[Tony's POV]
I continued to side-eye him as he laughed at my expense. I could practically feel a vein starting to throb at my temple just from the sound of it. The more he laughed, the harder it became to restrain myself. "It's not that funny," I said flatly, each word weighted with my growing irritation.
He turned toward me with that unmistakable smirk . He squinted his eyes, pinching his fingers together as if measuring something tiny. "It's a little funny," he said, dragging the words out just to spite me. "Especially since you thought it was all part of some grand plan. Now that's the funny part."
I had to remind myself, 'He's a god… he's old… don't punch him. He's a god… he's old… don't punch him.' The mantra became my lifeline as I fought the urge to throttle him on the spot.
"You just really like getting under people's skin, don't you?" I asked, forcing myself to clasp my hands together before I did something regrettable.
"I created Spider-Man," he said with a smug little scoff, as if that answered everything. "What do you honestly expect?"
His words hit me like a ton of bricks. I froze mid-breath, realization dawning on me "Wait—hold on. Did you also, you know… make me, me?" I asked, gesturing vaguely at myself. "Like, not Tony Stark me, but me-me. I guess that would include Tony Stark me, but you get what I'm asking, right?"
"For your own sanity and peace of mind," he began, shaking his head, "I won't answer that question."
That was… not comforting.
He continued, "Just know that the multiverse is vast — infinite, really. I'm aware of all that transpires, yes, but that doesn't mean I personally craft every single thing. Some universes are molded by my hand, others are born from each other. I'm more like… the architect who designed the blueprint, not the guy laying every brick."
I blinked, trying to wrap my head around that explanation. "I see… I suppose that's fair," I admitted. "It's like having a manufacturing machine do the work instead of handcrafting each part yourself."
"Exactly!" Stan said, grinning as though pleased I finally understood. "Though I do like to drop in and visit from time to time. Here, let me show you something."
He extended a hand, and a glowing window of light unfolded before us like a curtain parting to reveal a stage. On it, I saw a figure standing tall on a skyscraper — someone dressed as Spider-Man, though his suit was blue and black instead of red and blue. Standing beside him were other spider-themed heroes, all preparing to leap into action.
I tilted my head, squinting. "Wait a second… is that Nightwing?"
Stan just burst out laughing, slapping his knee. "Yeah! That's a fun little universe, I'll tell you that much. That Spider-Man? He's a reincarnator, just like you."
That made me pause. A reincarnator Spider-Man? Surrounded by a group of spider-themed women? My eye twitched as the obvious conclusion hit me.
"Don't tell me…"
"Oh yeah," Stan said with a mischievous grin, wagging his eyebrows. "Those three? They're part of his little harem~."
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "His greed sickens me."
"Says the guy who's dating two other girls?" Stan shot back, his smirk widening.
"For starters, two isn't a harem," I said defensively, pointing at him. "And second, I didn't choose this — it was chosen for me."
He chuckled under his breath. "It's the same for him, you know. But that's not really the point." He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "And if we're being honest, I think we've strayed from the topic a little."
I gave him a deadpan look. "And who's fault do you think that?"
"Anyways," he said, slapping his knees before pushing himself to his feet with a groan that sounded far too human for someone supposedly divine. "It was certainly nice meeting you, Tony. But our time's up — your friends are waiting for you."
"I suppose you're right…" I admitted, though hesitation crept into my tone. "But isn't our meeting kinda… lackluster?" I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. "I mean, all we did was talk about me. You didn't tell me anything really worthwhile — like why I reincarnated in the first place, or why I ended up as Tony Stark of all people. Honestly, meeting you has just confused me more than enlightened me."
He chuckled a deep, knowing laugh. "There is a lesson here," he said in that wise, teasing tone of his. "But you just refuse to accept it. You're blind to it."
I frowned, frustration twisting in my chest. A lesson? What the hell was he talking about? What lesson was I not seeing?
He looked at me with a patient, almost fatherly smile. "You need to learn that not all questions need answers," he said softly "Sometimes, you have to take things as they are. You question everything so much that you lose yourself searching for meaning — dissecting life like it's some grand equation that'll give you purpose if you solve it. You've become so clinical in your thinking that you miss what's right in front of you."
I could only stare at him, my mind reeling. His gaze softened, though there was still a glint of amusement behind it.
"Have you ever considered," he continued, "that maybe — just maybe — you were reincarnated in this world by pure chance? No grand plan, no divine reason. That you were just unlucky not to get a quirk, or that our meeting right now is nothing more than coincidence? Why can't this simply be a conversation between two people meeting for the first time? Why must it always end with some kind of cosmic revelation?"
For the first time, I didn't have a single word to throw back at him. No witty comeback, no sarcastic remark, nothing. I just… sat there, staring. It felt like he'd pulled the rug out from under everything I'd been clinging to — my logic, my purpose, my entire understanding of why I was here.
He looked down at me and smirked, clearly amused by my stunned silence. "Tony," he said, his tone dipping with a hint of mock sympathy, "the entire world doesn't revolve around you. Grow up."
And with that, he turned and began walking away, heading toward the endless white expanse that surrounded us. I sat frozen, mouth hanging open, my brain still struggling to process the verbal uppercut he'd just delivered.
Without even glancing back, he raised a hand in farewell. "It was nice chatting with you, kid. Let's meet again if the chance allows it. I know I certainly had a good laugh."
His form started to blur, fading into the brilliance of the void. The white space cracked and dissolved around me, like shattered glass falling into an abyss of darkness. Slowly, the weight of reality crept back — the sensation of my body, the faint sounds at the edge of hearing — consciousness returning whether I wanted it or not.
Seriously, what the fuck… Did God just tell me I'm not important?
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