Chapter 107: The Amazing Spider-Man - Part 2

"Peter…?"

I heard my name called, and I turned around.

"Ah—"

Her name almost slipped off my tongue. But I forced it back down. I shouldn’t know her name. She’s someone I’m not supposed to know. You can’t call out the name of someone you’ve never met. The same goes for her. Yes—neither of us should know each other’s names. We shouldn’t be able to call them. Just like it’s always been.

And yet—

"Why… do you know my name?"

Why was she able to say it? For a second, I thought maybe she remembered me. But no. That can’t be it. Erased memories don’t come back. Stephen said that himself. What’s lost can’t be restored. It’s irreversible. I know that better than anyone—ever since I first gained these powers. So it’s not possible. It shouldn’t be possible. And yet… I felt a flicker of joy. Even though she’s better off not remembering… some part of me still wanted her to. I hated myself for that weakness.

When I looked at her, Michelle narrowed her eyes.

"So… you really are Peter Parker?"

…It didn’t sound like she was certain. But seeing how I reacted gave her the answer.

"Yeah, that’s me…?"

But it’s fine. I’ll just keep pretending. Pretend I don’t notice anything. The thing that must never be discovered—she hasn’t realized it yet. And as long as I don’t say it out loud, she never will.

Michelle’s gaze pierced me. In the night of Queens, New York… the streetlights cast their glow. Thin clouds veiled the sky, blocking out the moonlight. Her cobalt blue eyes shimmered. And then, with clear resolve, she slowly spoke.

"…I think I’m about to ask you something strange."

"Strange…?"

I took a step back without thinking. Because I felt guilty. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.

"Were you… my friend?"

My heart jumped. Her expression was anxious, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. That was something I had to deny.

I made a deal with Mephisto. I lost everything—because of Michelle. And I could never let her know that. She must never know. Because she’s kind. She would blame herself, even though she shouldn’t. She once said, "I’m happy with the way things are now." And that’s enough. If she can live a happy life without me, that’s all that matters. That happiness doesn’t need even the faintest shadow.

So I denied it. I shook my head.

"No… this is the first time we’ve met. We’re strangers."

That’s the way it has to be. She doesn’t need me in her life. Not now, not in this world where she’ll keep on living—

"That’s not true…"

Michelle stepped closer to me.

"Uh…?"

"I don’t remember anything about you… but—"

A sharp pain hit my chest. She doesn’t remember playing together, eating meals, watching movies, going to places, sharing moments. She doesn’t remember the times we hurt each other, or the times we said we loved each other.

All of it. Both the good memories and the painful ones. None of them remain.

"But even so…"

I looked into her eyes. She looked straight into mine. Our gazes met and mingled. Michelle’s eyes no longer wavered. The only thing shaking now… was my heart.

"Even so… even if I don’t remember… I still know."

Her voice grew smaller and smaller.

…Of course. Michelle knows this world through the comics. That’s why she has knowledge about Spider-Man, and about me. Their memories were erased. The traces of me in this world were erased. But even if I was erased from her own memory, she could still reread those otherworldly memories. And with only that suspicion… she had managed to reach me.

Michelle lifted her gaze back toward me.

"Tell me, Peter. Why is it… that I’ve forgotten you—that we’ve forgotten you?"

"…I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t understand a thing."

I turned my eyes away, unable to bear her steady cobalt blue gaze.

"Why are you denying it?"

"Denying? I’m just saying I don’t know what you’re talking about."

I was too afraid to look her in the face, so I kept my eyes averted. I knew she wasn’t accusing me. But still… it felt like I was being accused. And then, after a moment of silence, she finally spoke again.

"…If it’s my fault, then I’ll apologize—"

"That’s not it…"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. It’s not Michelle’s fault. Not Gwen’s, not Ned’s, not Harry’s, not Mr. Stark’s, not Aunt May’s either. No one’s at fault. I just want them all to be happy.

"Peter…"

But—those words were a mistake. By denying her guilt, I’d indirectly admitted what she was saying was true. And Michelle, catching that mistake, opened her mouth again.

"…Then why?"

I couldn’t answer. I stayed silent… trying to pull away from her. I didn’t know what to do anymore. My heart was in chaos. I wanted to run. If I kept talking, my resolve would crumble. I might pick up what I’d already given up on. And if that ended up hurting someone… then I had no right to exist.

I turned my face aside, stepping back—

"Wait."

As I turned to leave, she grabbed my hand. Her fingers intertwined with mine. I couldn’t help but look back at her.

"Don’t just… walk away like that…"

She was crying. Tears ran down her cheeks.

"………"

I held my breath. I stayed silent because I didn’t want to make her cry. And yet, my silence made her cry anyway. My chest ached. It hurt. And still, the pounding of my heart rang in my ears.

I asked her,

"Why… are you crying?"

"…Peter, you’re crying too."

She didn’t tell me why. Instead… she pointed out something I hadn’t even realized myself. Slowly, steadily, the pain in my chest—like being stabbed by a knife—had made me cry without me knowing. …I wiped my face with my hand.

"…Haha, pathetic, huh?"

It wasn’t a lie I told to look cool. It wasn’t about pride. I just wanted to protect her. And yet… I couldn’t even control my own feelings. I cried. I was… immature.

"Please, Peter… tell me?"

That’s what she said. But still, I—

"I can’t."

"Why?"

"I can’t even tell you that."

I shook my head, and she looked hurt again. Michelle’s hand gripped mine tighter. Her palm pressed against the back of my hand.

"I… I don’t remember this warmth. I don’t know your heat."

"I see…"

"But Peter… do you remember my touch?"

The softness. The slender, smooth fingers. The warmth. The proof of life… of living. Kindness.

"But even if you do—"

Even as I held her hand, I shook off that lingering attachment.

"You don’t need to worry… about me."

"Peter…"

Her trembling voice echoed in my ears.

"To you, I should be… a stranger, right? So someone like me—"

"No… even if I don’t remember…"

Michelle’s grip tightened.

Her face was close.
I could feel her breath.

"Even so, I know. Over this past year… I’ve changed a lot."

"…………"

"I’ve come to feel a revulsion toward killing people… toward hurting them. There are more things I can’t bring myself to do, and I’ve surely grown weaker…"

She lowered her head, and tears spilled down her face in heavy drops.

"But that was a good thing… Even if I became weaker… I learned something important as a person… I learned the value of life… I realized I had to change."

Her hand squeezed tighter, as if not to let go.

"And… I even became able to fall in love with someone…"

The hand holding mine trembled.

"I don’t remember who it was I fell for anymore… but surely, it was you who changed me… me, myself."

Michelle lifted her face.

It wasn’t the expressionless face she usually wore.
She was crying.

Ever since I’d learned who she truly was, I’d seen it many times… her tear-streaked face.

…No.
I hadn’t saved her because I wanted her to wear that face.
I only ever wanted… for you to smile.

"Even if I don’t understand anything… even if I don’t remember anything. If you were the one who changed me… the one who saved me from the darkness… and you’re suffering…"

In those eyes, I was reflected.

"Then please… let me save you…"

Ah.

Those words… she must have already forgotten them by now, but… they were the words I once said to you.

Even if every memory is lost,
the warmth of a held hand never changes.

Nor does the heart.
Nor that kindness.

"…Michelle."

"…Please, I’m begging you."

My trembling heart slowly returned to calm.

Yes… that’s right.
I’d said I would share your fears, your guilt.
I couldn’t just disappear on my own… that wouldn’t do.
I had to keep my promise.

If she was crying now… then I couldn’t pretend not to notice anymore.

So—

"Alright."

"…Peter?"

I squeezed her hand back.
Facing her squarely, I opened my mouth.

"I’m sure… it would be easier for you, Michelle, if you didn’t know."

"…Even so. I want you to tell me."

Our gazes collided.

"Yeah… I’ll tell you."

Sitting on a bench in the park—
in a darkened Queens—
at midnight, just the two of us—

I spoke.
Holding back the flood of emotions inside me, I told her, little by little.

That I had tried to save her.

That the bomb in my heart had exploded.

That I hadn’t been able to save her.

About my contract with Mephisto.

I told her everything, without a single lie.

She listened in silence.
She didn’t look surprised.

I think… she’d sensed it already.
That’s why this was just confirmation.

When I finished, I let out a long, deep breath.

"That’s how it all happened… That’s why I didn’t want you to know."

I happened to look at Michelle’s face.
She looked pained.

"…Idiot."

"…Well, yeah. Maybe there was a better way or something—"

Thud.

A soft sound.

It came from my chest.
Her fist had landed against me, gently.

"Really… you’re such an idiot."

She tapped me again, gently.
It was her way of protesting, I suppose.

"H-ha… am I really that bad?"

"Yeah… an idiot. It’s true… I’ll definitely worry about it, but… if it’s a choice between that and you being unhappy… I’ll face it properly."

…She was far stronger than I had imagined.

Maybe the choice I made on my own… had been the wrong one.

"But… thank you."

It had been a long detour, but at last… I was able to bare my heart to Michelle.

It was a terrible story, yet… I felt strangely refreshed.

The clearest, brightest feeling I’d had in this past month.

"Thank you for saving me."

…No.
I’m the one who should be grateful.

To you, who searched for me even after forgetting.
To you, who came to save me when I’d already given up.
It’s me who owes you thanks.

"But Peter… why would you go so far for me?"

…Those words, she’d asked me once before.

"That’s because… well, it’s because I like you."

So this time too, I answered the same way.
The same words, with the same feelings… I gave her my reply.

At my words, Michelle parted her lips slightly in surprise.
Then, as if biting them closed, she nodded.

"I see… so that’s how it is…"

Her cheeks turned faintly red.
So did mine.

In the quiet park in Queens, the two of us sat on a bench… without meeting each other’s eyes, just feeling the touch and warmth of our entwined fingers.

To her, this should have been our first meeting.
So why… why was she willing to trust me so much?

…I opened my mouth.

"…Michelle, why do you trust me so easily? I mean, you don’t remember anything about me."

That’s what I asked.

She blinked.
I went on.

"Is it because… I’m Spider-Man, the hero from your favorite comics?"

Yes.
Michelle had told me she liked Spider-Man—the comic book hero from another world.
If that was the reason—

"No."

But what came back was a firm denial.
Michelle shook her head.

"…No?"

"Yeah… maybe that’s part of it, a little… but the real reason is… um, how do I say this…"

Michelle’s gaze wavered.

"…Ever since the first time we met… and just now, while we were talking… I just… um…"

Her words trailed off.

"I just… felt like I could trust you…"

At those words, heat rushed all the way to my ears.

"Because I realized the reason I’d gained these feelings over this past year… was you."

They were vague, abstract words.

"I think the person I liked all along… was you…"

Even though she’d lost all her memories of me… the impact I’d left on her heart remained unchanged.
All of it had become tied to me.

"…That makes me really happy."

I just barely managed to say it.

Embarrassment made my heart pound loudly.
Michelle must have felt the same.

But… I see.

Even before she lost her memories, I’d felt her affection.
She never once directly said "I like you"… but now, at last, she could say it.

That must mean… the guilt that had bound her had eased, even if only a little.

And that, more than anything, made me happy.

Surely, she had also come to forgive herself, at least a little.

The night breeze brushed against my cheek.
The clouds had cleared, and the moon had come out.

"…Peter."

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you one thing?"

"Of course… not just one thing, as many as you want."

"Tell me about our memories together."

"…It’ll take a while, you know?"

"That’s fine. We have plenty of time."

"…Hmm, where should I start…"

"From the beginning, please."

"Alright then, from the very beginning… Let me tell it, one more time. I—"

In the city where I was born and raised.

In the city I’ve protected.

Beneath the moonlight and streetlamps of the night.

Without fear of anything.

Peacefully.

We exchanged words.

The memories that were lost will never return.
But new ones… can always be made.

We’ll build it up, piece by piece.

Even what happened today… I’m sure that a few years from now, we’ll look back and say, "Remember that?" and laugh about it together.

Until the day you can love yourself, I’ll keep on loving you.

And the version of me that you’ve come to love… I’ll work hard so that I can love him too.

You’ll laugh.
I’ll get embarrassed.

You’ll doubt.
I’ll panic.

We’ll get angry, laugh, cry, and smile.

That’s how… little by little, we’ll keep building things up again.

What will become of us from here on?
That, I don’t yet know.

I’m sure not every day will be sunny.
There’ll be plenty of rainy days too.

But that’s okay.
I want to stack the good and the bad together… and create them with you.

Memories.

With you and me… and with everyone else.

That’s why, I’ll never regret today’s decision.
Nor the choice I made that day we first met, when I tried to talk to you.

No matter what happens… regret is the one thing I won’t allow.

Because I believe… we’ll be able to overcome it. Right now, I truly believe that.

The memories that were lost.
The people who’ve died.
The places we can never return to.

None of those are wasted.
As long as the hearts they touched keep pushing those feelings forward… surely.

It will go on.

Always… always…

As we walk side by side.

---

Avengers Tower.

There, I was facing a young girl.

Outside the window, sunlight poured down.

Before me stood a girl with pale blond hair and blue eyes—Michelle Jane Watson.

She opened her mouth.

"Natasha Romanoff… thank you… for coming."

Today, she was unusually quiet. Almost like a different person.

Normally, when she speaks with me, her tone is much sharper.

You could call it the sort of intimidating way of speaking that suits her alias, "Redcap." But now, it was different.

Even so, while her voice felt strange, it wasn’t surprising.

I already knew how she spoke when talking with Gwen Stacy.

Cross-checking with the information Nick Fury had given me, it made sense. This girl carried the memories of someone from another dimension.

Because of that, her natural, girlish way of thinking coexisted with a more aggressive mindset.

It wasn’t a split personality—just a matter of switching mental circuits.

She had said as much to her therapist. During missions… in other words, when fighting or on alert, her adrenaline spiked, and her manner of speaking changed.

The memories were shared, and fundamentally, it was still the same person. Both were her.

And right now… this was the side of her that wasn’t "on duty."

…Up until now, she had likely been wary of me, and so I had only seen her aggressive side.

Perhaps this meant she trusted me, even if only a little.

"I heard you had something you wanted to discuss. What is it?"

I was here as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.—as Black Widow.

Her friend, Gwen Stacy, is my junior. She’s still just a trainee, and I sometimes take part in her training.

"I came to give my answer about the ‘choice’ Nick Fury spoke to me about."

I had to face her with sincerity.

As someone who had fought against her. As Gwen Stacy’s senior. As a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

And, more than anything… as someone like her.

"I see. So… are you going back to being an ordinary civilian? Or…"

I myself had been trained in the Red Room, an intelligence program that subjected children to abusive conditioning. I had been working as a spy since I was a child.

…That’s why I could understand her pain better than most.

But unlike me, she was young.

She still had the chance to walk a new path. To live as a normal girl—as Michelle Jane.

But—

"…I want to become someone who can save others."

Her answer was different.

She chose to cast aside a normal life and live as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

I closed my eyes lightly.

"If you’re making that choice because of guilt… you don’t need to. Legally, you won’t be held accountable."

"…………"

She was burdened by guilt.

She wasn’t strong enough to shrug off malice, but she did have a normal person’s sense of decency.

And that was tormenting her.

That’s why I wondered if her decision was born from guilt.

"…Even so?"

But I saw no fear in her eyes.

…Yes, she surely felt guilt. But there was also something more.

"…I’ve killed so many people."

I knew. We had salvaged plenty of data from the collapsed Unseelie Court’s base.

"With a power I never even wanted, I was made to do evil."

She was a victim.

Through deranged experiments by someone from the future, she had gained superhuman powers. Her mind and body were worn down until she became an elite combatant.

Yet none of that was what she had wished for.

"And all that time, I kept turning away from reality… kept running."

Even with powers, at her core, she was just human. That’s why she couldn’t rebel against the organization, nor escape it.

…I would never hold that against her.

"But—even if it’s a power I never wanted… I don’t want to keep running from responsibility anymore."

"…Responsibility?"

I cut in at her words.

"Those with power have the responsibility to use it for the right thing…"

That’s a common belief—but one that can be dismissed as nothing more than pretty words.

The blessed must help the unblessed. It is, certainly, an ideal.

But when you yourself become the one blessed… can you really help others?

…Few can.

That’s why I was surprised she spoke such idealism. I had taken her for more of a realist.

"…Someone else’s words?"

It didn’t sound like something she had come up with herself. More likely, they were someone else’s words—someone else’s values.

"…The person I look up to said it."

Look up to, huh.

I’d heard she thought of this world as a comic, and admired its heroes.

"I have to change, too. I can’t just ‘look up’ to them… I want to become someone worthy of this power."

That was what she said.

Her expression was stern, but the look of someone endlessly blaming herself, endlessly running away, was gone.

At least, for now—

"…Alright. I’ll let Fury know."

Something had shifted inside her. Something—or someone—that could change her, that wanted to change her.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

Before I knew it, the corners of my lips softened.

"Thank… you."

"But for now, make sure to rest properly."

"I’m fine already—"

"You nearly died a month ago. Your mind and body both need more time. No one is going to blame you."

I smiled as I stood from my seat.

She looked dissatisfied, which made me chuckle a little.

Gwen Stacy had told me… that she was kind, cute, and just a normal girl her age.

I hadn’t believed it before, but… now I understood.

And when I opened the door and stepped out of the conference room—

"Eavesdropping? That doesn’t suit you."

"I was only waiting for you."

A stern-faced man with an eyepatch—Nick Fury—was there.

As I started walking, Fury fell in step beside me.

He clearly had something to say.

When I glanced at him, he spoke.

"What did she ‘choose’?"

"She said she wants to be an agent."

"I see."

Fury nodded, a faint smile on his lips. He looked genuinely pleased.

"To be honest, I’m against it. Forcing her to fight any more than she already has."

"But it was her choice. And besides… she needs atonement."

I couldn’t help but furrow my brow.

"Atonement? Does she really need that? She—"

"Atonement isn’t only for the victims. It’s also something she needs to save her own heart."

Hearing that… I nodded.

Michelle Jane Watson.

Her state of mind, even if she had killed and done wrong, was still that of an ordinary person.

She wasn’t so far gone as to ignore her sins. She still had the decency to feel guilt.

Someone like her… you could say she was a little broken. She had improved a lot, but when she was first brought here, she was in rough shape.

Not violent, but constantly demeaning herself.

That was why Fury’s reasoning—to let her pile up good deeds as a way to ease her guilt—made sense to me.

"…Even so, Fury. Was this all part of your plan?"

"Hardly. I can’t see the future. I only hoped it would turn out this way."

Fury tapped on his tablet, pulling up a list.

Names were written there. Gwen Stacy. Harry Osborn.

And now, he added her name to the list.

"…What’s that?"

"A list, huh."

"A list of what?"

His vague reply made me furrow my brows.

Then Fury smirked and turned the tablet toward me.

"A new kind of ‘hope.’"

When he closed the list, the file name appeared on the screen.

And there—

『Young Avengers』 was displayed.

---

The sky visible through the skylight of the Sanctum Sanctorum was dark.
Moonlight pierced through the window shaped like a magic circle, casting light at my feet.

I hung the Cloak of Levitation on the wall in the library and sat down on a crimson sofa.

Checking my wristwatch, I saw the short hand pointing to nine.

…The day after sending Peter off.
When I heard that Michelle Jones-Watson had joined S.H.I.E.L.D., I let out a sigh of relief.

In the windless room, the cloak fluttered on its own.

A girl who cannot love herself.
A boy who does not look back on himself.

I thought of the two of them.

Using the Eye of Agamotto, I peered into the future.
With the Time Stone, it is even possible to foresee the near future.

But if one disturbs the laws of nature too much… an unforeseen backlash will occur.
If one draws forth good fortune, then equally one draws forth misfortune.

That is why it should not be used lightly.
To distort fate itself is that dangerous.

And yet… just this once.

I opened the drawer of my desk. Inside was a wristwatch, its dial shattered.

Once, I was a surgeon.
They called me the hand of God.
I had wealth, fame, a lover… I had everything.

But one day, in a car accident, I lost it all.

Those days were painful and bitter.

And yet, even after losing everything, I clawed my way back.

With magic now in my grasp, I have been able to keep my conviction alive.
“To save people.” Nothing more, nothing less.

So when I saw him—who, like me, had lost everything—simply give up, I could not forgive it.
I could not accept it.
There was no way I could.

That is why I brought them together.

It is true, I promised him that “she must not be told the truth.”

But—

"That promise, I kept, didn’t I?"

Surely, it was he himself who chose to tell her the truth.
I never said it.

The cloak trembled.

I shut the drawer.

Then, turning around, I noticed something faintly glowing deep within the library.

"…What is that?"

I am the Sorcerer Supreme.
I know everything contained within this Sanctum’s library.

Or so I should.

There should not exist any object here that I do not know.

And yet—

"…Quite the flashy security."

I gave a wry smile at the sight of a book floating in the air, bound in chains.

Did it come from somewhere else?
No—that would be impossible. No one can enter the Sanctum without permission.

Had it been here from the beginning?
Impossible.

Then… why am I only seeing it now?

Looking at the shape of the lock, I understood.

I crossed my hands, forming a magic circle.
It was the same circle used to open the Eye of Agamotto—but this time, the target was not the Eye.

It was the lock binding the book before me.
As I unraveled the interwoven circles, the chains fell to the ground.

"…So it was the Master, after all."

There are few who know the unlocking structure of the Eye of Agamotto.
And that artifact is one passed down through the generations of Sorcerer Supremes.

Which meant the one who prepared this key… was the previous Sorcerer Supreme, the Ancient One.

Most likely, she had placed a spell upon the book itself—sending it leaping across time and space, to arrive here, at this exact moment, foreseen by her.

My gaze dropped slightly.

The Eye of Agamotto—the stone housed within it is known as the Time Stone, the artifact that governs time.

"To manipulate time itself… That is how necessary it was for me to see this book?"

Even knowing the damage that tampering with the continuum could cause, she would never interfere with time without reason.

The Ancient One devoted herself to preventing great threats before they could manifest.
Which meant this book… was that important.

A prophecy, perhaps.
Or some immense magic that had no choice but to be sealed away.

I took the book from the air and opened it.

"…What?"

Yet, what was written inside… was only the story of a single girl.
The memories experienced by the Ancient One, transcribed onto these pages.

The girl’s name was not written.
But the lingering thoughts of the Ancient One, legible between the lines, clearly pointed toward her.

Michelle Jones-Watson.
The name of the girl I had saved.

It seems… in the past, the Ancient One once erased her memories.

Because of the memories she possessed… and the source of those memories.

"…………"

I turned the page.

The Ancient One had detected a distortion in space-time and discovered its cause: the memories of a war orphan from Latveria.

That was why she erased the girl’s memories—seeking to remove the source.

But even then… the Ancient One herself did not fully understand what that source was.
What kind of “something” allowed her to glimpse into another world’s memories?

When the Ancient One looked into the “something” within the girl, she realized that if its existence were ever known, this world would be consumed by chaos.

And yet, when it came to taking the life of an innocent girl… she faltered.

So instead, she placed a seal upon it. To keep it buried, to keep it forgotten. But even the Ancient One could not fully seal it away.

The “something” she used to read memories from another world—

What it truly was—

That was—

"The Eye of Uatu…"

The Watcher, Uatu.
He was a supernatural being who dwelled upon the moon.

An entity capable of gazing across all time and space, observing every world… a cosmic race beyond human comprehension. That race was known as the Watchers.

And Uatu was one of them.

His eye.

In other words—

"…………"

I rose to my feet and walked toward the shelves. Pulling certain books in a specific order caused a portal to open, and a communicator fell into my hands.

A modern device, out of place in this sanctum of sorcery.

Her “Eye” was dangerous.
And if the Eye of Uatu existed here in this world… it meant he was already dead.
Which meant there existed someone—something—that had killed a Watcher.

Even my master could not seal away Uatu’s Eye… and I, with less experience than her, certainly could not.

So many uncertainties.
My knowledge as a sorcerer.
My rational judgment.

All of them urged me toward one conclusion:
“That girl should be erased from this world.”

I powered on the communicator.

It was a device built by Tony Stark—linked to a top-secret channel. A gathering even S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers knew nothing about.

The display lit up, showing the list of contacts.

The genius inventor who formed the core of Earth’s mightiest heroes, the Avengers: Tony Stark.

The brilliant scientist and leader of the legendary team known as the Fantastic Four: Reed Richards.

The king of Attilan, the lunar city-state, ruler of the Inhumans: Black Bolt.

The strongest telepath, who commanded the mutants and led the X-Men: Professor X.

The prince of the undersea city Atlantis—the first mutant known to humankind: Namor.

And myself, the Sorcerer Supreme: Stephen Strange.

A team of six.
A secret society, known neither to nations nor to the Avengers.

『Illuminati』.

The name of those who eliminated threats to the world in secret.

Matters too dangerous for the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. to handle—we dealt with them. Secretly. Illegally. At times, even twisting morality to do so.

When threats loomed, we gathered.

And now… that time had come again.

Yet I—

"I… cannot be as merciless, nor as accepting, as you were."

I powered down the device, recalling my master’s face.

The Ancient One. She had lived for so long, through an unfathomable span of time, protecting the world by removing its threats.

She could not afford to choose her means. At times, she must have taken lives.

But I… cannot.

Before being a Sorcerer, I was a Doctor.

"…Enough, isn’t it? They’ve both endured so much pain already… she and he."

I sank deep into my chair, placing the book upon the desk.

"That’s why… let it be a happy ending."

As though to convince myself, I whispered those words.