Chapter 48: When the Superhuman Dream Shatters
Brooklyn, Seventh Street.
The afternoon sun glinted off the sign of Rayne Clinic.
Inside, Ethan was wiping down the reception desk until it shone. Yesterday's cupcake frosting incident had left the surface sticky enough to qualify as a bug trap, attracting a small ecosystem of insects. He had no intention of letting that happen again.
Since Mary left, the clinic had grown too quiet.
At first, Ethan enjoyed the peace. After a few days, though, he realized the truth—
Working alone was far more boring than he'd expected.
No one to discuss cases with.
No one to complain about work to.
Which was how Max's daily cupcakes had taken on a new role.
What had once been a perk for patients had become emotional support pastries. His mood improved noticeably—his waistline followed suit with alarming enthusiasm.
Ethan glanced down at himself.
Maybe I really should hire someone… If this keeps up, my chest is going to rival Max's.
He tossed the cleaning cloth into the sterilization bucket just as the clinic's doorbell chimed.
Two people stood outside.
One was a man in a suit, smiling pleasantly.
The other was a woman in a tactical jacket who looked like she had forgotten how smiling worked.
Ethan froze for half a second, then put on his most professional doctor-friendly smile.
"Welcome to Rayne Clinic. Which one of you is the patient—and where does it hurt?"
The woman in the tactical jacket didn't answer. She was busy scanning the clinic like she was memorizing floor plans.
The man in the suit spoke instead.
"We're not here for treatment. We're here to ask about some… additional medical matters."
Ethan responded instantly.
"Sorry, I don't buy insurance."
"We're not selling insurance," the man said, smiling. "We're from the government."
Something inside Ethan dropped.
"Oh. I see… You're here about taxes?"
The man paused.
"…Not the tax department."
The woman finally spoke, her tone cool and flat.
"But we do recommend you catch up on them."
Ethan blinked.
"…What?"
"Two payments of one hundred thousand dollars," she said calmly.
"The kind you go to prison over if you don't report them."
A three-second silence followed.
Ethan rubbed his forehead.
"…I've just been busy. I'll take care of it. Soon. Very soon."
"That's fine," the man said, clearing his throat. "We're not here for that."
He produced his credentials.
"My name is Phil Coulson. This is my colleague, Melinda May. We're here because we'd like to understand one thing."
He met Ethan's eyes.
"How exactly did you cure those patients?"
Ethan examined the badge carefully.
Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.
"That's… a very long name," he commented. "Doesn't it get tiring to write on official paperwork?"
Coulson smiled politely.
"We usually go by a shorter version."
He paused, then said:
"S.H.I.E.L.D."
He continued evenly,
"We operate under the World Security Council and are responsible for investigating supernatural phenomena and global-level threats."
Ethan stared at them.
"Oh. S.H.I.E.L.D.
That already sounds much better."
Wait—
S.H.I.E.L.D.?
Ethan's brain exploded.
Damn it—this is the Marvel universe?!
So in this world, the rich relied on technology, the poor relied on mutations?
Which meant that kid Peter Parker back in high school really was Spider-Man?
Ethan had watched him for years and never noticed a thing.
Marvel.
Superhero alliances.
Cosmic disasters.
Invincible powerhouses taking turns saving the universe.
And here he was—a small-town priest-class healer.
…Yeah, that didn't feel very reassuring.
But then again—
What if I teamed up with them?
Captain America and the Hulk—both melee types.
One was clearly a protection warrior with a shield, the other a berserker.
Hawkeye—ranged DPS, basically a hunter.
Black Widow—poisons, infiltration… rogue, no question.
Doctor Strange—main caster, pure spell damage.
Iron Man and War Machine—armored ranged DPS, half mage, half hunter.
Spider-Man—high-agility rogue, bonus climbing passive.
Thor—melee, magic, flight… an all-purpose monster.
Add Scarlet Witch. Vision.
The more he thought about it, the more it looked like a perfectly optimized raid team.
"So," Ethan said aloud, unable to stop himself,
"are you here to invite me to join S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
Coulson and May exchanged a glance.
Then, gently—yet mercilessly—Coulson replied:
"Doctor Rayne… why would you think we're here to invite you to join S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
Ethan froze.
"…What? You're not?"
Coulson explained patiently, in the same tone a guy uses when saying I only see you as a sister:
"No. We know you're not an ordinary doctor.
Doctor Rayne, let's be direct.
Your abilities—we've seen them in our reports. We've seen how they healed critically injured patients, terminal cases… and how they affected the mental states of others.
This is beyond our current understanding.
So we need to ask:
what exactly is your ability?"
Ethan's mind raced.
This wasn't how he'd imagined it going.
They knew he had powers—but they weren't recruiting him, and they weren't trying to eliminate him either.
So what were they really after?
After a brief pause, he asked instead:
"You're investigating me because you're worried I belong to some kind of… special category, right?"
Coulson didn't deny it. He nodded.
"We monitor anything that currently lacks a scientific explanation."
"Then you've seen similar cases before?" Ethan pressed.
"Why has none of this ever shown up in the news?"
"Most cases eventually receive medical or physical explanations," May replied coolly.
"And once something is explainable, it's no longer 'special.'
As for things that remain special—
they don't make the news."
Coulson added,
"Some people heal faster. Some tolerate pain better. Some have heightened perception.
As long as it falls within human limits, it's not a 'power'—just individual variance."
Ethan frowned.
"Then what exactly counts as a supernatural event to you?
I cured a few terminal patients. I hypnotized some street thugs. Does that really qualify?"
"Yes," May said flatly.
"Especially the second part. That's why we're here. We need to know whether you're dangerous."
Coulson nodded.
"…Or whether you need protection."
That was it?
Was this world's power ceiling really that low?
So there was S.H.I.E.L.D., but no superheroes walking around publicly?
Ethan asked in disbelief,
"So… my abilities are already considered exceptional?"
"Yes," May replied.
"Why are you so interested in other people with powers? Have you met any?"
Ethan shrugged calmly.
"What guy hasn't fantasized about superpowers? Just like everyone's thought about learning invisibility at least once."
Coulson accepted the answer without suspicion.
"Back to the point," he said. "Let's talk about your abilities."
Ethan sighed, as if finally giving up resistance. He walked behind his desk, sat down, and gestured for them to do the same.
There had been no superheroes in the news for years.
Whether everything they said was true or not—at least for now, they were treating him, a mere healer, as something worth serious attention.
Which meant one thing:
If this was the world's standard…
Then what exactly was there to be afraid of?
The moment that thought settled in, the little priest in Ethan's heart straightened his robes—
And quietly promoted himself to Archbishop.