Most powerful Hunter in Marvel Universe - Chapter 10

# Chapter 10: Training Begins

Veer returned to his beach house well after sunset, the day’s events still spinning in his mind like a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved. The agreement with Natasha felt both like a victory and a trap—he’d gained a teacher who could fill the gaps in his skillset, but he’d also invited a SHIELD agent into his daily life with explicit permission to observe and report everything.

The calculation had seemed sound in the moment. Now, walking up to his front door in the darkness, he was having second thoughts.

Those second thoughts intensified when he found the door unlocked.

Not broken. Not forced. Just… unlocked. As if locks were suggestions rather than security measures. Which, for someone of Natasha Romanoff’s skills, they probably were.

Veer pushed the door open slowly, his senses on high alert. No immediate threats registered. No sounds of movement. Just the quiet emptiness of a house that should have been secure but very clearly wasn’t.

He moved through the living room, checking corners and sight lines the way instinct—or maybe Zeno’s inherited paranoia—demanded. Nothing. The kitchen was empty. The bathroom clear.

Which left the bedrooms.

His room was untouched, exactly as he’d left it. The spare bedroom, however, now contained luggage. Expensive luggage, the kind that suggested someone who traveled frequently and could afford quality. A duffel bag sat on the bed, partially unpacked, revealing clothes that were practical yet stylish. On the nightstand, a laptop and what looked like encrypted communication equipment.

Natasha had moved in. Completely. Without asking permission beyond their general arrangement.

Veer stood in the doorway, debating whether to be annoyed or impressed. The locks on his doors weren’t particularly sophisticated—standard residential security, adequate for keeping out casual intruders but hardly a challenge for a trained operative. He’d been planning to upgrade them eventually. Now that seemed pointless.

“Professional spy picks professional spy’s locks,” he muttered to himself. “Shocking development.”

He returned to his own room, too tired to deal with the implications tonight. Tomorrow would bring enough complications. Tonight, he just wanted sleep.

The bed was comfortable, the sound of waves outside soothing, and despite having a SHIELD agent sleeping one room over, Veer found himself drifting off within minutes. His Ten remained active even in sleep now—level three’s passive benefit—providing a baseline of protection that made actual rest feel safer.

He dreamed of nothing in particular, which was a blessing. The nightmares about three hundred and fifty-one dead terrorists had finally started to fade.

—

Morning came too early and too aggressively.

“Up. Now. Training starts in five minutes.”

Veer opened his eyes to find Natasha standing in his doorway, already dressed in athletic wear that somehow managed to be both functional and flattering. Her hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she looked far too alert for whatever ungodly hour this was.

“What time is it?” Veer groaned, his voice rough with sleep.

“Six AM. That’s late by operational standards. Be grateful I’m letting you sleep in.” She tapped her watch. “Four minutes now. If you’re not outside and ready to train, I’m dragging you out there myself.”

“You could try,” Veer muttered, but he was already rolling out of bed. The threat was probably empty—he outweighed her advantage in physical strength by a significant margin—but the principle of punctuality seemed important to establish.

He stumbled to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, and threw on workout clothes. Three minutes. Not bad for someone who’d been dead asleep moments before.

Natasha was already outside when he emerged, performing stretching exercises with the kind of practiced efficiency that spoke to years of morning routines. Her movements were fluid, controlled, each stretch held for exactly the right duration before transitioning to the next.

Veer watched for a moment, noting the flexibility and muscle control. Natasha wasn’t bulky—assassins and spies rarely were—but every movement suggested strength held in reserve, potential energy waiting to be deployed.

“Are you going to stand there analyzing my workout, or are you going to do your own?” Natasha asked without looking at him.

“Can’t I do both?”

“Multitasking is good. Staring is creepy. Pick one.”

Fair point. Veer moved to his own section of the small yard and began his morning routine. Ko practice first—the advanced technique that leveled multiple skills simultaneously.

He activated his aura, feeling the familiar warmth of Ten spreading across his body. Then, deliberately, systematically, he began the process of condensation. Ten to contain. Zetsu to shut off flow everywhere else. Ren to increase the total amount. Gyo to focus everything on a single point. Hatsu to add the finishing element.

His right fist became the focal point. All thirty-seven thousand units of aura concentrated into that one location, compressed and intensified until his hand felt like it contained a small sun.

He punched forward.

The air exploded.

That was the only way to describe it. The force of his aura-enhanced strike created a shockwave that blasted outward in a cone, kicking up sand and debris, making the nearby palm trees sway. An invisible bomb detonating in the space where his fist passed through air.

Veer grinned. It wasn’t perfect—a true master could make the technique five times more powerful—but it was progress. Measurable, visible progress.

He reset, concentrated again, and threw another punch. Another explosion of displaced air. Another crater of disturbed sand marking where the force had impacted.

[Ko practice: 2.3% proficiency]

[Aura consumed: 100 units per strike]

[Remaining capacity: 36,700 units]

He could do this all day. Well, all morning at least. Three hundred and sixty-seven strikes before his aura reserves depleted completely. Plenty of training potential.

What Veer didn’t notice—what he couldn’t notice while focused on his technique—was Natasha’s reaction.

She’d stopped stretching. Her eyes were fixed on him with an intensity that had nothing to do with casual observation and everything to do with seeing something that shouldn’t be possible.

There was something around him. The same shimmer Tony Stark had described in his debriefing, the same energy field that SHIELD’s technical analysis had dismissed as hallucination or sensor malfunction. But Natasha could see it.

A glow. Faint but unmistakable. It wrapped around Veer’s entire body when he wasn’t punching, then compressed down to his hand when he struck. The concentration was visible—a brightening, an intensification, like watching fog condense into water.

And when he punched, the air itself reacted. Distorted. Displaced by something more than just physical force.

Natasha pulled out her phone, trying to look casual, and activated the camera. She filmed Veer’s next three punches, capturing the visible shockwaves and the disturbed sand.

Then she reviewed the footage.

The shockwaves were there. The sand displacement was visible. But the glow? The energy field that she could see with her naked eyes? Completely absent from the recording. The camera saw a man punching air and somehow creating force. It didn’t see the mechanism behind that force.

Which meant this wasn’t a technological phenomenon. Wasn’t something that could be captured by conventional sensors or cameras. It was something else. Something that required human perception—or specifically talented human perception—to witness.

Tony Stark could see it. She could see it. But machines couldn’t.

That had implications for surveillance and documentation that Natasha’s mind was already working through. If SHIELD couldn’t record these abilities in action, how would they analyze them? How would they replicate them?

The answer was: they wouldn’t. Not without someone who could actually perceive aura teaching them. Which circled back to Singh’s absolute refusal to teach anyone these techniques.

Natasha filed that information away for her evening report and returned to her stretches, pretending she hadn’t just had her worldview expanded by watching a man punch air hard enough to create explosions.

Veer continued his Ko practice, lost in the rhythm of concentration and release. Each strike consumed aura. Each strike improved his technique by tiny fractions. The system tracked it all with mechanical precision.

[Ko practice: 2.8% proficiency]

[Ren skill experience gained]

On his forty-seventh strike, a new notification appeared.

[Skill Level Up: Ren Lv1 → Lv2]

[Aura output increased by 15%]

[New technique combinations unlocked]

Veer actually laughed out loud, bright and genuine. Ren level two. Finally. After weeks of grinding practice, watching the percentage tick upward with agonizing slowness, it had finally broken through to the next level.

The improvement was immediate and noticeable. His aura felt thicker, more substantial. The Ko strikes came easier, the concentration more natural. Fifteen percent increase in raw output might not sound like much, but in practical terms it meant his punches would hit harder, his defenses would hold stronger, and his overall capabilities had jumped significantly.

“Good news?” Natasha called over, her tone carefully neutral.

“Just progress,” Veer said, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice. “The grind pays off eventually.”

“The grind?”

“Repetitive training. Doing the same thing over and over until your body and mind internalize it.” He reset his stance. “It’s boring but effective.”

“I’m familiar with the concept.” Natasha finished her stretches and stood, wiping sweat from her forehead despite the cool morning air. “Alright, your turn. Time for your training.”

Veer released his Ko, allowing his aura to settle back into normal Ten configuration. The sudden absence of concentrated power felt like removing a weighted vest. “What’s first?”

“Stealth.” Natasha moved closer, her body language shifting into instructor mode. “You mentioned you’re terrible at subterfuge. We’re going to fix that, starting with the foundation of all intelligence work: not being noticed.”

“I have a technique for that,” Veer said. “Zetsu. It suppresses aura and makes people’s perception kind of… slide off you.”

“Show me.”

Veer activated Zetsu. The familiar sensation of closing his aura nodes, shutting off the flow of life energy, making himself into a void where a person should be. His Ten vanished. The protective shroud disappeared. What remained was just his physical body, unremarkable and easy to overlook.

Natasha’s reaction was subtle but telling. Her eyes widened fractionally. Her posture shifted, becoming more alert, like a predator that had lost track of prey. She was looking directly at him, clearly knew where he was standing, but her body language suggested confusion about whether he was actually there.

“That’s…” She paused, visibly collecting herself. “That’s effective. But it’s not the same as stealth.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Your technique makes you easy to overlook. Actual stealth makes you impossible to detect even when someone’s actively looking.” She gestured for him to deactivate Zetsu. “Can you maintain that constantly?”

“At level two? For about an hour before it becomes mentally exhausting. Level three would probably let me hold it indefinitely, but that’s still a ways off.”

“Then you need backup skills. Techniques that work when your ability isn’t active.” Natasha moved behind him, adjusting his posture with professional efficiency. “Start with your stance. You walk like someone confident in their strength. That’s fine for intimidation, terrible for stealth.”

She demonstrated, her own footsteps somehow becoming nearly silent despite walking on the same sand and gravel combination that crunched under Veer’s feet. “Weight distribution. Rolling from heel to toe instead of the normal toe-heel pattern most people use. Shorter steps. Lower center of gravity.”

Veer tried to mimic her movements. His feet made significantly more noise.

“Again,” Natasha instructed. “Feel the ground before you commit weight. Adjust for texture and stability.”

He tried again. Still too loud, but marginally better.

[Silent Gait skill experience gained]

[Current proficiency: Lv2 (47%)]

Oh. Oh, that was interesting. His Silent Gait skill—which he’d been grinding through repetitive practice with limited success—was gaining experience from Natasha’s instruction. And gaining it fast. One attempt with proper feedback had jumped his proficiency by nearly a full percentage point.

“Better,” Natasha said, though her tone suggested ‘better’ was relative. “Again. Slower this time. Precision over speed.”

Veer followed her instructions, consciously thinking about each element. Weight distribution. Rolling motion. Shorter steps. Adjusting for terrain. Things he’d been doing instinctively wrong for weeks now being corrected by someone who actually knew what she was doing.

[Silent Gait skill experience gained]

[Current proficiency: Lv2 (48%)]

This was incredible. Weeks of self-taught practice had barely moved the needle. One hour with an expert instructor was advancing his skills at five times the normal rate. Maybe more.

“You’re picking this up quickly,” Natasha observed, and there was genuine surprise in her voice. “Most people need days to start showing improvement in footwork. You’re getting it in minutes.”

“Good teacher,” Veer said, focusing on his next attempt. “And maybe some natural talent.”

“Natural talent doesn’t work this fast.” She circled him, analyzing his movement from multiple angles. “You’re processing feedback and adjusting in real-time. That’s… unusual. Most students need repetition and time for muscle memory to develop. You’re skipping that somehow.”

Because the system was translating instruction into skill experience directly. Because his merger with Zeno Zoldyck’s template gave him a framework for these abilities that normal people didn’t have. Because he was essentially speedrunning skills that should take years to develop.

But Veer couldn’t explain any of that. “Maybe I’m just motivated.”

“Motivation doesn’t change neurological development,” Natasha countered. “But I’m not complaining. Faster progress means more interesting training.” She demonstrated a more complex movement pattern. “Now try this. Silent approach from behind, maintaining cover, adjusting for line of sight…”

They continued for another forty minutes. Each instruction, each correction, each demonstration translated into skill experience. Veer failed often—his body was still learning to override its natural patterns—but the improvement was measurable and consistent.

[Silent Gait skill experience gained]

[Current proficiency: Lv2 (51%)]

[Silent Gait skill experience gained]

[Current proficiency: Lv2 (53%)]

He was so close to level three. Just a few more percentage points. Maybe ten more minutes of training and—

“Alright, that’s enough for this morning,” Natasha announced, checking her watch. “You’re showing diminishing returns. Your body’s tired and you’re starting to make beginner mistakes again.”

“I can keep going,” Veer protested, genuinely disappointed. He was right there, so close to the breakthrough.

“No. One of the first rules of training: stop before you develop bad habits from exhaustion.” Natasha grabbed a towel and tossed it to him. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow. Right now, breakfast. I know a place nearby with excellent local food.”

Veer caught the towel, frustration warring with professionalism. She was right—he could feel the fatigue setting in, the way his movements were becoming sloppier. Pushing through would just burn the wrong patterns into muscle memory.

But still. Level three had been right there.

“Fine,” he said, wiping sweat from his face. “Breakfast. But we’re training again this afternoon, right?”

“Two sessions a day,” Natasha confirmed. “Morning physical skills, afternoon mental skills. Interrogation resistance, cover maintenance, reading people. The fun stuff.”

They cleaned up quickly and headed into town, finding a small restaurant that served traditional Goan breakfast. The food was spicy, rich, and exactly what Veer’s body needed after burning through so much aura and physical effort.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Natasha broke it. “Question.”

“Answer,” Veer responded, sipping his chai.

“Why are you training so hard if you’re retired? The strength training, the techniques, the constant practice. That’s not retirement behavior. That’s preparation.”

Veer considered how much truth to offer. “I like getting stronger. The feeling of improvement, of capabilities increasing. It’s… exciting. Satisfying in a way that nothing else really is.”

“That’s not preparation?”

“No, it’s not.” He met her eyes. “Preparation implies I’m getting ready for something specific. I’m not. I just enjoy the process of becoming more capable. Same reason some people work out even though they never plan to compete, or learn languages they’ll never use professionally. The activity itself is the point.”

Natasha studied his face, clearly looking for deception. “That seems contradictory. You retired because you don’t need money anymore, but you’re spending all your time on activities that would make you better at the work you retired from.”

“Retirement means I don’t have to work,” Veer corrected. “Doesn’t mean I can’t do things I enjoy. And I enjoy this. Training. Improving. Getting stronger. All without the pressure of needing it for survival or profit.” He shrugged. “Freedom to pursue what interests you without external motivation—isn’t that what retirement’s supposed to be?”

There was silence while Natasha processed that. Then, quietly: “Must be nice.”

Something in her tone made Veer look up. There was an expression on her face he hadn’t seen before—not quite envy, not quite sadness, but somewhere in between. The look of someone contemplating a life they’d never have.

“You don’t get to retire,” he guessed. “SHIELD doesn’t let people like you just walk away.”

“No one lets people like me walk away,” Natasha said, her voice carefully neutral. “I know too much. Represent too much liability. The day I try to retire is the day I become a target for both my current employers and my former ones. Red Room doesn’t forgive defection, and SHIELD doesn’t forgive security risks.”

“That’s a depressing way to live.”

“It’s the only way I know how.” She took a bite of her food, and the moment of vulnerability passed. “Besides, I don’t think I’d be good at your kind of life. Aimless training and beach houses? I’d be bored inside a week.”

“Aimless,” Veer repeated. “You think my life is aimless?”

“Isn’t it? No goals beyond ‘get stronger.’ No purpose beyond personal satisfaction. No direction beyond wherever interests you at the moment.” Natasha shrugged. “That’s the definition of aimless.”

“Or it’s the definition of freedom,” Veer countered. “Not having every action dictated by missions or survival or other people’s agendas. Just… existing. Choosing what to do based on what I want to do. How is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not bad. It’s just empty.” She met his eyes. “Humans need purpose. Structure. Something to work toward beyond themselves. Without that, we drift. Become meaningless.”

“That’s your perspective. Shaped by a lifetime of having purpose imposed on you from outside.” Veer finished his chai. “Me? I spent too long being controlled by circumstances and necessity. This—choosing my own direction, setting my own goals, answering to no one—this is the first real freedom I’ve had. And I’m not interested in trading it for someone else’s definition of purpose.”

Natasha looked like she wanted to argue further, but she held back. “To each their own, I suppose.”

“Exactly.” Veer signaled for the check. “You get satisfaction from your missions and structure. I get satisfaction from improving without external pressure. We’re both doing what works for us.”

They paid and left, heading back toward the beach house in comfortable silence. The conversation had revealed more about both of them than either had probably intended, but that was fine. If they were going to be spending significant time together, mutual understanding would make things easier.

Back at the house, Natasha disappeared into her room to file reports. Veer returned to his own space, checked his system status, and smiled at the progress made in a single morning.

[Silent Gait: Lv2 (53%)]

[Ren: Lv2 (8%)]

[Ko: 3.1% proficiency]

Tomorrow would bring more training. More progress. More incremental improvements that would add up to something significant over time.

Four years until 2012. Forty-eight months. Roughly 1,460 days.

Plenty of time to get stronger.

Plenty of time to prepare for whatever came next, even if he refused to call it preparation.

Veer closed his eyes and meditated, feeling his aura circulate through his body, and let himself enjoy the simple satisfaction of a day well spent.

Outside, waves crashed against the shore in endless rhythm, and somewhere in California, Nick Fury reviewed Natasha’s first report with intense interest and growing frustration that some secrets couldn’t be stolen, only earned through patience and observation.

The game continued.

And everyone involved was exactly where they’d chosen to be, for better or worse.