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"Fruits that grant superpowers just by eating them?"
Obadiah's voice was a low growl, cutting through the hush of the office. His heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Pepper with open disbelief.
"You do realize how insane that sounds, don't you?"
"I know." Pepper's answer came quickly, almost on a breath. "I know how it sounds, Mr. Stane. But… please, just give me a moment."
She drew in a steadying breath, closed her eyes, and lifted one hand. With a delicate flick of her wrist, the air shimmered.
Bubbles, clear glistening spheres, blossomed from nothing. They drifted upward in gentle waves, weightless and luminous, gliding across the office until they brushed against Stane's suit jacket and shoulders.
Obadiah went rigid, his face a careful mask while his mind reeled. 'She just waved her hand and conjured bubbles out of thin air. Some kind of parlor trick? Sleight of hand?'
'Could she have staged this? Did she know I'd question her about Afghanistan and prepared a magic act? That makes no sense. But if not, does that mean this "Bubble-Bubble Fruit" nonsense is real? That makes even less sense.'
"Don't tell me…" Obadiah's brows arched as he studied the drifting spheres. "This is the power of your so-called Bubble-Bubble Fruit? You can just… create these at will?"
"That's right," Pepper said simply, lowering her hand. "And right now you should feel your mind and body refreshed, as though you've just woken from a full night's sleep."
Her voice softened, the faintest note of sympathy there. "That's because those bubbles just scrubbed away your fatigue."
At first, he hadn't noticed. But now that she had said it, Obadiah realized it was true. The grinding exhaustion of the past week, the sleepless nights, the stress of the Raza debacle, had been eating at him for days. Yet suddenly he felt… lighter. Clear. Alive. Not only clear-headed but strong, as if he'd stepped ten years back into his prime.
"This feeling…" Obadiah murmured, caught between fascination and unease. 'How did those bubbles do this? Why do I feel revitalized so instantly?'
But even as the evidence glittered around him, Obadiah's instincts refused to bend. Deep-seated beliefs weren't so easily shaken. His lips curled into a sneer. "Devil Fruit?" he said, voice like steel. "Do you really take me for a fool, Pepper?"
She met his gaze but said nothing more.
When she finally left his office, Obadiah exhaled a long, cold laugh. The sound echoed against the glass and steel of the room.
He wanted to dismiss everything she'd said as nonsense, yet he couldn't shake the image of those bubbles or the energy humming in his veins. And he couldn't ignore what she'd revealed about the shop that supposedly sold these Devil Fruits.
If Pepper was telling the truth, it wasn't even she who had located Tony's prison. It was the Shopkeeper.
'How did this Shopkeeper manage that? To outpace every intelligence agency in the world? And if the Shopkeeper could do that, what else might they already know?'
The more Obadiah thought about it, the more it reeked of misdirection. Pepper's elaborate story might be nothing more than a smokescreen to point him toward this mysterious shop.
But curiosity was a dangerous thing, and Obadiah's was now a live wire. He would find out exactly what this so-called Devil Fruit shop was hiding.
One way or another.
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"Sir," came his assistant's voice from the doorway, "Mr. Willis is here."
"Willis? Show him in, quickly!"Obadiah snapped upright, smoothing the edge from his expression and tugging his jacket into place. Whatever storms he was juggling internally, a man like Willis demanded a polished reception.
Willis was one of his most valuable, long-term clients; he didn't just buy weapons, he presents opportunities. Even knee-deep in his own problems, Obadiah knew he couldn't afford to mishandle this visit.
Moments later, a tall, impeccably dressed man in his late forties strode into the office, radiating the easy confidence of someone used to commanding a room.
"Obadiah," Willis said smoothly, lifting a hand before Stane could launch into the usual pleasantries. "Let's not rush into business." His voice carried a gravity that instantly sharpened Obadiah's focus.
"I'm not here to talk about weapons," Willis continued, tone clipped and deliberate.
"Oh?" Obadiah's brow twitched despite himself. "Then what brings you here, Willis?" A chill of unease crept into his chest for reasons he couldn't explain.
"Something… rather interesting." Willis' knowing smile didn't reach his eyes. He reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a small digital recorder, and set it gently on the desk.
"Why haven't you acted yet?" a voice snarled from the tiny speaker.
"You didn't tell me the target was Tony Stark!" came the reply.
The room seemed to shrink. The conversation spilled from the tiny speaker was in crystal-clear detail, every syllable unmistakable.
Obadiah's face darkened instantly, as though he'd been slapped across the face. Shock and fury contorted his features, his jaw tightening until the muscles in his cheek twitched.
That was his voice. His words. His conspiracy with Raza. And it's now playing back in his own office like a confession. 'Damn it.'
*Smack!*
His fist came down on the desk with a thunderclap of polished wood, rattling the recorder but not silencing it. Rage coiled behind his eyes, but he forced himself to breathe and think, even as Willis watched him calmly.
Willis didn't flinch at the thunder of Stane's fist. He simply reached into his briefcase, drew out a thick folder, and laid it across the desk as though presenting a gift.
Obadiah hesitated, then flipped the cover open. Page after page stared back at him: transaction records, intercepted calls, bank transfers routed through shell companies he'd thought invisible. Every document was another nail in his coffin, a paper trail leading straight to Tony Stark's attempted assassination. Enough to bury him for life.
His face hardened with each page turn, anger mixing with the first real pulse of fear.
"You're S.H.I.E.L.D., aren't you?" Obadiah snapped finally, his voice gone cold. "A spy in a nice suit. That explains everything. S.H.I.E.L.D. bagged Raza's men; of course, they'd send you to tie up the rest of the loose ends."
It fit neatly in his mind. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been silent for weeks. They hadn't moved because they'd been building a case. But if Willis was really here to arrest him, Obadiah would already be in a black van headed to an unknown site. The fact that Willis had come alone and quietly, told him something else. Willis wanted leverage. Not justice.
Willis's smile was calm, almost predatory. "Obadiah, you're a clever man. I don't need to spell it out."
"Spell it out anyway," Obadiah growled. "What do you want?"
"Simple." Willis snapped the folder shut, the sound sharp as a gunshot. "When the time comes, you'll do exactly what we ask. Nothing more, nothing less."
The silence that followed felt like a heavy curtain falling. Obadiah's mind raced, but each scenario ended the same way: in ruin. In the end, only one option remained.
Obadiah gave a single, curt nod.
Willis's smile deepened, his voice slow and satisfied. "I knew you'd see reason."
And just like that, the Iron Monger wasn't taken down by law or bullets. He was bound instead by an invisible leash, a deal forged in shadows, every bit as dangerous as the weapons he sold.
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Next Chapter: We're the Best Superhero Duo!
Next Next Chapter: Another Hero Walks Through the Door
Next Next Next Chapter: Did I Just Meet Superman?
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