Chapter 178: Not Strong Enough
"If you can make God bleed," Natasha said calmly, "people stop believing in Him."
She paused before continuing.
"And once there's blood in the water, the sharks come."
Ethan only half understood.
He turned the words over in his mind several times before finally replying,
"...I'm not God."
"No, you're not," Natasha agreed.
"But you possess abilities that people associate with God."
She met his gaze directly, her voice mercilessly blunt.
"And that makes your situation even worse."
Ethan had no rebuttal.
In the end, it all came down to one thing.
He simply wasn't strong enough.
It was like being so breathtakingly beautiful that you drew everyone's attention, yet lacking the confidence to walk alone at night.
You hadn't done anything wrong.
You simply couldn't bear the cost of becoming a target.
His eyes drifted toward the woman sitting across from him.
She, on the other hand, was clearly the type who could walk wherever she pleased.
After a moment's thought, Ethan asked,
"So... you're planning to pose as my administrative assistant while protecting me?"
"Administrative assistant?"
Natasha's lips curled into a faint smile.
"If that's the title you prefer, I don't mind."
Then her expression returned to business.
"From a security standpoint, you're no longer in a position where complete freedom of movement is appropriate."
Silence settled over the room again.
Several seconds later, Ethan sighed.
"...All right."
He spread his hands helplessly.
"It doesn't look like I'm actually losing anything."
"Exactly."
Natasha smiled.
"Relax."
"I'm not going to eat you."
She deliberately paused.
"At least... not right now."
"...?"
If I didn't know you were over eighty years old—and if I weren't at least somewhat familiar with who you are—I might actually have fallen for that.
"So what about your salary?" Ethan asked, quickly changing the subject.
"My little clinic can't afford a government agent."
"Don't worry."
Her tone remained casual.
"You won't be paying me."
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
"Government-funded?"
"That's right."
She nodded.
"Starting today..."
"I'll coordinate with Helen Wick."
"Everything outside the clinic that isn't directly related to medicine will be my responsibility."
Ethan nodded before adding,
"But I have one condition."
"Or perhaps... one request."
"Go ahead."
"I need your help with something."
He looked straight into her eyes.
"I want you to train me physically."
He continued before she could respond.
"I don't need to reach the level of someone like you."
He chuckled self-deprecatingly.
"But I need enough skill to protect myself."
His voice dropped.
"I never want to be pinned down again while someone does whatever they want with me."
Natasha didn't hesitate.
"Done."
"I'll treat you as a high-value asset requiring priority protection."
She paused.
"And..."
"A person who needs to be forged into a capable fighter."
Ethan nodded.
"Deal."
The word settled between them like the signing of an unspoken contract.
He knew perfectly well that until he was capable of protecting himself...
...his freedom had effectively been placed on hold.
A knock sounded softly at the door.
Their conversation had reached its natural conclusion.
Both of them stood.
Standing outside was John Wick.
His jacket was gone, and the sleeves of his black dress shirt were rolled neatly above his wrists.
He seemed even quieter than usual.
Colder, somehow.
His eyes swept across the room, lingering on Natasha for only a brief moment before settling on Ethan.
"Am I interrupting?"
His voice was low.
"Perfect timing," Ethan replied.
"We just finished."
Natasha asked no questions.
She simply nodded politely to John.
"I'll go over the remaining details with Helen."
Before leaving, she glanced at Ethan.
"As for your training..."
"I'll make the arrangements."
The door closed.
Only the two of them remained.
The atmosphere immediately grew heavier.
John didn't sit down.
He stood silently for several moments before finally speaking.
"This was my fault."
Ethan blinked.
"You don't have to—"
"I failed to protect you."
John interrupted him.
There was an almost stubborn sense of self-blame in his voice.
Ethan couldn't help sighing.
"John."
His tone softened.
"You're an assassin."
"Not a security specialist."
"And certainly not a bodyguard who's supposed to follow me twenty-four hours a day."
"This isn't your field."
Looking back, Ethan felt slightly ridiculous.
He'd expected Baba Yaga himself to serve as personal security.
Against ordinary threats, that might have worked.
Against enemies on John's own level?
That expectation had been unrealistic.
Besides...
Defense was always a battle of attrition.
Given enough time, someone would inevitably find a weakness.
John remained silent.
His jaw was set tightly.
Clearly, he still wasn't convinced.
Ethan decided to try a different approach.
"Even if you insisted on following me everywhere..."
"I wouldn't want that."
He forced a lighter tone.
"Now I've got a beautiful government agent protecting me."
"She's gorgeous."
"And she's got an incredible figure."
"Who knows?"
"A few months from now she might even be my girlfriend."
"At least then I won't have to watch you and Helen show off your relationship every day."
John finally looked up.
"She works for the government."
"She does."
Ethan nodded.
"And her objective is perfectly clear."
"Protect valuable assets."
He pointed at himself.
"Right now..."
"I'm the valuable asset."
This time, John didn't argue.
Silence returned.
After several seconds, Ethan spoke again.
"Oh, right."
"I need another favor."
John looked at him.
"What is it?"
Ethan carefully chose his words.
"I've already asked Natasha to train my body."
He paused.
"Now I need to train... everything else."
John's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
"You mean..."
"The abilities beyond healing?"
"Exactly."
Ethan leaned back in his chair.
His gaze dropped before slowly lifting again.
"Today taught me something."
"If a person isn't strong enough..."
"...they have no right to spread kindness."
That was the greatest lesson he had learned.
A compassionate person without the strength to back it up couldn't truly save anyone.
You reached out to help...
...only to discover you couldn't even keep yourself standing.
That kind of kindness couldn't save others.
It simply became another tool for people to exploit, manipulate, and consume you.
True kindness had to be built upon security.
Only after you possessed the ability to refuse...
...to fight back...
...to resist coercion...
...and still chose restraint and compassion—
Only then did kindness have real weight.
That wasn't weakness.
It was mercy exercised from a position of strength.
First establish a place where you cannot easily be destroyed.
Possess boundaries.
Possess power.
Possess the freedom to choose.
Only then does every act of kindness become a gift freely given...
...instead of a plea for understanding.
Only then does kindness carry real weight.
Only then can the world no longer crush it beneath its heel.
"I used to think I had countless trump cards," Ethan said quietly.
"But when I was truly staring danger in the face..."
He paused.
"I realized..."
"The only thing I could truly rely on..."
"...was myself."
John listened without interrupting.
"You know I can heal people."
"You even know I can bring the dead back."
Ethan continued.
"But what you don't know..."
"...is that I can destroy just as easily."
The room seemed to grow heavier.
"Until now..."
"I deliberately avoided that side of myself."
"Not because I couldn't use it."
"But because I didn't want to."
He looked John directly in the eyes.
"That can't continue."
"I have to master it."
Silence lingered.
"But I don't want Natasha to know."
John's gaze immediately sharpened.
"You think she's a threat?"
"No."
Ethan shook his head.
"I just can't trust her completely."
"She has her own loyalties."
"She might accept me having the ability to defend myself."
"But if she learns I possess the power to level cities..."
"I don't know which side she'd choose."
His voice was calm.
"Some cards stop being trump cards the moment someone sees them."
Only their breathing disturbed the silence.
After a long while, John finally asked,
"And you believe I can be trusted?"
Ethan met his eyes.
"I do."
"If I can't trust you..."
"...then I'd consider myself a complete failure."
He managed the faintest smile.
"I used to fear betrayal."
"So I never trusted anyone."
"But if you never trust people..."
"...you'll never find anyone worthy of trusting."
John held his gaze.
Then he nodded.
His voice was low, unwavering.
"If you need me..."
"For anything..."
"I'll help."
Relief finally appeared on Ethan's face.
"That's enough."
He spoke sincerely.
"I'm counting on you."
John nodded once.
"We start tomorrow."
After John left, Ethan remained seated alone.
His body was exhausted.
His mind had never been clearer.
Holy Priest.
Believe in the Holy Light...
...and the Holy Light answers.
If I keep casting Renew on myself while John unloads an entire magazine into me...
...and I still don't die...
Wouldn't that make me practically invincible?
Discipline.
Anchor yourself in the Holy Light.
Accept the Shadow.
Bring both into balance.
If John can't break my shield even after firing at it for half an hour...
...couldn't I keep refreshing it forever and eventually wear down my enemies with nothing more than a slingshot?
Shadow Priest.
Embrace the Void.
Listen to the whispers.
If Mind Control works on John...
...there probably aren't many people left who could resist it.
If he had mastered even one of those paths...
He never would have been pushed into today's predicament.
But now...
Merely surviving was no longer enough.
He wanted all of it.
Power.
Protection.
And the freedom to save others.
---
Over the following weeks, residents along Seventh Avenue in Brooklyn gradually noticed the neighborhood becoming unusually busy.
Roads were dug up.
Utility lines underwent maintenance.
Building exteriors were renovated.
The half-abandoned structure next door suddenly entered full-scale reconstruction.
Every morning, construction vehicles arrived precisely on schedule.
Every evening, the worksite barriers were neatly sealed.
The noise wasn't insignificant.
But it never crossed the line into becoming a true nuisance.
The schedule seemed almost scientifically calculated to stay just within the limits of public tolerance.
Naturally, a few people filed complaints.
None of them went anywhere.
Every project came with a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Aging municipal infrastructure.
Public safety upgrades.
Old district redevelopment.
Official notices appeared on community bulletin boards, complete with project numbers, government seals, and contact information for city officials.
No one found it suspicious.
This was New York.
Construction happened somewhere every single day.
There was always a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Standing by the second-floor window of the clinic, Ethan watched workers and construction vehicles moving below.
He knew exactly what was really happening.
This wasn't renovation.
It was deployment.
The workers looked ordinary enough.
Matching reflective safety vests.
Efficient movements.
But they behaved less like construction crews...
...and more like people quietly establishing positions.
New surveillance cameras were installed almost casually.
Their models were inconspicuous.
Even the housings had been intentionally weathered to look old.
Yet every camera was mounted with uncanny precision.
Even the convenience store across the street had quietly become part of the network.
The bus stop across the intersection.
The edge of an old roadside billboard.
Their fields of view now overlapped, eliminating blind spots.
Even the flow of traffic in and out of the area had been quietly redesigned.
The sidewalks had been narrowed ever so slightly.
Parking spaces had been repainted.
Several intersections that had been marked as "temporarily closed" somehow became permanent closures.
On the surface, it all looked like routine traffic optimization.
In reality, every possible approach to the clinic had been funneled into just a handful of controlled access points.
The clinic itself hadn't escaped the changes either.
Natasha never called it a "security upgrade."
Instead, she offered suggestions in an almost casual tone.
"Maybe we should move the medicine cabinet."
"The front door hinges are getting old. We might as well replace them."
"This storage room would make a good place for emergency supplies."
She never pushed.
She never overexplained.
Yet every adjustment landed precisely on the line between reasonable and necessary.
After the medicine cabinet was relocated, the reception desk gained a much wider field of view.
Once the rear entrance was reinforced, anyone entering from outside had to take three extra steps.
The rooms that had once been cluttered with miscellaneous supplies were emptied, reinforced, and relabeled.
They were no longer simple storage rooms.
They had become buffer zones.
Transition areas.
Places that could be used, if necessary, to isolate intruders, delay an assault, or facilitate an evacuation.
Everything happened naturally.
Everything became safer.
Everything made perfect sense.
Ethan couldn't help thinking that, counting this one, the clinic had now undergone three separate security upgrades.
Should I tell them that since the very first upgrade... not a single one has ever actually been needed?
By the time Ethan returned to his apartment, it was already late.
Natasha escorted him to the entrance, gave him a simple nod, and left without lingering.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Instantly, the world fell silent.
The living room lights were off.
Only the neon glow filtering through the windows painted hazy streaks of color across the floor.
He sat down in front of the sofa, leaned against it, and slowly slid to the floor.
He was utterly exhausted.
The physical fatigue was still manageable.
What truly weighed him down was the mental strain—and the growing unease over what his future "freedom" would look like.
Then a thought suddenly occurred to him.
Natasha had only escorted him to the apartment door before leaving.
She hadn't checked the interior.
She hadn't given him any further instructions.
Did that mean she was already certain...
...that once he stepped inside, he was completely safe?
Ethan instinctively looked up and slowly scanned the living room.
Everything appeared perfectly ordinary.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
If there really are surveillance cameras in here...
Then I suppose I should say hello.
He stood, walked into the bedroom, and quietly closed the door.
The moment he collapsed onto the bed, the tension that had gripped him all day finally disappeared.
His eyelids fell shut.
His consciousness sank almost instantly into sleep.
That night...
He was so exhausted he didn't even have time to dream.
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