Support me and be 30 chapters ahead of webnovel:
patreon.com/Draco_
For every 5 Patreon memberships I receive, I'll release 15 chapters all at once. Your support means a lot to me.
*****
"I'm home!"
After stowing her bicycle in the storage room, Gwen pushed open the front door and shouted at the top of her lungs.
No answer came.
The whole house was quiet.
The smile on Gwen's face slowly faded. Head drooping, she trudged to the living room sofa and flopped down.
"Dad must have forgotten about me."
"He's drowned in a sea of tenderness—he's no longer the Mike Kent of the past."
"Sigh…"
She heaved a dramatic sigh, propped her face in her hands, and stared toward the entryway, her expression full of gloom.
"Sigh… sigh!"
Two more heavy sighs, her eyes darting back and forth.
A few seconds later, when no one appeared, she sprang up from the sofa.
"No way… they really didn't come back?"
She smacked her forehead, cheeks flushing.
So she'd just performed for the empty air?
Gwen coughed lightly, hurriedly pulled out her phone, and called Mike.
Gah-gah-gah!
A familiar ringtone sounded. Gwen froze, turned around, and saw Mike standing on the stairs, smiling down at her.
She huffed, glaring at him. "Why didn't you resp—"
"Gwen, you're back!"
Raven came down from upstairs, a suspicious blush on her cheeks.
Gwen's gaze flitted between Mike and Raven, then she bowed her head and declared, "Dad! My bad! You two—go get 'em!"
With that, like a little calf lowering its head to charge, she dashed between them and bolted upstairs.
At her bedroom door, Gwen flashed them a thumbs-up, then slammed it shut.
Mike blinked, then burst out laughing.
Raven's face reddened again before settling. "I need to head to the school."
"So soon?"
Mike was taken aback.
Raven caught him by the collar and, as he obligingly leaned down, brushed a quick kiss across his lips. "The kids' vacation is over. I have to teach."
Mike licked his lips. "Then stay for lunch before you go. What do you want?"
"Anything you make—I love it."
"Alright. Wait here."
Mike said, and walked toward the kitchen.
"Hee-hee!"
At some point, Gwen had cracked her door open a sliver and let out a stealthy giggle.
When Raven glanced her way, the door snapped shut again.
Smiling, Raven headed for Gwen's room.
Little rascal—daring to tease them.
Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she knocked on Gwen's door.
"Aunt Raven, what is it?"
Gwen opened it a crack, half her face peeking out as she whispered.
"Nothing much. I just wanted to chat."
Raven winked. "Like… any handsome guys on the road? Anyone you like?"
"No way!" Gwen yanked the door wide and deliberately raised her voice, shouting downstairs, "When I see a man as outstanding as my dad every day, how could I ever look at anyone else—unless they're as outstanding as he is!"
Raven tapped Gwen's forehead with a finger, laughing. "You little imp."
She stepped into the room, pulled Gwen to sit beside her, and the two began whispering away.
In the kitchen, Mike shook his head with a smile after hearing Gwen's comment.
That little girl—always telling the truth.
...
Two days later, school resumed for Gwen, and Mike went back to shuttling between home and the base.
As for Clark—lately he'd been immersed in tender romance… best not to mention it.
A month later, in Avengers Tower—Tony's private lab.
Tony had been swamped.
He had multiple research tracks going.
Beyond upgrading the Iron Man suits, he had several other projects:
— The consciousness backup and transfer tech obtained from the future Mr. Sinister of Earth-2.
— The Extremis virus acquired from AIM's Maya Hansen.
— And the Mind Scepter stored at Avengers Tower.
Yes—the Mind Scepter. When Wanda and Pietro escaped Hydra, they snatched it from Ebony Maw and hid it.
After the Battle of New York, once they joined the Avengers, they brought the scepter back and stored it in the Tower.
The consciousness transfer and backup were relatively easy—Tony had gotten fairly complete data from Sinister's base.
Extremis, however, still had serious flaws; it needed refinement.
Only after finishing those two would he study the scepter.
He liked to start with appetizers, then move on to the main course.
Night fell, and Jarvis' voice chimed in.
"Sir, you're due for dinner with Ms. Potts in one hour. You should prepare."
Tony stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose, and glanced at the darkening sky outside. "This late already?" he muttered.
He stretched, took a sip of coffee, winced, and set the cup aside with distaste.
It had gone cold—the taste was off.
Grabbing a jacket, Tony headed to his quarters inside the Tower.
A quick freshen-up later, he left Avengers Tower and drove toward the restaurant he'd reserved.
What he didn't notice was a shadowy figure on a distant rooftop, blending into the night as he watched Tony's car.
The man wore a black tactical suit. Wind teased his unkempt long hair. In the moonlight, one arm gleamed with cold metal.
He slowly lifted his head and pulled on a black mask, revealing only a pair of sharp, merciless eyes.
He pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Target is on the move."
"Good. Choose a suitable ambush site on your own. If the others fail, act as you see fit."
"Understood."
With a low reply, the man vanished from the roofline.
Hearing the response, Werner Strucker clenched his fists and pumped them with vicious satisfaction.
"Damn Tony Stark. Damn Avengers. I'll make you pay!"
Werner Strucker—the son of Hydra's Baron Strucker.
He had once been a pampered wastrel, living in luxury. After his father became a wanted man, Werner was dragged down too, forced into a life on the run.
When his father died, his last umbrella vanished. Werner could only hide his identity, skulking like a rat.
He hated the superheroes—hated the Avengers.
He hadn't dared, nor had the means, to take revenge—until he discovered one of his father's notebooks and found Hydra's cultivated assassin: the Winter Soldier.
The thought of vengeance sparked anew.
Tonight, he would eliminate his first enemy. Tonight would be Tony Stark's last.
"Heh… heh-heh."
He chuckled darkly and took a savage bite of instant noodles.
To fund revenge—and hire other killers—he'd spent every last cent.
Staring at the cup noodles, Werner nearly wept.
This wasn't supposed to be his life.
He deserved luxury cars, beautiful women, and money he couldn't finish spending.
But just imagining Tony Stark dying in a little while made the noodles taste much better.
...
Meanwhile, Tony arrived at the restaurant.
He'd booked it in advance.
Pepper Potts, now running Stark Industries, was busier than ever—sometimes even busier than him. They hadn't enjoyed a proper evening together in far too long.
Jarvis had pre-ordered flowers and had them delivered ahead of time.
When Tony reached the restaurant, Pepper wasn't there yet—he exhaled in relief.
It used to be people waiting on him; now the roles were reversed.
He didn't mind waiting.
Just then, he spotted a familiar figure inside.
Clark?
Surprised, he strode over to Clark and the woman seated with him.
"Hey, Clark!"
He gave Clark's shoulder a light pat.
Clark turned, equally surprised. "What are you doing here?"
Tony smiled and winked at him, then extended a hand to Hope. "Tony Stark. Have we met?"
He squinted, trying to place her.
Hope prompted, "Clark's place. The post–New York Battle party."
"You're Hank Pym's daughter!"
Recognition clicked.
Hope shook his hand. "Hope."
Tony nodded, then eyed the pair curiously. "Is this… a date?"
Clark glanced at Hope and nodded without hesitation.
Hope was even more forthright. "I've been seeing Clark lately."
"Oho!" Tony clapped Clark's shoulder. "Congratulations."
He flagged a passing waiter who brightened immediately. "Bring the happiest couple in the room your best bottle of red—on my tab."
"Right away, Mr. Stark."
The young server answered, barely containing his excitement.
Tony waved to the two with a teasing grin. "Enjoy your evening."
He turned toward the newly arrived Pepper, meeting her with the bouquet.
In an instant, their gazes locked like two magnets.
At the table, Pepper deftly ordered their usual favorites. Catching Tony still staring, she tucked a stray lock behind her ear, a little flustered. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You get more beautiful every day, Ms. Potts."
Warmth blossomed in Pepper's chest.
As the two exchanged tender looks—publicly showering the room with dog food—glances swept over them.
Envy. Jealousy. And… killing intent.
A waiter arrived with dishes and poured their wine. "Please enjoy, sir, ma'am."
"Thank you."
Pepper nodded politely.
Tony's nod was faint—but he caught the waiter's eyes: expectant, tense.
He paused, gave the man a quick once-over, and noticed the thick calluses on his hands. His heart lurched.
This was no ordinary waiter.
The placement of those calluses…
He rapidly recalled field notes Natasha and Barton had drilled into him—and felt a chill.
A gunslinger's grip.
Something was wrong.
Tony's blood went cold. Just as Pepper lifted a forkful of salad to her lips, he snapped, "Don't eat!"
"Hm?"
Pepper's hand paused midair.
"What is it?"
She set down her utensils, looked at Tony, and, seeing him signal frantically with his eyes, blanched.
Tony squeezed her hand, glanced toward Clark across the room, and settled himself.
He smiled, raised his voice slightly. "I haven't introduced you to my friends yet—"
He'd barely risen when chaos exploded.
Two waiters and three patrons drew guns on Tony and pulled their triggers.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The instant shots rang out, Clark's eyes flashed. He moved—too fast to see—and, before the bullets could find Tony and Pepper, whisked them from their seats in a blur.
A heartbeat later, crisp cracks peppered the air as their abandoned table sprouted gaping holes.
Where'd they go?
The assassins faltered.
They'd been right there.
They stared, baffled, at Tony and Pepper now inexplicably several meters away.
Screams erupted. Some diners hit the floor; others bolted for the exit. The gunmen swung their muzzles back to Tony—
—and crashed into the walls, chests flaring with pain, before slumping unconscious.
Tony exhaled in relief.
He glanced at Clark—somehow back in his seat as if nothing had happened—ready to give a grateful nod when…
Clark vanished again in a speed no eye could track and placed himself between Tony and the windows.
This time, he wore the suit. Superman.
Ting!
A clear ping: a sniper round that had shattered the glass flattened against Clark's chest.
Tony's pupils tightened.
Another assassin?
"Outside."
Clark's eyes lit. With a flick into super-vision, he pinpointed the enemy—
A figure in black combat gear cradling a sniper rifle.
The Winter Soldier.
At that same moment, the Winter Soldier saw him too.
The instant Clark blocked the round, the Soldier didn't hesitate. He turned to run.
He took a single step—never planted the next. In the blink of an eye, Clark, who had been a kilometer away, was floating before him, cape billowing, pressure rolling out like a tide.
The Soldier's eyes narrowed, but he stayed calm.
His metal arm twitched, reaching for another weapon.
But he wasn't faster than Clark.
Clark flickered forward, caught the reaching hand, and casually batted the metal fist aside.
While the Soldier's futile little punches thudded harmlessly against him, Clark swatted once, and the assassin went limp, unconscious.
This killer's strength was nothing compared to his, of course—but Clark could feel the man was far beyond ordinary.
Another enhanced human.
If they wanted to learn who had targeted Tony, this man was the perfect entry point.
(End of Chapter)