Hearing Peter's drippingly sarcastic remark, a flash of helplessness crossed Natasha's eyes.
Kids these days—not cute at all.
And what was with "Auntie"? What was with "dog collar"? That was a bit much, wasn't it? She was still working for S.H.I.E.L.D., after all. Could he show a little respect to? (In this universe, Natasha was born in 1984).
However, she was a battle-hardened elite agent. She had prepared for multiple scenarios before coming here, including extreme non-compliance from the target.
Furthermore, not being a native-born American herself, she didn't harbor an intense sense of nationalistic pride; thus, she wasn't personally offended by his lack of patriotism.
Seeing that secret probing was no longer necessary, Natasha relaxed. She adjusted her posture, leaning forward slightly with her chin resting lazily on her hand.
Her emerald eyes studied Peter with newfound intrigue.
"Fine. It seems my earlier theatrics were indeed redundant." She sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. "How about this: tell me your conditions for joining S.H.I.E.L.D., and I will report them word-for-word to my superior.
If there are still disagreements, I can take you to see him directly after school so you can negotiate face-to-face."
Natasha felt she was being exceptionally amiable. But Peter didn't soften his stance; his response remained brutally direct.
"Forget the dream of me joining S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm not joining any organization." Peter leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced, his expression utterly indifferent.
"I don't wish to be restricted by anyone or any rules. At most, we can reach a partnership."
"I can help you solve troubles you can't handle yourselves," he continued, "but you must pay me a reward that satisfies me afterward."
The air in the office seemed to congeal. Natasha's fingers tensed against her cheek. She felt Peter was being beyond arrogant.
No organizations? No restrictions? Who did this high schooler think he was? God? Did he think a restoration superpower made him an enemy of the entire world?
How naive, she thought.
Peter, sensing her inner monologue, spoke up: "I know what you're thinking. You think I'm an arrogant fool, right? Agent Romanoff, I want you to understand one thing..."
He stared directly into her eyes—a gaze so intense that even an agent of her caliber felt a surge of pressure.
"My confidence stems from the fact that I am powerful enough."
Before the words had fully landed, he opened his right hand.
VROOOOM—!
A high-speed, swirling sphere of blue energy manifested out of thin air. It emitted a piercing hum, distorting the very air around it. The sheer, violent purity of the energy made the hair on Natasha's arms stand on end!
What is this?!
Before she could react, Peter casually pressed the Rasengan into a nearby wooden desk.
Ssssss—
There wasn't even a loud explosion. The solid oak desk acted as if it were being sucked into a black hole; in the blink of an eye, it was shredded into a pile of sawdust.
After atomizing the desk, Peter reached his hand out toward the pile of debris. In the next second, a soft white light enveloped the wood.
Moments later, a perfectly intact desk—without so much as a scratch—reappeared in its original spot.
Dead silence filled the office. Cold sweat broke out on Natasha's forehead.
She finally understood where the kid's confidence came from. Destruction... then restoration. If she had possessed such power at his age, she'd probably be even more insufferable than him.
After a long silence, Natasha found her voice, though it carried a tremor she didn't recognize. "Are you... truly human?"
Peter chuckled. "Of course."
With a light laugh and under Natasha's startled gaze, he reached out and grabbed her right hand where it rested on her knee.
Natasha instinctively tried to pull away, but Peter's hand was like a lightning bolt, and his grip was impossibly strong.
He placed her hand directly over his heart. "If you don't believe me, feel for yourself."
Through the thin fabric of his shirt, the warmth of his body and the powerful, steady thrum of his heartbeat pulsed against her palm.
Feeling his solid chest, Natasha froze, a rare flash of bashful annoyance crossing her face.
Is this brat... flirting with me?
The thought sparked a competitive fire in her. Fine. You want me to feel? I'll feel!
She didn't pull away. Instead, her hand began a quick, professional "inspection" across his torso. Pectorals, biceps, abs... Cough. Any further would have been unprofessional.
Seeing that Peter remained completely unruffled, Natasha finally withdrew her hand, suppressing her irritation and a strange, lingering sensation.
"Okay, I've confirmed you're a flesh-and-blood human. I will convey your terms to my superior. What else do you want?"
"My demands are simple." Peter extended three fingers.
"First: Do not disturb my normal life. Do not send people to monitor me. If you do, I will make them pay a heavy price."
Natasha nodded. "Understood. We will pull all perimeter surveillance."
"Second: I will only interface with you and Director Fury. Without my permission, you are not allowed to reveal my identity to anyone—not to other S.H.I.E.L.D. members, and certainly not to the government or the military."
"That..." Natasha looked troubled. "That might be difficult. Director Fury has to report to the Council."
"I don't care how you handle your bureaucracy. Those are my terms. If they aren't met, the partnership ends immediately."
Natasha sighed internally. Problem children are so hard to serve. "Understood. I'll relay that."
"Good." Peter nodded, satisfied. "Finally, and most importantly."
"I require you to deploy your most elite agents to protect my guardians—Ben and May Parker—with the highest security protocols whenever I am away.
And don't even think about using them to control me. If anyone so much as dreams of it, I promise to make their death a very... rhythmic experience."
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