The news of Ethan becoming the Sanctum Master of the New York Holy Palace spread through Kamar-Taj like a wildfire.
While it ca as a surprise to so, it wasn't exactly shocking. Ethan's monstrous strength and ridiculous growth rate were well docunted. The guy was a machine. Aside from his hellish, daily physical routine and surviving Mordo's brutal combat training, he practically lived in the library. Not to ntion, it was an open secret that he regularly accompanied the Ancient One to other dinsions to beat up demonic entities just for "extra credit."
So, him taking over a Sanctum after less than a year was crazy, but for Ethan? Everyone just kind of accepted it.
Well, almost everyone.
Kaecilius and his loyal followers were absolutely furious. They had bled and broken their minds for Kamar-Taj for years, only to watch a guy who hadn't even been there for a full twelve months step over their heads and take one of the most prestigious positions in the order. Unbeknownst to Ethan, his rapid promotion had just dumped a massive barrel of gasoline onto the smoldering fire of Kaecilius's villain arc, accelerating his impending betrayal.
Many others, however, ca to congratulate the new Sanctum Master.
His bags were packed. For Ethan, that ant a single, weathered leather satchel containing a few spare robes, his Cyberpunk smartphone, three "recreational" magazines he had permanently "borrowed" from Wong, and a jar of high-grade scalp polish.
Because yes, the Saitama routine had a very real, very tragic side effect. He had gained a godly physique, but he had lost every single hair on his head.
He stood at the grand gateway of Kamar-Taj, the morning sun glinting off his perfectly smooth, bald do with the blinding intensity of a dying star.
"I'm going to miss this place," Ethan sighed, looking at the familiar cold stone walls. "Mostly because the rent was free and the Wi-Fi was fast, but also because of the... scenery."
A group of female disciples had gathered in the courtyard to see him off. They looked genuinely devastated. Ethan, ever the man of the people, didn't let them down. He went down the line, giving each one a "prolonged" and highly hands-on goodbye hug.
"Don't cry, Sarah," he whispered into one acolyte's ear, his hand sliding down just low enough to give her a firm, parting squeeze that made her gasp and giggle at the sa ti. "If the nights get too cold up here on the mountain, just rember: New York is only a Sling Ring portal away. My door—and my arms—are always open for private tutoring sessions."
He moved to the next girl, pulling her flush against his chiseled chest. "Keep practicing that flexibility, Elena. I want to see those results when you visit."
"We'll miss you, Master Ethan," she pouted, her hands lingering appreciatively on his bare biceps.
"I know, I know. It's hard to lose a legend," Ethan smirked, giving her a wink before finally turning his attention to Wong.
The librarian stood a few feet away, looking like a man who was actively fighting the urge to throw a celebratory parade.
"The library will finally be quiet again," Wong said, crossing his arms. "No more sticky pages, no more 'Beyoncé vs. Lady Gaga' debates disrupting the monks, and absolutely no more requests for succubus summoning circles."
"Admit it, Wong. You're gonna miss ," Ethan grinned, stepping forward and pulling the stout, unamused man into a crushing, unavoidable hug.
Wong grunted in protest, his arms temporarily pinned, but he eventually gave in and patted Ethan's back with awkward stiffness. "Just... try not to lose the New York Sanctum in a poker ga, Ethan."
****
Ethan approached the Ancient One, who was standing by a massive, swirling orange portal that opened directly into the grand, dusty foyer of the New York Sanctum.
"Before I head out into the concrete jungle, Boss," Ethan started, his satirical mask replaced by a look of sheer, shaless greed. "We need to talk about the 'benefits package.'"
The Ancient One tilted her head. "Benefits?"
"Yeah. You know... a salary? Direct deposit? A 401k? Dental? I'm currently broke as a beggar. My entire net worth is a Sling Ring, few monk robes, a half-used bottle of moisturizer and a box of tissues. I can't protect the world on an empty stomach. Do you know how much a pastrami sandwich costs in Manhattan? It's criminal."
The Ancient One actually paused, seemingly genuinely confused by the concept of "financial compensation" for a centuries-old mystic order. "The Sanctum is self-sustaining, Ethan. There are... reserves. Master Thomas left a small fund for 'operational expenses.'"
"Operational expenses? You an I'm on a stipend?" Ethan groaned. "Fine. I'll make it work. But if I start seeing 'Sorcerer Supre' rch in the Tis Square gift shops, I'm taking a cut."
He grabbed his leather satchel and stepped through the portal, the Ancient One following him into the quiet, wood-paneled halls of the New York Sanctum.
"One last thing," Ethan said, looking out the massive window at the bustling streets of Greenwich Village. "What are the rules? Am I supposed to be a ghost? The 'Hidden Protector' who never interferes in human matters? Do I have to hide from the guys in black suits with the flashy mory sticks?"
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