Chapter 446: Thoughtful Service

Earth.

Lying on the couch, Alan was enjoying a rare moment of peace, receiving some thoughtful service from Wanda, who was gently massaging his head and shoulders to help him relax.

Although Alan initially refused and told her she didn't need to do this, Wanda insisted that, as his maid, her duty was to prioritize his well-being above all else.

Unable to argue against her, Alan simply "gave up the struggle" and decided to obediently enjoy the special treatment. Gwen had gone out to run some errands.

Recently, New York had become a little restless again, making Alan feel like the plot was starting to move forward once more—he could sense the calm before a storm brewing.

"Alan, your brow's furrowing again. Am I pressing too hard?" Wanda asked gently.

Alan raised his hand and patted the back of hers. When he opened his eyes, he suddenly felt a bit embarrassed.

Since his head had been resting on Wanda's lap, the moment he opened his eyes, he couldn't see her face—only the towering snowy peaks on her chest.

Awkwardly sitting up, Alan let out a soft cough to ease the tension. "No, you're doing great."

Wanda's massage truly helped ease the fatigue from his body. Alan looked up at the wall, calculating that it had been nearly five days.

He wondered how much progress Strange had made with magic. Given Strange's natural aptitude and strong perception, perhaps he'd advanced even faster than expected.

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At the Sanctum Sanctorum, Strange had only rested for one day before already feeling significantly more refreshed mentally.

Eager and impatient, he sought out Karl Mordo, asking when he could finally begin his magical training.

He thought everything would be smooth sailing. With his quick comprehension and exceptional learning abilities, surely it wouldn't be long before he grasped the mysteries of magic.

Standing in the courtyard alongside his fellow disciples, Strange watched them practice spells. With elegant gestures, they summoned bright orange light from their fingertips, which danced through the air like living sparks.

And him?

He couldn't even draw a complete circle in the air. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how focused he was, it was like trying to light a broken lighter—no flame, no spark, no success.

The more he failed, the more anxious he became.

"Strange, you must clear your mind. Your heart is too restless right now. You won't be able to comprehend anything this way," said the Ancient One, who had appeared silently behind Stephen Strange.

She understood his eagerness to master magic—it was a reflection of her own high hopes for him. But the more impatient he became, the harder it would be to learn properly.

With his arms folded in front of him, Karl Mordo added lightly, "Yes, Stephen. You need to concentrate. Maybe you should take a few more days to rest?"

He figured Strange's mind was probably still recovering from the strain of performing so many surgeries in the past. Plus, he was new to magic—of course it wouldn't come instantly.

Strange suddenly sank into frustration. "It's... my hands. If only my hands were still normal…"

The Ancient One immediately understood: his hands were the source of his inner demons. Strange blamed every failure on the injury to his hands.

Seeing that no one replied, Strange began to wallow in self-pity again. "Now my hands just tremble weakly in the air. They don't even respond to my brain. I probably don't have the talent for this…"

Strange once again spiraled into self-doubt. Maybe Alan and the Ancient One had only been comforting him from the start.

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