If Sadako wanted to break into Hollywood, her English had to be flawless.
Bella had also enrolled her in a specialized British accent course—Received Pronunciation, the kind of clipped London English that made Hollywood judges, critics, and academy professors swoon. In their eyes, it was the hallmark of aristocratic refinement.
Whether that was actually true was debatable, but the fact remained: British actresses who made it to Hollywood, as long as they didn't bomb spectacularly, almost always walked away with the "English Rose" label from the press. That said a lot about the mindset of those old men in the industry toward Britain.
As for Sadako—a Japanese woman through and through—no amount of hair dye or cosmetic surgery was going to earn her that title. But mastering English? That was non-negotiable.
Speaking, reading, writing—all of it needed to reach a certain standard. Language was something only she could put in the hours for. No one could do it for her. The same went for her acting skills, which needed serious, dedicated work.
A pretty face? Even pretty faces in Hollywood needed to act. The bar wasn't impossibly high, but at the bare minimum, you had to do more than pout and stare blankly at the camera, right? Letting a body double handle every scene while you counted off "one, two, three, four" in front of a green screen, relying entirely on post-production to paste your face in—was she kidding?
Bella had some pull in this industry, but not enough to rewrite its rules. Hollywood wasn't her personal playground. If the money were that easy, she'd have gone there herself.
She enrolled Sadako in a language school in Japan—English first—and signed her up for two acting courses as well. All expenses would be recorded as a loan. She also arranged a receptionist position for Sadako at Tangu Co., Ltd., since Sadako was so out of touch with normal society that she could only learn those things through lived experience. Bella asked Gavin Banks to keep an eye on her.
Then she boarded a plane and left Japan.
There was something waiting for her back home. Nothing urgent—and yet, in a way, completely urgent.
After months of effort, Samantha had finally conceived. It was her second checkup. She was just over three months along, and in six months, their two-year-old family of three would welcome a new life into the world.
Natasha—now an official S.H.I.E.L.D. agent—was called back to Los Angeles. Bella, still technically on exchange in Japan, was summoned home as well.
The whole family gathered and accompanied Samantha to the hospital.
Natasha, in a cropped T-shirt and jeans, shook her head with a quiet sigh. "Looks like our standing in this family is about to drop again."
Charlie was fluttering around Samantha, fussing over every detail of the checkup, leaving the two sisters with absolutely nothing to do but watch from a distance.
Natasha was sitting beside Bella when she leaned in and sniffed at her neck, then said with complete certainty, "You smell like another woman."
Bella tensed up for half a second. "That's—that's not what you think. Let me explain—wait. No. Why am I explaining myself? This is completely normal!"
She rolled her eyes. Natasha laughed.
It had to be said—ever since becoming an agent, this little minx had only gotten more captivating. Every glance, every smile carried a pull that made Bella want to do something regrettable.
Bella raised a fist. The meaning was clear: tease me again and I'll clock you.
Her gaze dropped to Natasha's foot, still wedged into a high heel. A large bruise spread across the top of it.
"You're hurt?"
"Small mission. Ran into a savate specialist—Batroc the Leaper. The guy's genuinely good." Natasha said it like she was discussing the weather.
"Where is he? I'll go kill him."
"Not necessary. I shot him. I wanted to test my hand-to-hand combat at the time."
They talked about it like they were debating dinner plans.
Bella frowned. "That's reckless. You're a spy—why are you sparring with someone like that? What were you thinking..." She paused. "And why are you still wearing heels with a bruised foot? Come here. Let me work on it."
She pulled Natasha's foot into her lap without waiting for permission and set the heel aside.
The bruise was about two fingers wide, maybe 7 to 8 centimeters (roughly 3 inches) long, stark against the pale skin. Quite noticeable.
Their family status had apparently already dropped—Charlie and Samantha hadn't noticed either of them in a while.
"This might sting."
Bella had watched Sadako use her healing ability many times, but she hadn't developed her own healing spell yet.
For now, all she could do was use her power to break up the bruising and accelerate natural recovery.
"Hss—" Natasha inhaled sharply. Bella's fingers were cold.
Bella kept careful control over her psionic output—too low a temperature and she'd freeze the cells outright. Instead, she converted the ice into water, sending microscopic streams of it seeping into the skin at the bruise site, flushing the damaged tissue, clearing the disrupted vessels and nerves.
It was the only healing method she'd figured out so far—inefficient, demanding, requiring over thirty minutes of precise psionic manipulation, like performing surgery at a microscopic scale. She wouldn't bother doing this for just anyone. But for Natasha? She'd put in the effort.
The water currents worked their way through muscle and tissue, breaking down the clotted blood and circulating it from the calf up through the thigh in a slow loop. To Natasha, it felt like wave after wave of warmth flooding through her. She closed her eyes and bit down on her lip, terrified she might make a sound and break Bella's focus.
She held on for five minutes. Then she couldn't anymore.
"...Lighter," she whispered, keeping her voice down. "Be a little lighter."
"My touch is too firm? I'll ease up." Bella adjusted without question.
Three more minutes passed. Natasha kept sneaking glances toward Charlie and Samantha, then anxiously scanning the surrounding area. Finally, her voice dropped even lower—and carried just a hint of something that wasn't quite a complaint.
"Faster. More pressure."
You are impossible to please. Bella shot her a glare—but the look on Natasha's face made her immediately realize her healing technique still had some kinks to work out. The side effects were... more extensive than expected.
"Just hold on. Almost done."
The bruise finally dissolved. Only a faint surface mark remained, left to the body's own recovery. Both of them emerged from the process damp with sweat.
"Impressive," Natasha said, slipping her shoe back on and taking a few experimental steps. Her eyes were warm with approval.
"You'll see better eventually."
"I'll look forward to it."
They exchanged a look loaded with meaning.
Bella, desperate to dissolve the lingering tension, scrambled for a new topic—and actually found one.
"Hey," she said. "How do you feel about human enhancement? Are you opposed to it?"
The virus Weyland's team had been developing specifically for Natasha was almost ready. It had been engineered entirely around her genetic profile—massive rounds of experimental adjustment, fine-tuned by hand. Designed exclusively for her. Anyone else who used it would die. But in exchange, it was the safest possible option for Natasha specifically, with the highest enhancement ceiling.
Natasha blinked. Then she made the connection. "The viral sample you pulled from the Tricell facility in West Africa? You actually have scientific talent on that level working for you? I've been underestimating you."
Bella neither confirmed nor denied it.