Odin’s Departure (Happy Mid-Autumn Festival~)

Asgard, royal palace.

Hela argued with her mother Frigga on reasonable grounds over her marriage.

She admitted that she did feel something unusual toward Beckett, but that was only because Beckett had defeated her again and again. It absolutely was not because she liked him. Absolutely not.

Having been raised by Odin since childhood as Asgard’s future successor, Hela naturally had exceptionally high standards and discerning taste when it came to choosing a partner. Beckett was strong, certainly, but he had not reached the point where she would fall for him or admire him.

She had always believed that.

She firmly believed that the man she loved would appear before her like the peerless hero from Asgardian folklore, radiating golden light all over, like a god descending to earth.

That was Hela’s beautiful vision of her other half. Beckett was clearly not included.

"Hela, that’s just a fairy tale." Frigga did not know whether to laugh or cry.

She had never imagined that the battle-hardened Hela still believed in the perfect fairy tales Frigga had told her as a child.

"I thought you should be able to tell the difference between fairy tales and reality."

"Why can’t I? Aren’t you and Father an example?" Hela, fighting for her own happiness, directly used Frigga and Odin as examples.

One had been a princess of Vanaheim, and the other a prince of Asgard.

The union between Odin and Frigga was one of the most talked-about romances in the Nine Realms.

The loving life of a prince and princess was the perfect template for a fairy tale.

"…Hela."

For a moment, Frigga did not know where to begin. A trace of complexity gradually surfaced in her eyes.

Odin and she had only begun as a marriage of convenience.

"Enough. I’m going to rest." Seeing that Frigga had nothing to say, Hela could not be bothered to continue talking with her.

When minds did not meet, even half a sentence was too much. On the matter of political marriage, Hela would not give an inch.

She was the Asgardian Princess, the future Heir to the throne, and the Goddess of Death who could command Asgard’s fallen warriors. She had every right to expect a peerless hero who perfectly met all her requirements to appear.

"I understand. Rest well, dear."

Knowing when to stop, Frigga stood and kissed the woman’s forehead in apology before turning to leave, giving Hela some space to be alone.

For now, this marriage alliance was merely an idea of hers. There was naturally no need to push Hela too hard.

All she could do was find opportunities in the future for Beckett and Hela to spend more time together, then see how things went.

Why did they suddenly want me to marry Beckett?

Why?

After Frigga left, Hela lay back down alone. With her eyes closed, she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Her mind was filled with the marriage Frigga had mentioned.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. The angrier she became, the less she could sleep.

Why had her parents suddenly gotten the idea of bringing her and Beckett together?

After thinking it over, Hela felt that the most likely reason was the forceful kiss Beckett had given her amid the ice and snow. Other than that, she could not think of any reason.

"This bastard…" Thinking of Beckett, Hela gritted her teeth, wishing she could grab him by the collar and curse him out.

If she thought of it, she would do it. Asgardian women never admitted defeat.

Hela once again slipped into Woz’s communications system. The backdoor she had left there last time was still intact.

In the punishment grounds, Beckett had an after-dinner candy stick in his mouth and a serious expression on his face. Looking at the little notebook spread out on the table before him, he propped his cheek up with one hand as circles seemed to spin faintly in his eyes.

On the large sheet of paper, there was only one line written horizontally and vertically: Self-criticism.

There was nothing else.

The orange cat that had tagged along with Beckett to watch him write his self-criticism lay in the upper left corner of the desk, yawning as it lazily swished its tail.

He had been confined for an hour. Never mind eight hundred words—he had only managed to squeeze out "self-criticism."

Its red tail swayed impatiently. With a headache coming on, Beckett simply put down his pen and looked up at the stars.

It was a habit he had developed since childhood: drawing inspiration from the boundless starry sky.

As for how long that inspiration-drawing would take, that was up to fate.

"Why are you in this place again?"

"Locked up again?"

Hela’s virtual projection appeared before Beckett through the communication system in his wristband at just the right moment.

The barren scene of the punishment grounds made Hela, who had arrived in anger, pause in surprise.

This was truly a sight she had not expected.

"Shut up."

Beckett had already grown accustomed to Hela’s sudden appearances.

Changing into a more comfortable reclined position, Beckett casually closed his notebook. But the glaring title, "Self-criticism," still could not escape Hela’s sharp eyes.

"Self-criticism?"

The expression on Hela’s face immediately became extremely strange. The anger in her belly vanished, replaced by irrepressible amusement.

Mockery.

Blatant mockery.

Especially when Beckett, lying on the ground, coldly shot her a sideways glance before turning away and refusing to look at her properly, Hela burst into unrestrained laughter…

"Meow!"

Beckett could not be bothered with this uninvited woman. The orange cat lying lazily on the table seemed to have finally found something to do. Its soft pink paws slapped the notebook cover with loud smacks, while its round little head looked ferocious as it bared its teeth.

"This is truly a sight I never thought I’d see."

Hela finally managed to stop laughing, though the corners of her lips still could not help curling upward. Her bad mood from before she came had somehow vanished completely.

She was very pleased now.

Boom!

With a casual flick of his hand, Beckett sent a dense ball of energy flying through Hela’s virtual projection. A distant mountaintop exploded in response.

"Don’t make me come find you." Beckett turned his head, his icy gaze making Hela sit down on the ground without a care.

"Then you’d better not come. If you do, I’m afraid my mother will have us marry on the spot." Hela sneered as well, refusing to yield as she mocked him.

"Marry?" Beckett frowned and sat upright warily.

Not long ago, his adoptive father Thanos had asked him that very question as well.

"Did you come looking for me to get married?"

Beckett’s wary expression immediately earned him an angry curse from Hela. "Go to hell!"

What was that supposed to mean?

Beckett’s attitude made Hela completely forget why she had come, despite having already laughed once.

He always managed to ignite her anger for no reason.

"Finish writing your self-criticism before you talk!"

"What does whether I’ve written my self-criticism have to do with you?"

"Can’t I be happy watching you look miserable while writing your self-criticism?"

"How old are you this year, little brother?"

Hela’s provocation made an extremely dangerous light flash in Beckett’s eyes.

Under the eternal moonlight of the punishment grounds, Beckett unusually began trading barbs with Hela.

The general gist of their argument was as follows:

Hela, arching a brow with obvious mockery: "At the very least, I don’t have to write a self-criticism like you."

Beckett, expressionless: "I’ve beaten you before. More than once."

The orange cat lying on the table swayed its head from side to side, looking at Beckett, then Hela, before lowering its head to look at the moonlight cloak draped over its body.

It suddenly lost the urge to join in the heckling.

She came full of anger and left full of resentment.

With her actual record being too embarrassing, Hela was the first to end the call after thirty minutes of arguing.

Over the next three days, Hela vented all her pent-up fury on the Jotunheim rebel bases that were still stubbornly resisting. Meanwhile, Beckett finally gritted his teeth and finished two heartfelt eight-hundred-word self-criticisms, submitting them to his adoptive father Thanos for review.

Five days later, Odin, King of Asgard, put on the Destroyer Armor by himself under the watchful gaze of his wife Frigga. Fully armed, he left Asgard to challenge the legendary Celestials and seek the next direction for his struggle.

P.S. Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, everyone~

P.P.S. I got the chapter title wrong… It should have been one hundred ninety-seven… I’m a little out of it… I can’t change the title.