Cloud's consciousness returned to reality.
He looked at the Mind Scepter in his hand and smiled.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the universe.
Thanos, breathing heavily, rose from his throne. The Infinity Gauntlet—not yet adorned with any stones—creaked as he clenched it.
His eyes were filled with unprecedented fury and wariness.
"Earth..."
He squeezed the word through gritted teeth.
"Send my orders!"
"Have Ronan make a trip to Xandar."
"I will personally visit that interesting little planet."
A storm triggered by that psychic confrontation, one that would sweep across the entire universe, had officially begun.
...
Ever since Cloud had treated the Space Stone like a Rubik's Cube in front of all those P.E.G.A.S.U.S. scientists, then used the Mind Scepter like a USB drive to read Thanos's "classified files"—
The "Omega-level" label in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s archives had been tearfully amended by Nick Fury himself, who added a unique suffix:
—"Eldritch-class."
The specific meaning of this classification: Don't try to understand. Don't analyze. Don't provoke.
Just treat him as a temperamental "cosmic god" visiting Earth for inspection, and serve him respectfully.
And so Cloud's retirement life became ever more decadent and depraved.
First in the line of fire was his nominal surveillance officer, but de facto personal lifestyle assistant—the Black Widow herself, Natasha Romanoff.
Fury's latest directive to her was no longer "probe for weaknesses" but "spare no effort to satisfy Mr. Cloud's every reasonable request and ensure his mood remains perpetually pleasant."
This directive gave Natasha considerable... operational latitude.
And so began the special training sessions—filled with mutual instruction and ambiguous tension—in Stark Tower's penthouse suite.
...
"Wrong! Wrong! Your infiltration route is way too rigid!"
In a virtual palace—constructed via [Yata Mirror] illusions to be an exact replica of the Kremlin—Cloud sat cross-legged on an ornate Tsarist throne, eating an apple while offering real-time guidance to Natasha as she performed an "extreme infiltration" exercise.
Natasha, clad in a dark tactical suit, was moving through the heavily guarded corridor like a silent cat.
"Look at you, only using ventilation ducts and ceiling crawlspaces—that's last century's spy playbook!" Cloud's voice rang directly in her mind, carrying a hint of exasperation.
"A top-tier assassin's highest level isn't invisibility—it's being invisible in plain sight!"
"You should do it... like this!"
He snapped his fingers.
In the virtual palace, a squad of elite KGB guards on patrol suddenly spotted a man in board shorts and flip-flops, humming a little tune, strolling right past them.
The guards paused for a moment, then continued their patrol as if they'd seen nothing.
As if a man in beach attire wandering through the Kremlin's core restricted zone was the most normal thing in the world.
Natasha watched, jaw dropping.
"How... how did you do that? Mind control?"
"No, too low-level." Cloud's voice dripped with professorial superiority. "This is called cognitive modification. I just slightly adjusted their brains' definitions of 'normal' and 'abnormal.' Made them think a tourist in board shorts appearing here is perfectly reasonable—while you, in your tactical suit, are the anomaly."
Natasha felt like everything she'd learned about infiltration and disguise over the past twenty-plus years had just been completely overturned.
"And your intelligence gathering methods!" Cloud continued his sharp-tongued instruction.
The illusion shifted to a heavily fortified vault containing nuclear launch codes.
Natasha was about to use her miniature laser cutter to crack the meter-thick alloy door.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Cloud's voice was full of disdain. "What era is this? You're still using such primitive physical cracking methods? Slow, noisy, easy to trigger alarms!"
"Then... what should I do?" Natasha asked humbly.
"Use your brain! Natasha! Use your brain!" Cloud's tone was one of utter disappointment. "You're a beautiful woman! A woman sexy enough to drive any man crazy! That's your most powerful weapon! Why aren't you using it?"
He snapped his fingers again.
In the illusion, another "Natasha" appeared.
But she wasn't wearing tactical gear. She wore a deep-V red evening gown with a thigh-high slit—enough to make any man's nose bleed.
She didn't try to crack the vault. Instead, she walked directly to the base commander's office and knocked gently on the door.
What followed was... somewhat inappropriate for younger viewers.
Natasha could only watch as her illusory self threw a seductive glance at the portly commander and said in a voice dripping with temptation: "General, are you... free tonight?"
Ten minutes later.
Illusion-Natasha walked out of the office in her high heels, graceful as ever.
In her hand was a slip of paper with the nuclear launch codes.
Inside the office, the commander lay slumped blissfully over his desk, drool trailing from the corner of his mouth.
The real Natasha, observing this "instructional demonstration," had turned crimson with embarrassment, wishing she could find a hole to crawl into.
"Understand now?" Cloud's voice drifted over languidly. "This is called maximum resource utilization. A top-tier female operative should know how to weaponize her charm into the deadliest blade."
And so, under Cloud's tutelage—filled with "twisted logic" and "unconventional methods"—Natasha's espionage skills began improving by leaps and bounds in ways even she couldn't comprehend.
Her psychological resilience grew stronger.
Her adaptability became more unpredictable.
She even learned some techniques from Cloud for "non-contact hypnosis" using micro-expressions and pheromones.
Of course, it wasn't just her professional abilities that were developing.
There was also the increasingly ambiguous chemistry between them.
...
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