Hank Pym had zero interest in Solomon's grand vision.
He was one of the few who remained unmoved by Solomon's charisma—thanks entirely to his stubborn, irritable personality.
As he put it:
"I've already done my part for world peace. No one gets to ask me for more."
Even after Solomon revealed that he had inherited S.H.I.E.L.D.'s legacy and told him the story of the Sacred Shield Brotherhood, Pym simply snorted in response.
He dismissed Solomon as just another delusional young man—one who probably needed to get his head checked.
"People still believe science is magic? And this idiot got into Oxford?"
—
"Kosmos. That's the true source of Pym Particles."
Seeing the old man rack a round into his shotgun, Solomon remained unfazed, leaning lazily against the doorframe.
"I'd bet anything—you've never truly understood why those subatomic particles allow you to 'violate' the square-cube law."
He made air quotes with his fingers.
The square-cube law, a fundamental principle in physics and engineering, had been first described by Galileo in Two New Sciences:
"When an object grows proportionally in size, its volume increases by the cube of its scale factor, while its surface area increases by the square."
Yet Pym Particles defied this law.
Not only did they contradict static mechanics, but they also ignored biological limitations—at least, that's how it appeared.
"I KNOW!"
Pym's rage flared instantly.
"I KNOW! I invented Pym Particles!"
"No—you only isolated and extracted those subatomic particles, Dr. Pym."
Solomon remained calm and composed.
"Energy is always conserved. When you alter your size, the excess or missing energy/matter is diverted to a dimension called Kosmos—and that is where those particles originate."
Pym's hands stilled.
He had never actually planned to fire the shotgun.
The old shells were already too damp to be reliable.
And he wasn't about to waste his war-era bullets on Solomon.
"It's a small dimension," Solomon continued, "linked to the Quantum Realm and fractal cosmology. I assume you're familiar with those theories."
"Within Kosmos, there exists a type of pollen that alters an object's size. Pym Particles are merely residual byproducts of Kosmos shifting between dimensions."
"You discovered how to harness them—but I assume you wouldn't mind understanding them better?"
Pym remained silent, peering at Solomon through his aged spectacles.
"How do you know all this?"
"I went to the library," Solomon said matter-of-factly.
"Found some books describing Kosmos."
He straightened his back—only to bump his head against the doorframe.
"It's an unremarkable pocket dimension," he continued, rubbing his forehead.
"No magical entities. Just tiny insect species.
"You might think controlling ants was your idea, but Kosmos Pollen's influence suggests that even if it weren't ants, you would've ended up using some insect species.
"Preferably green ones—because Kosmosians are green."
Pym's expression darkened.
"Where did you get this information? It's not from the Bodleian—I've read their entire collection!"
"Not from the Bodleian."
Solomon smiled.
"My own library."
"We can trade, Dr. Pym. A mutually beneficial exchange."
"I have knowledge you need, and I need your expertise to combat the chaos crawling in from every corner of the universe."
Pym exhaled sharply.
"This is a one-time deal."
He said it with absolute finality.
As if he had forgotten that last time, he had pestered Solomon nonstop for knowledge about time-travel suits—
Even going so far as to call Solomon's professors and insist he shouldn't waste time on an undergraduate degree.
Solomon grinned.
Pym always said "just once"—but it was never just once.
There was always a next time.
And then another.
And another.
Pym was just tsundere.
"So… can I at least have a cup of tea this time?"
Solomon smirked.
"I refuse to believe all you have is instant coffee."
—
"Darling, I can smell a woman on you."
"A redhead."
Bayonetta circled Solomon a few times, effortlessly identifying the scent clinging to him.
She flipped her long black hair over her shoulder, a few strands sticking to her sweat-dampened neck.
Like Jeanne, her skin glistened with sweat—
A subtle scent of pheromones clung to her.
For Solomon, it was a dangerously intoxicating perfume.
Clearly, the witches had been doing yoga and aerobics while watching fitness programs on TV.
"And she has curly hair," Bayonetta added smugly.
One hand on her hip, she tilted her chin up, exuding an air of absolute confidence.
Her form-fitting black workout gear perfectly outlined her toned waist, defined abs, and lean muscle.
Solomon was obsessed with witches.
Especially their legs… and their core strength.
If not for the Stigmata-enhanced resilience of his spine, he was pretty sure Bayonetta would have crushed his vertebrae a long time ago.
"You should be smelling an old man instead."
Solomon huffed.
"You wouldn't believe how frustrating my new science consultant is.
"He's the most stubborn old geezer I've ever met!"
He complained dramatically, completely unbothered by Bayonetta's accusations.
Nothing had happened between him and Lorelei.
Everything had been professionally verified by psychology studies (verified by himself, of course).
No emotions.
No desire.
Strictly business.
"Hank Pym always thinks he's right and that everyone else is wrong.
"I swear, he's wanted to punch me at least five times already!"
"Mm-hmm?"
Solomon wrapped his arms around Bayonetta's waist and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her addictive scent.
A primal hunger stirred within him, urging him to kiss the elegant curve of her throat.
But just as the heat in his chest ignited—
A soft, fast-moving object smacked the back of his head.
Bayonetta chuckled mischievously.
Today seemed to be a cursed day for Solomon's skull.
—
Jeanne glowered at them, arms crossed.
"The bed is over there."
She pointed to the bedroom, scowling.
"Not that you care about privacy anyway!"
"Are you mad because we didn't invite you, Jeanne?"
Bayonetta smirked.
"T-That's not it!"
Jeanne stomped her foot, cheeks flushed red.
"I'm mad because you're disturbing my sleep!"
"Oh? Then who keeps peeking at us? And whose hands aren't exactly innocent either?"
—
"CERESA!"
Jeanne's face turned crimson.
She jumped up from the yoga mat, stomping her foot in frustration—only to realize how childish it looked.
The moment she saw Solomon's barely concealed grin, her blood boiled.
With a huff, she reached into her long white hair and drew out two sleek silver handguns.
"You DARE laugh at me, Solomon?!"
[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [www.p@treon.com/Mutter]
[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]