Tony Stark was back.
The news hit like a bomb, detonating simultaneously on Wall Street and inside the Pentagon, leaving everyone reeling.
After three straight months of decline, Stark Industries' stock suddenly snapped its head up. The market opened—and it hit the daily limit in an instant. The generals at the Pentagon finally let out a long breath of relief. Their favorite toy supplier—the genius who could turn war into a grand fireworks show—was still alive.
The press conference venue was packed to the rafters. Camera flashes were so dense they could turn night into day.
The reporters were like sharks that smelled blood. Countless black microphones crowded together, like an upside-down forest of sugarcane. They had prepared hundreds of questions, ready to pick apart every single bone from Tony's three months in Afghanistan.
But the Tony Stark who came back… was different.
He didn't go on stage right away. Instead, he sent his bodyguard Happy to buy him several cheeseburgers. Then, under the gaze of the entire world, he plopped down on the steps in front of the podium and started eating, completely ignoring everyone else.
His business partner—the bald-headed Obadiah Stane—walked over with a perfectly practiced businessman's smile, trying to smooth things over.
"Tony, everyone's waiting for you," he said softly, bending down, like he was coaxing a disobedient but priceless child.
"I just want to eat a burger," Tony replied, his mouth stuffed, words slurred.
Pepper Potts stood a short distance away, worry written all over her face. She knew better than anyone—Tony had changed. That arrogant, dazzling playboy now carried something unfamiliar deep in his eyes. Like ashes left after a great fire: cold on the surface, but still hiding scorching embers underneath.
After a full ten minutes of chaos, Tony finally finished eating. He wiped his mouth casually and, half-supported by Obadiah, slowly walked onto the stage.
He didn't look at any prepared speech.
He just swept his gaze over the excited, greedy, curious faces below. The expressions on those faces filled him with an inexplicable sense of irritation.
"I went through some things," he began, his voice slightly hoarse. "I saw with my own eyes—my own hands—my weapons being used where they shouldn't be, against people they shouldn't be used on."
The crowd stirred. Obadiah's smile froze.
"After I came back, I thought about it a lot," Tony continued, ignoring all reactions. "I don't want my legacy, after I die, to be nothing but a pile of killing machines. So…"
He took a deep breath. His eyes hardened, like steel just pulled from a forge.
"I've decided that Stark Industries will permanently shut down its weapons manufacturing division."
Boom.
The entire venue exploded.
Reporters surged forward like madmen, questions firing off like machine-gun rounds.
"Mr. Stark! Does this mean you're giving up tens of billions of dollars in annual military contracts?"
"Is this your personal decision, or a board resolution?"
"Mr. Stane, what's your response?"
Obadiah's face turned iron-gray. He grabbed a microphone, trying desperately to salvage the situation.
"Tony has just returned from a very difficult environment. His mental state is a bit—this issue will be discussed internally—"
Tony shoved him aside, rough and unapologetic.
"I'm done."
After dropping that earth-shattering line, he left under Pepper and Happy's protection, forcing his way through a crowd on the brink of rioting.
…
South Pacific, a private island.
Levi lay comfortably on a beach chair, a holographic screen in front of him livestreaming the press conference.
When Tony said those words, Levi let out a sharp whistle and took a big gulp of his iced juice.
"Now the show really begins."
Around him, more than a dozen top-of-the-line computers lit up at once. On their screens, Stark Industries' K-line chart looked like a kite with its string cut—diving headfirst at a terrifying angle.
Red everywhere. So red it made your heart race.
At the same time, on Wall Street's trading floor—
"He's insane! Tony Stark has completely lost it!"
"Sell! Sell everything! Dump it at any price!"
"My pension! It's all gone!"
Traders screamed themselves hoarse, faces filled with despair and panic. Ringing phones and frantic keyboard clatter merged into a symphony of doom. In just minutes, Stark Industries' market value evaporated by more than forty percent. Panic spread like a plague—everyone wanted to dump their shares before they turned into worthless paper.
And in the midst of that wailing chaos, a mysterious pool of capital—like a giant whale lurking in the deep sea—silently opened its massive jaws.
Levi's fingers danced across the keyboard, so fast they left afterimages.
He was simultaneously controlling hundreds of ghost accounts scattered across the globe. Each one was registered under a different identity, created using Morphological Mimicry—utterly ordinary, completely untraceable. But together, they formed a tidal wave powerful enough to shake the market.
"Buy. Take everything they're selling."
His voice was calm, without the slightest ripple, as if he were commenting on the weather.
On the screens, countless panic-driven sell orders appeared—and were swallowed whole in less than a hundredth of a second.
Shares that investors were dumping like trash flowed steadily into Levi's pockets. He was like a silent sanitation worker, calmly and greedily vacuuming up everything the market discarded.
Finally, the closing bell rang.
Wall Street was left in ruins. Stark Industries' stock price settled at a number too ugly to look at. Countless people were wiped out overnight. In his office, Obadiah smashed everything he could get his hands on, his roars echoing down the hallway.
No one knew that in this single day, more than 15% of Stark Industries' publicly traded shares had quietly changed hands.
A mysterious Eastern man named Anthony Chen, and the unheard-of firm under his name—Lighthouse Capital—had become the largest single shareholder of Stark Industries, second only to Tony himself.
…
One week later.
Stark Industries Headquarters, top-floor workshop.
Tony Stark paced back and forth in his private lab, visibly irritable. The arc reactor in his chest emitted a faint blue glow, making his already pale face look worse. Palladium poisoning had begun to show. He stripped off his shirt and stared at the mirror, at the black vein-like patterns spreading beneath his skin, his mood darkening further.
Pepper Potts entered with a document in hand, her expression more serious than ever.
"Tony, we've got a problem."
"What could be worse than being poisoned to death by my own invention?" Tony snapped, trying unsuccessfully to cauterize the marks with a laser.
"There is." Pepper slammed the file onto the table. "We have a new major shareholder. Fifteen point three percent. He's formally requested an emergency board meeting—and a private meeting with you."
"Who?" Tony frowned, stopping his futile attempt.
"Anthony Chen. A man with no verifiable background." Pepper's tone was heavy. "Legal has checked—every acquisition was completely legitimate. We can't touch him."
"Let him come," Tony snorted, pulling his shirt back on. "I want to see who has the guts to pick my fruit at a time like this."
3:00 p.m., top-floor reception room.
When Levi walked in—tailored suit, warm smile, utterly at ease—Tony's pupils shrank.
"It's you!"
"Hello again, Shit-a-crumb," Levi greeted him familiarly, like an old friend. "We meet again."
"Anthony Chen… the delivery guy…" Tony's mind raced, instantly linking the Afghan mystery man with this new major shareholder. "You bought the stock?"
"More like picked it up," Levi said casually, pouring himself a glass of water and sitting down opposite Tony. "Wall Street's smart people didn't want it anymore. Seemed a waste to leave it on the ground."
"Who are you? What do you want?" Tony's gaze sharpened, like a lion confronting an intruder in its territory.
"My name is Anthony Chen—your new partner, as you can see." Levi swirled the water in his glass. "As for my goal… I'm quite interested in that glowing little toy in your chest."
He pointed at the arc reactor.
"In Afghanistan, I was just a hired gun—paid to do a job. A very wealthy client didn't want you dead. That's all," Levi said, half-truthfully. "As for my little tricks, you can think of them as… unreleased cutting-edge technology."
To an ordinary person, that explanation would sound like nonsense. But to Tony Stark, it was irresistible. What fascinated him most was what kind of technology could casually slice space itself.
"Now let's talk business," Levi continued. "You shut down weapons manufacturing on impulse. The company needs a new growth engine, or the board will eat you alive. And what's in your chest—that's the future."
He met Tony's eyes directly.
"A clean energy source that can power an entire building for decades, and you're using it as a glorified pacemaker. Don't you think that's a waste? Shit-a-crumb, your vision should be bigger than that."
The words hit Tony like a hammer.
He instinctively looked down at the blue glow in his chest, eyes flickering. He knew better than anyone the arc reactor's potential—but palladium poisoning had trapped him in a dead end.
"Palladium is toxic, and Earth's supply is extremely limited," Tony said grimly. "Large-scale production is impossible."
"Then find a new element to replace it," Levi said lightly, as if discussing lunch. "Your father Howard Stark was hailed as a pioneer of his era. You really think he didn't leave you any clues?"
Lightning split the fog in Tony's mind.
He snapped his head up, staring at Levi. His father's old belongings—he'd locked them away as keepsakes, never seriously examined them.
"Looks like we'll have a lot to talk about," Tony said, genius-fire rekindling in his eyes.
"Of course." Levi stood and smiled, extending his hand. "Pleasure doing business, Tony."
Tony hesitated, then shook it. The man was mysterious—but every word struck home.
"Pleasure doing business."
Their hands clasped.
Levi felt a subtle shift in his mind.
Now.
A cold, vast, exquisitely precise stream of data surged through the point of contact into his brain. This wasn't mere knowledge—it was a fundamental restructuring of underlying logic.
In an instant, when he looked again at the arc reactor in Tony's chest, the world had changed. It was no longer a glowing lump of metal. He could see every energy flow, every microscopic structure, every fatal flaw—and countless possible improvements blooming simultaneously in his mind.
It was as if his brain had been force-installed with a higher-dimensional operating system.
Conceptual Design & Engineering Mastery.
This was the true core of Tony Stark—not how much he knew, but his ability to turn a mad idea into a viable blueprint.
"Then I'll take my leave," Levi said, releasing his hand, smile unchanged. "I look forward to good news, Tony. Don't disappoint your investor."
He turned and walked away, leaving Tony standing there, brow furrowed in deep thought.
As Levi exited Stark Industries and looked up at the sky—
The sun was perfect.
And his mind had never felt sharper.
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