Chapter 83: The Hōgyoku
Ethan stood in the foyer, staring at his bare left wrist. The absence of the Omnitrix was a physical ache. But he wasn't a Sanctum Master because he gave up easily.
"Wait a minute," Ethan muttered, his eyes narrowing. "I still have the loot from Hogwarts."
He pulled up the System interface. Sitting right next to the empty disappointment of his Ben 10 template was the prize for achieving an SSS-grade victory.
[ Legendary Item Box (x1) ]
This is it, Ethan thought, his heart hammering. The System knows it screwed me. It's putting the watch in the box. It has to be the watch.
"Open it," Ethan commanded.
A blinding, multi-colored light erupted in the center of the room. The holographic chest shook violently, the golden locks snapping off before the lid flew open. A small, floating object materialized in the air, radiating an aura of absolute, crushing power.
It wasn't a watch.
It was a small, perfectly spherical orb that glowed with a mesmerizing, swirling blue-purple light.
[ Item Acquired: The Hōgyoku (Bleach Universe) ]
Rarity: LSSR (Legendary Super Super Rare)
Description: A localized reality-warping sphere that materializes the deepest desires of those around it, forcing rapid biological and spiritual evolution.
System Note: Be careful what you wish for.
Ethan stared at the floating orb. His left eye twitched.
In any other context, drawing the Hōgyoku was an absolute, god-tier jackpot. It was an item capable of rewriting the limits of existence. But right now? In this exact moment? He was a man who wanted a watch that turned him into a cosmic dinosaur, and instead, he got a metaphysical soul-sphere.
"I got scammed," Ethan whispered, his voice cracking as he slammed his hands over his face. "You absolute, black-hearted, predatory Gacha machine. You did this on purpose."
[ System Note: The Hōgyoku is a pinnacle-grade multi-versal artifact. Host's ungratefulness has been indexed. Please try crying about it. ]
"Shut the fuck up!" Ethan roared at the ceiling.
Gwen slowly backed up the stairs, pulling the towel tighter around her wet hair. "Yep. He's definitely lost his mind. I'm going back to bed."
Once the initial wave of rage subsided, Ethan collapsed onto the sofa, letting his breath stabilize. He decided to put the Hōgyoku into his dimensional pocket for later safekeeping. It was a world-ending trump card, but right now, it didn't solve his immediate engineering problem.
He closed his eyes, leaning into the 10% synchronization with the Ben Tennyson template.
His body felt... different. The 10% synchronization with Ben Tennyson wasn't just a green jacket and a lot of teenage angst.
Ethan shifted his weight and instinctively executed a flawless, standing backflip. He landed silently on the mahogany floor, his center of gravity perfectly balanced. He hadn't used his [Adamantine Focus] or magic. That was pure, raw muscle memory.
"Plumber Basic Training," Ethan realized, looking at his hands.
It wasn't just peak-human agility. His brain was buzzing with alien combat tactics and a sudden, innate understanding of intergalactic technology. The complex quantum physics of Tony Stark's Hoi-Poi capsules suddenly didn't look like gibberish anymore. He could visualize the circuitry. He understood the containment fields.
"Okay," Ethan smirked, adjusting his jacket. "Maybe the kid isn't totally useless after all."
The next afternoon, Ethan decided it was time to check on his investments.
He skipped the portals. He walked through the front doors of Stark Industries in Manhattan with his signature quiet confidence. He wore a fitted charcoal shirt and his leather jacket, looking less like a sorcerer and more like a high-end corporate raider.
He bypassed the lobby security with a subtle wave of his hand—a basic perception filter—and took the private elevator straight to Tony's executive suite.
The elevator doors chimed open.
A front-view, slow-pan shot introduced "Natalie Rushman."
She was sitting behind the sleek glass receptionist desk. Her auburn hair was perfectly styled, her tailored skirt suit exuding an air of sharp, unapproachable professionalism.
The moment Ethan stepped off the elevator, his [Lesser Danger Sense] pinged sharply at the base of his skull.
He paused. Ethan didn't just see a beautiful secretary. He tapped into his magical perception, his golden eyes narrowing. The aura surrounding her wasn't civilian. It was heavy, dark, and suffocating. His magic saw the sheer volume of death clinging to her shadow—the blood on her ledger.
Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Or rather, Natasha Romanoff.
No, she's Natalie Rushman now, isn't she?
"Can I help you, sir?" Natasha asked, her voice smooth and perfectly pleasant as she looked up from her monitor. "Mr. Stark isn't taking unscheduled appointments."
Ethan walked up to her desk, leaning heavily against the glass. He flashed his million-dollar grin, letting his eyes roam over her features just a second longer than was polite.
"I don't need an appointment, Natalie," Ethan said, reading the fake nameplate on her desk. "And I have to say, Tony's hiring standards have definitely improved. The last time I saw him, he was surrounded by guys with AK-47s in a cave."
Natasha didn't blink. She offered a polite, corporate smile. "I assure you, our security is much better now."
"I bet it is," Ethan chuckled, leaning in closer. His eyes took a blatant, unbothered dive straight down the front of her low-cut blouse, lingering on the sharp curve of her cleavage. "You know, a woman with your... particular skill set... is totally wasted sitting behind a desk. If you ever get tired of managing a billionaire's calendar, I run a very exclusive, very private operation downtown. My hours are highly flexible."
He leaned an elbow on the desk, making a slow, rhythmic up-and-down motion with two fingers against the glass. A completely absurd, vulgar gesture meant to flout her entirely.
Natasha's gaze met his. She didn't push him away. In fact, she didn't dare to.
She was well aware of who he was and what he was. Coulson had brought S.H.I.E.L.D. a mountain of terrifying files on him—the same data Ethan had shamelessly disclosed himself. A rogue variable from a centuries-old mystical organization dealing with cosmic threats. She would have never believed in magic, but she had seen the surveillance footage of him ripping open golden portals and manhandling tanks. Director Fury's orders were absolute: Maintain friendly relations at all costs. Do not agitate.
"Hey, where are you lost, girl?" Ethan teased, tracing a line on the glass. "Did my charm captivate you?"
Natasha snapped out of her calculation, her lips instantly melting into a sultry, dangerous smile. If he wanted to play, she was a certified Black Widow. Seduction was her primary language.
"What can I say, Mr. Williams?" Natasha purred, leaning forward over the desk. She intentionally flattened her breasts against the glass, pushing her cleavage directly into his face while locking her green eyes onto his. "I don't get to see such a handsome, powerful man walking through these doors daily."
She ran a slow, manicured finger over her bottom lip, her gaze dropping to his lap with a look that was purely, obscenely predatory.
Suddenly, Ethan felt the air thin.
He froze, his smirk instantly locking up. He liked being the one doing the teasing, but right now? Looking at the lethal, dead-eyed focus behind her bedroom smile, it felt less like he was flirting and more like he was being measured for a casket.
"Ahmmm..." Ethan cleared his throat, abruptly straightening up and ripping his gaze away. "Right. Well. Good to know. I'll just... go inside."
He aggressively pivoted, walking past her desk at twice his normal speed and hitting the doors to Tony's office.
Behind him, Natasha settled back into her chair, letting out a low, highly amused chuckle.
"Cute," she murmured, turning back to her monitor.
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