6 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, London.
On a shelf specially designed for owls, black and white owls perched, gazing down with silent vigilance.
Next to the old-fashioned brick fireplace, a Harrier lay sprawled on its back, belly exposed to the warmth.
Their master, John Wick, was facing a significant problem.
On the television, a sudden turn of events in a Monaco racing competition was being broadcast.
A man wielding electric whips in both hands, with a lightbulb-like device embedded in his chest, stormed onto the track.
This reckless intruder struck out, nearly causing a billionaire playboy driver to hate him on the spot.
Fortunately, the other man produced a box, transformed into Iron Man, and resolved the crisis.
John switched off the television, lost in thought.
Two important pieces of information emerged from this otherwise unremarkable news.
First, there was a Stark named Tony in this world, but he was not a hair salon teacher.
Second, this Tony Stark had many titles, one of which was Iron Man.
Although it had been a long time since John arrived in this world,
The phrase "I am Iron Man!" had entirely transformed a billionaire playboy and MIT super-genius.
Even after so many years, the memory of that moment lingered whenever people saw it again.
"So... you're telling me this place is even stranger than I thought?"
John Wick had once been a migrant worker on a blue planet. In this life, he was born into a British family in 1980. His mother was Slavic, his father English.
In the West, where youthful appearances tend to fade quickly, he had managed to preserve his looks until now.
If you told anyone that the man in the mirror was nearly thirty, they would surely think you were joking.
He had black hair and reddish-brown eyes. He favored vests and suits adorned with gold watch chains.
and wore a mysterious silver ring and an emerald green ring on his right hand.
His handsome features, a gift of his Anglo-Russian heritage, made him look like a university student.
He had studied at Hogwarts, created the Philosopher's Stone, defeated the Dark Lord, and become the new Witch King.
Currently, he was the son of a wealthy British businessman, simply on vacation.
But now, you tell me...
There is a person named Tony Stark in this world?
John felt he needed to calm down.
Even at the pinnacle of the magical world, he could not help but feel anxious about a future filled with ever more non-human beings.
If memory served him right, there were even some who claimed to be gods here.
John felt numb.
He had already struggled enough with a god of death in the wizarding world, and now there were even more gods to contend with.
At some point in the future, a purple-skinned Potato alien would appear, perform some sort of cosmic charity, and then, with a snap of his fingers, wipe out half the universe's population.
Considering his own lifespan, which rivaled the ancient creatures beneath the Black Lake,
John felt more and more like a candle flickering in the wind.
And there was another key issue.
How many years had passed since he arrived in this world?
The memories of those early days were like scattered fragments; he barely remembered much at all.
After all, who would spend their time reliving old memories after starting at Hogwarts at age eleven?
As for why he had not realized all this until now, well, he had been the first to invent a television in the wizarding world.
The only good news was that the past twenty years of development had not been wasted.
His strength was his greatest assurance.
He just wondered whether his magic could withstand the purple-skinned being's infamous snap.
Perhaps Expelliarmus could disarm the Infinity Gauntlet?
Thinking this, he glanced around the empty, silent house.
A year ago, his parents and sister had moved to the United States for work.
Thinking of his family, John stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"I remember my father invested in a weapons supplier called Hammer Industries."
The name sounded oddly familiar.
They seemed to be in the arms business. The Stark family was in arms too. Was Hammer Industries their competitor?
A pile of mail had accumulated at home.
In this era when the Internet was just beginning to spread, many still preferred physical letters over email.
For example, John's uncle's family still had property in Russia.
He pulled a yellowed letter from the mailbox.
Ding-dong.
Just as he was about to open it, the doorbell rang at a house that had not seen any visitors in a year.
John opened the door, puzzled. Who would come here when his family was away?
Setting the envelope aside, he went to answer the door.
He paused as his fingers touched the doorknob.
His keen magical senses told him that someone unusual was outside.
Ordinary people's combat effectiveness was level zero or one. The person outside was at least level three.
As he pondered this, the doorbell kept ringing, accompanied by an anxious, tearful voice.
Is anyone there? Please… open the door.
It was a woman.
Her helpless voice, tinged with a Slavic accent, was like a drenched kitten, soaked in desperation and impossible to ignore.
Suddenly, the night outside erupts.
Headlights slash across the yard. Tires SCREECH to a halt. The harsh bark of a MAN'S VOICE cuts through the air.
"You're running, aren't you?"
A man's voice.
Then, the woman outside cried out.
Smack!
A sharp slap likely landed on her face.
She continued pleading for the homeowner to open the door and save her.
"No, no, I don't want to go back!"
The desperate woman fought wildly, her silhouette thrashing against the man's grip, hands and feet flailing.
A single door separated heaven from hell.
The sleeping Harrier awoke, standing up, drool nearly dripping onto the blanket.
The white owl looked on with disdain.
John knew the commotion was directed at him, but he still opened the door.
It was not out of kindness; he simply did not want the trouble of someone dying outside his home.
The sound of the door opening drew attention.
Two obvious thugs, dressed in suits and ties, were bullying a beautiful red-haired woman.
She had the fair skin typical of Slavic women and wore a business suit, the torn buttons revealing a glimpse of white beneath. She looked utterly pitiable.
"Get out of here, boy, and you'd better close the door,"
The man with a Mexican accent barked at John, pointing menacingly.
Looking at these two brutes, John could see their health bars were already flickering, like candles in the wind.
He met the woman's pleading gaze and could not help but admire her acting skills.
Unfortunately for her, at Hogwarts, there was a magic called Legilimency.
Her superb performance only struck John as discordant.
It was like watching two rabbits dance before a lioness.
Still, he played along.
John put on his best act.
He gestured toward the house across the street and said casually,
"There's a heavyweight boxer living over there. He gets up at four every morning to train.
If you want to keep your teeth and jaw until retirement, you'd better leave now."
His words stunned the two cocky thugs.
As bullies who only dared to threaten women, they were clearly rattled by this threat.
By coincidence, a boxer returning from his morning run happened to pass by.
Compared to him, the two thugs looked like twigs.
Sizing up the situation, the pimp spat out a final threat.
"Remember this!"
Afraid of tasting a professional boxer's fist, they hurriedly jumped into their car and sped away.
The woman thought to herself, The hero saves the beauty; script complete. Now, she needed to contact this man, who might be connected to the attack on Stark.
With this in mind, she turned to John.
"Thank you so much, you saved me," the woman said, repeatedly expressing her gratitude.
She stood up shakily, but a sense of strength radiated from her.
She said, her voice trembling,
"I was kidnapped by them. They're pimps; they wanted to force me into prostitution."
It was a business, after all.
John appeared deeply moved by her story, and the woman's eyes glimmered with cunning.
The next moment, John pulled out his wallet, took out a few green bills, and handed them to her with a sympathetic smile.
"That's truly unfortunate. You should go home quickly."
The woman was left speechless. This development was not what she expected.