Natasha was so upset with him that she needed to take a deep breath.
Strange poked his body out from the room across the hall, speaking to Natasha, "Why don't you sit in my room for a bit? I think he'll take at least half an hour."
Natasha had no choice but to go in. Then she saw Strange wearing an even more elaborate Supreme Mage Robe, and he was currently trimming his beard in the mirror.
"Not bad." Natasha raised an eyebrow at Strange as she circled him, "This doesn't look like European formal wear, is there something special about it?"
"It's a variation of Ming Dynasty official robes, a legacy from The Ancient One. She was an official in the Imperial Astronomical Bureau during the Ming Dynasty. She liked the official clothes of that era, so she modified them into the robes of the Supreme Magician."
"I never knew that was part of history." Natasha said, somewhat surprised: "I thought she never had dealings with mundane affairs."
"You know that's impossible. Ancient China was rich in mysticism, and Kamar-Taj was noticed as soon as it appeared. To maintain the stability of this utopia, The Ancient One had to deal with the authorities."
"But evidently, she wasn't well suited to the court life, so she never went back after that. In spite of this, she cherished this lone leftover robe, a real antique."
Strange flicked his sleeve, adjusted his collar in the mirror, and turned to look at Natasha, "Although I agree with you that the thing inside Pepper can hardly be regarded as a tumor in the pathological sense, we can't rule out the possibility that journeying through the cosmos might affect it. You have to give Tony some time."
"That's unusual, you actually defended him."
Strange huffed, "I certainly don't want to, but I'm practical. You have to admit, if Tony Stark begins to study medicine because of Pepper's illness, I'm afraid it won't be long before the level of human medical care takes a big step forward."
"You're certainly still a doctor." Natasha laughed, "Aren't you worried you'll have no surgeries to perform then?"
"He thinks those medical instruments he's made can replace me? He can wait another ten thousand years." Strange spat irritably.
Natasha sighed, "Even so, I still need to hurry him up. Once a Batman told me that the traffic jams in this city are far more resilient than historical norms. If we don't leave within 20 minutes, we'll definitely be late."
Natasha urged him again for ten more minutes, and finally Stark finished. At this time, Nick came to tell them, "Saw Loki? His brother just called me saying he couldn't reach him."
"He didn't come with us, so he probably went to Shiller's. Don't worry about him for now. Let's get our people in the car quickly, or we'll definitely be late."
Natasha, Coulson, and the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were like sheepdogs, knocking on doors floor by floor until everyone was out of their rooms and in the hallway. Then they got them paired off and in the cars in the correct order.
Batman's understanding of Gotham was indeed deep. Although many of the city's problems had been solved and a new transportation network was being planned, traffic jams remained an impassable obstacle at this point in time.
Bored by the traffic, Natasha began observing the vehicles outside the window. Aside from the rental cars obviously owned by tourists, many luxury cars were heading to the same destination. Clearly, Shiller's grand banquet was attracting the city's elite.
In the crowd of luxury cars, Natasha noticed that most of the occupants were mobsters. They were dressed in black formal wear, their chests adorned with a variety of colorful family crests and flowers. The neon shadow of the city swept across the car window glass, illuminating the deepest darkness within their eyes.
Even though they had heard about it, the people from Marvel were still amazed to see it with their own eyes.
The city seemed like a lingering remnant of the American era of Prohibition, symbolizing the darkness hidden under the brilliant surface of an era where gold was everywhere in America.
Even Captain America, who had lived through that era, couldn't say he often saw such a sight. New York was a fusion of light and shadow, while Gotham was eternally steel gray.
As night fell, Natasha finally stepped onto the steps of the Rodriguez Manor. She saw a short man standing in the principal greeting area.
Black Widow tidied up her brilliant red hair one last time, touched up her dark, captivating red lips, and walked briskly in.
There weren't many guests like her. The majority of the ladies all entered on the arms of their male companions. But Natasha deliberately avoided the crowd, waited at the entrance for a moment before walking in alone, thus making her stand out.
On the path to the greeter, Natasha counted in her mind, 16, 17, 18, until nearly 20 gazes had settled on her. She was pleased with the result.
Black Widow's beauty was enough to attract attention, but it wasn't enough to make her the world's number one female agent. If anything could make her the center of attention in an instant, it was the dangerous aura she exuded.
For men, an overly sharp temperament would make them seem less approachable, which isn't advantageous in social situations as most still need to be likable.
For women, however, there are two ultimate rules for social appeal: either you appear weak and lonely, or you seem capable of killing everyone in the room.
Natasha has always been the latter.
It is undeniable that the female agent possesses top-tier beauty. Her Slavic lineage gives her facial features a more sculpted look compared to the East Coast Americans with Irish and Western European ancestry. Each detail of her face is carved out, creating a strong visual impact.
Today, she wore a low-cut dark wine-colored gown that shimmered in the light. The color was even deeper than her hair and lipstick but under the lights, it gave off a crimson that subtly revealed a bloody and darkness behind her veneer.
When Cobblepot saw the flash of red in his eyes, he blinked slightly and couldn't help but exclaim. Over the years, working for Falcone, he had seen many beauties from Gotham's high society. But those social butterflies were more like daisies in a greenhouse; today, he saw a real rose.
However, Natasha was not his target. She lightly placed the invitation on the table beside her, nodded at Cobblepot, and then entered the party scene.
Due to traffic, they arrived a bit later than expected, barely making the scheduled time, but overall they were still among the early guests. Before all the guests had arrived, they were allowed to move freely in the front room.
The reception staff was clearly very professional. When Natasha requested to visit the kitchen and dining room, they gladly agreed and showed her the way.
There was no beauty at play in this; at parties, before the formal start, guests can choose a variety of ways to entertain themselves. Many people like to explore the property, and their choices can provide a variety of shared topics for later conversation.
The kitchen and dining room were a good places to start. As an experienced agent, Natasha believed that cooking was a form of creation, and the way a person creates their life can almost completely reflect what kind of person they are.
Natasha still wanted to understand Doctor Schiller.
Although for her boss Nick, no amount of information about Schiller was too much, making Schiller a long-term task for Natasha, she couldn't say that doing it was entirely without personal interest, especially after they both fell into the Land of Death.
At that time, the injuries Natasha had suffered were so severe that her consciousness was blurred towards the end; she didn't remember much. However, what she was very sure of was that in those few seconds, she saw what was truly beneath Schiller's human skin.
Natasha could confirm that it was the most genuine moment of emotions she had seen from Schiller. Theoretically, this couldn't be possible because Schiller was an individual with autism, and most of his emotions were faked, but that excitement wasn't.
Natasha's rich experiences told her that even though there would be risks, the gains would always be proportional to the effort. No one could deny that jumping into a whirlpool named 'Schiller' and reaching the bottom was a compelling challenge.
Natasha arrived at the kitchen. It was spotlessly clean, the signs of activity were few.
Natasha was a complete empiricist when it came to investigation. But unfortunately, her experience was too rich, so even without Batman's extraordinary observational skills and keen intuition, she could still tell that only prepared ingredients had been brought into this kitchen.
This was not unusual because kitchens were used to handle raw materials. If Schiller wasn't preparing meals here, where would he be?
Just then, Natasha's peripheral vision caught another bright red flash. She turned around outside the kitchen and saw a red-haired girl standing by the porch, looking at her. The hunger in her eyes was no less fierce than a wolf's.
"Pamela Isley."
"I've heard of you, Natasha Romanoff."
"You know me?" Pamela asked.
"I've heard of you," Natasha looked into Pamela's eyes and said, "From a lunatic named Harley Quinn, she calls you 'Red'. It seems you are very close."
"Yes, it's true. But I have never heard of you, or another version of you from different universes using some other famous codenames."
"I don't have many codenames, most are misunderstandings of others. I am also completely different from my counterparts from other universes. Please believe me, don't believe the rumors you hear about me."
Natasha spoke English with a unique accent, which seemed to follow the Russian pronunciation. The accents always fell in unexpected places, sometimes heavy, sometimes floating.
Which made Pamela think she'd started on the alcohol too early in the day. Otherwise, why would she feel somewhat dizzy?
"Given your presence here at this time, you must have a special relationship with Doctor Schiller. Are you his student?" Natasha softened her attitude and asked with a smile.
"Yes, but we're not close." Pamela walked with Natasha towards the garden, she said, "I came here early to review. We need to start with the recent psychotherapy session…"
Natasha listened to Pamela's summary, then said, "It sounds like good progress. I should congratulate you. But I heard that the main person in charge of your universe, Schiller, is not a psychotherapist."
"Yes, he's not, but he occasionally does psychological counseling."
"What's the charge like?"
Pamela looked at Natasha curiously as she asked this question. She shook her head and said, "The professor usually doesn't like to talk about money. I don't think anyone pays for this."
Natasha understood.
She either paid with something other than money, or she took the bait.
Natasha looked at Pamela again. She was a beautiful and energetic young woman with a strong interest in Schiller, quite ordinary overall..
But if Schiller was interested in her, then she must have something special. Was she a fish about to be served, or was she bait prepared for another fish?