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"Actually… I am Iron Man."
"I am Iron Man."
"I am Iron Man."
"Iron Man."
"Man!!"
The same audio clip blasted again, like a curse designed to haunt the rich forever.
Tony finally snapped. He lunged forward, ripped the remote from James's hand, and slammed the power button so hard the TV went black.
"Do you have to keep replaying that damn interview?!"
James leaned back on the couch, smiling like a kid who'd just discovered a new button that made adults angry. "Wow. That's the highlight of your life. What's wrong with me helping you relive it properly?"
Tony's face was flat, expressionless, but his eye twitched—barely.
In the past, Tony had never regretted admitting he was Iron Man. He'd done it openly, confidently, like the world's opinion was just background noise. But now, facing James and his endless looping edits, Tony felt a very unfamiliar sensation.
Regret.
Not regret toward the world.
Regret toward one annoying friend who would never let it die.
Tony had a horrible feeling this "highlight moment" was about to become an unforgettable shadow that would follow him for the rest of his life.
And it was all James's fault.
The word "remix" hadn't even become popular yet, but James had already turned Tony's confession into a weapon—cutting, looping, and polishing it into something that could spread like a plague the moment it touched the internet.
Pepper stood nearby, trying to look serious, but she couldn't hide the small shakes in her shoulders. She was laughing. Quietly. In the most professional way possible.
"Tony," she said in a voice full of fake justice, "this is your own trouble."
James gave her a proud thumbs-up like she'd just delivered the best line of the day.
And Pepper wasn't wrong.
If Tony had followed the script James suggested—deny everything, let Stark Industries PR bury the story, steer attention to charity—then the Middle East mess would have faded fast. Public outrage would've turned into boredom. Rumors would've died the way they always did.
But Tony had stood in front of dozens of cameras and reporters and said it with zero hesitation:
"I am Iron Man."
That single line set the world on fire. After that, public opinion wasn't a thing anyone could control.
And once the evidence James had stolen exposed Obadiah, Tony had destroyed every weapon tied to the scandal—bold, direct, and loud. In doing so, he made Iron Man impossible to ignore. He didn't just stop the weapons trade.
He painted Iron Man into the world's eyes.
Then someone filmed him flying into his own villa. And suddenly, the internet wasn't asking if Iron Man existed anymore.
It was asking who he was.
Tony Stark—playboy, billionaire, party animal—was a superhero?
That contrast was too ridiculous for the world to resist.
In Tony's entire life, the word "hero" had never followed his name. Not once.
And yet, here he was.
Tony crossed his arms. "Is this trouble? I just stated a fact."
James nodded like a student listening to a lecture. "Right, right, Tony is correct, I am—"
Tony raised one finger, pointing it at James like a gun. A silent warning.
The moment felt weirdly familiar—like a husky lifting its paw to stop someone from touching its food.
"Damn it," Tony snapped, "I don't want to hear that phrase for a whole year! Delete it from your brain!"
James didn't argue. He simply raised his right hand with his palm open, as if swearing an oath. He didn't say a word.
But somehow, his expression resembled a chimpanzee pretending to be innocent.
Tony stared at him.
"I knew you wouldn't be idle."
With a tired sigh, Tony walked over to a case and pulled out what James had really come for—a second-generation Arc Reactor, complete and stable, shining like a captured piece of sunlight. Tony handed it over like someone paying off a debt they didn't want to admit existed.
James held it carefully. His eyes lit up.
"My dear Tony," he said softly, "I don't understand what you're implying. Look at this beautiful reactor… it can even make me forget Victoria's Secret."
He breathed warmly onto it and wiped it gently against his shirt like it was sacred.
Tony's face tightened. "From now on, I don't want to hear those four damn words from your mouth again."
He slapped James's shoulder hard—just a little too hard—like revenge disguised as friendship.
James blinked. "Which four words?"
Tony stared at him, then nodded slowly. "Good."
He didn't let the conversation stay there. He immediately dragged it back to business.
"How's the Iron Monger prototype you took? How's the modification going?"
James grinned. "Heh. It's not called Iron Monger anymore. You can call it the Vajra Titan."
Tony clicked his tongue. Even he had to admit the name sounded cooler than "Mark" numbers.
After Obadiah fell, his remaining assets were divided up fast—Tony, the military, and everyone hungry enough to take a bite. James got a generous share, too. Along with one percent of Stark Industries shares, his biggest prize was the half-finished Iron Monger body Obadiah had built through his engineering teams.
James's share was labeled as a "technical investment," because he'd contributed smart weapon manufacturing specs to the military. Since Stark Industries was shutting down weapons entirely, Tony sold that technology at a high price.
But James never handed over the real treasure.
He only sold the specs.
F.R.I.D.A.Y.—the brain behind everything—stayed with him.
The military could attempt to recreate "smart weapons," but without the right AI backbone, their version would be slower, clumsier, and less elegant. Even with blueprints in hand, they'd never match what James had done.
And the Iron Monger's true value wasn't just engineering.
It was the body itself.
To create an armor that could survive anything, Obadiah had smelted rare metals into the shell—dense, stubborn materials that felt like they didn't belong in ordinary industry. If not for design flaws, Tony's Mark III would've struggled badly against it.
That was a story that belonged to another timeline.
In this one, James had done something smarter.
He dismantled Iron Monger completely, fused the strongest parts into his own exoskeleton frame, and forged a compact titan-class armor—Vajra.
And now, all it needed was power.
The Arc Reactor in James's hand was the missing heart.
Tony's eyes shone with curiosity and competitive hunger.
"Let me help you test it."
James shrugged. "Sure."
Then he added, grinning, "But if I break your Mark armor, I'm not paying."
Tony smirked. "You won't pay. I'll just deduct it from your salary."
James sighed dramatically. "What a wicked capitalist."
Tony pointed at him. "Because of that statement, your bonus is gone."
They left the villa together, arms around each other's shoulders, laughing like two schoolboys plotting trouble.
Pepper watched them go and rubbed her forehead.
One was the CEO.
One was a newly appointed department director and shareholder.
And both acted like overgrown children.
---
The Test Ground
Tony's weapon testing facility sat in the suburbs. Thick concrete spread across the ground, strong enough to handle explosions, heavy impacts, and the kind of stupidity that came from geniuses competing.
Tony arrived wearing his Mark III, only his face visible.
"Where's your Vajra?" he asked.
James checked his phone calmly. "Wait. It'll be here."
A moment later, an unmanned heavy truck rolled in like a delivery from the future.
Tony tilted his head. "Your method of transport is truly simple."
James shot back instantly. "I don't want tomorrow's New York headline to be: Iron Man adopts a new Iron Daddy."
Tony made a choking sound—half laugh, half insult.
James opened the back door of the truck.
Inside, a matte black titan armor lay curled up like a sleeping giant, silent and still. Even at rest, it looked heavy enough to crack the world.
James stepped up, opened an internal access bay, and slid the Arc Reactor inside.
He didn't need it exposed like Tony's chest piece. Vajra's power source was hidden—protected. Private.
A soft voice echoed from the armor.
"System booting…"
Vajra's visual sensors lit up. Energy surged through its internal structure like blood filling a body. The machine woke fully, all systems aligning with crisp precision.
"Master," F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke through the titan, "how may I serve you?"
Tony's face changed.
The size difference hit him hard.
Vajra wasn't a suit.
It was a titan.
Nearly four meters tall, it made the Mark III look like a child standing next to a grown man. The design wasn't bulky like Iron Monger. It was sleek, rounded, reinforced—built for flexibility without sacrificing strength.
Its visual sensor module blended into its upper torso instead of sticking out awkwardly. Its shoulders carried squared structures—gravity control and kinetic movement systems—and James knew those were the real weapons.
With the gravity field active, Vajra could crush heavy armor like paper.
The only downside was charge time. The attack needed a brief moment to build output before releasing full force. A trump card—best used when the enemy least expected it.
James planned to add more weapons later—smart systems, tactical modules, and specialized options.
Unlike Tony's bright, heroic armor, Vajra was a weapon of war.
But James didn't intend to stand on rooftops and pose like a savior.
He could stay hidden.
If anyone ever discovered the titan armor, most of the world would assume it belonged to Tony anyway.
James was a Stark director. A Stark shareholder. Stark's man.
Tony stared up at Vajra, then slowly lowered his face shield.
Alright. Enough talking.
They would decide the "father and son" relationship the old way.
With fists.
James stepped back, then used Vajra's open palm like an elevator, climbing into the cockpit.
"Neural connection in progress…"
F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice became deeper, closer, as James's consciousness linked into the titan's body. His senses expanded—weight, balance, sound, distance—everything became data and feeling at once.
James's voice came through Vajra's speakers, layered with metallic depth.
"Tony. Ready?"
Tony raised his hands. "Come on."
The moment he spoke, Vajra moved.
The gravity control system activated. The kinetic drive surged.
In an instant, Vajra crossed the distance—less than a meter away.
Tony's eyes widened. So fast?!
Mark III could fly at high speed, yes, but it needed acceleration and warm-up time. Vajra, however, was designed for explosive short-range movement. Within a hundred meters, it gave Tony no room to use his best advantage.
Vajra grabbed Mark III by the armor and slammed him into the concrete.
BAM.
Even with cushioning tech, Tony felt pain burst through him. A sharp hiss escaped his throat.
Tony reacted instantly, firing a palm repulsor sideways. The recoil shoved him out of line and he dodged the next heavy punch by a hair.
But Vajra didn't slow.
It moved like it wasn't heavy at all.
It grabbed Mark III's foot and slammed him down again before Tony could stabilize.
BAM.
Tony's head rang.
How is this possible?
The control response was too clean, too sharp. This wasn't the clumsy movement of a giant machine. This was the agility of something alive.
Tony realized something in that moment:
James's neural connection technology was far beyond anything Tony had imagined.
The bigger the armor, the harder it was to control. The more data had to move, the more delays appeared. That limitation was one reason Tony kept his suits small.
And yet James had built a titan that responded like a predator.
Tony didn't even know the half of it.
James still had another trick hidden—an operating system implant capable of pushing speed beyond human reaction.
He hadn't activated it.
Because if he did, it wouldn't be a fight anymore.
It would be a father beating his son into the ground.
Even the simplified version only gave about a ten percent amplification, but that was more than enough to make the gap cruel.
Tony's vision blurred slightly. Two heavy hits, back-to-back, had rattled him.
This wasn't how he imagined things going.
He'd seen the Iron Monger blueprints. In his head, he had a perfect plan: do this, then that, then outsmart James with clever maneuvering, and make him look ridiculous.
Reality had other ideas.
Vajra stepped forward, planting a foot on Mark III's chest. Gravity output increased slightly—just enough to make Tony's lungs feel heavy.
Tony immediately shouted, "Pause! Pause!"
James's metallic voice came through. "Giving up?"
"Who's giving up?" Tony snapped. "I called a pause."
James tilted the titan's head. "How long of a pause?"
Tony hesitated, suddenly guilty. Not because he couldn't accept losing—he could. His guilt was because he wasn't sure how much time he'd need to fix this gap.
"…A month," Tony said, trying to sound confident. "Let's pause for a month first."
Inside the helmet, Tony's mind screamed:
One month should be enough… right?
I'm the world's number one genius… right?
But after being beaten like this, Tony didn't feel like number one.
He felt like he had just met the next problem that would haunt his pride for years.
And James—James sounded way too happy about it.
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Extra chapters available on patreon ❤️🔥
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