Marvel: You Call This A Sorcerer?

Humans, by nature, are all double-standard creatures.

There are things I can do, but you can't.

Ronan wasn't a saint. He was just an ordinary high school student.

Well, perhaps just a little more handsome than most.

"It seems like you're in a good mood," said a voice behind Ronan as he returned to the Avengers' base. It was Black Widow. "Did you get the answers you were looking for?"

"Not too bad," Ronan replied with a cheerful grin, spinning halfway around to sit on a nearby couch. "At least I'm feeling a lot better than when I got here."

These Avengers should be thankful for that hooded man. Otherwise, I wouldn't have known where to vent all this frustration, he thought to himself.

"Here's your coffee," Black Widow said, placing a cup on the table. "The Captain left it here when you didn't come back."

Hmm… Ronan raised an eyebrow, noticing the way the light seemed to catch on her as she sat across from him.

It seemed like Black Widow had something on her mind, something personal, maybe?

"Thanks," Ronan acknowledged, taking a sip of the coffee and giving her a brief nod. "If there's nothing else, I'll just wander around. After all, this is the future. Who knows, maybe it'll help me with my homework."

Ronan raised his cup to her as a sign of gratitude. He had no intention of getting involved with her or anyone else in this world.

Despite Black Widow's survival, the overall storyline hadn't changed much.

If the story followed its natural course, both founding Avengers would leave after this battle—one would die, and the other would grow old.

Ronan had the ability to intervene, but he didn't want to.

Just like how he hadn't wanted to come here in the first place.

Whatever happened here didn't really matter to him. It wasn't that he couldn't act; it was that he didn't want to.

To him, these people were strangers. There was no difference between friends and strangers in this case.

"Wait," Black Widow called out just as Ronan began to rise from his seat.

Ronan paused, half-standing, and looked at her with curiosity. He wasn't sure what she wanted.

"There are some things I want to ask you," Black Widow said, her eyes searching his face, her tone almost pleading.

Ronan opened his mouth, ready to refuse, but then sighed, lowering himself back onto the couch.

"Alright, as long as it's something I can answer," he said, even though he already had a good idea of what she was going to ask.

"Earlier, you said I should've died on Vormir. Are you like Strange, someone who can see the future? Was my fate really to die there?" Black Widow asked, her voice laced with concern.

Ah, as expected, Ronan thought with a sigh. He had known that his earlier comment would stick in her mind.

"That's correct," he nodded. "In the original future, your fate was to die on Vormir."

He didn't hide anything from her. There was no point; the timeline had already changed.

"What about now?" she pressed. "Why didn't I die on Vormir?"

Her focus wasn't on the fact that she hadn't died, but rather on why she hadn't. That surprised Ronan a little.

"I can't answer that," Ronan shrugged. "I don't know why either."

It was the truth. He had no idea what the hooded man's true purpose was. His vague mention of the "Time Variance Authority" and some connection to future events left Ronan as puzzled as she was.

"Will it have any impact on the future?" she asked after a deep breath. "Or on what we're trying to do?"

Ronan could see a mix of emotions flicker across her face—happiness, anxiety, surprise, and apprehension, all at once.

"I'm sorry, but I can't tell you anything about the future," Ronan replied. "As for the impact…" He hesitated, then continued, "Natasha, may I call you that?"

She nodded slightly, and Ronan continued, "Have you ever heard of Schrödinger's cat?"

Ronan referenced a scientific theory that was relatively easy to understand.

Black Widow, though not highly educated, had lived long enough to be familiar with such ideas. The concept of Schrödinger's cat wasn't entirely foreign to her.

"In 1957, a man named Hugh Everett proposed an interesting theory," Ronan explained. "When we open the box, the entire world splits into two versions. In one, the atom decays, and the cat dies. In the other, the atom doesn't decay, and the cat lives. These two worlds evolve independently, like parallel lines."

"This is the famous Many-Worlds Interpretation," Ronan said. "In our profession, we call it the multiverse."

Ronan took another sip of coffee, his throat dry from all the talking. He noticed Black Widow's confused expression and sighed.

While she could grasp the words themselves, the deeper meaning eluded her.

"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head.

She still couldn't reconcile her experience with Ronan's explanation—why he said she should have died but didn't.

"Ah…" Ronan sighed.

He knew the explanation was hard to grasp. It was the best he could offer, though, as a high schooler dragged into all of this.

"Natasha, what he means is simple: you are the cat in the box," said a familiar voice.

"What happened on Vormir represents whether the atom decays," Tony Stark chimed in from behind them.

"And he…" Stark gestured to Ronan, "is the person outside the box?"

Tony Stark was standing at the entrance, watching them quietly.

Ronan smiled and shook his head.

"No, I'm not that powerful," he said. "I'm just…"

But as Ronan spoke, his words trailed off, and the smile on his face faded. For some reason, the image of the Ancient One flashed before his eyes—her knowing smile before she sent him on his way.

"What?" Black Widow asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Nothing," Ronan replied. "What I was trying to say is…"

"I'm also the cat in the box."