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Ethan carefully placed the Tesseract back inside the case, the energy field around his hand fading away.
"Alright," he said, straightening up. "For the next twenty-four hours, it stays with me."
Coulson nodded. "That was the agreement."
He turned slightly toward Clint.
"Hawkeye will remain here the entire time. After twenty-four hours, he leaves with the Tesseract—no extensions."
"Babysitting duty," Clint muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Just don't come near my basement while I'm working," Ethan said firmly.
Hawkeye nodded. "Fair enough."
"To be honest," Clint added, glancing toward Storm, "I kinda want to spar with him. See where I stand."
Storm, who had been sitting quietly at another table the whole time, looked up and nodded.
"I'd also like to see what S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best can do."
Ethan glanced at both of them, then shrugged.
"Alright. You guys go have fun. I'm heading back to my basement."
With that, Ethan picked up the reinforced case and headed downstairs, the heavy door sliding shut behind him.
Coulson watched the door for a moment, then turned to Storm.
"Is he always like that?"
Storm gave a small nod.
"Ethan rarely comes out of his basement unless there's something he wants—or something he needs to build. So yeah… most of the time, he's like that."
Coulson nodded, then looked at Storm.
"Alright then. Let's go see you two fight. I've got time—might as well enjoy the show."
Hawkeye nodded in agreement, and Storm turned without another word, leading them deeper into the mansion.
They soon arrived at a massive hall.
Coulson slowed, looking around in mild surprise.
"This hall was originally built for parties," he said. "But it seems like Ethan remodeled it into a full-scale training area."
The polished floors had been replaced with reinforced composite plating. The walls were lined with impact-absorbing panels, and faint energy barriers shimmered along the ceiling—clearly designed to contain something violent.
Clint whistled softly as he took it all in.
"I like this already," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Way better than a party hall."
Storm stepped into the center of the room and turned to face him, calm and composed.
"You can use whatever weapons you like," Storm said evenly. "I won't."
Clint raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Confident, huh?"
Storm's expression didn't change.
"Just honest."
Coulson moved to the edge of the arena, folding his arms.
"Alright," he said. "Let's keep this clean. No killing, no permanent injuries."
Hawkeye smirked as he reached over his shoulder, fingers brushing against the bow strapped to his back.
"No worries. I'll keep it friendly."
Storm simply inclined his head.
"Fair enough."
Clint stepped back, creating distance, already falling into a familiar rhythm. His stance loosened, casual on the surface—but Coulson knew better. Hawkeye was always calculating angles, lines of fire, escape routes.
"Whenever you're ready," Clint said lightly.
Storm didn't reply.
He moved.
Sprinting towards Hawkeye.
Clint's eyes sharpened instantly. He rolled sideways as Storm closed the gap, an arrow already sliding into place. The bow snapped up in one smooth motion.
Thwip.
The arrow flew—not lethal, blunt-tipped—aimed straight for Storm's chest.
Storm twisted his torso at the last second. The arrow skimmed past, grazing fabric, and embedded itself in the reinforced wall behind him with a dull thunk.
Clint blinked once.
"Okay," he muttered. "You're good."
Storm didn't press recklessly. He circled, steps light, weight perfectly balanced. As he looked for the perfect oppurtunity to strike.
Clint fired again—two arrows this time, staggered timing. One low, one high.
Storm slid into a controlled drop, sweeping his leg out as he moved. The lower arrow passed over his shoulder; the higher one missed as he rolled forward and came up inside Clint's optimal range.
Too close.
Clint abandoned the bow instantly, letting it fall as he pivoted, drawing a short baton from his belt. He swung—not wild, but sharp, aimed for Storm's ribs.
Storm caught Clint's wrist.
He twisted, stepping in, using Clint's own momentum. The baton clattered to the floor as Clint was forced back two steps.
Clint reacted fast—knee strike, elbow follow-up.
Storm blocked the knee with his thigh, absorbed the impact, then redirected the elbow with his forearm.
Storm shifted his weight the instant the elbow was redirected.
He stepped inside Clint's guard, shoulder brushing past Clint's chest, and used the opening to hook an arm around Clint's upper back.
Clint felt it immediately.
Bad position.
He twisted hard, trying to break the hold, but Storm adjusted with him, feet sliding across the reinforced floor in perfect sync.
Clint drove a forearm toward Storm's throat.
Storm dipped his head just enough for it to miss, then brought his own elbow up—not to strike, but to jam. Clint's balance shifted half an inch.
That was all Storm needed.
He stepped behind Clint, hooked a leg, and applied torque at the shoulder and hip simultaneously. Clint stumbled, barely keeping his footing as he was forced forward.
The bow lay just out of reach.
Clint's eyes narrowed as he tried to find a way to get out of the lock. He switched tactics instantly—headbutt feint, followed by a sudden drop of weight, trying to roll free.
Storm anticipated it.
He released at the exact moment Clint committed, letting the motion carry Clint forward. Clint hit the floor in a controlled slide, palms slapping down as he rolled and sprang back up.
But Storm was already there.
Too close again.
Storm's hand snapped out, stopping an inch from Clint's throat.
"Okay, that's enough," Coulson said, stepping forward. "Good match. Let's end it here."
Both men relaxed immediately.
"You both fought well," Coulson continued. "But clearly… Storm won."
Storm nodded once, accepting it without pride or arrogance.
"Your fundamentals are solid," Storm said calmly, looking at Clint. "But you lack raw strength and physical endurance."
Clint nodded back, unfazed.
"Yeah. Fair assessment."
He rolled his shoulder and grinned.
"Still, I've got twenty-four hours. We can work on that."
Storm's lips curved slightly.
"I would like that as well."
Coulson smiled at the exchange.
"Good. Then I'll leave you two to it."
He turned toward the exit, then paused and looked back.
"Just remember—bring the Tesseract back to the Fridge on time."
Hawkeye nodded.
"Don't worry. I'll personally make sure it gets back."