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Kael was genuinely surprised that Tony Stark was the one who showed up for the extraction.
"I never thought you, with your thick eyebrows and honest eyes, would be the one to betray the organization, Tony!"
"...What are you even saying? That sounds incredibly awkward." Tony looked physically pained. Under Kael's scrutinizing gaze, he actually looked a little guilty.
It was true; he was intrigued by the 'Egghead's' Avengers Initiative, though he hadn't signed any contracts yet. He had merely reached a 'mutual understanding' with S.H.I.E.L.D. behind closed doors. Tony was only here as an intermediary to ransom Natasha and Hawkeye because Fury had provided critical data regarding the palladium poisoning—data Tony couldn't ignore.
"Save the excuses. Our ties are severed, Stark. I thought we were brothers," Kael said, performing a heartbreaking display of betrayal.
"Cut the drama. What's your price?"
"I want a deep-dive into J.A.R.V.I.S.'s source code."
Kael's expression flipped instantly. He threw a friendly arm around Tony's shoulder, resuming their usual closeness. Tony's face went sour. He shrugged off Kael's hand and turned toward the door.
"Keep them. Consider them a housewarming gift. I was never here."
"Wait, wait! Don't be like that! We're basically family! Let's talk counter-offers!" Kael gripped Tony's arm, and to Tony's annoyance, he couldn't break free. How is this kid so strong? he wondered. Even Pepper had noticed his recent gains, yet Kael felt like a hydraulic press.
"You are never seeing the core logic of J.A.R.V.I.S.," Tony stated firmly.
Kael began to haggle. Tony, born into wealth, was no match for a Calculating Survivor from the streets of Night City. Kael knew Tony was decades ahead of the era in AI development. Accessing his research wouldn't just help F.R.I.D.A.Y. achieve self-awareness; it could finally resolve Delamain's mental fragmentation back in the Cyberpunk world.
In the end, Kael walked away with a massive data package—years of J.A.R.V.I.S.'s iteration logs and development history. It would take F.R.I.D.A.Y. weeks to digest, but the leap in intelligence would be monumental.
"Goodbye, Natalie. Visit often. If the spy life gets boring, there's always a desk for you here," Kael said with a reluctant wave to the departing Natasha.
Natasha offered a polite, non-committal smile. She was a professional heartbreaker, after all. Beside her, Clint Barton was still a mess. If Kael hadn't administered the antidote, Hawkeye's heart might have actually stopped. As it was, his legs were jelly, and he was mumbling incoherently as Natasha hauled him toward the extraction vehicle.
The moment they were out of range, Kael dialed Pepper. "Pepper, you hired a ghost. Now, I need two new secretaries to replace her. Standard Stark requirements: Brilliant, efficient, and at least a D-cup. I have a reputation to maintain."
Because of Kael's "Butterfly Effect," Tony had received Nick Fury's warning early. He discovered the hidden element in his father's relics and forged a new, non-toxic Arc Reactor, saving his own life. He holed up in his lab for weeks to perfect it, leaving the company management to Pepper.
Kael had zero interest in corporate politics. He was content with his dividends and his secret workshop. While the media obsessed over Tony's low profile, a much darker figure was rotting in the gutters of New York.
Ivan Vanko was broke. He had spent his last Rubles developing his miniature reactor and the "Whiplash" whips, and now he was reduced to scavenging trash cans. New York's winter was biting, and his Russian accent made him a target for the local homeless cliques.
"I can't keep living like a dog," Ivan growled, a discarded cigarette dangling from his lips. Tony Stark was a god in a tower, and Ivan was a ghost. He needed a way in. He'd heard rumors of a plaza where the owners didn't ask for papers. It was time for the genius physicist to find a job washing dishes.
The Taisho Era. Iikura, Azabu District, Tokyo Prefecture.
Kael had recently relocated to the city. After reincarnating and spending his youth in the countryside, he had taken the local name Sakuragi Kael.
He had lived with his grandfather, an old samurai who had turned to the fabric trade after the Sword Ban. Kael had originally scoffed at the "ghost" stories his grandfather told—until he heard mentions of the Demon Slayer Corps.
Great. I'm in that world, he realized.
But at the moment, demons were the least of his worries. His father, now a successful member of the emerging middle class, had brought him to Tokyo for one reason: an arranged marriage.
Kael hated the idea—until he saw her.
"Um... excuse me. Am I late?"
A soft, sweet voice drifted through the air, carrying the faint scent of cherry blossoms. Kael looked up. Standing there was a girl with large, light-green eyes and a pink ponytail that faded into vibrant grass-green. Even in a modest kimono, her incredible figure was undeniable.
Dad... I love you, Kael thought, his resentment vanishing instantly.
"I'm kael. And you?"
"Kanroji Mitsuri."
"That's a beautiful name. As striking as your hair."
Mitsuri's face flushed a deep crimson. "Do you... do you really think so?" It was the first time she'd ever been complimented on her appearance by a man who wasn't her father.
"It's as beautiful as the cherry blossoms," Kael said, his face a mask of absolute sincerity. Mitsuri was practically steaming with shyness.
"Would you like something to eat?" Kael asked.
"YES!"
Mitsuri realized her volume was too high and immediately looked at her feet, embarrassed. "I mean... a little bit is fine."
Kael watched as she redefined "a little bit," clearing plate after plate of pastries with a cat-like satisfaction. As she reached for a teacup, her fingers brushed the back of Kael's hand.
Mitsuri froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. In this era, this man was to be her husband. She looked at him, her melancholy replaced by a surge of anticipation.
He's feeding me... she thought happily, chewing on a piece of sakura mochi.
Kael smiled. He'd found a different kind of joy in this world. But he knew the peace wouldn't last. In the shadows of Tokyo, the scent of blood was never far away.
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