The device on the table still gleamed, casting faint blue light across the polished wood. Natasha's gaze lingered on it, curiosity burning behind her controlled expression. Every fiber of her training screamed caution, yet… she couldn't deny the pull. The unknown always had a way of finding her — this time, wrapped in the form of Akira Urameshi.
"You're enjoying this," Natasha remarked, voice sharp but laced with intrigue.
Akira chuckled, his eyes warm yet unreadable. "I enjoy watching brilliant minds unravel old limits." He stepped closer, not imposing, but enough to make her pulse stir. "And yours, Natasha, has been shackled by the lies of organizations like SHIELD for far too long."
Her jaw tightened. "Careful with your words."
"I choose them very carefully," Akira replied, his voice lower now — not a threat, but a truth laid bare. "They taught you half-truths. Controlled your environment. But deep down, you know there's more to this world than files, guns, and shadows."
For a brief second, silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of unspoken realizations. Natasha wasn't naïve. She had seen gods fall from the sky, technology decades ahead surface overnight — but Akira… he was different. His confidence wasn't arrogance; it was certainty, carved from centuries of existence.
"What are you exactly?" she finally asked, her tone steadier than she felt.
Akira smiled, a softness beneath the enigma. "Let's say... I'm an old friend of the timeline." His gaze flicked to her left wrist — the faint scar hidden beneath her bracelet. "I've seen your past. I respect your survival." His eyes met hers, unwavering. "But I also see your future. And trust me… it's more than red in your ledger."
Natasha's heart skipped, the old wounds — the ones hidden beneath layers of assignments and espionage — subtly exposed by his words.
"And what… do you intend to do with that knowledge?" she asked, guarded but intrigued.
Akira tilted his head, playful yet sincere. "That depends on you. I don't rewrite lives — I offer perspective." He leaned casually against the table, folding his arms. "But I will admit… I didn't expect to find someone so compelling in the middle of this chaos."
Her eyes narrowed, reading between the lines. "Flattery doesn't work on me."
"I wasn't trying to flatter you," Akira replied, voice sincere. "I was stating a fact."
Before Natasha could respond, his expression shifted — distant, as if hearing something beyond mortal senses. She recognized the look — communication without words.
Father, Akira's mind whispered with quiet humor. She's sharp. Careful. But the cracks are forming.
God's voice answered, layered with infinite patience and subtle amusement. Good. But don't push too hard, son. Let her untangle her doubts herself. The Widow doesn't trust easily — you know that.
I've waited centuries for harder puzzles, Akira replied softly, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Back in the moment, Natasha's gaze pierced his, sensing that otherworldly conversation but unable to grasp it fully. It unsettled her — and yet… fascinated her.
"You space out often when you're telling people they've been lied to?" she asked dryly, arms still crossed.
Akira's chuckle was low, rich. "Only when I'm multitasking between realities." His expression softened, the teasing replaced with quiet sincerity. "And only with people worth the truth."
Her instincts recoiled — manipulation? But there was no malice. Only… something older. Wiser.
"You're dangerous," Natasha concluded.
Akira smiled. "So are you. That's why this works."
For a moment, they stood — two worlds colliding in silence, the lines between spy and immortal blurring.
Deep down, Natasha's carefully constructed reality began to fracture. And for the first time in years, she wasn't sure if she wanted to stop it.