Most powerful Hunter in Marvel Universe - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Dragon’s First Student

Three months.

Ninety-two days since Natasha Romanoff had walked into his life with a mission to observe, to limit, to control. Ninety-two days of morning Ko practice, afternoon surveillance drills, evening philosophical debates that went nowhere and everywhere simultaneously. Ninety-two days of living in the same house as one of the world’s most dangerous women, and somehow—impossibly—it had become almost comfortable.

Not comfortable in the way relationships were supposed to be comfortable. There were no romantic undertones, no sexual tension, no will-they-won’t-they drama. Just two professionals sharing space, exchanging skills, maintaining a careful equilibrium of mutual respect and mutual wariness. They joked. They talked. They teased each other about training mistakes and cooking disasters. Life was really calm for them.

Too calm, maybe. Veer had learned long ago that calmness in the MCU was a temporary condition.

He sat cross-legged on the beach house deck, morning sunlight warming the wood beneath him. His Ten flickered visible around his body—a faint translucent shroud that pulsed with each breath. Three months of grinding had paid off in ways that still surprised him.

The system interface materialized in his vision:

—

[Template: Zeno Zoldyck]

[Synchronization: 64.7%]

Aura: Lv45

Power: 51 (Physical Strength Equivalent: ~25.5 Tons)

Affinity: Emitter

Abilities: Electric Resistance Lv3, Poison Resistance Lv3, Healing Factor Lv1

Skills: Assassin Mode Lv2 (75%), Snake Awaken Lv1 (0%), Silent Gait Lv3 (1%), Rhythm Echo Lv2 (16%), Claw Lv2 (16%)

Nen Techniques: Ten Lv3 (5%), Zetsu Lv3 (2%), Ren Lv3 (2%), Gyo Lv3 (2%), In Lv1 (0%), En Lv1 (0%), Shu Lv1 (0%), Ko Lv3 (1%), Ken Lv2 (54%), Ryu Lv1 (0%)

Hatsu: Dragon Lv1 (0%)

—

His Ren had reached Level 3. Three solid hours of sustained output without significant fatigue. According to his calculations—based on memories that weren’t quite his own—Level 3 meant he’d reached the approximate skill level Gon and Killua had achieved by the end of their story. Competent. Professional. Dangerous.

Peak Zeno Zoldyck was Level 4. A wall he wouldn’t reach for years, maybe decades. The grind never ended.

Veer exhaled slowly, watching his aura compress slightly with the breath. Natasha was inside making breakfast—actual breakfast, not the coffee-and-silence routine they’d started with. Somewhere along the way, they’d developed a domestic rhythm that would have seemed absurd three months ago.

The sound of bare feet on wood made him open his eyes. Natasha emerged onto the deck carrying two mugs of coffee, her red hair caught in a loose ponytail. She wore workout clothes—black leggings and a grey tank top—and moved with the unconscious grace of someone who’d trained their entire life.

“Still meditating?” she asked, handing him one mug.

“Finished ten minutes ago. Just enjoying the view.” He accepted the coffee, noting the perfect temperature. She’d learned how he took it: black, one sugar, hot enough to drink immediately.

Natasha settled onto the deck railing, one leg drawn up, the other dangling. “The synchronization percentage went up again.”

“You’ve been paying attention.”

“It’s my job to pay attention.” She sipped her coffee, green eyes thoughtful. “64.7%. That’s a twelve percent jump in three months. Linear progression would put you at 100% in… what, eight more months?”

“Nine,” Veer corrected. “But it won’t be linear. The higher the synchronization, the harder each percentage becomes. Diminishing returns.” He paused. “Also, I’m not actually trying to hit 100%. That would be bad.”

“Why?”

“Because at 100%, I wouldn’t be me anymore. I’d be Zeno Zoldyck.” He said it matter-of-factly, like discussing weather patterns. “The System is a merger, not a costume. The more I synchronize, the more his instincts, his personality, his worldview becomes mine. 64.7% means I’m still mostly Paramveer Singh. 100% means Paramveer gets deleted and Zeno takes over.”

Natasha’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers tightened slightly on her mug. “That’s horrifying.”

“That’s power.” Veer shrugged. “Everything costs something. I knew the trade when I started using it.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching waves roll onto the beach. This was their pattern now—philosophical grenades disguised as casual conversation, dropped into peaceful moments and left unexploded.

“Want to spar this afternoon?” Natasha asked.

“Always.” Veer grinned. “You going to actually try this time, or keep pulling your punches?”

“I don’t pull punches.”

“You absolutely pull punches. Last session you had three killing strikes you didn’t take.”

Natasha’s smile was sharp. “If I didn’t pull punches, you’d be dead. I’m better than you.”

“At fighting technique, absolutely. At raw stats, I’d snap you like a twig.” Veer finished his coffee. “That’s why these sessions are useful. I learn your skill. You learn how to fight someone stronger.”

“Ever the pragmatist.”

“Coming from you, that’s rich.”

She laughed—a genuine sound that still surprised him when it happened. Three months ago, Natasha Romanoff had been all professional masks and calculated responses. Now, occasionally, the real person underneath showed through.

The afternoon training session was brutal in the way Veer had come to enjoy. Natasha didn’t use Nen—couldn’t use it yet, despite three months of exposure—but she’d picked up Rhythm Echo with terrifying speed. The technique created afterimages through precise footwork and body movement, making her already formidable combat skills even deadlier.

Veer had taught her the basics two months ago, expecting it would take weeks to show results. She’d mastered the first stage in five days.

SHIELD had immediately requested detailed documentation. Natasha had sent them everything—movement patterns, training regimens, the complete technical breakdown. Veer had watched her file the report without comment. Of course she’d share it. She was a spy. That was the job.

What had surprised him was SHIELD’s complete failure to replicate it. According to Natasha’s carefully casual mentions, not a single agent had managed to create even a single afterimage. The technique required a level of body control and spatial awareness that apparently couldn’t be taught through documentation alone.

Some skills needed a teacher. Some skills needed talent.

Natasha had both.

They moved across the beach in a deadly dance—Veer deliberately limiting his strength to human levels, focusing entirely on technique. Natasha flickered through Rhythm Echo, creating three afterimages that moved in synchronized patterns. Veer tracked them with Gyo, seeing through the deception, but even knowing which was real didn’t help when she moved that fast.

Her leg swept his ankle. He shifted weight, caught her wrist, redirected momentum. She flowed around the counter like water, struck at his floating ribs with fingers that would have cracked bone if he didn’t have Ten active. He caught the strike on his forearm, stepped inside her guard—

She’d already moved. Rhythm Echo flickered again, and suddenly there were five Natashas surrounding him.

“Showoff,” Veer muttered, activating Zetsu.

His aura vanished. The perceptual gap hit immediately—that unsettling quality where the human brain struggled to maintain focus on something that should be there but wasn’t. Natasha’s rhythm stuttered, just for an instant.

Veer moved.

They clashed in the center, trading strikes too fast for normal eyes to follow. Veer wasn’t using Nen enhancement, just pure technique, and Natasha was still better. Every exchange proved it. She read his movements like text, countered before he’d fully committed, exploited openings he didn’t know existed.

If she had his strength, she’d kill him in seconds.

But she didn’t. So instead, they danced, and Veer learned.

The spar ended forty minutes later with both of them breathing hard. Veer had a bruised shoulder and split knuckles. Natasha had a developing black eye she’d wear proudly for the next week. They collapsed onto the sand, staring up at the clear blue sky.

“You’re getting better,” Natasha said.

“Still not better than you.”

“No. But the gap’s closing.” She turned her head to look at him. “Another six months and you’ll actually be dangerous.”

“I can throw cars. I’m already dangerous.”

“You can throw cars but I can still make you miss punches. There’s dangerous, and then there’s deadly. You’re not deadly yet.”

Veer considered this. She was right, of course. Raw power meant nothing without the skill to apply it. The System gave him Zeno Zoldyck’s physical capabilities, but only training gave him Zeno’s fighting instincts. The synchronization percentage tracked both—and at 64.7%, he was still less than Zeno, still learning, still climbing toward something he’d never fully reach.

“Race you back to the house?” he offered.

“You’ll win.”

“I’ll give you a head start.”

“How generous.” But she was already moving, sprinting across the sand with Olympic-level speed.

Veer waited five seconds, then followed at a casual jog that still overtook her in thirty yards.

Their calm life shattered three days later.

Tony Stark arrived at noon in a private helicopter that landed on the beach without warning, scattering sand and seabirds in equal measure. He emerged wearing designer sunglasses, an expensive suit jacket over a Black Sabbath t-shirt, and the kind of manic grin that meant he’d either solved cold fusion or was about to do something monumentally stupid.

Probably both.

“Veer!” Tony shouted over the helicopter blades. “I did it! I actually did it!”

Veer, who’d been in the kitchen making lunch, walked out onto the deck with a sandwich in one hand. Natasha appeared beside him, instantly alert, hand near the concealed pistol she always carried.

“Did what?” Veer called back.

“The thing! The energy thing! The life force!” Tony practically vibrated with excitement. “I can feel it! I can see it! I can make it do the covering thing you showed me!”

Veer’s face darkened.

Three months. Three entire months since Tony had asked about Nen training, and Veer had explained the absolute basics—how to sense aura, how to visualize it, how to maybe, eventually, after months or years of meditation, achieve the most basic pseudo-Ten technique.

It was supposed to be preparation. Background work. The foundation before the foundation.

And this fucking fool had actually done it.

“Are you kidding me?” Veer set down his sandwich with elaborate care. “Tony. Please tell me you didn’t spend the last three months obsessing over Nen instead of building the Iron Man suit.”

“I did both!” Tony protested. “Well, I did this more, but I still did both! Mostly this. Okay, fine, like 90% this, but in my defense, this is way cooler than engineering!”

“Oh my god.”

“I can feel my life force, Veer! Do you have any idea how incredible that is? I can SEE it! It’s blue! Well, kind of gold-blue. Bluish-gold? The point is, it exists!”

Veer pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn’t how the timeline was supposed to go. Tony was supposed to build the Mark II suit, discover palladium poisoning, create a new element, fight Obadiah Stane, establish himself as Iron Man. The whole carefully planned sequence that led to the Avengers, that led to 2012, that led to Veer being in position when it mattered.

If Tony got sidetracked by Nen now…

“Get inside,” Veer said. “We need to talk.”

Tony’s grin widened. “Is that a yes?”

“That’s a ‘get inside before I throw you in the ocean.'”

They moved to the living room. Tony immediately started pacing, talking with his hands, explaining his last three months of obsessive meditation practice with the kind of manic energy usually reserved for engineering breakthroughs. Natasha sat silently on the arm of the couch, watching, analyzing.

Veer let Tony talk himself out, then held up one hand.

“Show me.”

Tony stopped pacing. His expression shifted from excited to focused. He closed his eyes, took a slow breath—and his aura flickered visible.

It was weak. Inconsistent. The translucent shroud around his body wavered like heat shimmer, parts of it too thick, other parts too thin. But it was there. Actual Ten technique, not just the pseudo-version Veer had expected.

“Holy shit,” Veer muttered.

“Right?!” Tony opened his eyes, grinning. “I’ve been practicing eight hours a day! Well, six hours some days. Four minimum. The point is, I did it! I achieved the covering thing!”

“Pseudo-Ten,” Veer corrected automatically. “It’s not real Ten until your aura nodes are opened. What you’re doing is forcing your life force to circulate without having the proper channels. It’s like… trying to water a garden by throwing buckets instead of using pipes.”

“Okay, then open the pipes!” Tony spread his hands. “That’s why I’m here! You said once I got to this level, you’d do the next step!”

Veer had said that. Three months ago. As a hypothetical. Expecting it would take Tony at least a year to reach this point, if he ever did.

Because opening someone’s aura nodes was dangerous. It required forcing your own aura into their body, manually activating every single one of the 361 nodes through direct contact. It was painful. Potentially traumatic. And if done wrong, it could permanently damage someone’s ability to ever use Nen.

But if done right…

Veer looked at Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist—standing in his living room practically bouncing with excitement about achieving something that should have taken years.

If done right, Tony would be able to learn real Nen. Proper Ten technique. Maybe even develop his own Hatsu eventually.

And maybe, just maybe, survive what was coming.

“Sit down,” Veer said. “Take off your shirt.”

Tony’s eyebrows rose. “I thought you said you weren’t—”

“Shut up. This is going to hurt.”

Tony sat. The playful expression faded as he pulled off his jacket and shirt, revealing the arc reactor embedded in his chest—a glowing circle of blue light surrounded by scar tissue. Veer had seen it before, but it still looked wrong. Unnatural. A mechanical heart keeping Tony alive because the actual heart couldn’t handle the shrapnel slowly working toward it.

Natasha shifted on the couch arm, intensely focused.

“Last chance to back out,” Veer warned. “This process is going to be painful. Extremely painful. I’m going to force my aura through your body, opening every single node manually. Some people pass out. Some people scream. I’ve never done it to anyone before, so I don’t know how bad it’ll be.”

“Wait, you’ve never—”

“I have the knowledge from Zeno’s memories. I know the technique. But this is my first time actually doing it.” Veer met Tony’s eyes. “Still want to proceed?”

Tony swallowed hard. Then nodded. “Do it.”

“Brace yourself.”

Veer placed his hands on Tony’s bare shoulders. His aura flared, visible and powerful, the translucent shroud intensifying into something almost solid. Tony’s eyes widened—seeing it clearly for the first time, really understanding what Nen looked like when someone strong used it.

Then Veer pushed.

His aura invaded Tony’s body like water through a broken dam. It flooded into Tony’s channels, searching for the sealed nodes, forcing them open one by one. Tony’s entire body went rigid.

He didn’t scream. Not at first.

Veer methodically worked through the major nodes—the critical points that controlled aura flow through the limbs, the torso, the head. Each activation felt like unlocking a rusted door: resistance, then sudden release. Tony’s breath came in sharp gasps. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Fifty nodes. One hundred. Two hundred.

Tony started screaming.

It wasn’t the theatrical screaming from movies. It was raw, primal sound—the noise someone made when their nervous system was being forcibly rewired. Veer kept working. Natasha watched without moving, her expression carefully neutral.

Three hundred nodes. Three hundred twenty. Three hundred fifty.

Tony’s voice gave out. He made choked, wheezing sounds instead, body convulsing with each new activation. Veer’s hands never left his shoulders, aura never stopped flowing.

Three hundred sixty-one.

The last node opened. Tony collapsed forward, caught by Veer before he hit the floor. His breathing was ragged, tears streaming down his face from pure physical trauma. But he was conscious. Still aware.

“Look at your hands,” Veer said quietly.

Tony lifted shaking hands. His aura was visible now—properly visible, flowing smoothly around his entire body in a consistent shroud. Real Ten technique. The aura pulsed with his heartbeat, responded to his breathing, moved like it was alive.

Which, in a sense, it was.

“Holy… shit,” Tony gasped.

“Activate Ten,” Veer instructed. “Like you practiced, but this time it’ll actually work.”

Tony closed his eyes. Concentrated. His aura compressed slightly, strengthened, formed the proper protective shroud that defined basic Nen technique.

[Congratulations! Tony Stark has learned: Ten Lv1 (0%)]

The system notification appeared only to Veer. He dismissed it.

Something else was happening. Tony’s arc reactor pulsed brighter, the blue light intensifying. His aura started flowing toward it, drawn by the electromagnetic field, and then—

Blood.

Dark, thick blood suddenly started seeping from the edges of the reactor housing. Tony gasped, looking down in horror as small metal fragments began emerging from his skin, pushed out by his newly active aura. The bomb shrapnel that had been slowly killing him for months, embedded in his bloodstream, traveling toward his heart.

His aura was expelling it. All of it.

Dozens of tiny metal pieces fell onto the floor with soft metallic pings. The blood flow increased, then suddenly stopped as Tony’s Healing Factor—awakened by the aura node opening—kicked in. The small wounds sealed themselves within seconds.

Tony stared at the shrapnel on the floor. Then at his chest. Then at Veer.

“I don’t need the reactor anymore.”

“No,” Veer confirmed. “You don’t.”

Tony started laughing. Manic, relieved, slightly hysterical laughing. He was still crying, still shaking from the pain, but he was laughing because the thing that had been killing him was gone. Just gone. Fixed by magic that wasn’t magic.

“Can I block bullets now?” Tony asked when the laughter subsided. “Please tell me I can block bullets.”

“Not until Ten reaches Level 2,” Veer said. “Level 1 is enough to keep your aura from leaking out, but it’s not dense enough to stop physical attacks. You’re tougher than a normal human, but not bulletproof.”

“How do I know if—”

Veer punched him.

Ten tons of force, delivered in a straight right that hit Tony square in the chest. Tony flew backward like he’d been hit by a car. He sailed ten feet, crashed through the deck railing, tumbled another twenty feet across the beach, and finally stopped when he hit a palm tree hard enough to crack the trunk.

Natasha was on her feet instantly, hand on her gun.

Veer walked to the broken railing, looked down at Tony’s impact site.

Tony stood up. He was covered in sand, had splinters in his hair from the shattered tree, and his expensive suit jacket was completely ruined. But he wasn’t injured. Not even bruised. He looked down at himself in wonder, patted his chest where the punch had landed, then looked up at Veer with the biggest smile.

“THAT WAS AMAZING!” Tony shouted. “Do it again!”

“No.”

“Come on! I didn’t even feel it! Well, I felt it, but it didn’t hurt! This is incredible!”

Veer shook his head, but he was smiling despite himself. “That’s Level 1 Ten. Enough to survive hits that would hospitalize normal people. At Level 2, you’ll start being able to actually block attacks. Level 3, you can take serious punishment. But you’re not there yet.”

Tony climbed back up to the deck, brushing sand off his clothes. His eyes were alight with childlike wonder. “How long to Level 2?”

“Months. Maybe a year. Depends how much you train.”

“I’ll train eight hours a day.”

“You absolutely will not. You have a company to run and a suit to build.” Veer fixed him with a serious look. “Tony. Listen to me. Nen is incredible. It’ll make you stronger, let you live longer, protect you from threats. But it’s not a replacement for Iron Man. You still need the suit.”

“Why? I can get super powers the old-fashioned way now!”

“Because Nen takes years to develop, and Obadiah Stane is going to try to kill you in weeks.” Veer let that sink in. “Build the suit. Learn Nen in your spare time. Do both. But don’t let this distract you from the immediate threat.”

Tony’s expression sobered. “You really think he’ll move that soon?”

“I know he will.”

They stood on the damaged deck, Tony still covered in sand, Veer still radiating the calm certainty of someone who’d seen this movie before. Natasha watched them both, filing away every word for her evening report.

“Okay,” Tony said finally. “Okay. I’ll focus on the suit. But I’m still practicing Nen whenever I can.”

“Good. That’s good.” Veer clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the world of Nen, Tony Stark. Try not to get yourself killed before you learn to use it properly.”

Tony grinned. “No promises.”

He left an hour later, helicopter kicking up sand as it lifted off. Veer watched it disappear into the distance, feeling the weight of what he’d just done.

He’d taught Tony Stark Nen. Changed the timeline in a fundamental way. Given one of the MCU’s central heroes a power he was never supposed to have.

The consequences would ripple outward from this moment.

Veer just hoped they’d ripple in the right direction.

Behind him, Natasha spoke quietly. “That was remarkable.”

“That was dangerous.”

“Both can be true.” She moved to stand beside him. “I need to report this.”

“I know.”

“Fury is going to want to replicate it.”

“Let him try. Opening aura nodes requires being able to use Nen yourself. SHIELD can’t do it.” Veer glanced at her. “You can tell them everything. It won’t matter.”

Natasha nodded slowly. Then, softer: “Would you do that for me? If I asked?”

Veer turned to look at her fully. Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, master spy, looking at him with genuine curiosity and maybe—maybe—a hint of hope.

“Ask me in six months,” he said finally. “When you’ve decided if you actually want to learn.”

She smiled. Small, genuine, sad. “Fair enough.”

They stood together on the broken deck, watching waves roll onto the beach, both wondering what came next.

The grind continued.