London, Surrey, Little Whinging, Privet Drive, Number 6.
On the perch specifically for owls to rest, black and white owls stood staring down.
Beside the old brick fireplace, a Beagle lay there with its four paws in the air, exposing its belly.
Their master, John Wick, was facing a big problem.
On the television, news was reporting a sudden incident during a car race held in Monaco.
A man holding electric whips in both hands, with something like a light bulb on his chest, burst onto the track.
With one whip from this reckless man, a certain billionaire playboy driving a car almost met his end right there.
Fortunately, the other party took out a suitcase, transformed into Iron Man, and successfully resolved the crisis.
The television was turned off, and John fell into deep thought.
This unremarkable news revealed two pieces of information.
First, in this world, there was a Stark named Tony, but not a hairdresser.
Second, that person named Tony Stark had many prefixes, one of which was Iron Man.
Although it had been a long time since he came to this world.
"I am Iron Man!"
This one sentence allowed a billionaire playboy, who was also a super genius graduated from MIT, to completely transform.
Even after a long time, it was still enough to make people recall it upon seeing it.
"So... you're telling me this place is actually even more abnormal?"
John Wick, who was a worker on a certain blue planet in his previous life, was born in a British family in this life in 1980. His mother was Slavic, and his Father was British.
In the West, where the peak of attractiveness is generally short-lived, he successfully maintained his appearance until now.
And the person in that mirror, if you told others he was almost thirty, they would only think you were joking.
Black hair, reddish-brown eyes, he loved vest suits paired with a gold watch chain, a silver ring and an emerald ring on his right hand, full of mystery.
His handsome face, brought by his British and Russian heritage, looked like a student who should be attending university.
He once studied at Hogwarts, created the Philosopher's Stone, defeated the Dark Lord, and became the new Wizard King.
Currently, he was the son of a British wealthy businessman on vacation.
But now you're telling me...
There's a person named Tony Stark in this world?
John felt he needed to calm down.
Although he had already reached the pinnacle of the Magic World, he still felt a bit melancholic facing a future where non-humans would emerge endlessly.
If he remembered correctly, there seemed to be some beings here who called themselves gods.
John was numb.
Dealing with a death god in the Magic World was troublesome enough for him, and now there were other gods.
Even at some point in the future, a Purple Sweet Potato Essence would appear, launch a public welfare campaign to reduce carbon emissions, and finally snap his fingers to wipe out half the population of the entire Universe.
Thinking of his lifespan, which could rival the big guy under the Black Lake, the more he looked at it, the more it seemed like a candle in the wind.
And there was a crucial matter.
How many years had passed since he came to this world?
Those plotlines were fragmented and intermittent, and he basically didn't remember much.
After all, who would repeatedly study some past memories after attending Hogwarts at the age of eleven?
As for why he only found out now?
One could only say that he was the one who took the lead in manufacturing the first television in the Magic World.
The only good news was probably that his development time over the past twenty years hadn't been wasted.
His strength was the best guarantee.
He just didn't know if his Magic could withstand the Purple Sweet Potato Essence's snap.
Expelliarmus should be able to dismantle the Infinity Gauntlet, right?
Thinking of this, he glanced at the empty house devoid of human presence.
A year ago, his parents and sister moved to America due to work.
Thinking of his family, John stroked his chin and mused, "I remember Dad seemed to have invested in a weapons supplier called Hammer Industries."
He always felt this name was somewhat familiar.
It seemed to be selling weapons, and the Stark family was in the weapons business. Was this Hammer Industries his competitor?
Some mail had accumulated at home.
In this era when the internet was starting to develop, there were still many people who preferred using physical letters over emails.
For example, John's uncle's family, who had territory in Russia.
He took out the yellowed letter from the mailbox.
"Ding dong."
Just as he was about to open it and take a look, the doorbell rang in the house that no one had visited for a year.
John opened the door curiously. With his family not around, who would come here?
Putting down the envelope, he went to open the door.
He stopped when his finger touched the doorknob.
In his keen Magic perception, someone not simple had arrived outside.
Ordinary people's combat power was between 0 and 1, while the one outside was at least level 3.
While he was thinking, the doorbell kept ringing, accompanied by a very anxious, tearful voice.
"Is anyone there? Please, please open the door."
It was a woman.
The helpless voice with a Slavic accent, like a drowning kitten, made people feel pity and eager to open the door.
Just then, the screeching sound of tires rubbing against the ground was heard outside, along with unfriendly shouts and curses.
"You're running, huh?"
A man's voice was heard.
Immediately after, the woman outside let out a gasp.
"Slap!"
A crisp slap, most likely landing on the woman's face.
The woman was still trying to get the homeowner to open the door and save her.
"No, don't, I don't want to go back."
The miserable woman used both hands and feet, resisting the strong man.
Separated by a door, it was Heaven and Hell.
The sleeping Beagle was startled awake and got up with a jolt, its drool almost dripping onto the blanket.
The white owl looked at it disdainfully.
John knew the other party was coming for him, but he still opened the door.
It wasn't out of great kindness, but having someone die outside was quite troublesome.
The sound of the door opening attracted attention.
Two scoundrels who were clearly gangsters but still wore suits and ties were bullying a beautiful red-haired woman.
The woman had the pale skin of a Slavic person, wore an office lady outfit, and a hint of white was revealed through the torn buttons, making her look pitiful.
"Get lost, kid, you'd better close the door."
The man with a Mexican accent, looking fierce, pointed at John and gave the order.
Looking at these two full-health hoodlums whose health bars were like candles in the wind.
John looked at the woman's pleading eyes and couldn't help but marvel at her acting skills.
I'm sorry, but at Hogwarts, there's a Magic called the Mind-Reading Spell.
This exquisite acting, in John's eyes, had a strong sense of incongruity.
It was like two little rabbits dancing in front of a lioness.
However, the necessary steps still needed to be followed.
John brewed up his acting skills.
He raised his finger and pointed at the house across the street, saying casually, "There's a heavyweight boxer in the house across the street who gets up at four every morning to work out.
If you want to keep your teeth and jaw intact before retirement, it's best to leave now."
His words stunned the two arrogant men.
As pimps who could only show off in front of women, they were clearly somewhat at a loss against this kind of threat.
Even more coincidentally, the boxer who had finished training and returned happened to be passing by outside.
Compared to him, the two looked like skinny poles.
Assessing the gap between themselves and the other party, the pimp left a harsh remark, "You remember this!"
Afraid of tasting a professional boxer's fist, they quickly ran to their car, started the engine, and left.
"Hero saves the beauty script completed," the woman muttered inwardly.
Next, she needed to get in touch with this person who might be related to the attack on Stark.
Thinking up to this point.
"Thank you so much, you saved me," the woman thanked him repeatedly. She staggered to her feet, radiating a sense of resilience.
She said fearfully, "I was kidnapped by them. They are pimps and wanted me to serve men."
Apparently, no matter where, this was a business.
John seemed greatly moved upon hearing this, and there was a hint of cunning in the woman's eyes, as if she had succeeded.
The next second.
John took out his wallet, pulled out some green bills, and sympathetically handed them to the woman, "That's so pitiful, you should hurry home then."
Woman: "?" This development isn't right.