"If you feel nauseous, hold it in. Otherwise, you'll be cleaning for a long time."
Seeing Strange sway on his feet, one hand pressed to his stomach like he was about to collapse, Noah spoke without hesitation.
Honestly, if this guy actually threw up in his office, Noah would absolutely make him scrub the floors for life.
When traveling between universes, Noah had been thoroughly disgusted by those two bastards, Thor and Loki.
So the moment he saw Strange's reflexive gesture, his mind immediately jumped to those two scoundrels.
It had to be said.
They were truly annoying.
"Uh... I don't think I will..." Strange froze for a moment at the remark.
The sudden environmental shift had made him dizzy, but it wasn't anywhere near bad enough to make him vomit.
Of course, Strange wasn't about to explain that.
He was no longer some high-and-mighty doctor. Even if he were still the world's top neurosurgeon, it meant nothing here.
Sorcerers didn't talk about science.
They talked about mystical things.
"Good then." Noah tilted his head and looked him over.
Strange's current state was, frankly, miserable.
There was a heavy air of darkness around him. Despair, mixed with a thin strand of hope that hadn't yet snapped.
He was completely different from the Strange Noah had once met in another universe.
That version had been composed. Energetic.
This one looked like someone barely holding himself together.
As Noah observed him, Strange finally raised his head.
To be honest, the moment he saw Noah, an indescribable feeling surged up in his chest.
Despite having witnessed the Battle of New York, Strange still subconsciously imagined powerful sorcerers as Gandalf-types.
White beard.
Tall wizard hat.
Long robes.
The kind of figure that radiated reliability and overwhelming power.
That image also happened to match the headmaster from a movie he'd recently watched.
Simply put, they looked dependable.
This young man in front of him-handsome and undeniably charismatic-didn't give off that same reassuring feeling.
And yet, for some reason, he felt familiar.
Strange was certain he had seen him somewhere before.
He just couldn't remember where.
"Tell me," Noah said calmly, tilting his head, "what's your purpose for coming here?"
Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "By the way, what would you like to drink? Tea? Coffee? Alcohol?"
"Uh... nothing, thank you." Strange declined.
After hesitating briefly, he spoke again, his voice low. "Esteemed Sorcerer, I'm here because of my hands..."
"Oh. That problem." Noah spread his hands.
He clearly knew the answer already, but still asked, "But you're a doctor. Why come to a sorcerer?"
"Because..." Strange gave a bitter smile.
"My hands can't be fixed by ordinary science."
Tony and Noah exchanged a glance.
Then they both shrugged, indifferent.
What Strange said wasn't entirely accurate.
He hadn't tried asking Tony for help.
And if he had, Tony might actually have been able to fix his hands.
Of course, Tony had zero interest in doing so.
He'd heard of Strange's reputation, but their worlds barely overlapped.
If nothing unexpected happened, Tony would probably never need this man's help in his entire life.
On top of that, Tony was fully focused on returning to the past.
He wasn't about to waste time and energy helping some strange stranger.
More importantly, Tony assumed Noah wouldn't help either.
Sorcerers weren't exactly known for being charitable.
But to Tony's surprise, Noah-who hadn't immediately kicked Strange out-actually nodded.
That alone was unexpected.
What followed left Tony genuinely stunned.
"Your hands are indeed troublesome for science," Noah said calmly.
"But magic can resolve it easily."
"And I can fix them myself."
"Re... really?" Strange shot to his feet.
In that instant, he nearly lost control of himself.
"Of course." Noah nodded, then looked at him with mild confusion.
"But why should I help you?"
"As expected." Tony let out a quiet breath.
"This is the sorcerer I know."
Noah's words were like a bucket of ice water.
Strange cooled instantly.
The excitement vanished, replaced by a deeper disappointment.
Yes.
Why should a sorcerer help him?
That flicker of hope had clouded his judgment.
They were complete strangers.
Beings from entirely different worlds, with no reason to intersect.
And yet...
Strange didn't want to give up.
He remembered Jonathan.
Why had Jonathan been helped?
Why not him?
Did he pay a price?
The thought surfaced naturally.
Strange looked up at Noah again, ideas rapidly forming.
For him, losing his hands meant losing everything.
If there was a price to pay, he was willing.
Any price.
Taking a deep breath, Strange straightened.
His expression turned solemn.
"Jonathan Pangborn was healed by you," he said. "What did he pay?"
"Believe me. I'm willing to pay that. And more."
"Jonathan?" Noah tilted his head.
"Oh. You mean Mordo's student."
He spoke casually.
"He was lucky. Mordo happened to be taking in apprentices, so he brought him to Kamar-Taj and trained him as a sorcerer."
"So... Jonathan became a sorcerer just like that?" Strange asked.
"He didn't pay anything?"
"Otherwise?" Noah looked genuinely baffled.
"Come on. We're not pointy-eared, red-skinned creatures holding pitchforks and forcing people to sign contracts."
"What do you think you have that we'd want?"
"Nothing at all. Okay?"
Why was this man confusing sorcerers with legendary demons?
Even demons rarely played that game anymore.
Unless the target was extremely valuable.
Who would bother otherwise?
...Though, to be fair, Strange was quite valuable.
Even having just met him, Noah could clearly sense it.
Terrifying potential.
If this man calmed down, truly accepted magic, and studied properly, he could become an excellent sorcerer in just a few years.
Not someone on the level of his original counterpart.
Not even close.
But still excellent.
By any standard.
The question wasn't whether to keep him.
It was how to shape him.
And how to make him obedient.
"So..." While Noah was thinking, Strange also reflected for a long time.
Then he spoke.
"Can I stay?"
"You want to stay?" Noah tilted his head.
"There's something you need to understand."
"Once you stay, you won't be a doctor anymore."
"You'll be a sorcerer."
He didn't soften his words.
Strange's inclusion would significantly strengthen the magical world.
But Noah had no interest in someone who constantly dreamed of returning to his old life.
Acceptance came first.
Responsibility came next.
Only by truly becoming a sorcerer would Strange meet Noah's expectations.
If he could do that, Noah wouldn't even mind letting him return to medicine someday.
There was a clear priority here.
Primary.
Secondary.
Strange needed to understand which was which.
If the Ancient One of this universe were anything like the one Noah knew, she would make the same decision.
Especially if Strange couldn't become the Sorcerer Supreme.
Noah had no intention of easing him in slowly.
He wanted clarity.
Immediate and absolute.
Tony found the scene fascinating.
It was the first time he'd seen Noah take in an apprentice like this.
Most of Noah's apprentices were people he already knew.
In Tony's eyes, ninety-nine percent of them were connections.
This unlucky doctor?
A complete outsider.
Strange stared at his hands.
Then at Noah.
Then at Tony.
His heart twisted with conflict.
Completely becoming a sorcerer challenged everything he believed in.
His worldview.
His values.
But if he didn't-
If he didn't go all in-
His hands would never heal.
And without his hands, returning to his old life meant nothing but endless despair.
He hesitated.
Would becoming a sorcerer mean cutting ties with everything else?
Then his gaze drifted to Tony.
And Jonathan Pangborn.
Strange clenched his teeth.
This was his only hope.
"I've decided," he said.
"I'm willing to stay. No matter what."
"Very good," Noah replied calmly.
"Then shall we sign a contract?"
"...Didn't you say contracts weren't necessary?"
"Yes," Noah said.
"But I require you to sign this one."
"Here."
"If you're unwilling, you're free to leave."
"I'd like to see who dares take you in after you walk out that door.
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