Marvel: Saint Seiya Starting with the Reality Stone.

"Sure?"

Mike smiled slightly, stood up again, looked at Pietro at his feet, his eyes gleaming: "Really, why not give it a try? If you beg for mercy, I really will let you go."

Pietro remained silent, only letting out a cold snort before closing his eyes.

Seeing this, Mike looked at Quicksilver Pietro lying at his feet and chuckled, "Then you can die."

That's all.

His right foot lifted!

Just then!

boom!

……

90. Mike, who is married with children!

Without hesitation, Mike stomped his right foot down on Pietro's head, who was lying on the ground.

After all, Quicksilver Pietro said so.

Kill me if you must.

If he didn't grant the other party's wish, it would be inappropriate; people would think he, Mai, was a soft-hearted person.

Mike simply didn't want to have a conflict with the Maximoff sisters.

But not wanting to is one thing.

Doing it is another matter entirely.

He didn't want to go back to the path of Saint Seiya before, but he did in the end.

and so--

Mike's kick was powerful and decisive, and the entire floor trembled the moment it landed on the ground.

There's just one problem!

Pietro is gone.

Mike looked at the empty space beneath his feet, where Pietro's mahogany floor was nowhere to be seen, and raised an eyebrow.

and many more.

Rosewood flooring?

Shouldn't the floor be made of bluestone bricks?

Just then.

Suddenly, the sound of a baby crying reached his ears.

Mike subconsciously looked away from the mahogany floor beneath his feet, then raised his eyes to look in the direction from which the crying was coming.

into the eye.

A modern door stood beside him, and the baby's cries came from behind the folding door.

Mike listened to the baby crying beside him, his brows furrowed slightly, and he subconsciously put his hand on the doorknob. He stood there for a moment, thought for a while, and then pushed open the door and went inside.

The baby's cries grew louder the moment he opened the door.

The moment the door opened, Mike's gaze landed precisely on the crib in the room, and on the human infant lying on its back, crying desperately.

As soon as he walked in, the human cub in the crib suddenly stopped crying. Then, its little eyes stared straight at him, and it burst into laughter, waving its arms and legs at him.

Mike watched this scene, a slight smile unconsciously appearing on his lips. He then walked to the crib, reached out and picked up the human infant inside, placing it in his arms. Looking at the human infant with its eyes blinking in his arms, he smiled and asked, "Little one, whose baby are you? What's your name?"

The human cub remained silent, lying in his arms with its two little hands raised high, its big eyes blinking as it looked at him, then making mumbling noises that were hard to understand.

Mike didn't expect a baby who looked less than six months old to be able to speak. While holding the human cub in his arms, whose features resembled his own when he was young, he looked around the room.

This is a typical nursery.

The overall color scheme is gentle, with light cream-colored walls and a solid wood storage cabinet placed by the window. The cabinet doors are labeled with the names of swaddles, cotton socks, bibs, and toiletries.

Her gaze fell on a painting displayed on the solid wood storage cabinet.

This is not an ordinary photograph.

This is a family photo of the three of them.

The human cub that Mike is holding in his arms now bears some resemblance to himself when he was young. It is the same cub that the woman in the family portrait is holding.

The woman in the photo has long, curly, voluminous brown-red hair, light green eyes, and is wearing a light-colored, plain dress while holding a baby in her arms.

As for the man next to the woman in the photo...

Mike glanced at it, his eyebrows twitching slightly, and his lips twitching. Then, as if he had thought of something, he couldn't help but smile slightly, but he quickly suppressed it. He then looked down at the human cub in his arms, who was staring at him with wide eyes, and said with a smile, "So you're not someone else's, you're mine. So, what's your name, little cutie?"

Yes.

This human cub doesn't belong to anyone; barring any unforeseen circumstances, it should be his.

Because the man in the painting depicting this family of three is none other than Mike himself.

Mike had forgotten what he had named the human baby.

Just as Mike was looking at the cub in his arms and muttering to himself about what to name this human baby, a soft, gentle female voice with a hint of an exotic accent rang out from the other side of the door: "Tommy, his name is Tommy Ametra. Didn't we decide yesterday? What, you've changed your mind again?"

Mike looked towards the door in the direction the sound came from.

into the eye.

The woman I just saw in the photo now looked as if she had stepped out of the photo and was standing at the door of the room.

As the woman spoke, she walked up to Mike, looked at the baby in his arms, reached out and teased it with a smile, then glanced at Mike with a somewhat disgusted look, seemingly disapproving of the way he was holding the baby, and directly took the baby back into her arms: "How many times have I told you, you can't hold Tommy like that, he'll get it, you have to hold him like this, he'll feel comfortable."

Mike glanced at the cub called Tommy, whose head was mostly squeezed between the woman's breasts but who didn't seem to mind and was instead giggling, and nodded.

"Indeed, if it were me, I would also feel comfortable."

"What."

The woman was taken aback by Mike's words, and then her gaze fell on her chest without any attempt to hide it—or rather, without any attempt to conceal it.

next second.

The woman realized what was happening, looked at Mike with a smile, and spoke in an extremely gentle and soft tone.

Is it pretty?

"nice."

Mike is telling the truth.

He had to admit that the woman in front of him, in terms of both figure and appearance, perfectly matched his ideal of his other half.

A person with high emotional intelligence is described as having a well-proportioned and slender figure with clean and graceful curves.

Low emotional intelligence.

Areas that need to be large should be large.

The parts that need to be curled should also be curled.

only……

What was this woman's name again?

Mike subconsciously thought about it, but just as he was about to look at the woman and recall, the woman holding the human cub changed her expression. Hearing Mike's words, she rolled her eyes at him and said, "Stop joking. Heidi and your parents are here. They've been calling you downstairs to bring Tommy down. How many times have they called?"

Mike was slightly taken aback upon hearing this, and looked at the woman in front of him: "Heidi? My parents?"

Are you kidding me?

His adoptive parents have been dead for many years.

But at that moment...

Heidi's voice rang out from downstairs.

"Mike, come down quickly."

Following Heidi's voice, the voice of Mike's adoptive mother from his memories came through.

"Mike, what are you doing upstairs?"

"..."

91. Wanda Maximoff (Available for pre-order at midnight! Looking for first-time subscribers!)

"mom?"

Mike heard his adoptive mother's voice coming from downstairs, and subconsciously responded. Then he walked towards the door and looked into the living room after descending from the second floor to the first floor.

into the eye.

Heidi, her adoptive father Nick, and her adoptive mother Meni were already sitting on the sofa in the living room.

The three of them heard Mike's footsteps, and the moment Mike looked at them, the three sitting on the sofa also turned their gazes toward Mike.

Eight eyes meet.

Heidi's eyesight was fine, though.

but……

The gazes from his adoptive father Nick and adoptive mother Mennie sent a chill down Mike's spine.

after all!

My adoptive father Nick and adoptive mother Meni are dead.

He died in 2012, the day the Chitauri invaded, at the hands of Loki, who was also an adopted son, albeit an Asgardian adopted son.

Just then.

Mike suddenly felt a strange memory surging into his mind along the ten fingers he was massaging between his eyebrows.