Like always, whether Hela was really dead or not, Ronan didn't know.
Oh, well, going by Odin's playbook, he shouldn't know.
After all, Odin's big plan was that Hela was the ultimate mission he'd left for Thor.
The biggest hurdle in Thor's life.
Clear it, and Thor'd be the real-deal King of Asgard from then on.
Of course, if he didn't make it, there wasn't much choice—failure probably meant death.
Either way, what happened next? Ronan had no clue.
He still had faith in Thor. Even without Loki's help, this Thor was leagues beyond the 616 universe version.
With a friend as scary-strong as Ronan in his corner, Thor'd definitely step up his game.
Plus, Ronan had already beaten Hela half to death—add it all up, and if Thor still couldn't pull it off, Ronan'd be out of words.
So, Ronan went back to his chill civilian life, no sweat.
School by day, training by night, and when he had time, a date or two with Gwen Stacy.
Of course, he didn't slack on "mentoring" Tony Stark either.
Half a month slipped by quiet.
In that time, Ronan hadn't heard a peep from Asgard.
Two possible reasons.
Either Hela was still laying low—licking her wounds or cooking up some new scheme.
Or Asgard was already under Hela's thumb.
The second one? Less likely.
With Hela's grudge-holding streak, if she'd taken Asgard, step one wouldn't be anything else—it'd be hunting Ronan down for revenge.
In this world, her hit list was short: Odin, who was already toast, and Ronan, who'd handed her a major humiliation.
She'd roll up with all of Asgard's firepower to "crusade" against Earth.
No, scratch that—against Ronan.
Still, there was a chance she was healing up, waiting to come for him once she was back in fighting shape.
Whatever the case, Ronan wasn't scared of her.
Putting Asgard on the back burner, Ronan turned his eyes to the training grounds.
Half a month in, Tony Stark had wrapped up the basics at Asgard.
Now he was trailing the apprentice sorcerers, picking up the simplest spells bit by bit.
Results?
Not exactly stellar.
At Tony Stark's age—pushing decades in a science-first worldview—he'd built a habit.
One that'd lately turned into his catchphrase.
This isn't scientific!
He kept trying to break everything down with science, but halfway through, he'd run out of steam.
So, "This isn't scientific" started as a snarky jab from Ronan one time.
Now it was Tony's mantra.
"Alright, everyone, take a break."
"Back to the training grounds this afternoon—we'll keep going."
Finally, as lunchtime rolled around, Wong called the morning session done.
The apprentices on the field bowed, then buzzed with excitement, swapping notes on their progress.
A few sharp ones stood out.
Their first lesson—sensing space with the Sling Ring to open a portal—they nailed fast.
Some could even crack open a sliver already.
As for Tony Stark…
Ronan glanced at a slightly awkward Tony and nearly cracked up.
Here's the deal: almost everyone here knew Tony Stark, except a couple of foreigners who weren't clued in.
But after intros from the others, they all got who he was.
And that's where it got awkward.
Before meeting him, everyone figured Tony Stark was some mega-genius rich guy.
I mean, the dude cooked up the Iron Man suit and turned the Arc Reactor into clean energy for whole industries—how could he be a dummy?
But these past few days of training peeled that "genius" label right off.
Theory? He aced it—killer comprehension.
Or, more like, killer memorization.
But when it came to hands-on practice, Tony Stark was dead last.
Three days of training, and Ronan just watched him every day—left hand up, right hand tracing circles in the air.
Yup, just drawing circles in nothing.
Once or twice, a faint gold spark flickered, but it fizzled out quick.
Day one, he was all swagger: "A genius only needs that one percent inspiration."
Day two: "It's just the start—failure's the mother of success."
Today?
"Don't look at me, I've got it figured out."
"Once I process it back home, I'll nail it tomorrow, guaranteed!"
Uh-huh.
Ronan nodded, totally satisfied.
That's Tony Stark—king of the hard mouth.
"Yeah, the legendary genius Tony Stark needing three or four days for the basics—what's the big deal?"
"Just three or four days, no sweat."
"Oh, hey, Wong—when'd I pick up the portal trick?"
Ronan flicked his eyes to Wong nearby.
Wong, sticking to the "cool guy" vibe Ronan gave him, raised his right index finger, stone-faced.
"Day one?"
Tony's voice ticked up a notch.
But Wong shook his head, still deadpan.
"First try."
When those three words dropped, Tony looked like he'd been hit by a thunderbolt.
First try?
What, someone saw it once and just got it?
"Oh, right, I remember now."
"Ancient One showed me once, and bam—I opened a portal."
"First place I went with it? Top of the New York Sanctum."
Ronan played up the "lightbulb moment" act.
Tony, off to the side, caught the drift immediately.
He was mocking him!
So, Tony fired back with double middle fingers, not sticking around for Ronan's next line, and stormed off toward his room.
Halfway there, he paused, shifted gears, and headed for the cafeteria.
Man's gotta eat—skip a meal, and you're starving.
No one here was cooking special for him, after all.
And he couldn't even leave.
That's what pissed him off most!
"You think he'll actually pull it off?"
"He doesn't even seem to get what magic is."
Watching Tony's back fade out, Wong muttered low.
Ronan grinned, hands behind his head, leaning back in a rocking chair.
"Does it matter if he makes it or not?"
"It's all up to his fate."
"One month—if he can break through that wall, he might turn into a decent sorcerer."
"If he can't, well, call it a vacation."