Dormammu still lingered in his thoughts—a cosmic entity not to be challenged lightly. Kurogai wasn't foolish enough to engage him before he was absolutely certain of his power. For now, he set that aside. There were more immediate matters to focus on.
He had once considered waiting until Thor was banished to Earth by Odin—that would be the ideal time to approach Asgard and learn their arcane arts. But that was a future possibility. Right now, his attention was on the Ring.
Specifically—the third one.
The third ring, the Mangekyō, required mutant blood. Kurogai had been monitoring an experiment on this for a while. If it succeeded, he would finally unlock its full potential. The fourth Sharingan, fortunately, was already perfected—one less thing to worry about.
"So all I can do now is wait for the experiment to finish… no, that's not enough. I need to find a way to activate the remaining Sharingan as well."
He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the armrest, lost in thought. Other than the Mangekyō, the rest had yet to show progress. He needed to explore, to encounter new stimuli—anything that could awaken them.
"I need to get out there. The answers won't come to me if I stay idle."
With that, Kurogai opened a shimmering golden portal and stepped through, reappearing at the experimental facility to monitor the project's progress. After confirming that everything was moving along, he exited, heading back into the bustling chaos of New York City.
---
In a dimly lit bar tucked away in Hell's Kitchen, Kurogai sat at the far end of the counter. Shadows clung to the walls, conversations buzzed like background static, and cigarette smoke curled in lazy swirls above the dim lights.
New York was where everything happened—heroes, villains, incidents—it was the epicenter of Marvel's universe. And this bar, filled with shady figures and loose lips, was perfect for catching wind of anything unusual.
"You hear about Stark? Apparently, he's hooking up with some pop star now."
"That's nothing—rumor has it something bigger is brewing over in Harlem…"
The bar buzzed with gossip. Tony Stark was always a hot topic, but Kurogai wasn't here for celebrity drama. He sipped from his drink quietly, eyes scanning, ears tuned.
"Hey handsome," a woman purred, her voice thick with smoke and confidence.
She sauntered over in high heels, her dress clinging to her like a second skin. With a cigarette in one hand and a flirtatious smile in the other, she leaned over his table.
"Drinking alone? How about you buy me one? I'll make it worth your while."
This was the third woman tonight. Kurogai's sharp features and calm demeanor were magnets for attention, even if he wasn't trying.
"Not interested," he replied coolly without even glancing her way.
Women like her, wrapped in cheap perfume and desperation, didn't appeal to him. Especially when he had the likes of Jean Grey and Wanda Maximoff in his orbit—women of power, intelligence, and depth.
With a scoff, she turned and left.
A loud laugh erupted nearby.
"Hah! Damn, you actually turned her down. Thanks, buddy. Just made me a hundred bucks."
A tall man approached, beer in hand and a smug grin plastered on his face. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he raised his glass to Kurogai.
"Congrats," Kurogai said flatly, not sparing him much attention.
Apparently, there had been a bet about whether the 'stoic Asian guy' would give in. Kurogai had noticed the glances and the murmurs, but he didn't care.
"Name's Wade," the man said suddenly, sliding into the seat across from him uninvited. "And hey, if you ever need a mercenary, I'll give you a discount. Half-off for wingmen."
Kurogai blinked slowly, his attention now piqued by the name.
"What did you say your name was?"
"Wade," the man repeated, puffing up. "Yeah, that Wade. The legend. The mercenary king. The guy who once made a Hydra operative cry with just a rubber chicken and a kazoo. My name's kind of a big deal. I mean, even the President pretends he doesn't know me—but he does. They all do. I—"
"Stop. I know exactly who you are," Kurogai interrupted with a sigh, finally locking eyes with him.
Only one person in the multiverse could ramble that fast and that much nonsense in less than thirty seconds.
Deadpool.
"Ohhhh, you're a fan? You want an autograph? I don't usually do those unless it's on boobs or swords, but for you, I'll make an exception."
"Not what I meant," Kurogai muttered.
Now he was certain. Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool—the mouth with a body count. It wasn't exactly the encounter he had in mind for the evening, but unexpected wasn't always bad.
"Listen, kid. You seem like the brooding loner type. But trust me, if you want to really spice up your life, you need chaos. Carnage. Chimichangas. Maybe even… a job with me? I cut people. You pay. Win-win."
Kurogai didn't respond right away. Something about Deadpool's timing felt… off. Almost intentional. Or maybe it was just the universe doing what it always did—throwing the most unpredictable characters into his path at the most inconvenient time.
Either way, it was something new.
And something new might just be what he needed.
---