"Side Mission: Rescue Dr. Ethan — Save Dr. Ethan from terrorists."
"Reward: A-level medical ninjutsu - Palm Sage Jutsu."
Opening the mission panel, Carl's expression froze as he read the latest side mission update. The moment his eyes swept across the name "Dr. Ethan," a burst of memories from his previous life came rushing in.
"Dr. Ethan... is that the guy who helped Tony Stark build his first Iron Man suit?"
Carl frowned in thought. He clearly remembered that moment—when Stark was captured by terrorists in Afghanistan, it was a kind-hearted doctor named Ethan who treated his wounds and eventually helped him construct the prototype Iron Man armor in secret. Unfortunately, the doctor sacrificed himself during their escape to buy Stark more time.
"Do I accept this mission?"
Carl's fingers hovered over the mission panel's "accept" button. His plan had been to return to the Naruto world as soon as he arrived in New York, but this mission changed things. The reward was just too good to pass up.
The Palm Sage Jutsu—an A-level medical ninjutsu that could treat internal and external wounds by manipulating chakra to accelerate healing. More importantly, it could incapacitate enemies by disrupting the chakra flow in their bodies.
"This technique could make a huge difference."
In real battles, even the strongest could fall if their injuries weren't treated quickly. Having the Palm Sage Jutsu could significantly raise his chances of survival and prove invaluable in future fights, especially when he returned to the Naruto world to complete more high-risk missions.
With no hesitation left, Carl accepted the mission.
---
"Alright, Jack, this is far too flashy. You all go back first," Carl said, glancing toward the convoy of armored vehicles around him.
The sleek line of black SUVs made them stand out too much. They were already drawing curious glances from passersby as they cruised through Queens. Jack nodded and signaled for the other cars to peel away, leaving Carl to drive alone—with Wanda and her brother Pietro in the backseat.
After deciding to settle in New York about a month ago, Carl had spent time discussing the ideal location with Wanda.
New York, the concrete jungle of America, had five districts: Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Staten Island.
Carl's initial idea was to live in a luxurious villa in Manhattan. It was the heart of the city, close to his company's headquarters, and extremely convenient. But upon further thought, he dropped the idea. After all, the infamous Battle of New York would happen there soon, and that kind of danger was not something he wanted his family to be near.
His second choice was Queens. Just across the East River from Manhattan, Queens was peaceful, green, and close enough to work without the chaos. More importantly, it had a certain nostalgic pull. In his past life, Carl had fought and survived brutal underground matches in New York. He'd once called Queens home and was quite familiar with the area.
Compared to the other boroughs, Queens also had one of the best safety records. And in the future, with neighborhood Spider-Man swinging around, crime would drop even more.
Wanda had no objections to Queens, but she wasn't sold on the idea of a villa.
"Living in a mansion is too lonely," she had told him. "When you're off at work, I'll be stuck in a big, empty house all by myself."
Instead, she wanted to live in a regular residential building. That way, she could meet neighbors, have spontaneous chats in the hallways, trade recipes with housewives, and maybe even share coffee and cookies while talking about life and raising children.
Her dream was far from that of an elite socialite. She yearned for the kind of ordinary, warm lifestyle seen in shows like The Dick Van Dyke Show—modest, yet full of heartfelt moments.
Carl didn't argue. Wanda had given up everything to come to New York with him. Respecting her wishes was the least he could do.
He never really cared whether they lived in a villa or an apartment. His preference for a villa had only come from concerns about safety. But if they could live safely in a regular apartment building, then it didn't matter.
Which is why, even before they moved in, Carl had instructed David to quietly acquire control of every key property in the residential community they were moving into.
From the very first day they would arrive, all the building's security personnel were his men—handpicked elite fighters, trained by Carl himself.
These weren't ordinary guards. Each one had taken years of advanced Power Pills—a perfected version of the earlier pills Carl had developed to enhance strength. They were stronger, faster, and sharper than any average soldier.
Their physical strength had improved drastically thanks to the Power Pills, and they had all undergone rigorous firearms and tactical training.
The Power Pills available on the market were crude imitations. Carl's team used refined versions only available to his inner circle—produced in limited batches with carefully selected ingredients.
However, compared to the magical ointments and potions Carl had obtained from previous side missions, the Power Pills still had a long way to go.
Not taking any chances, Carl had also purchased several apartments with the best vantage points across the entire neighborhood—perfect sniper spots. In each one, he placed a trained sharpshooter.
If an enemy were ever to show up, their head would explode before they even had a chance to ring the doorbell.
Of course, none of this was ever mentioned to Wanda.
In her eyes, Carl was a charming and upstanding businessman, a philanthropist celebrated back in Sokovia, and a devoted husband who always helped with the housework.
It wasn't that Carl wanted to deceive Wanda, but he had built that persona from the beginning of their relationship. It was the same image he projected to the world. Letting Wanda suddenly see the cold, ruthless version of himself—the one that destroyed Hydra bases and made men disappear without a trace—might be too much for her to handle.
Yes, he was ruthless. He never showed mercy to his enemies. But he didn't want Wanda or their future children to see him as a monster.
He had no choice but to become this version of himself. His past life had taught him that strength was the only path to survival, and sometimes the only way to protect what matters.
If he became strong enough—if he could dominate the battlefield and eliminate global threats—then perhaps his child would never have to walk the same dark path.
He hoped his son or daughter would grow up with kindness, joy, and a deep sense of justice.
Unlike him.
"Okay, here we are—our new home!"
Under the respectful gaze of two towering security guards at the entrance, Carl parked the car neatly in the open-parking lot of their new community. The subtle hum of the engine faded, replaced by the quiet buzz of a peaceful New York afternoon.
As the car doors opened and the group stepped out, Pietro glanced around and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
"Seriously? The security guards here look like they came straight out of a superhero training camp," he muttered, half in awe, half joking.
Having worked as a courier in Sokovia, Pietro was no stranger to different neighborhoods. Most of the residential communities back home had aging retirees or pot-bellied uncles working security. Seeing two towering men, each at least 1.9 meters tall, standing upright in fitted uniforms that could barely contain their muscle mass, was… unusual, to say the least.
"If these guys ever get bored of guarding apartments, they could probably start a bodybuilding YouTube channel."
Carl chuckled as he lifted a couple of suitcases out of the trunk.
"It's exactly because of how secure this neighborhood is that I picked it," he replied, tone casual, as if this level of vigilance was perfectly normal.
Of course, he wasn't going to explain that the "community security team" was actually a handpicked unit of his own elite men. These weren't just guards—they were seasoned operatives who had been taking the enhanced Power Pills for years.
There was no helping it. While Carl genuinely preferred to keep a low profile, the long-term side effects of the refined Power Pills meant that these men could no longer pass for average civilians. Just like David, his secretary—people constantly mistook the guy for a personal bodyguard.
And to be fair, that wasn't far from the truth.
Normally, CEOs had sleek, well-dressed secretaries—either elegant women or poised men in suits and glasses. Carl's secretary, on the other hand, was David.
David, with his bald head gleaming under any light source, stood nearly two meters tall and had a permanent scowl etched onto his rugged face. His body was a wall of muscle, and he had the kind of physique that made even gym bros reconsider their routines.
He wasn't the kind of person you expected to hand you a spreadsheet or organize meetings. He was more the kind who'd snap a steel bar like a twig if you messed up the scheduling.
In fact, Carl had once overheard a kid crying after catching sight of David's "smile" in the elevator. The poor child probably thought he'd just encountered a real-life villain.