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"What was that?"
"Did anyone else just see a flash of light?"
"You saw it too? I thought my eyes were messing with me."
"Who is that guy? Where did he come from?!"
The entrance plaza outside Stark Tower erupted in overlapping voices. People stumbled mid-step, craning their necks, eyes wide, all of them snapping toward the same point like a magnet had yanked their attention.
Rosh.
There was no helping it; his arrival wasn't just noticeable. It was impossible to ignore. One second, the space was empty, the next, a streak of light had speared down like a falling star, and now a man stood there like he'd simply stepped out of reality.
It didn't look like a trick.
It looked like power.
For a moment, the entire crowd just… stared. Phones froze halfway up. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the reporters, people trained to stay cool in chaos, hesitated like their brains needed an extra second to catch up.
Then the whispers came back twice as loud.
"Shopkeeper!"
A crisp voice cut through the noise.
Pepper Potts strode toward Rosh with quick, confident steps, heels tapping like punctuation. She moved with the kind of controlled urgency that said she'd walked through boardroom wars and lived to tell the tale.
Behind her came Happy Hogan, broad-shouldered, alert, already scanning the crowd like he expected somebody to try something stupid. And behind him...
Six tall men in sharp black suits, synchronized and serious, the kind of security detail that made people unconsciously step back without knowing why.
The formation wasn't subtle.
It was a statement.
Pepper stopped in front of Rosh, posture perfect, expression polite but focused.
"Shopkeeper Rosh," she said, voice calm despite the chaos bubbling around them. "Tony can't step away right now, so he asked me to personally come and escort you."
She delivered it like it was the most normal thing in the world, like people didn't usually materialize in beams of light at corporate entrances.
Rosh didn't seem bothered in the slightest. If anything, he looked mildly amused by the scene unfolding around them.
"No problem," he replied casually, as though he'd been invited over for tea instead of into the center of a media hurricane.
Pepper's professionalism didn't crack. She made a smooth, welcoming gesture toward the tower doors.
"Please, Shopkeeper. This way."
And with that, she personally led him inside with unmistakable respect.
The crowd's reaction was immediate. Murmurs spread like wildfire.
"Who is that guy? That's not normal treatment."
"Ms. Potts came out herself to pick him up."
"Yeah, no way he's just some random guy."
Watching a figure like Pepper Potts, one of the most recognizable faces in Stark Industries, escort an unfamiliar Asian man like he was a VIP, curiosity spiked into something sharper. Suspicion. Interest. The hungry kind of attention that reporters lived for.
"Ms. Potts!"
"Sir—just one question!"
Reporters surged forward in a swarm, microphones and cameras thrusting out like spears. They weren't chasing a story anymore.
They were chasing a mystery.
But Happy moved fast.
He stepped in like a wall dropped from the sky, and the six bodyguards followed instantly, forming a tight human barrier around Pepper and Rosh. Their shoulders squared. Their stance widened. The message was silent but crystal clear: Not today.
Not a single reporter got close enough to hear Rosh breathe.
The whole scene felt strangely familiar, like a celebrity escort straight out of a tabloid photo set. Flashing cameras. Raised voices. Security pushing back the tide.
To Rosh, though… it wasn't glamorous.
It was awkward.
Sure, it looked impressive from the outside, but being surrounded like this felt less like "important guest" and more like "rare artifact being transported."
He genuinely couldn't understand how some public figures walked around with an entourage like this every day without feeling weird, like they were permanently living one step away from assassination or scandal.
Still, he didn't make a fuss. Under the tight "escort," he followed Pepper through the tower's sleek interior, past polished floors and gleaming glass that reflected the whole spectacle in fragments.
The noise of the crowd faded behind them, replaced by a quieter tension, one that lived in the building itself.
Because everyone inside Stark Tower knew what was coming. The press conference wasn't just an announcement; it was an explosion waiting to happen.
A few minutes later, they reached their destination: a massive banquet hall deep inside Stark Tower, polished and staged like a battlefield dressed in designer formalwear. Floodlights hung overhead like artificial suns. Camera rigs and cables ran like trenches across the floor. The seating was arranged with almost military precision, leaving a clean, ruthless lane for the main act to walk straight into the blast zone.
And right near the entrance, waiting like he owned the air in the room was...
Tony Stark.
He wasn't pacing. He wasn't nervous. He was just… there, casually planted with that familiar swagger, like a man about to stroll onto a stage and rewrite history on live television.
Beside him stood Phil Coulson, neatly dressed, posture straight, expression solemn enough to qualify as a warning label. His whole vibe screamed "containment plan," even when he wasn't speaking.
One person was noticeably absent.
Rhodey.
Which made perfect sense.
After all, the air force base under Rhodey's command had been wiped out by Rosh himself. Even if Rhodey had survived untouched, the fallout would be a nightmare with reports, investigations, angry superiors, and enough paperwork to drown a carrier.
He didn't have time to babysit Tony's press conference.
…And yes, Rhodey was fine. Rosh had already confirmed it back then with Observation Haki. Rhodey hadn't even been at the base.
Tony's eyes lit up the moment he spotted Rosh.
"Shopkeeper! Welcome to Stark Tower." Tony stepped forward with that effortless confidence, flashing a grin like he was welcoming a VIP to his private kingdom. "So—what do you think? Pretty great place, right?"
With Tony's status, not going out personally would've been normal. But waiting here at the entrance? That was a deliberate show of respect. A quiet message to everyone in the room: this guy matters.
And people noticed.
Staff members and assistants hovered at the edges of the hall, pretending to be busy while sneaking quick, curious glances at Rosh. Their thoughts were obvious: 'Who is he? What kind of person makes Tony Stark treat him like this?'
Rosh gave Tony a calm once-over, measured, almost clinical, and nodded slightly.
"You look like you're doing fine, Stark."
Tony instantly understood what he meant, and his grin sharpened into something smug.
"Of course." He shrugged like the whole thing had been mildly inconvenient. "I'll admit, Stane's Munch-Munch Fruit caught me off guard. Turning himself into Iron Monger? Yeah, that was… something."
His eyes gleamed with that familiar, dangerous confidence.
"But unfortunately for him," Tony added, voice turning razor-smooth, "he picked the wrong opponent."
"So he paid a heavy price," Rosh said, the words calm but pointed.
"Oh, yeah." Tony's smirk deepened. "A very steep price."
Then he tossed out the cover story like it was an afterthought.
"Plane crash."
Stane's official "ending" had already been packaged by S.H.I.E.L.D., a tragic aviation accident, no loose ends, no lingering questions, and just enough plausible deniability to satisfy the people who needed to be satisfied.
"Shopkeeper Rosh."
Coulson stepped forward next, polite and perfectly controlled. He offered a greeting with the careful tone of a man trying to stay on the right side of a hurricane.
Rosh simply nodded once, offering no more than that.
Coulson didn't look offended. If anything, he looked relieved.
"Alright," Tony said, already turning toward the interior like he couldn't wait to get the show on the road. "Come on, Shopkeeper. Let's talk in the back."
He led Rosh toward a backstage lounge set up for final coordination, part green room, part war room. Inside, the energy shifted. The bright public shine was gone, replaced by quick movements and quiet urgency.
While Tony and Rosh spoke, Pepper moved in with practiced efficiency, touching up Tony's makeup like she was polishing a weapon before battle. She didn't scold, didn't fuss, she simply worked, the way she always did: competent, composed, and absolutely essential.
At the same time, she waved over a professional makeup artist for Rosh as well. Light touch-up. Camera-ready. Clean.
Rosh didn't argue. He didn't care about the cosmetics, but he understood the optics. If they were going to introduce Devil Fruits to the world, then the first impression had to land clean and sharp.
As for Coulson?
He stood off to the side, quiet and watchful, doing his best to fade into the background like a man who'd perfected the art of being present without being seen.
Because the elaborate script S.H.I.E.L.D. had prepared for Tony? It was already dead on arrival. Rosh's plan to publicly reveal Devil Fruits had caught them off guard, but even so, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't dare object.
Not when the person proposing it was the same man who had flattened an entire air force base in a fit of anger.
Who would be stupid enough to provoke him?
And besides… it didn't matter in the long run.
Devil Fruits becoming public knowledge was inevitable. Sooner or later, the truth would leak, spill, or explode out into the open, because powers like this never stayed hidden forever.
So there was no point antagonizing Rosh over something that was bound to happen.
"Alright, Tony, it's time."
With one last precise sweep of powder and a final check of the tie line, Pepper stepped back and gave Tony a small, firm nod; the kind that meant ''you're ready, now don't ruin this.''
Tony rose immediately, rolling his shoulders like he was loosening up before a fight instead of walking into a room full of sharks.
He glanced at Rosh, expression easy, but the focus underneath was real.
"Shopkeeper," Tony said, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel like a plan instead of a suggestion. "Hang backstage for a bit. When I cue you, just walk out. Easy."
"I understand," Rosh replied calmly.
"Perfect." Tony's grin flashed with pure confidence and zero hesitation, then he turned and strode out.
The moment he stepped from backstage into the banquet hall, the whole room shifted.
Lights flared brighter. Camera shutters snapped like gunfire. Microphones angled forward in a synchronized motion, hungry and relentless. The hall was packed wall-to-wall with reporters from every major outlet, national networks, financial press, tabloids pretending they weren't tabloids. Every seat is filled. Every aisle is crowded.
Every pair of eyes locked onto Tony Stark like he was the only thing keeping the world from tipping over.
Tony walked straight to the podium and planted his hands on either side, leaning in slightly like he owned the stage, like the stage had been built for him.
He didn't look cornered; instead, he looked entertained.
Under those countless gazes, he was relaxed, confident, almost flamboyant, like the chaos outside was just another spotlight he'd learned how to wear.
"I know what you're here for," Tony began smoothly, voice carrying without effort. "I know what you want to hear from me."
A ripple moved through the crowd, reporters leaning in, pens hovering, fingers tightening on record buttons.
"And all I can say is…" Tony let the words hang for half a beat, timing it like he was conducting the room, "You came at the right time."
He lifted his chin slightly, eyes sweeping across the audience like he was making eye contact with the entire country through the cameras.
"Because today," he continued, voice steady and clear, "you're going to get one hell of a headline."
He paused.
The atmosphere snapped tight instantly, like a wire being pulled to its limit. Even the usual coughs and shuffles vanished. No one dared to interrupt the moment, not when they could feel it in their bones:
Whatever Tony Stark said next would detonate.
"Because the truth is…" Tony paused again, just long enough to make them suffer for it.
Then, with absolute certainty, he said it.
"I am Iron Man."
For a heartbeat, the room was silent.
Then it exploded.
The hall erupted into chaos, shouts stacking over shouts, cameras flashing like lightning, reporters surging forward as if sheer momentum could drag more answers out of him.
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Next Chapter: Iron Man Reveals His Power
Next Next Chapter: Devil Fruits Takes the World by Storm!!
Next Next Next Chapter: Another Hero Enters the Shop
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