moments ago.

  Then, that familiar distorted voice echoed from all around him.

  "I'm accessing his mind."

  With that, he saw a swirling vortex form in the void infront of him, and from it, that person took shape, appearing once more at his side.

  "I swear you're doing that on purpose..." Howard blurted out, but he got no response.

  Instead, the figure met his gaze and gestured to the endless void surrounding them.

  "What you see is what I see... This is his mind."

  Howard sighed, feeling dejected. When had he ever been treated like this?

  But the thought was just that—a thought. What could he even do?

  So, he pushed it aside, took a steadying breath, and looked around the void.

  "I'm seeing a whole lot of nothing," he couldn't help but say.

  For a moment, a brief silence settled between them as they both seemed to take in the endless expanse of nothing.

  Then, the figure finally spoke.

  "You're right. It's like his mind is an empty void, and his thoughts..." He trailed off, then pointed toward something in the distance.

  Howard followed his gaze and spotted a faint flicker of light in the distance where he had pointed.

  But before he could react, his vision shifted—sudden and seamless, as if he had been pulled forward in an instant.

  The distant flicker was now much closer, revealing itself as countless shattered fragments, each one glowing softly like scattered pieces of broken glass.

  "What is this?" Howard asked, looking perplexed.

  "Memories…" the figure murmured in response. "broken..."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Howard asked.

  The figure glanced at him before replying, "Memories are like data..." He gestured toward the sea of broken, glass-like fragments. "And what you see here is that data—corrupted, but..." He paused, then added, "fortunately, not destroyed. Just damaged."

  Howard raised a brow. "Since when do magicals know about computer data?"

  The figure turned his attention back to the fragments. With a casual gesture, he pulled one toward them and said, "We're wizards, Stark. Not savages."

  And the next moment, Howard saw the fragment that was floating towards them suddenly expand—shifting, swirling—and in an instant, the world snapped into place around him.

  God damn it. Not again.

  He cursed under his breath.

  ---

  A frozen battlefield.

  Wind howled through the mountains, biting cold lashing against soldiers caught in the throes of war. Amid the chaos, a young James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky—clung to the side of a crumbling train, his expression hardened by battle.

  Howard exhaled sharply. "This is… before he died."

  Maverick didn't respond, his glowing eyes locked onto the scene as it unfolded.

  The train jerked violently. Bucky's grip faltered.

  Then—he fell.

  The world rushed past as his body plummeted. He struck the mountainside hard, a sickening crack of bone and ice echoing through the ravine. Snow cushioned some of the impact, but it wasn't enough. His body crumpled, unmoving.

  Howard winced. He had read the reports. Bucky Barnes had been presumed dead. But now, he was watching what came after.

  Dark shapes moved through the snow. Soldiers—not American. Their uniforms bore a different insignia.

  Hydra.

  They approached cautiously, rifles trained on the fallen soldier. One knelt, checking his pulse, then called out in German. The others moved in.

  Howard clenched his fists.

  Bucky stirred. Barely. He was still alive.

  Maverick flicked his fingers, and the memory fast-forwarded. The scene blurred—Bucky, dragged through the snow, transported to a hidden Hydra facility deep in the mountains. Medical equipment surrounded him, and shadowed figures loomed. His arm—his real arm—was gone, lost to the fall. But Hydra had other plans.

  Howard's breath hitched as he saw the metal grafting process begin.

  A crude, agonizing surgery. Metal fusing to flesh. Bucky screamed, but no one comforted him.

  Another flick, and the scene changed again.

  ---

  A dimly lit room. Cold. Sterile.

  Bucky sat restrained in a heavy metal chair, arms bound, face blank—empty. His eyes, once bright with life, were glassy and hollow.

  Before him, a Hydra scientist stood with a notebook, reading aloud in Russian.

  "Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать..."

  As the words continued, Bucky's body tensed, his fingers curling into fists. The blankness deepened. His breathing slowed, mechanical.

  Howard felt a pit form in his stomach. "Is this… how they brainwashed him?"

  Maverick nodded. "This is how they broke him. They made him stare at a projection for days, bombarding his mind with commands—words, images, and subliminal messages, all reinforcing obedience and suppressing resistance."

  "They started by exhausting him. Sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation... keeping him awake for days until his mind was too weak to fight back. The projections weren't just images... they were hypnotic patterns designed to break focus, to pull his consciousness into a haze where reality blurred and the only thing that remained clear was their voice, their commands."

  Howard clenched his fists as Maverick continued.

  "They stripped him of everything... memories, emotions, even his sense of self. Every time he resisted, they erased more of him. Not all at once—that would be too obvious, too ineffective. Instead, they rewrote his memories little by little, fragmenting his past, making him doubt what was real. They rewarded compliance with moments of relief and punished defiance with more erasure, conditioning his mind like a machine being reprogrammed."

  Maverick continued.

  "Eventually, resistance became painful—literally. They linked disobedience with suffering, rewiring his brain so that even thinking against their orders triggered agony. And once his mind associated submission with relief and rebellion with unbearable pain, they didn't need chains anymore. He was theirs."

  Howard swallowed hard, his throat dry. The sheer cruelty of it made his skin crawl.

  The memories continued—missions carried out without question. Assassinations. Operations that toppled governments.

  One memory stood out.

  A Hydra commander giving orders. Discussing a mission. The target's name was spoken.

  "Howard Stark... Maria Stark. "

  Howard stiffened. His name. His wife's name. Their deaths—planned in cold blood.

  ---

  After some time, the vision collapsed into darkness, and once again, he found himself back in the room in reality.

  But the echoes of Bucky's experiences lingered, like fading whispers in the air, refusing to disappear.

  He saw the figure turned to him. "Do you see now? Hydra never died. They only went into hiding."

  Howard's face turned pale, his hands trembling slightly. "Are we going to stop them?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

  "They will be stopped," Maverick assured him. "Not right now, but they will be."

  Then, his gaze shifted to Bucky's real, unconscious body—still strapped to the metal table in the safe house. His expression hardened with quiet determination.

  "But first, we fix him."

  Raising his hand, Maverick pressed his palm to Bucky's forehead.

  A pulse of energy surged outward. Bucky's body convulsed, a sharp gasp tearing from his lips as his muscles tensed against the restraints. Then, his eyes snapped open—bloodshot, wild, and filled with something raw.

  Maverick met the Winter Soldier's gaze, and spoke to him in steady and unwavering tone.

  "I'm fixing the fragments of your memories," he told him. "Every word they burned into you, every command they forced upon you—I will erase them."

  Bucky jerked violently, his breathing ragged. His metal arm strained against the bindings, his body writhing as if something inside was fighting back.

  Howard stepped forward instinctively. "Is this… normal?"

  Maverick held his gaze. "Yes. The conditioning was brutal, but in the end, it's just cause and effect—nothing magical, nothing supernatural. Hydra only used science."

  He paused before adding, "Undoing it will be painful. But that pain also means he's still human."

  Bucky let out a hoarse, guttural sound. Not a scream—but close.

  Maverick pressed harder, his magic flowing through the super soldier's mind—unraveling the layers of control, peeling away the false obedience Hydra had forced upon him.

  His master level proficiency of Magical Sense and Magical Energy Manipulation gave him precise control, and with Occlumency and Legilimency at an advanced level, the process wasn't too difficult for him.

  Images flashed through Bucky's thoughts—missions, orders, faces of people he had killed.

  Then—

  Whatever was deemed harmful—commands, conditioning, the memories of torture—was erased.

  At the same time, Bucky's past memories slowly pieced themselves back together.

  However, Maverick didn't erase the actions Bucky had committed while brainwashed. Those memories, painful as they were, would define him—drive him. Maverick wanted Bucky to remember, not to punish him, but to give him the chance to rise above it.

  Bucky's breath hitched. "Help... me..." It was a plea—weak but real. The words broke through the fog, through the conditioning.

  And Maverick seized the moment to push his magic even deeper.

  A final, shuddering breath left Bucky's lips—then he slumped forward, unconscious.

  The room was silent.

  Howard let out an exhale while running a hand through his hair. "Is… is he cured?"

  Maverick studied Bucky's still form. "He's free. But recovery… that will take time."

  Howard looked at the broken man before him whom he once called a friend. Perhaps, he'd get to call him that again.

  "Then let's give him that time," he said after a moment of thought.

  —————————

  After dealing with Bucky, Maverick didn't stay at the safe house much longer. But before leaving, he made sure to restrain the now-former Winter Soldier right in front of Howard.

  After all, a few memories weren't enough to make up for the fact that this man had once tried to kill him and his wife. So Maverick took extra precautions—securing Bucky properly and reinforcing the room where he was kept. It wasn't strictly necessary, but if it helped put the Stark couple at ease, it was worth doing.

  Before sunrise, Maverick returned to Hogwarts and slipped back into his routine as if he had never left. With the Christmas holidays approaching, the professors had already begun testing the students on what they had learned during the first term. It wasn't like the year-end exams—just a few assignments, quizzes, and perhaps a light test before they headed home for the break.

  Likewise, Maverick had his own tests to prepare and administer, ensuring his students were properly assessed. Fortunately, he only had to oversee two grades, with just one test for each. Compared to the workload of other professors, his responsibilities could be considered fairly light.

  And his idea was to keep the tests straightforward, with nothing practical involved. For the first-year alchemy class, there would be a short question-and-answer test on basic runes, while the sixth-year Muggle science class would write an essay on their understanding of the scientific principles he had introduced.

  Both were plain and simple test papers, making them easy to prepare without much hassle.

  That day, after finishing his classes, he made his way to Dumbledore's office and informed the old wizard that he would be away for the rest of the day. Since he was leaving in the middle of school hours, it was only right to inform the headmaster. Of course, he kept his explanation vague.

  The matter with the Stark couple was far from over, and he still needed to check on them.

  Dumbledore didn't pry, only giving him one of those odd, knowing looks before nodding in acknowledgment. Maverick was sure the old man had no idea about his secret operation last night, so why was he still putting on that face?

  Is he pretending?

  Tsk, tsk. The old guy must have done this to plenty of people over the years, giving himself that mysterious air.

  Pretentious...

  One thing he appreciated though, was that the old man hadn't changed, even after learning he now held the rank of Arch-Magus. Dumbledore spoke to him the same way he always had—no difference, no unnecessary respect—and Maverick preferred it that way. It kept things simple, and he had no interest in making things more complicated.

  After notifying the headmaster, he left the castle and Apparated to his first stop—Ali. While he was certain his plan would be carried out without a hitch and trusted Ali to handle everything, he still wanted to confirm it personally.

  And sure enough, Ali had carried out his task perfectly as instructed, arranged the scene with two bodies who looks exactly like the starks to the flesh. The people that had arrived at the scene a few hours later had apparently swallowed the story whole, with no doubts, no suspicions about their identities.

  The only thing worth noting was that after the first team left, having cleared the scene, another group arrived and combed the area thoroughly, searching for something. Maverick suspected they were Hydra agents disguised as SHIELD operatives, looking for any sign of Bucky's whereabouts.

  But their efforts were destined to be fruitless, as he had anticipated this as well. Beyond planting the bodies, Ali had been instructed to restore the area, alter the scene, and erase any trace of the brief battle, ensuring there was nothing left to find.

  Maverick listened to Ali's report carefully before asking one last time. "You stayed to make sure?"

  Ali nodded. "As far as they know, Howard and Maria Stark are dead."

  "Good..."

  ...

  After wrapping up things with Ali, he returned to the safe house to check on his "guests"—and, of course, his super-soldier patient. But first, he altered his appearance, once again becoming the mysterious figure the Starks and Bucky had seen the night before.

  Upon stepping inside, the scent of home-cooked food filled the air. It seemed there had been a lot of heart-to-heart talking the night before.

  He made his way to the kitchen and found the Stark couple seated at the table, sharing a meal. They looked much calmer than they had the night before, almost—

  Hmm. Maybe a little too calm.

  Howard was the first to glance up, setting down his fork. "Good morning... You're back?"

  Maria gave a polite nod as well, her expression composed, and almost natural. But Maverick could tell it was all for show. He didn't even need to rely on his passive Magical Sense—their involuntary micro-expressions had already told him everything.

  A smile tugged his lips as he read their surface thoughts. They seemed to be playing the emotional card, thinking that it could somehow give them some leverage to bargain for conditions.

  Although they had accepted, on some level, that their lives had been saved when they should have died last night, but to disappear for 20 years in exchange for that? It seemed too much for the couple.

  And that kind of thinking likely came from Maria, because despite her calm exterior, Maverick could practically feel the anxiety radiating off her through his Magical-Sense.

  He did not blame them, as he was not a parent and could not understand the feelings of one. Maria's thoughts were only for her son—like a good mother. Unfortunately for the couple, Maverick had no intention of changing his mind.

  Before they could even begin to argue for more freedom, he shut them down immediately.

  "I know what you're thinking..." he said. "It won't happen."

  His tone left no room for negotiation. Then, without wasting another second, he got straight to the point.

  "Have you made your decision?"

  The moment they heard his tone and the direct question, their masks crumbled. Maria's eyes welled up almost instantly, while Howard simply… sighed.

  Maverick paid no mind to their reactions. He stepped forward, materialized a chair, and sat down across from them at the same table.

  The crimson glow of his eyes burned through the darkness of his masked face as he waited for their response.

  A strangled sob escaped Lady Stark, while beside her, her husband's shoulders sank under the weight of defeat. Did he really have to abandon his identity for twenty years? Was this truly the only way?

  He and Maria had spent all of last night discussing how they might persuade their savior—or captor, they still weren't sure—to loosen the conditions. But it seemed impossible, judging by the unwavering finality in his voice.

  Howard shut his eyes for a long moment, then exhaled deeply. In the end, he made up his mind to cooperate—for now. Perhaps later, he could bring it up again.

  Just as he opened his eyes, he saw the figure suddenly point a finger at his wife. A surge of alarm shot through him—was this it? Had this person finally lost patience? Was he about to harm them?

  "Wait—!" Howard called out, but it was too late.

  A sharp, white light burst from the figure's fingertip and shot toward Maria like a bullet.

  "Maria!" He reached for her—or tried to—but before he could even blink, the beam had already struck her square in the forehead.

  And then...

  There was no recoil, no force snapping her head back as he had expected. Instead, her sobbing stopped... instantly. Then, her expression began to change. Her breathing steadied, and a strange calmness washed over her, as if the weight that had been crushing her just moments ago had simply vanished.

  This wasn't normal. This wasn't natural.

  And the next moment, he snapped, and turned sharply from his wife to the figure. "What did you do to her?" he demanded to know.

  "Happiness..."

  That was all the figure said to him, indifferently, as if their lives meant nothing.

  Howard's jaw tightened, and then glanced to his wife.

  "What... is happening to her? You did something." He asked again while watching her closely for any sign of distress.

  Maverick didn't respond. Instead, it was Maria who responded to her husband.

  "I'm fine, dear. I don't know how to explain it, but... I can think much clearer now."

  Howard still looked doubtful, but before he could say more, Maverick's voice cut through the silence once again.

  "So, what is your decision?"

  This time, Maria spoke first. "If we cannot see Tony as his parents..." she paused, looking at the figure across from her with renewed steadiness. "Can we at least see him in disguise?"

  Howard's mouth fell open as he stared at his wife's newfound confidence. He wanted to ask what the hell had just happened, but the conversation between her and the figure was flowing so smoothly that he hesitated to interrupt.

  Hearing Maria's question, Maverick paused only for a moment before responding. "Yes."

  It had been his plan from the start. He knew he had to give them something.

  He wanted a cooperative relationship with the Stark couple—well, mainly Howard. Or better yet, he would rather have them as trusted partners. Only then could he get the genius scientist to fully dedicate himself to the project. He could technically force him, but that would do more harm than good in the long run. And besides, that wasn't the kind of person he was.

  But earning the Stark couple's trust would take time. Until then, they would remain under strict supervision, constantly reminded that their lives had been bought—under conditions.

  After hearing his confirmation that she and her husband could meet their son in disguise, Maria let out a sharp exhale of relief. But her mood soured again as she heard his next words.

  "You may contact him in disguise, but only after three years." His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. "Until then, you are forbidden—under any circumstances—from meeting him. Not as yourselves, not in disguise, not even indirectly."

  He leaned forward slightly and then pressed down his presence on them like a heavy weight.

  "If you break this rule..." he said coldly, and the distorted sound filtered through his mask made his voice even more eerie. "I will erase his memory of you... and your memories of him."

  For a mother and father, what harsher punishment could there be than forgetting their own child?

  The couple's eyes widened. Somehow, they fully believed he would do it. And to them, it sounded far more terrifying than anything else he could have threatened.

  Slowly, shakily, they nodded, finally accepting that they would have to abandon their identities for twenty years.

  "Good."

  Maverick leaned back, satisfied with their agreement. Without wasting time, he moved on to explain the next steps. Before anything else, they needed a proper understanding of the magical world. To prepare them, he had arranged a small library in the safe house, stocked with carefully selected books to help them adjust.

  For the next hour, he laid out the rules—what they were allowed to do and what was strictly forbidden. Just as he was in the middle of speaking, he suddenly stopped.

  The sudden silence made the Stark couple uneasy. Howard exchanged a glance with Maria, but before either of them could speak, Maverick broke the tension.

  "Your friend is awake," he said, rising from his chair. "Let's go meet him."

  He didn't wait for a response, turned and strode toward the door.

  Howard hesitated, glancing at Maria. She looked shaken, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

  "Maria?" he asked softly.

  She swallowed hard. "You go," she murmured. "I just... need a minute."

  Howard frowned but nodded. He knew what was stopping her. That vision—what the figure had shown them last night—must still be fresh in her mind.

  So he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before following Maverick out the door, his mind already racing with what they might find on the other side.

  ...

  The two men soon stepped into the room where Bucky was being held. Instead of finding him struggling or attempting to break free from his restraints, they saw him lying there, motionless, his eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling, as if lost in a world far beyond the walls around him.

  Pain. Regret. Those were the only emotions Maverick could sense radiating from him.

  It was expected. Barnes was reliving his past—years of being a weapon, of being forced to kill, of having no control over his own mind. Now, with Hydra's influence gone and his emotions fully returned, the weight of those memories crashed down on him all at once.

  "James Buchanan Barnes!"

  Bucky heard his name and slowly lifted his head. His gaze landed on the two figures before him—one familiar, the other known only through the memories of his Hydra-controlled self. The man, or whatever he was, who had effortlessly made a joke of his skills.

  But first, his eyes locked onto Howard. And Stark, in turn, looked back at him.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Then, with a shaky breath, Bucky's lips parted.

  "I... I'm so sorry." His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Please… forgive me."

  Howard exhaled sharply, reminding himself over and over—this was no longer the Winter Soldier. This was the friend he had once known.

  For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the broken man before him. Then, with a slow sigh, he ran a hand through his graying hair.

  "Don't worry about it," he said at last. "I understand."

  Bucky's breath hitched, his hands clenching into fists as if holding back more emotions than he could handle.

  Maverick stepped forward and interjected through the heavy yet awkward atmosphere.

  "You were captured while attempting to assassinate the Starks," he stated plainly. "I've removed Hydra's control over your mind—permanently. You won't be their puppet again."

  Bucky turned his gaze finally back to him. With just one direct glance, his body flinched involuntarily—his muscles remembering all too well how badly he had been thrashed the night before.

  It was just a quick reflex, and he forced himself to steady. He gathered himself to speak, but before he could say thank you—or anything at all, he heard the figure speak again.

  "You won't be their puppet again," the distorted voice echoed coldly. "But... you will still remember everything. You will have to live with it. That is something I'd rather not change."

  He then showed Bucky the same visions he had shown the Stark couple, along with additional scenes of Tony discovering that his parents' killer was him. However, he left out anything related to Captain America for now, only showing the brutal fight between Bucky and Tony—both trying to kill each other.

  Howard was also shown everything alongside Barnes, and when it was over, he finally presented Bucky with his options.

  "I'm offering you the same choice I gave the Starks. You can live freely, but only under a new identity. I can ensure that no one—not even the most advanced technology—will be able to trace you. And if you agree, you will work for me."

  Bucky's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And if I don't?"

  Maverick tilted his head slightly. "Then you have no purpose. No future. No revenge."

  "I can promise you this," he added, his crimson eyes gleaming behind his mask. "Twenty years. That's all. At the end of it, I will help you destroy Hydra."

  Saying that, Maverick waved his hand, and the restraints binding Bucky vanished. Bucky flexed his fingers, as if testing whether he truly had control over his own body again, then slowly, pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bed.

  He locked eyes with him, deep in thought, and weighed everything that had just been laid before him—the freedom offered, the conditions attached, and the past that would always haunt him.

  His breath slowed, becoming steady and controlled. He thought about it—really thought about it. The idea of waiting twenty years stirred something deep inside him, a frustration that gnawed at his core. He wanted to go right now and destroy the people who had made him do all those terrible things. But because he remembered doing them, he also knew—on his own, he was powerless against them.

  His fingers curled against the sheets.

  "Alright," he said finally, his voice stronger than before. "I'll do it."

  Maverick then left Howard alone with Bucky, giving them the time they needed to sort things out between them. Finally, it was Maria's turn.

  But unlike Howard, Barnes had never been well-acquainted with her. Or rather, before his supposed death, Maria and him had never even met, so accepting him wouldn't be as easy for her as it was for Howard.

  The memory of last night's attack was still fresh in her mind—how Barnes had pointed a gun at her face, how close she had come to death. And even if the vision of him grabbing her by the throat hadn't actually happened, it felt real enough to leave a lasting unease.

  Because of all that, it would take her longer to grow comfortable around Barnes. Still, Maria decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt, trusting her husband's judgment. In time, she, too, would come to accept him—and she was committed to it.

  With all that settled, Maverick prepared to return back to Hogwarts. But before leaving, he once again advised the three of them to go through the books in the small library and learn more about the magical world.

  And to earn their initial trust, he promised them a week's time, and after that, they would finally be free to leave the confines of the safe house.

  Creating Muggle identities in 1991 wouldn't be a challenge for a wizard—especially not for him. But he didn't just want something that just worked. He wanted something airtight, something that could withstand any level of scrutiny.

  The first step was official documentation. He would infiltrate the national registration department and insert their names into the system, complete with birth certificates and identification cards. These wouldn't be simple forgeries—no fake documents that could be exposed under close inspection. Their records would be real, embedded in the official archives, making them as legitimate as any other citizen.

  But documents alone weren't enough. People had histories, backgrounds that could be checked. So, he would go further—leaving behind a carefully crafted paper trail. School records, medical visits, bank accounts—anything that could make their pasts seem natural and lived-in. It was the same way real people left traces of their existence over the years, and he would ensure the same for them.

  By the time he was finished, only the most thorough investigators with the highest clearance levels would be able to spot anything unusual. After all, something like this could never be said to be 100% foolproof, even with magical means. But even if it ever came to that, he was confident he could handle it.

  By the end of the week, he wanted everything fully arranged, along with the alchemical piece he needed to create. Fortunately, he didn't have to handle everything himself—Ali would help take care of the paper trail arrangements, and he would take care of the necessary identity documents for all three of them.

  As for the alchemical tool to alter their appearances, he already has a clear concept in mind. Now, he just needed to bring it to life—a task he planned to begin the next day.

  —————————

  Muggle Science Classroom – Hogwarts

  "Time's up! Quills down, everyone."

  Maverick's voice rang out through the quiet concentration that had filled the room. The sound of quills scratching against parchment came to a stop, replaced by the soft rustle of papers and the faint creak of chairs as students moved in their seats.

  Some students stretched their fingers, stiff from the long minutes of writing, while others exchanged quick glances, curious to gauge their classmates' reactions. But unlike a typical class, where tension and worry would linger after an exam, his students showed none of it.

  From his place at the front of the room, Maverick saw that not just most, but all of the students seemed happy—relieved, even. They simply leaned back, their relaxed smiles hinting at quiet satisfaction with how the test had gone.

  The Muggle Science class had been a surprise to everyone from the very start of the academic year. At first, many were doubtful about studying something so ordinary, so unmagical. But from the beginning, the students had embraced it.

  In these few months, they had thrown themselves into experiments, asked thoughtful questions, and approached each lesson with a curiosity that rivaled their enthusiasm for any Charms class.

  A quiet sense of pride settled in as he made the papers rise and hover briefly over the students' heads before guiding them back to his desk. Knowing they had done well in his test, he addressed the class again.

  "Before you go, I have an announcement," Maverick said, drawing the students' attention. "Tomorrow marks the start of the Christmas holidays. And… I won't be assigning any homework for you to do during the break."

  A few students gasped before quickly exchanging excited whispers. Every other professor had assigned them a pile of work for the break, but this was the only class where they got none.

  "—because I want you all to enjoy your break. Rest well, have fun, and come back refreshed for the next term."

  A cheer erupted from the students, and Maverick couldn't help but smirk.

  "Alright, class dismissed!"

  Chairs scraped against the floor as they all gathered their belongings and they made their way out, while chatting excitedly about their plans for the break.

  ---

  Snow blanketed the castle grounds, the crisp air carrying the deep chill of late December over Hogwarts.

  Some students braved the cold outside, bundled up in scarves and cloaks, running and tossing snowballs as they enjoyed a bit of last-minute fun.

  Most remained in their common rooms, relaxing, while the rest gathered in the Great Hall. They were all waiting for the appointed time to board the Hogwarts Express and would soon head home for the holidays.

  Meanwhile, the professors also gathered at the teachers' table in the Great Hall for a final lunch before the break.

  Maverick sat with his colleagues, engaged in light conversation with the Charms professor seated beside him.

  "Any plans for the holiday?" Flitwick asked between bites of his meal.

  Maverick took a sip of his drink before answering. "I'll stay home for a bit, then head to America to spend some time with Bella."

  "Ah, how lovely!" Flitwick beamed. "It's always nice to spend the holidays with loved ones."

  "What about you?" Maverick asked, setting his glass down.

  "I've been invited to sit on the judges' panel for the finals of the International Dueling Tournament," Flitwick said, a hint of pride in his voice.

  "Sounds interesting. Maybe I'll take my fiancée along and come have a look."

  Flitwick's face lit up. "You should! The tournament is held in Indonesia—it's a lovely country, even for sightseeing."

  Just then, movement near the entrance of the Great Hall caught Maverick's eye. He turned to see Hermione Granger dragging a large suitcase—or was it a trunk? A coffin? Whatever it was, it looked oversized for her small frame.

  She stopped by Harry and Ron, who were seated at the Gryffindor table, deeply engrossed in a game of wizard's chess.

  He half-spread his Magical Sense, tuning in to their conversation as a memory from the first movie surfaced in his mind.

  A small smile tugged at his lips.

  It wasn't exactly like the scene from the movies, but it seemed the little witch had found some clues about what they had accidentally overheard from Hagrid's slip of the tongue.

  This time, however, she hadn't hinted to the duo about sneaking into the Restricted Section.

  Even so, Maverick had a feeling Harry might still try—especially if Dumbledore gave him his family cloak as a present, just like in the story.

  He made a mental note to come into contact with it—accidentally and out of curiosity, of course—and see what extraordinary characteristics it might hold. But that would be for a later time, perhaps during the second semester.

  As he mulled over the thought, he noticed little Miss Know-It-All glancing toward the teachers' table before leaving. Her eyes landed on him precisely, and she gave him a small wave.

  Maverick raised his glass in acknowledgment and offered a small smile.

  Ever since he had saved her during the Halloween night attack, she had become quite the admirer of his. Moreover, she now seemed especially eager to learn runes in his class.

  Fortunately, her newfound enthusiasm wasn't to the point of being annoying, but he could still sense her emotions—a deep respect for him ever since.

  However, he didn't treat her any differently from his other students just because of that. But if she truly wanted to pursue a career as an alchemist, he wouldn't mind taking her in as an apprentice.

  Of course, that would be after another year or two—if her enthusiasm still remained the same.

  ---

  After finishing lunch, he bid farewell to his fellow professors. While some would be leaving on the Hogwarts Express alongside the students to enjoy a relaxing journey, he had no desire to take the train when there were other means.

  So, after arriving at his office, he cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself, then leaped out of the window, soaring upward until he passed beyond the school's protective wards. After that, it was a simple Apparition—and he vanished from the castle location.

  A moment later, he arrived home in London, the familiar warmth of his house greeting him as he stepped inside.

  As soon as he entered, he saw his mother and his sister, Sarah, sitting in the living room, going over some books.

  "Brother!"

  Sarah's face lit up the moment she saw him. She ran toward him and lunged into a hug.

  Maverick smiled and rubbed her head. "Has your school holiday started already?"

  The little girl nodded as she pulled back from the embrace. "Just today! I'm showing Mom my report card."

  He smiled and walked over to the sofa, settling into one of the seats. Sarah quickly took the spot beside him.

  "Are you back for the holidays as well?" his mother asked.

  He nodded. "School starts again in three weeks." Saying that, he leaned back and sat comfortably.

  His mother gave him a warm, motherly smile. "I never thought you'd become a teacher of all things."

  Maverick chuckled. "Me neither, Mom. But somehow, I'm finding it quite enjoyable."

  Sarah beamed at him with excitement. "Brother, when are you going to take me to see the magic school?"

  He paused. He had promised her a tour.

  "How about this…" he said after thinking for a moment. "I'll take you before school starts."

  First, he had to meet with Isabella and spend some time with her. After that, before school started, he could make time to show Sarah around Hogwarts.

  "Not now?" she pouted.

  Maverick chuckled. "Right now, there's no one at school. And I can only take you there when the headmaster returns after the holidays," he said, making up a reason.

  She sighed. "Okay then…" she said, though her disappointment didn't last long. Her eyes lit up again. "Brother, I've learned how to make flowers bloom without making them wither right away!"

  "Oh?" Maverick raised a brow, then turned to his mother.

  "That's right," she confirmed with a proud smile. "She's learned to control her powers much better now. Just last week, she managed to keep the little trees she accelerated the growth of intact after blooming."

  "Really?" Maverick turned back to Sarah, intrigued. "Let's go. Show me."

  Sarah nodded eagerly and immediately jumped to her feet, dashing toward a door inside.

  Maverick and his mother followed behind, soon arriving at the basement—a space he had expanded with magic, enlarging it to the size of half a football field.

  Overhead, bright lights illuminated the entire area, and along the sides, a variety of plants and vegetables were growing in neat rows.

  Maverick turned to his mother, raising a brow. "Since when did you turn this place into a private garden?"

  His mother huffed. "Hey, this place is too big. Unlike your teacher's mansion, we don't have a garden surrounding our home—just streets. I figured, since you made this basement so spacious, why not plant some trees?"

  Maverick didn't know what to say to that. He had originally created this space as a training ground for Sarah to practice her powers. But his mother had somehow planted her flag and claimed a portion of it.

  Then again, she was his mother—what could he say?

  "Brother, come!"

  Sarah's excited voice called him over, stopping near a bunch of tiny plants. From the looks of it, they were chili plants, barely sprouted from their seeds.

  Her powers allowed her to control plants—much like a watered-down version of a certain Senju's Wood Release ability from a studio next door. But Maverick suspected there was much more to it than just making trees grow rapidly.

  Perhaps her magic wasn't limited to just plants. What if it was tied to the very essence of the earth itself, to life's natural energy? If that was the case, then with time, training, and the right guidance, she could become something far more powerful than just some one who could manipulate trees.

  A force of nature, literally. A true wielder of life and earth's energy.

  But that was only his guess. And even if she never became someone that powerful, it wouldn't change the most important thing.

  She was his sister now.

  One of her biggest struggles had been that any plant she accelerated would quickly wither, as if it had burned through its life force while growing too fast. But apparently, she had found a way around this.

  Maverick watched as she crouched near the small plants and placed her palm on the ground beside them.

  Before his eyes, the plants began to grow.

  Five centimeters.

  Fifteen centimeters.

  One foot.

  Soon, the plants reached half his height. Their leaves remained a vibrant green, flowers budded, and small, plump chilies grew—ripening within seconds.

  Maverick had been focusing his Magical-Sense as well. This time, he noticed something different—an energy from the earth itself was being drawn into the plants, rapidly nourishing them. Before, whenever she used her abilities, he hadn't sensed this.

  Sarah sat back up, admiring her masterpiece for a moment before turning to him, waiting for his praise.

  Maverick grinned, showing all his teeth. This time, he didn't have to wait and see—he could already tell the plants wouldn't wither. The energy fueling their growth had come from the earth itself, following the basic principle of energy conservation.

  "Amazing…" he said, his smile widening. "Really impressive."

  Then he turned to his mother. "I guess we don't have to worry about groceries anymore."

  For the next half hour, Sarah eagerly demonstrated her newfound control over her ability to accelerate plant growth. And just like the first time, everything flourished—without the issue of withering away immediately after.

  ...

  Maverick spent the rest of the day with her, indulging in the simple joys of family. They soared above the bustling city of London, Sarah clinging to him with excitement as she pointed out familiar landmarks. Along the way, she chattered endlessly about school, her teachers, and the little victories that made up her days.

  By the time their father returned home after sunset, the family of four finally sat down together for dinner—a rare occasion these days. Conversation flowed easily as they shared their stories, laughter filling the home in a way that had been missing for far too long.

  But the warmth of the evening faded the moment Maverick stepped into his room.

  His Magical-Sense flared—sharp, deliberate. A warning.

  Something had locked onto his presence.

  It was deliberate. Whoever—or whatever—was observing him had made sure he knew they were watching.

  His expression turned solemn immediately. He was an Arch-Magus now, and for someone to track him without him noticing until this moment meant only one thing.

  They were not simple.

  And what made him even more wary was that this was happening here—at home, where all his loved ones were gathered under the same roof.

  If this was an enemy, things would become very difficult.

  He raised his head, his senses sharpening, locking onto the source of the disturbance. His eyes narrowed.

  With a decisive motion, he tore open a rift in space and stepped through.

  In the next moment, about two kilometers above his house, space tore open once more as he stepped out—now dressed in full black, ready to confront whoever was so bold to target him.

  But the sight that greeted him made his eyes widen.

  Not one, but two figures hovered in front of him.

  The first was a bald woman dressed in flowing gold and deep amber robes. Though she appeared calm, a single glance told him she was anything but simple—her very presence was unfathomable.

  And the second was a middle-aged man—likewise a striking figure. He had silver hair that cascaded past his shoulders, a neatly trimmed beard, and sharp, intelligent eyes that gleamed with quiet wisdom.

  He wore a tailored three-piece suit, midnight blue with silver embroidery tracing the cuffs and lapels. A pocket watch chain gleamed against his vest, and in his hand, he held a sleek, polished cane with a silver handle shaped like an ancient rune. Like the woman beside him, he carried an unmistakable weight—an aura of power, old and vast, like a storm held in quiet restraint.

  —————————

  Maverick remembered the day he truly met his teacher, Edward—not as a child, but after awakening both his system and magic. That was the moment he really came to understand Edward Garling.

  At the time, he had only been a magus, while Edward was a powerful Arch-Magus. He could still recall the weight of his teacher's gaze and the overwhelming sense of powerlessness it had left him with.

  And today, that same feeling enveloped him—the same helplessness, just as overwhelming as before, like standing in the presence of a higher being. He had reached the rank his teacher once held, yet before the two people in front of him, it was as if his magic of an Arch-Magus meant nothing.

  A woman dressed like a monk and a man whose appearance could put any noble to shame. And he had a pretty good guess about the first one.

  After all, he had seen nearly every MCU movie before being transmigrated here. Though the woman didn't look exactly like the actress who portrayed her, her attire left no doubt—this was the Supreme Sorcerer of this Earth.

  But who was this man beside her? Could it be Strange? No, definitely not—it was too early for that. And yet… why did this man feel even more dangerous than her?

  Maverick schooled his expression, keeping his stance firm as he met their gazes. "Why have you summoned me?" he asked while keeping his tone carefully measured.

  The woman—who he strongly suspected to be the Supreme Sorcerer—offered him a knowing smile.

  "It has been a long time since anyone has made the timeline... this nervous."

  Sure enough, he was now 99% certain—this was the Ancient One, the keeper of the Time Stone.

  He tried to keep his face as neutral as possible, pretending he had no idea what she was talking about.

  After all, he did mess up the timeline by saving Howard and Maria. But he had done so because this wasn't the MCU, or even pure Marvel. Yet, now that the Ancient One was here, it meant the events to come might not be so different after all.

  The woman smiled at him again, this time with quiet amusement as she watched his attempt to steady his expression.

  "You may relax, Maverick Caesar. We mean you no harm," she said in a kind yet neutral tone. Then finally, she introduced herself.

  "My name is Yao.... A Master of the Mystic Arts... and the Supreme Sorceress of this age."

  Maverick raised an eyebrow. Yao? He didn't remember hearing that name in any of the movies. But now wasn't the time to dwell on that.

  Because the next moment he saw her smile at him again—a deliberate, knowing smile—and say to him, "Though I suspect... you already knew that."

  Maverick let out a short breath and just simply nodded. "I've been told there is a different group of mages... different from us..."

  "Ah…" Yao said, tilting her head slightly. "Is it from that little guy Edward... He must have told you, then."

  Maverick nodded. It was true and Edward did mentioned it once, but only vaguely. Though there was no need for her to know that.

  Instead, he changed the subject and repeated his earlier question, glancing at both of them. "Why have you come… and why call for me?"

  The Sorcerer Supreme's eyes glinted with something unreadable before she spoke. "We simply wish to know your purpose—"

  But before she could elaborate, the man beside her finally spoke, eyes locking onto his.

  "It was not we who wanted to meet you… it was her."

  Yao smirked and turned her head toward him. "Then tell me, Ambrosius... why did you insist on being here?"

  The man, now named Ambrosius, exhaled sharply, almost in a huff. "I simply don't like one of my kind meeting you alone."

  Yao turned back to Maverick with an apologetic glance. Then, with an easy gesture toward the man, she introduced him.

  "This is my friend, Ambrosius. Merlin Ambrosius."

  Maverick's breath hitched, and his eyes widened. This time, he wasn't faking his reaction—he was genuinely caught off guard. Merlin was definitely not a name he had expected to hear here—let alone a person he had expected to meet... ever.

  Merlin didn't miss the change in Maverick's expression at the mention of his name. It was expected. After all, even after a millennium of absence, his name had never been forgotten. The legends surrounding him still shaped how people viewed magic itself.

  Letting a brief silence settle, Merlin finally spoke. "I had planned to wait until you reached the rank of Warlock before finally getting acquainted," he said, then paused, glancing side to the Supreme Sorceress beside him. His eyes narrowed slightly as he added, "But circumstances have changed."

  "You seem to have done something to gain her attention… enough for her to come and find you in person."

  Maverick tilted his head slightly and looked at the woman in question, pretending not to understand. But he was sure the Sorcerer Supreme was here because of his actions last week.

  Yao smiled mysteriously before finally stating her purpose outright. "You've altered the fate of a human couple, changing the course of this world's future. It seems you used an ability to tamper with the timeline, and that—" she paused, her gaze steady, "—is precisely why I'm here. Keeping the timeline in check is my responsibility… as the Supreme Sorcerer."

  Maverick narrowed his eyes at her. "I half get what you're trying to say, but..." he paused and asked coldly. "Are you spying on me?"

  "Don't be so wary," she said, her tone light but not dismissive. Then, with a small nod, she admitted, "Yes, I saw you recently… saving the Stark couple that should have died."

  So she must have overheard my conversation with the Stark couple and assumed I'm some great Seer. Maverick thought to himself.

  And her next words confirmed his guess. Studying him carefully, she said, "I also know that you're a rare and powerful Seer."

  "And what's so wrong about saving two humans?" Maverick asked her, neither confirming nor denying her claim that he was a Seer.

  "Nothing," Yao replied with a casual shrug. "But you've altered the course of history." She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "It's rare… in fact, this might be the first case I've seen where a Seer has directly influenced the timeline."

  Maverick acted as though he didn't understand. "Timeline?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

  Yao gave him a look, then after a brief pause, she simply said, "You don't need to know for now."

  Then, her gaze sharpened. "What is it that you plan to do by saving the Stark couple?"

  Maverick didn't answer right away, remaining silent as he carefully considered his next words.

  Tonight had been a wake-up call. His rapid growth in power had made him careless, ignoring things he should have paid more attention to—like the fact that any major change he made wouldn't escape the notice of the keeper of the Time Gem. Not realizing this sooner had been a grave oversight on his part.

  Finally, he made his decision. If she already thought he was a Seer, then he would let her continue believing that.

  "You're right. I am indeed a Seer, but… I am different."

  "Different?" Yao asked.

  "Yes, different," Maverick affirmed. "A typical Seer—witch or wizard—can glimpse into the future through prophecies or visions, but those are often vague and fragile, open to interpretation. But for me… the visions I see are clear. It's as if I'm there, witnessing everything firsthand."

  He paused briefly before continuing, "But I cannot control what I see, whom I see, or even when the vision takes place. It could be about the next moment, the next hour, a day, or even years into the future."

  He paused, letting his words settle before continuing.

  "Sometime ago, I had a vision of what would happen to the Stark couple. Back then, I didn't know much about them beyond what I had read in newspapers. But since they appeared in my vision, I knew they cannot simply be some rich Muggles... so I decided to learn more about them."

  This was a gamble. He was weaving a story similar to the one he had told the Starks and hoping the Ancient One would believe it.

  "In my visions, I didn't just see their deaths... I saw far beyond, into the future, what would unfold because of their absence. And I realized… their deaths would save countless lives in the distant future."

  He let those words linger before delivering the final piece.

  "But even knowing that, I still chose to save them. At the same time, their deaths remain fixed in the timeline—until the future I saw comes true. That means they are alive now, but whatever good was meant to come from their deaths will still happen."

  With that, he fell silent, watching the Sorcerer Supreme carefully as he waited for her response.

  "I suppose that would... not, make things too complicated…" Merlin finally spoke, commenting as his eyes flicked sideways to the Sorcerer Supreme. He had been listening quietly, not interrupting the conversation until now.

  The Sorcerer Supreme wore a thoughtful expression as she considered everything she had just heard. In some ways, it made sense.

  But there was one problem—something she hadn't shared with anyone. She could no longer peer into the future of the Stark couple now that they had been directly involved with this boy.

  It was as if a great force was blocking her, forcefully throwing her out of her trance whenever she tried. A presence far greater than her own.

  And the first time it happened, she had caught a glimpse of that figure.

  She remembered those indifferent eyes clearly.

  Strangely enough, that figure bore an uncanny resemblance to the boy in front of her now.

  So her reason for meeting him wasn't entirely about saving the Stark couple.

  She wanted to see for herself the person she believed to be the past version of the powerful figure she had encountered while looking into the future.

  But until now, she had no justifiable reason to approach him. And the Supreme Magus had made it very clear—she was not to interfere in his life without giving him a proper reason.

  Obviously, Merlin—a Supreme-rank like herself—knew he was special as well.