Agent Hill could hardly imagine what Solomon might look like in an apron cooking breakfast—nor had she ever tasted the Archmage's culinary skills. For Wanda, though, the daily breakfast personally prepared by her teacher had always been something to look forward to during her time at the castle, though she never actually witnessed the preparation. For the two witches, it was a familiar routine—just less frequent recently.
Back when they had just started living together, Solomon hadn't yet created his homunculus—the artificial life-form who now helped with chores—so many household tasks had to be handled by himself and the witches, including making delicious food.
No matter how busy he was, he never forgot the small details that mattered to the witches—Bayonetta preferred sunny-side-up eggs, Jeanne liked her French-style scrambled eggs semi-liquid; Bayonetta knew how to use appliances, Jeanne couldn't operate them at all and had once even lit a decorative fireplace thinking it was a real oven; Bayonetta liked doing yoga in the morning, while Jeanne preferred staying under the covers, grumbling about not wanting to teach those "bratty little kids," and usually had to be dragged out of bed by Bayonetta.
Solomon was still wearing his apron.
After setting out salads and breakfast for the two witches and a homunculus, he took his tea to his place at the table. His laptop and his breakfast plate were equally prioritized, as if work and scrambled eggs were of comparable flavor. Bayonetta, however, hadn't started eating yet. She was hunched over her notebook, working on the Christmas gift list and guest registry—her duty as the lady of the house. Some gifts had to be chosen and bought in advance, some would be delivered by appointed envoys, and others required attending certain launch events before purchase. Every gift had to match its recipient's wealth and status—no one should feel embarrassed when returning the favor. It was an art form, usually managed jointly with the housekeeper, Dana.
The TV played the WHIW morning news. Dana hadn't picked the channel intentionally; she just wanted some background noise to fill the quiet. "Police in Essex County, UK, have received reports that numerous bones were discovered in the riverbed of the River Stour. Experts from the British Society for Psychic Research believe the remains may be connected to the infamous Borley Rectory. As is well known, the rectory was once a 13th-century monastery..."
"Christina always exaggerates," Solomon said slowly, sipping his hot tea. The rising steam blurred his glasses, but it didn't affect his vision—he could still clearly read the text on his screen. He was reviewing Wanda's mission report, and it differed significantly from what the media was claiming—proof that so-called free press was once again full of nonsense.
"There were only five skeletons—three were infants. Wanda also took one adult skeleton contaminated by magic. No more vengeful spirits at Borley," he said calmly. After three full days of rest, his gaze had softened again, making the witches more certain that extended vacations were good for his mental health. Solomon wasn't worried about Wanda's psychological state after the mission—he had received three separate reports: from the pilot of the assault transport, from Wanda Maximoff herself, and from Natasha Romanoff. Technically, that last one had been stolen—no way the Avengers were generous enough to share intel with Solomon voluntarily.
"Just someone messing up a magic ritual and killing people by accident. You know how 'pure' 13th-century monasteries really weren't. Add in some baby wraiths and, well... it's a mess. Not nearly as scary as the news would have you believe—unless those nuns were abnormally enthusiastic and really into bath time."
"Not during breakfast, you pig!" Jeanne snapped.
She plucked a cherry tomato from her salad and tossed it at Solomon's head. The Cheshire cat, perched on the table and watching the spread eagerly, reflexively leapt up and snatched the tomato midair—then immediately began frantically shaking its head, gagging on the little fruit. Dana had to get up and help before the foolish cat sprayed saliva all over the freshly cleaned floor.
"And now, an exclusive interview with Darren Cross, CEO of Pym Technologies. This business genius and scientist turned the company's years of losses into profits. As we all know, Dr. Hank Pym is a legendary name in science, but when it comes to running a business—one with long-standing ties to S.H.I.E.L.D. and the U.S. government—he lost out to his student. I'm sure our viewers are eager to hear about Darren Cross's background and his relationship with Dr. Pym…"
"He was my most respected mentor," Darren Cross said earnestly on the screen, radiating admiration.
Solomon scoffed.
Since Cross had taken over, Pym Tech hadn't released a single new product. Though Hank Pym considered the company something of a disgrace, Solomon knew the truth behind its fall. He also knew Pym watched morning television, and that by this afternoon, he would definitely be ordering a new one—probably after throwing his current screen through a wall.
Cranky old bastard—but a genius.
If he'd been born a few decades earlier, he might've qualified to attend the Solvay Conference. He might've even appeared in that iconic photograph. Solomon didn't particularly like Dr. Pym's temper, but he greatly respected his mind. Although the Pym Particle's molecular structure came together through a series of coincidences, Pym had managed to transform those coincidences into a reproducible formula—an endeavor that had cost him immense effort and resulted in the creation of the first Ant-Man during World War II.
WHIW had previously done a feature on the Scott Lang incident too—the former Vesta Corp employee who had stolen four million dollars from his corrupt company and redistributed it to the people he thought were victimized. The public had split into two camps online, and debate raged on. Solomon had heard of the incident, not through any official channel or report—Lang was small-time to both the Eternal City and S.H.I.E.L.D.—but through one of his favorite garbage forums. There, anonymous users regularly flamed woke politicians and greedy Jewish capitalists. It was there he saw Scott Lang's name pop up again and again, mostly with admiration.
"We're voting for Scott Lang for president! Maybe he'll start throwing cash in our pockets! Down with Ellis!"
"So what, Scott's a Democrat now?"
"Then he'll turn into a politician who supports Black trans gay dudes, and replace sexy lingerie models with some fat-ass trans Black chick on every billboard."
"Ugh!"
"Hey, best-case scenario, he declares war on Israel."
"Then the Jewish capitalists will have him assassinated, dumbass!"
"We gotta take to the streets to protect him! Riot time, brothers! I'm a Black man and I love Scott Lang because I need money to buy a Kim Kardashian model SEX DOLL!"
"Your taste really matches your environment. (Mocking Kanye and Kim K's surgically enhanced butts)"
"What, you don't like big booty women, dumbass? Sit on my face, I don't care if it's silicone!"
"Calling it now—this is an /eroposting/ victory!"
Through this sewer-level online chatter, Solomon learned that Scott Lang had been released from prison. He was quite sure Hank Pym was already preparing to fire a full intellectual payload at him. After the recent brainstorming session with Solomon, the good doctor would likely solve several quantum mechanics problems in short order.
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I Am Zeus, KING OF GODS (Chapter 79)
Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 391)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 471)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 677)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 1059)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1418)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1422)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1452)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1504)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld!(Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 703)
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