Chapter 3
Unknown Location
In the dimly lit chamber of his lair, All For One sat in his high-backed chair, his fingers steepled before him. The air buzzed with tension as the news of Iron Man's latest intervention gnawed at his thoughts. For decades—centuries, even—All For One had spun a web of schemes, each strand tightening his grip on power and edging him closer to seizing One For All, the Quirk that had eluded him for generations. Now, this armored outsider, unbound by the rules of their world, had shredded his plans with relentless precision. In just six months, Iron Man had dismantled key operations—weapon smuggling rings, underground Quirk-enhancing labs—leaving All For One's empire shaken.
His scarred face showed no emotion, but beneath the shadows, his senses smoldered with fury. Iron Man was an anomaly—a variable he hadn't foreseen. This wasn't a fledgling hero or a predictable pro like All Might; this was a technological marvel, a man clad in a suit of ingenuity that rivaled the mightiest Quirks. All For One's lips twitched into a faint, menacing smile. A challenge, then. He had crushed challenges before.
"Tomura," All For One's voice rumbled, slicing through the silence.
His protege, Tomura Shigaraki, stood nearby, skeletal hands twitching with restless energy. The young villain's crimson eyes darted to his master, eager yet impatient. "What do you propose, Master?" Shigaraki rasped, his voice dripping with anticipation.
All For One leaned forward, his presence filling the room. "Iron Man has disrupted us, but he's also exposed a flaw in the heroes' reliance on him. We'll exploit it. Find out what you can about him."
Shigaraki's grin widened, a flicker of excitement dancing in his crimson eyes. "I'll make sure he regrets crossing us, Master."
All For One's voice cut through the dim chamber, steady and commanding. "Do not underestimate him, Tomura. He is not bound by our world's laws, and his technology is… formidable. Observe. Learn. Then strike."
Shigaraki gave a sharp nod, his mind already buzzing with ideas. "I'll send Toga to gather intel. She can slip in unnoticed, maybe even get close to the heroes. Twice can create a diversion—nothing too big, just enough to draw Iron Man out."
All For One's presence loomed larger, his approval a heavy silence. "Good. Our goal is information, not confrontation. Not yet. Learn his weaknesses, his patterns. Then, when the time is right, we will strike."
Shigaraki's fingers twitched, the faint hum of Decay itching beneath his skin. "And when we do, he'll wish he never set foot in our world."
The chamber fell silent, the weight of their plans settling like a shroud. Outside, the world spun on, oblivious—but within these walls, the seeds of chaos were being sown.
Musutafu General Hospital
Makoto Haru adjusted her clipboard as she moved through the bustling corridors of Musutafu General. It was a routine day—checking vitals, updating charts, and offering quiet reassurances to her patients. She was halfway through her rounds in Ward 5, where many of the children rescued from the corrupted hero Kingdom were still recovering, when she overheard a conversation at the nurses' station.
"—and I heard it straight from Admin," Nurse Kudo was saying, her voice buzzing with excitement. "The Future Foundation, the one tied to the Fantastic Four, is stepping in. They're going to sponsor all the hospital fees for the kids Kingdom hurt!"
Makoto froze, her pen hovering over a chart. She turned toward the station, where Nurse Kudo and Nurse Hayashi were huddled over a cup of coffee, their faces lit with rare optimism.
"Sponsor the fees?" Makoto asked, stepping closer. "You mean… everything?"
Nurse Hayashi nodded, her smile wide. "Everything. Medical bills, rehab, the works. It's been months since that nightmare, and those families have been drowning in costs. This could change everything for them."
Makoto's mind raced. Kingdom's scandal had shaken the city—heroes were supposed to protect, not harm. The children in Ward 5 bore the scars of his crimes, both physical and emotional. She thought of little Kyoko, who flinched at loud noises, and Ren, who hadn't spoken since his rescue. The hospital had stretched its resources thin to care for them, but funding had always been a looming shadow.
"The Fantastic Four?" she clarified, still processing the news.
"Yep," Nurse Kudo said. "The hero group from America, along with The Future Foundation, their other organization. They're all about fixing the world, right? Guess this is their way of stepping up."
Makoto paused, her gaze drifting to the window where the city skyline loomed, still reeling from Kingdom's betrayal. The Fantastic Four's involvement felt like a lifeline—an unexpected tether to hope. She'd read about their feats: battling cosmic threats, pioneering scientific breakthroughs. But this? This was personal. It was about Kyoko's timid smiles and Ren's silent resilience.
The sponsorship meant more than money. It was a promise—a chance for the children to reclaim pieces of their shattered lives. Therapy sessions, prosthetics, time to heal without the gnawing fear of unpaid bills. Makoto's chest tightened as she pictured the parents' faces—worn from sleepless nights—softening with relief.
"Those kids deserve this," she said softly, almost to herself.
"They do," Nurse Kudo replied, her tone warm. "You've been their rock, Makoto. You should tell them the good news."
Makoto nodded, already picturing the relief on the families' faces. She picked up her clipboard and headed toward the room where all the children were staying, a small smile tugging at her lips. For the first time in months, she felt like the weight of Kingdom's shadow might finally lift.
Ward 5 – A Few Hours Later
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Musutafu General's entrance as a sleek, unmarked car pulled up to the curb. Tony Stark stepped out, adjusting the collar of his tailored but understated blue suit. He'd left the flash at home—no press, no entourage, just a simple visit. He wasn't here as Iron Man; today, he was just a counselor for the Future Foundation, and he intended to keep it that way.
Slipping past the reception desk with a polite nod, Tony made his way to Ward 5. The hospital was abuzz with quiet chatter—news of the sponsorship had spread, but no one expected him to show up unannounced. He overheard snippets of conversation as he walked: "Did you hear? The Future Foundation's covering everything!" and "It's like a miracle." Tony kept his head down, his expression neutral, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.
When he reached Ward 5, he paused outside the door, taking a deep breath. The weight of what these children had endured hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Tony's mind flickered to his own losses—the friends he'd buried, the battles that had left scars no armor could hide. But this wasn't about him. He squared his shoulders and stepped inside.
Makoto Haru was at the nurses' station, updating a chart. She looked up, startled, as Tony approached.
"Ms. Haru," he said, his voice low but clear. "I'm Tony Stark, from the Future Foundation. I'm here to discuss the sponsorship and see how we can best support the children."
Makoto blinked, momentarily thrown off by his sudden appearance. "Mr. Stark, we weren't expecting you so soon. Thank you for coming."
Tony waved off the formality with a slight smile. "No need for thanks. Let's just make sure these kids get what they need."
He glanced around the ward, his gaze lingering on the children. Kyoko sat by the window, her small hands fidgeting with a blanket, while Ren lay still in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Tony's jaw tightened briefly, but he quickly masked his reaction with a nod to Makoto.
"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the hallway where they could talk more privately.
As they walked, Tony kept the conversation focused, asking pointed questions about the children's recovery, their specific needs, and the hospital's strained resources. His tone was all business, but there was an undercurrent of genuine concern.
When they reached a quiet corner, Tony stopped and turned to Makoto. "I want to make sure this sponsorship is more than just a check. The Future Foundation can provide advanced medical tech, therapy programs, whatever it takes. But I need to know what's really going to help these kids."
Makoto nodded, impressed by his directness. "We have a list of immediate needs, but long-term support is crucial. Some of these children will need ongoing care, and their families…"
Tony cut in, his voice firm. "We'll cover it. All of it. And if there's anything else, you tell me. No red tape."
He turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back at the ward. Makoto stepped forward, her voice soft but steady. "Would you like to see them? The kids, I mean. They're just down the hall."
Tony hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."
Makoto led him to the room, her steps quiet. "I'll leave you to it." With a small nod, she stepped away, her footsteps fading into the hum of the hospital.
Tony took a deep breath, his hand lingering on the doorframe before he pushed it open and stepped inside, letting it click shut behind him. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional beep of a monitor. A girl, Kyoko, sat by the window, sketching in a notebook, while a boy, Ren, lay in his bed, staring at a small toy car in his hands. A few other kids glanced up as Tony entered, their eyes curious but guarded.
He cleared his throat, offering a half-smile. "Hey, uh… mind if I hang out for a sec?"
Kyoko's pencil paused mid-stroke. She tilted her head, studying him. Ren's fingers tightened around the toy car, his brow furrowing as if trying to place Tony's face. The other kids shifted, exchanging curious looks.
Tony stepped closer, crouching beside Ren's bed. "You guys doing okay?"
Ren blinked, his gaze sharpening. "Wait…" he muttered, his voice hesitant. "Your voice… I know it."
Kyoko's eyes widened, her notebook slipping to her lap. "You're… you're him, aren't you?" she whispered. "The guy who pretended to be one of us. Half a year ago, when that Kingdom…"
The realization rippled through the room like a wave. A boy with a bandaged arm, Taro, sat up straighter, his jaw dropping. "The one who got us out! I knew I'd seen you before!"
Tony rubbed the back of his neck, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, that was me. Didn't think you'd remember."
"We *do* remember," Kyoko said firmly, her shyness melting away. "You saved us. And…" She hesitated, then grinned. "We know who you really are."
Ren nodded, his voice stronger now. "You're Iron Man."
The other kids erupted into excited whispers, their wariness replaced by awe. Tony chuckled, caught off guard by their enthusiasm. "Guess the secret's out."
"You saved that Doom guy, didn't you?" Taro piped up, his eyes bright. "Flew in and took down all those bad guys!"
"And stopped all those robberies—like that big one with the flying bank vault!" another girl added, clutching her blanket. "I saw it on TV—you blasted through the wall and caught them all!"
Tony chuckled, leaning against the wall with a casual shrug. "Yeah, Doom was a handful. And the vault thing—let's just say I've got a knack for catching falling objects."
Taro sat up straighter. "Your suit's the coolest! What's it called? How does it even work?"
Tony's smirk widened, a playful spark in his eyes. "It's the Mark-something-or-other—I lose track after a while. As for how it works? Well, a magician never reveals his secrets."
The kids burst into laughter, their voices overlapping as they peppered him with more questions. Tony stayed, basking in their admiration, sharing just enough to keep them grinning. For a moment, the weight of their past faded, replaced by the simple joy of being kids talking to their hero.
Kyoko leaned forward, her voice quiet but earnest. "You're amazing. You keep saving people, even after everything."
Tony's smirk softened, his usual bravado faltering under the weight of their words. "Well, you kids are pretty tough yourselves. Takes guts to keep going after what you've been through."
Ren looked up at him, his small hand still clutching the toy car. "Thanks… for coming back."
Tony met his gaze, nodding slowly, a hint of emotion flickering in his eyes. "Couldn't stay away."
He stood, giving the room one last look as the kids' chatter filled the air—stories of Iron Man's feats, retold with the kind of wonder only kids could muster. As he slipped out the door, their voices lingered behind him, a quiet reminder of why he kept putting on the suit.
Tony closed the door softly behind him, the muffled cheers of the kids still echoing in his ears. He stood there for a moment, his hand lingering on the handle, as if grounding himself. The hallway was quieter now, the hum of medical equipment a steady undercurrent to the distant murmur of hospital staff. He took a slow breath, his usual swagger tempered by the weight of what had just happened.
Makoto Haru stood a few steps away, her clipboard tucked under her arm, watching him with a quiet, knowing smile. She'd overheard the kids' excitement—how could she not? Their voices had carried through the walls, bright with awe and gratitude. As Tony turned, she stepped forward, her expression warm but professional.
"Mr. Stark," she said, her voice gentle but steady. "That was… something special."
Tony gave a small shrug, his hands slipping into his pockets. "Just doing my part. They're tough kids—deserve more than they've gotten."
Makoto nodded, her gaze softening. "They've been through a lot. But seeing them light up like that? It means the world. To them, to their families… to all of us here."
Tony's eyes flicked back to the door, then to her. "Yeah, well, I'm no poster boy for warm fuzzies. Figured they could use a win, though."
"You're more than that to them," she said, her tone earnest. "They'll never forget today. And with the sponsorship? You're giving them a future."
Tony shifted, deflecting the praise but not quite shaking it off. "Look, I'm just a counselor, Makoto. You're the ones doing the heavy lifting, keeping them going day after day."
Her smile twitched wider, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Maybe. But you're the one they'll spin tales about—the hero who showed up when they needed it most."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Heroes are overrated. Trust me, I've met a few."
She tilted her head, studying him. "And yet, here you are."
Their eyes locked, his smirk fading into something raw, unguarded. "Yeah. Here I am."
The hallway seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken weight. Then Tony straightened, his bravado snapping back like a shield. "Anyway, gotta get that list to The Future Foundation pronto."
Makoto nodded, stepping aside. "Of course. Thank you again, Mr. Stark. For everything."
Tony gave her a quick salute, his grin returning. "Don't mention it. Just keep doing what you do, Ms. Haru. You're the real MVP here."
As Tony walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, Makoto watched him go, her smile lingering. Then it faltered, her brow furrowing as a memory clicked into place—the footage from six months ago, a red-and-gold figure darting through the chaos to save those kids. The voice, the posture, the understated confidence. Her eyes widened slightly. Iron Man. It was him. Not just a counselor, not just a benefactor—but the hero who'd risked everything to bring those children to safety.
Makoto's gaze followed Tony until he disappeared around the corner, a quiet awe settling over her. The kids knew, and now she did too. She turned back to the ward, the faint sound of their laughter drifting through the door, a testament to the man who wore armor in more ways than one.
Hospital Entrance
Tony stepped out of the hospital's sliding doors, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the city. He adjusted his jacket, savoring the crisp air after the emotional weight of visiting the kids. The hospital's exterior was unremarkable—glass and concrete with a small courtyard where a few people lingered on benches. He started toward the parking lot when a booming voice broke the silence.
"Ah, excuse me, sir!" a deep, resonant voice called.
Tony turned to see All Might approaching, his towering frame and wide grin unmistakable. Behind him were two trainees with their name tags: Takeyama Yu, a lively blonde with a bright smile, and Shinji Nishiya, a quiet young man with wooden skin, both in trainee uniforms.
Tony smirked faintly, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't expect a welcoming committee."
All Might chuckled warmly. "We're heading in to see the children. I noticed you leaving the ward—are you with the hospital?"
Tony shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Nope, just a guy trying to do the right thing. Well, sort of. Visiting hours hit harder when it's kids."
Yu tilted her head, her sharp eyes catching the Future Foundation logo on his badge. "You're with the Future Foundation, right?" She asked as her eyes sparkled with excitement. "That sponsorship for the kids—it's amazing stuff."
Tony's smirk widened, though he kept his tone casual. "Yeah, that's us. Just here to make sure things run smoothly."
Shinji stepped forward, his voice steady and curious. "It's impressive to work with such a group. What's your name, if I may ask?"
Tony extended a hand, grinning. "Tony. Tony Stark."
All Might's face lit up. "Ah, Mr. Stark! I've heard of the Foundation's efforts. It's a fine thing you're doing."
Tony shrugged, brushing off the praise with a casual wave. "Just pitching in where I can. These kids deserve a shot, especially after everything they've been through. Seen too many futures get cut short."
Yu bounced on her heels. "The Fantastic Four are legends! Have you met them? What are they like?"
Tony's mind flicked to Reed's endless tinkering, Sue's quiet strength, Johnny's chaos, and Ben's gruff loyalty. He chuckled. "A few times. They're… something else. Never a dull moment with them."
Shinji nodded thoughtfully. "Their reputation is well-earned. The way they handle threats—cosmic or otherwise—it's inspiring to see that kind of teamwork."
All Might nodded, his smile softening. "Indeed. The Fantastic Four have always been a beacon of hope, not just in America but across the globe. It's heartening to see them extend their reach to Musutafu."
Tony shrugged, deflecting the praise. "They've got a knack for fixing things. Guess that's why they started the Foundation—to patch up the world, one crisis at a time."
Yu leaned in, her enthusiasm spilling over. "Have you ever seen them in action? Like, up close?"
Tony's mind flashed to countless battles, his armor humming alongside Reed, Sue, Johnny, and Ben. He chuckled softly. "Once or twice. They're… something else."
Shinji tilted his head, curiosity piqued. "What's it like working with them? They're not just heroes—they're scientists, explorers. It must be incredible."
Tony's gaze drifted for a moment, his voice quieter. "Yeah, it's… a privilege. They push boundaries, save lives, and still manage to crack a joke or two. Reminds me that even in the darkest times, there's room for hope."
Yu laughed, bright and unrestrained. "So cool! Oh, I'd kill for a photo op with them. Me, giant-sized, next to the Human Torch? That'd be a headline!"
Tony chuckled. "Yeah, they've got that effect on people. Johnny'd love the ego boost."
All Might clapped Tony on the shoulder, his grip firm yet friendly. "Well, Mr. Stark, you're making a difference too. The kids won't forget it."
Tony winced slightly under the friendly pat but flashed a grin. "Thanks. You too—keeping the peace and all."
Shinji nodded solemnly. "We're all part of the same fight, in our own ways."
Tony glanced between them, a wry thought crossing his mind: If only they knew the half of it. He smirked, eyes twinkling. "Yeah, something like that. Anyway, I'll leave the hero stuff to you guys. Those kids are waiting for the real stars. Trust me, they need all the hope they can get."
All Might's laugh rang out. "We'll take good care of them. Take care, Mr. Stark!"
Tony gave a quick nod. "You too, All Might. Keep up the good work."
As he walked off, Yu called after him, "Tell the Fantastic Four we're fans!"
Tony waved over his shoulder, his voice dry but amused. "I'll pass it on. Maybe I'll even get Johnny to sign a poster for you—assuming he doesn't burn it first."
He reached his car, the engine humming to life as he drove into the fading light, the brief encounter a small highlight in his day.
Future Foundation Center (Japan), 1 Month Later
Tony sat hunched over his workbench in the Future Foundation center, a cutting-edge facility nestled on the outskirts of Musutafu, just beyond Yokohama's reach. The compound's design echoed the Compound back home—sleek architecture of glass and steel, blending seamlessly with advanced technology, its sprawling layout encompassing a central hub, training grounds, and a large hangar in the distance. The faint hum of advanced machinery filled the air as holographic displays flickered before him, projecting streams of data extracted from the corrupted hero's gear seven months ago.
In the corner, the Mark 47 stood like a silent sentinel, while on the worktable, the Mark 80 lay partially disassembled, its Nano arc-reactor glowing softly, casting faint shadows across the room. Set in a quiet, wooded area, the facility exuded a sense of seclusion, a fortress-like retreat from the bustling city nearby.
"F.R.I.D.A.Y., talk to me," Tony said, his voice sharp but carrying the weight of someone who'd fought too many battles. "What's in that last file?"
"Communications logs, boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied, her tone crisp and efficient. "Encrypted messages between the corrupted hero, Kingdom, and a person referred to only as 'AFO.' I've decrypted most of it—want the rundown?"
"Hit me," Tony said, leaning closer to the hologram, his fingers tapping with restless focus.
"Cross-referencing suggests 'AFO' stands for 'All For One,'" F.R.I.D.A.Y. continued. "But there's not much in the public domain about him. I'm accessing government databases now to see what they know."
Tony's eyes narrowed, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. "Government databases? You sure that's a good idea?"
"Desperate times, boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. quipped. "Besides, their firewalls are child's play compared to what we're used to back home."
Tony smirked faintly. "Just don't leave any breadcrumbs. Last thing we need is a diplomatic incident."
"Already covered," F.R.I.D.A.Y. assured him. "Okay, got something. According to classified files, All For One is a notorious villain with the ability to steal and grant Quirks. He's been linked to numerous criminal activities, including human experimentation. He was announced deceased two years ago after the battle with All Might. The public only knows it as the 'Toxic Chainsaw' incident. As for his intention to 'break the Symbol,' it likely refers to destabilizing hero society by targeting its most prominent figure—All Might."
Tony's eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in his composed facade. "Deceased, huh? Funny how the dead have a way of not staying that way." He rubbed his chin, his mind racing. "So, if he's supposed to be six feet under, who's pulling the strings now? A successor? A copycat?"
F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice chimed in, "The files don't mention any successors, but it's possible. The 'Toxic Chainsaw' incident was highly classified—only a handful of people know the true details."
Tony nodded, his expression hardening. "Then we need to dig deeper. If All For One's really gone, someone's carrying on his legacy. And if he's not… well, that's a whole different problem." He glanced at the Mark 47, his thoughts shifting to action. "Either way, it's not just the kids in danger—it's the whole damn system. If this puppeteer's still out there, he could tear hero society apart at the seams."
He stood, pacing the room with restless energy. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., cross-reference any recent activity that matches All For One's MO. If he's dead, someone's picking up where he left off. And if he's not… we need to be ready."
"Already on it, boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied. "I'll also check for any anomalies in the 'Toxic Chainsaw' incident reports. If there's a cover-up, I'll find it."
Tony's gaze drifted to a small photo of Pepper and Morgan on the desk, a quiet reminder of what he was fighting for. "Good. In the meantime, prep the Mark 47. I'm meeting Detective Tsukauchi tomorrow, and I want it combat-ready. If this leads where I think it does, we might need more than just intel."
"Initiating diagnostics on the Mark 47," F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirmed. "I'll have everything loaded with EMP countermeasures—just in case."
Tony smirked, though his eyes stayed sharp. "Always thinking ahead, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Let's hope it doesn't come to that, but… better safe than sorry."
He turned back to the hologram, his voice dropping to a murmur. "This isn't just about the kids anymore. It's about keeping the whole house from burning down."
Tsukauchi's Apartment, Musutafu
Detective Tsukauchi trudged up the stairs to his apartment, the weight of a long day clinging to him like damp fog. The faint hum of Musutafu's evening bustle seeped through the hallway as he unlocked the door, stepping into the warm chaos of the home he shared with his younger sister, Makoto Tsukauchi—a reporter with a knack for teasing and a mind as sharp as a tack. Laughter spilled from the living room—Makoto's telltale sign of being glued to some comedy show.
He hung his coat on the rack by the door, the apartment's familiar mess greeting him: Makoto's colorful manga posters plastered on the walls, his own stack of case files teetering on the coffee table. She was sprawled on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, barely glancing up as he entered.
"Hey, Nao!" she called over the TV's chatter. "You're late. Again."
"Crime doesn't punch a clock," he said, kicking off his shoes.
Her eyes flicked to him, narrowing with a playful glint. "Neither does laundry. Your turn, by the way. I'm not touching your sweaty socks again."
He sighed, heading for the laundry room. "I'll get it, I'll get it."
"You'd better," she shot back, tossing a popcorn kernel into her mouth. "Or I'm billing you for maid duty."
He smirked, sorting through the clothes—his neatly folded shirts dwarfed by her crumpled hoodies. "How was your day?" he asked, raising his voice over the hum of the washing machine.
"Fine, until I saw your stuff clogging the dryer," she replied, her tone dripping with mock indignation. "Seriously, Nao, how do you forget every time?"
"I was in a rush this morning," he said, holding up a pair of socks as evidence. "Cut me some slack."
"Slack? You're lucky I don't donate your wardrobe to charity," she teased, finally turning down the TV to focus her full sibling wrath on him.
He rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at his lips. These squabbles were their rhythm, a comforting constant amid his chaotic job. That comfort shattered when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, the screen glowing with a message from that big, bold contact name:
"Future Foundation Center, after hours tomorrow. Bring those you can trust."
His grin vanished, replaced by a tight frown. Iron Man. The words carried weight, a quiet command that set his nerves on edge.
Makoto caught the shift instantly. "Nao? What's up? You look like someone died."
He shoved the phone back into his pocket, forcing a neutral tone. "It's nothing. Just work."
She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Work that makes you go pale? You're a worse liar than I thought."
"It's a meeting," he said, dodging her gaze. "Tomorrow. With some… colleagues."
"Colleagues?" she pressed, leaning forward with a teasing smirk that barely hid her reporter's curiosity. "You mean the kind who wear capes and punch through walls? Or the kind who just punch through paperwork?"
He hesitated, caught off guard by her perceptiveness. "Something like that."
Makoto's eyes gleamed, her playful tone sharpening as she sensed a story. "Uh-huh. And I'm just a girl who reads the news for fun. Come on, Nao, you're practically sweating. What's the real story?"
Tsukauchi sighed, knowing she wouldn't let it go. "It's about the kids. The ones from the hospital. But it's… complicated."
She tilted her head, her teasing softening into something more serious. "Complicated how? You're not usually this cagey unless it's big."
He rubbed the back of his neck, weighing his words. "Let's just say it involves someone who doesn't play by the rules. I can't say more."
Makoto studied him for a moment, then leaned back with a dramatic sigh. "Fine, keep your secrets. But if I see Iron Man flying over the city tomorrow, I'm blaming you for not giving me the scoop."
He chuckled despite himself. "If Iron Man's involved, you'll probably know before I do."
She grinned, tossing another popcorn kernel into her mouth. "That's what I'm counting on."
Tsukauchi turned back to the laundry, his hands moving mechanically while his mind raced. His message wasn't a request—it was a call to action. All Might was an obvious choice, but who else? Eraser Head, maybe. Trust was a rare currency, and he'd need to spend it wisely.
For now, though, he had a pile of laundry to finish—and a sister who'd never let him live it down if he didn't.
Future Foundation Center (Japan Division)
Tsukauchi checked his phone, confirming the coordinates. "This is the place," he said, his voice low but steady as he looked around. "This place is almost double the size of UA itself."
All Might nodded, his deep voice resonating. "This Future Foundation Center… it's impressive. Almost too impressive for a simple meeting."
Aizawa grunted, his eyes narrowing at the drones overhead. "Feels more like a fortress than a research hub. He's leveling up his game."
Sir Nighteye's lips pressed into a thin line. "The Fantastic Four's influence is evident. Their reputation precedes them, but I wonder what kind of ally we're dealing with here."
Tsukauchi frowned, glancing at his phone again. "He's been sending me information on the same case we're investigating—Kingdom, the kids, and this 'puppeteer' figure he mentioned. If he's calling us here, he's got something solid."
Before anyone could respond, a soft chime sounded from the towering glass door, etched with the Future Foundation's logo. A crisp, robotic voice filled the air: "Identity verification required. Please state your names."
Tsukauchi stepped forward. "Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi, Musutafu Police Department. With me are All Might, Shota Aizawa, and Sir Nighteye."
The door slid open with a smooth hiss, and the group stepped inside. The lobby was a marvel—sleek and expansive, with holographic displays showcasing advanced tech and innovation. As they walked through, guided by glowing floor lights toward the central hub, the compound's grandeur unfolded around them.
"Maybe Tony Stark could give me a tour when we're off-duty," All Might said, his grin widening at the thought.
"Tony Stark?" Sir Nighteye questioned, his brow arching slightly.
"He's one of the counselors sent by the Future Foundation from America," All Might explained. "Met him outside Musutafu General last month with two trainees."
Aizawa tilted his head, skeptical. "Didn't know you took trainees."
"Well, now you know," All Might replied with a chuckle. "Excuse me, robot lady."
"It's F.R.I.D.A.Y., All Might," the voice corrected smoothly.
"Right, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Is Mr. Stark still here by any chance?"
"Mr. Stark left for his apartment a few hours ago," F.R.I.D.A.Y. lied, fully aware her boss was waiting in the hangar bay ahead.
Tsukauchi exchanged a glance with Aizawa, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. "Guess we're meeting Iron Man alone, then."
The floor lights led them to a vast hangar bay, its massive doors half-open, revealing a cavernous space filled with prototypes and machinery. In the center stood Iron Man, his red-and-gold armor gleaming under the artificial lights, repulsors humming faintly. His visor glowed as he turned to face them.
"Gentlemen," Iron Man said, his voice modulated but carrying a seasoned edge. "Glad you made it. Let's talk."
Tsukauchi nodded, his expression focused. "You've got an update. Let's have it."
The suit turned to them, boots clanging softly against the hangar's polished floor. "No preamble? Good. F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"
"On it, Boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice replied, seamless and efficient.
A massive holographic evidence board materialized in the center of the hangar, projected from the suit's chest emitter. Glowing blue interfaces bloomed like digital fractals, displaying maps, encrypted files, and surveillance footage. Iron Man gestured with one armored hand, the holograms shifting in response. "I've been tracking the puppeteer's remnants—locations, contacts, encrypted data I'm still unpacking. This isn't just a ghost from the past; it's a full network, hidden but active."
All Might stepped forward, his deep voice steady. "And the kids? Are they safe?"
"So far, yes," Iron Man replied, the suit's helmet angling toward him. "But the situation's escalating. Whoever's behind this isn't resting."
Tsukauchi crossed his arms, his detective's instincts kicking in. "You mentioned this 'puppeteer' in your message. What do we know about them? Any solid leads?"
Iron Man's visor glowed faintly as he manipulated the hologram, zooming in on a map dotted with red markers across Japan and beyond. "The puppeteer's operation is global—smuggling rings, black-market Quirk enhancements, and those kidnapped kids are just the tip of the iceberg. I pulled this from Kingdom's gear, but the signal's a mess, bouncing through proxies like it's playing hide-and-seek. F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s working on a trace, but it's slow going."
Sir Nighteye adjusted his glasses, his voice precise. "You're suggesting a coordinated network. But without a name or a face, how do we know this isn't just Kingdom's operation with a new leader?"
Iron Man paused, his armor's servos humming softly. "Good question. Let's just say the data points to someone with a lot of power and a knack for staying invisible."
Aizawa's eyes narrowed, his scarf twitching slightly. "You're holding back. You've got theories—who's the puppeteer?"
Iron Man's tone hardened, but a flicker of caution kept him vague. "Theories, sure. But I'm not here to guess. I'm here to find hard evidence. Right now, we know this network's targeting vulnerabilities—hospitals, schools, anywhere heroes aren't looking. And it's not just kids at risk; it's the whole damn system you've built."
All Might's grin faded, his voice low with concern. "You mean hero society itself?"
"Exactly," Iron Man said, pointing to a hologram showing intercepted communications. "This puppeteer wants chaos—disrupt the trust, break the heroes. If we don't move fast, Musutafu's just the start."
Tsukauchi exchanged a glance with Nighteye, the weight of the revelation settling in. "You're saying we're up against someone who wants to dismantle everything we've fought for."
Iron Man nodded, his visor glinting. "That's the game. And we're playing catch-up."
"Give us the theory, then," Tsukauchi pressed, his voice rumbling with urgency. "We don't have time for estimates. Who's the puppeteer?"
Iron Man's suit shifted, bluntly revealing the name. "All For One."
A stunned silence gripped the hangar. All Might's eyes widened, his muscular form tensing as if struck. "Impossible!" he roared, his voice shaking the room.
"He's alive," Iron Man repeated, unflinching. "Or someone's running his playbook with his exact signature. F.R.I.D.A.Y. found discrepancies—missing files, scrubbed records. It's him, or a damn good imitation."
Sir Nighteye mirrored All Might's shock, his usual composure cracking. "All Might ended him in the 'Toxic Chainsaw' fight."
"Did he?" Iron Man challenged, his tone sharp but measured. "My data says otherwise—encrypted logs, backchannels, and a network that screams his style."
All Might's fists trembled, his voice raw. "I saw him fall…"
Yagi's voice trailed off, his massive frame slumping slightly as memories flooded back, unbidden and raw. For a moment, the hangar bay faded, replaced by the rain-soaked battlefield from years ago—the day he'd watched his mentor, Nana Shimura, face All For One in a desperate stand. Nana, with her unyielding spirit and Float Quirk, had fought like a force of nature, buying time for him to escape. But All For One's cruelty had been merciless; Yagi could still hear her final words, feel the ground shake as she fell, her life snuffed out in an instant under the villain's hand. The image burned in his mind—Nana's broken form, a symbol of sacrifice that had haunted him ever since.
And then, the pain of his own confrontation resurfaced, sharp and visceral. The life-long injury AFO had inflicted during their cataclysmic clash—a gaping wound that had left him hollowed out, his body a fragile shell despite his Quirk's power. It was a constant reminder, a scar that limited his time as All Might, forcing him to ration his strength like a dwindling flame. The agony of that battle, the blood and desperation, replayed in flashes: AFO's mocking laughter, the raw power clashing against his own, the moment he'd barely walked away alive.
Iron Man's visor dimmed slightly, his modulated voice softening with a rare note of empathy. "I get it. Loss like that—it changes you. But that's why we're here. To make sure no one else has to carry burdens like yours."
Tsukauchi stepped forward, his face grim but determined. "Thank you for this, Iron Man. We'll take it from here."
The suit turned to him. "Hold up. Secretary-General Doom and I are already on this. We've got a head start—resources you can't touch."
Aizawa's glare sharpened. "We don't need outsiders muscling in. We've handled worse."
"This isn't a local thug," Iron Man shot back. "It's global. You're playing catch-up."
Aizawa bristled. "And you're not? You're a ghost in a machine. How do we know you're not part of the problem?"
The repulsors hummed faintly, the suit's silver sections gleaming under the lights. "Because ghosts don't save kids from corrupt heroes or sponsor their recovery. Doom sees the bigger picture—global stability. We're not stepping on toes; we're offering a hand."
Tsukauchi raised his hand. "We're grateful, but this is our turf. Our fight."
"And my world," Iron Man countered. "All For One's reach spans continents. Doom and I see the full scope."
All Might's voice boomed, steady despite the shock. "With all due respect, Doom's a wildcard. If All For One's back, we handle it our way—the hero way."
Iron Man's tone grew firm. "Your way got him 'dead' once. Didn't stick."
Aizawa's eyes narrowed behind his goggles, his scarf twitching like it had a mind of its own. "You're one to talk. You and Doom—both egomaniacs in fancy suits, thinking you can swoop in and fix everything. What makes you any different from him?"
The suit's helmet tilted slightly, as if Iron Man were raising an eyebrow beneath the mask. "That's rich, coming from someone who's spent his career in a system that defines a person's worth based on their Quirk. Born with the 'right' power? You're a hero. Born with the wrong one or none at all? You're a villain—or nothing. Sounds like ego to me—on a societal scale."
Aizawa bristled, his voice low and cutting. "You don't know a thing about our world."
"Maybe not," Iron Man conceded, his voice steady but edged with the weight of old memories. "But I know what it's like to fight alongside someone who defies the odds. Back where I'm from, I knew a skinny kid from Brooklyn—no superpowers, just heart and a shield. The world wrote him off, but he stood up anyway—fought tyrants, saved lives, and inspired everyone around him. Sound familiar?"
All Might's buff form shifted, his eyes widening slightly as the comparison hit home. "You mean… like me?"
"Exactly like you," Iron Man replied, the suit gesturing toward him. "He didn't need fancy tech or stolen powers; he had conviction. And yeah, we butted heads—me with my ego, him with his moral compass. But we got the job done because we trusted each other. That's what I'm offering here. Not control. Partnership."
Aizawa's eyes lingered on the armored figure, his skepticism not fully dispelled, but a flicker of reluctant respect crept into his gaze. He crossed his arms, scarf hanging limp. "Partnership, huh? Fine. But trust is earned, not given. If you're wrong about this, it's on you."
Iron Man's visor glowed faintly, the suit settling back to the ground with a soft whir. "Fair enough. I've got a track record of being right—mostly. Let's make sure this one sticks. Speaking of leads, Tsukauchi, what's the status on that Nomu I handed you seven months ago? The one from the warehouse bust."
Tsukauchi blinked, caught off guard, while All Might, Aizawa, and Sir Nighteye exchanged curious glances, their interest piqued. "Nomu?" Aizawa asked, his tone sharp. "What's this about?"
Tsukauchi cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "Iron Man recovered a… specimen during an operation. He turned it over to me for analysis. Recovery Girl—Chiyo Shuzenji—and I have been studying it. We're making progress."
"Progress?" Sir Nighteye pressed, his analytical gaze sharpening. "What kind?"
"It's… complex," Tsukauchi said carefully. "The Nomu's biology is unlike anything we've seen—multiple Quirks, engineered tissue. Chiyo's been running tests, and we're starting to understand how it was made. It's tied to All For One's network, but we're not there yet."
All Might's brow furrowed, his voice heavy. "That thing… it's connected to him?"
"Looks that way," Iron Man interjected, his tone firm but measured. "That Nomu's a walking proof of concept—Quirk manipulation on a level that screams high-tech. Whoever's behind this isn't just playing with people's lives; they're building weapons."
Aizawa's eyes narrowed, his scarf twitching slightly. "And you didn't think to share this sooner?"
Iron Man's helmet tilted, a hint of wry amusement in his voice. "Yes, because All For One has eyes and ears everywhere. Tsukauchi's been my point man on this. Now you're all in the loop."
The Raft – Atlantic Ocean
Deep within The Raft, a maximum-security facility carved into the ocean's depths, the air thrummed with the electric buzz of training equipment. The stark, metallic training arena was a cavernous chamber, its walls reinforced with titanium-laced panels designed to withstand even the most volatile Quirks. Dim lights cast sharp shadows across the floor, where Tsutsumi—Lady Nagant—stood in a fighting stance.
Her wrists were bound by specialized Quirk-suppressing cuffs that glowed faintly with inhibitor tech. Despite the restraints, her movements were fluid and precise as she wielded dual electric batons, their tips crackling with controlled energy.
Kaina's eyes narrowed, sweat beading on her brow as she executed a series of rapid strikes against a holographic opponent. Her martial technique, a blend of precision and aggression, was drawn from data Iron Man had provided—combat algorithms honed from years of fighting alongside Earth's mightiest heroes. Each swing of the batons was calculated, her body weaving through the hologram's counterattacks with a grace that belied her restrained power. The cuffs might have dulled her Quirk, but they couldn't dim her resolve.
Overseeing the session from an elevated platform stood Victor Von Doom, his green cloak billowing slightly in the recycled air, his armored mask glinting under the harsh lights. Flanking him were two Doombots, their sleek, metallic forms eerily silent, optic sensors tracking Kaina's every move. Doom's presence was a weight in the room, his voice calm but laced with authority as he spoke through the comms.
"Your form is adequate, Tsutsumi," Doom said, his tone precise, almost clinical. "But Iron Man's data suggests you can push harder. The baton's charge can be modulated—use it to disrupt, not just strike."
Kaina gritted her teeth, parrying a holographic blade with one baton while thrusting the other forward, sending a pulse of electricity that dissipated the projection. "Easier said than done," she muttered, her voice sharp but focused. "These cuffs make it feel like fighting through mud."
Doom tilted his head, unimpressed. "Excuses are beneath you. Iron Man's protocols were designed for adaptability, not complaints. You were chosen for this because of your precision—prove it."
A Doombot whirred softly, its arm extending to adjust a control panel, intensifying the hologram's attack patterns. Kaina's batons sparked as she countered, her movements growing sharper, fueled by a mix of frustration and determination. She'd been a sniper, a hero, a killer—now, she was something else, reshaping herself under Doom's unrelenting scrutiny and Iron Man's distant guidance.
"Doom," she said between breaths, dodging a flurry of strikes. "Why's Iron Man so invested in this? What's his angle?"
Doom's mask betrayed no emotion, but his voice carried a hint of intrigue. "Iron Man seeks to dismantle a threat larger than you can comprehend. The data he provided is a tool—your training is a means to an end. Focus on your task, Tsutsumi. Questions are irrelevant until you master this."
The Doombot to his left emitted a low hum, projecting a new hologram—a towering figure mimicking a Nomu's erratic movements. Kaina's eyes flicked to it, her grip tightening on the batons. She lunged, her strikes precise yet fierce, each hit a testament to her refusal to break. Iron Man's data had given her a new edge, but it was her own fire that kept her moving.
She pivoted to face the new target, her batons crackling as she struck—block, parry, shock, disable. The training program, laced with Iron Man's combat algorithms, pushed her to adapt, forcing her to rely on skill rather than her Quirk. She ducked under a simulated attack, her batons arcing to deliver a precise jolt to the target's core, dissipating it in a burst of digital static.
A Doombot's voice droned from the sidelines, its tone mechanical. "Session metrics: Reaction time improved by 12%. Precision at 94%. Endurance sustained. Continue?"
Doom raised a gauntleted hand, silencing the bot. "Enough. She's earned a respite—for now." His masked gaze fixed on Kaina as she straightened, breathing heavily but standing tall. "You've adapted well, Tsutsumi. Iron Man's data is proving… useful."
Kaina wiped her brow, her expression guarded but laced with defiance. "Useful enough to get these cuffs off?" she asked, her voice steady despite the exhaustion.
Doom's mask betrayed no emotion, but his tone carried a hint of amusement. "Patience. Your rehabilitation demands discipline, not freedom. You've proven your worth today—consider that a step."
A Doombot approached, its metal limbs whirring softly, carrying a sleek, tactical emerald green suit folded neatly in its grasp. The outfit was striking—form-fitting with reinforced panels, a blend of matte fabric and subtle metallic accents designed for agility and durability. It bore the emblem of the Thunderbolts—a stylized yellow asterisk—on the belt. Kaina's eyes flickered with recognition as she took it, her fingers tracing the fabric.
"This," Doom said, his voice commanding attention, "is your new mantle. The Thunderbolts are more than a team—they are a force for order. Wear it, and prove you belong."
Kaina examined the suit closely. "This feels different," she said, curiosity edging her voice. "Not like standard gear. Who designed it?"
Doom's mask remained impassive, but his tone carried a hint of approval. "Iron Man crafted it himself. He believed it would suit you—and your new role, operating side by side with us. With me, and with him."
Her eyes narrowed, skepticism creeping in as she met his gaze. "And what's your intention here? Turning me into some pawn for your games?"
Doom's response was steady, unyielding. "There is no hidden agenda, Tsutsumi. Only redemption—for you. A chance to reclaim what was lost."
She paused, weighing his words, then glanced at the batons still humming faintly from her training. "And the exercises? The cuffs? What was that all for?"
"The training was designed to shift your reliance," Doom explained, his voice a measured rumble. "Less on your Quirk, more on your instincts—to do what's good, to act with purpose beyond mere power."
Kaina's jaw tightened, her gaze shifting from the suit to Doom. The weight of her past—hero, assassin, prisoner—hung heavy, but she nodded, her resolve unwavering. "I'll wear it. But don't expect me to bow."
Doom's mask tilted slightly, as if acknowledging her defiance. "I expect results, Tsutsumi. Nothing less."
The Doombots stepped back, their sensors dimming, as Kaina clutched the Thunderbolts' suit. The arena's lights cast stark shadows, a silent reminder of the path she was forging—one step at a time, under the watchful eyes of a tyrant and his machines.
Tsutsumi's Quarters
Tsutsumi Kaina trudged back to her quarters, the electric batons still warm in her hands from the grueling session. The Raft's corridors were a maze of cold steel and dim lights, echoing with the distant hum of machinery. Her muscles ached, but her mind raced—Doom's words about redemption lingered like a shadow, intertwined with the weight of her new Thunderbolts suit draped over her arm. The emerald green tactical gear, sleek and unforgiving, felt like a second skin she wasn't sure she wanted.
The door to her quarters slid open with a soft hiss, and she stepped inside, expecting the same sterile confinement: bolted bed, cold desk, unblinking cameras.
But something was off.
The room had transformed—subtly, but undeniably upgraded. The harsh overhead lights had been replaced with softer, adjustable panels, casting a warm glow. A new cot, padded and larger, replaced the old one, and the desk now held a stack of fresh supplies. Her eyes widened as she took it in—a small shelf lined with books, a high-tech tablet humming to life on the surface, and essentials like fresh towels, a water dispenser, and even a compact exercise mat folded neatly in the corner.
"What the…?" she muttered, setting the suit down.
Her gaze landed on a simple note on the table, handwritten in neat script. She picked it up, her fingers tracing the words:
I knew you would make it.
No signature, but she knew. Iron Man.
The man who'd pulled her from the brink, who'd seen potential where Doom saw a tool. A quiet warmth flickered in her chest—gratitude, perhaps, or something closer to hope. She set the note down, her eyes drifting to the tablet, which displayed a welcome message: access to restricted files, training sims, and even recreational reading. The books beside it were a mix—tactics manuals, philosophy texts, and a worn copy of a classic Marvel comic, as if a subtle nod to worlds beyond her own.
For the first time since her arrival, the cell felt less like a prison and more like a starting point. Tsutsumi sat on the upgraded cot, the suit folded beside her, and allowed herself a small, defiant smile.
Redemption? Maybe. But on her terms.
The ocean waves crashed faintly against The Raft's exterior, a reminder of the isolation—and the possibilities—waiting beyond.