The sound of a bokken slicing through the air filled the backyard. Arthur, his body slick with sweat and his breathing steady, finished another morning sequence. Every movement was precise and controlled, a clear reflection of his years of discipline and real combat experience.
Before he could begin another set, the persistent buzz of his phone shattered the quiet. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel, glanced at the screen, and raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.
"Pepper…?" he murmured.
He answered.
"Good morning, Arthur," came Pepper's elegant, composed voice from the other end of the line.
"Morning, Pepper," he replied, a tired smile tugging at his lips as he adjusted the phone against his ear. "What do you need? Don't tell me Tony pulled something again."
A soft sigh drifted through the speaker.
"Actually, he asked me to invite you to a private party tonight."
Arthur arched a brow, a nearly amused sigh escaping him.
"Please tell me he's not planning to make me the bartender again."
"Unfortunately, you're correct," Pepper answered in a resigned tone.
He fell silent for a few seconds, the corner of his mouth twitching between frustration and laughter.
"Ahhh… fine. Tell him this is the last time I'm playing the damn bartender at one of his parties. If he tries to make me do it again, he's really going to get punched."
Pepper laughed softly. "I'd love to deliver that message, but you know how he is."
"Yeah, I know…" Arthur sighed again. "Tony Stark—the man who turned irresponsibility into a lifestyle."
"And yet, you're one of his best friends," Pepper teased playfully.
Arthur smiled, leaning against the wall. "Yeah, unfortunately. That's how friendship works."
Pepper chuckled before concluding,
"With that settled, I need to hang up. Thanks to Tony, I'm buried in paperwork."
"Don't worry. I'll see you tonight," Arthur said lightly.
The call ended. He remained there for a moment, staring at the phone with a faint smile. Despite the constant chaos Tony generated, Arthur considered him a true friend—one of the very few he had in this world.
Tony Stark was one of the rare people Arthur genuinely acknowledged as a friend.
Now you're probably wondering when and how those two became friends, aren't you?
For that, we need to go back a little.
Back to five incredible months ago.
---
—xXx—
[Flashback no Jutsu]
"AND NEXT TIME, USE THE DAMN PLIERS THE RIGHT WAY, YOU IDIOT!!"
The shout thundered through the cave. Arthur roared at the terrorist who had just shoved him brutally into the darkness. The metallic rattle of chains echoed throughout the chamber.
For a moment, silence swallowed the cave.
Two men who were already inside flinched at the sudden intrusion. They exchanged tense glances before quickly returning to their work.
Arthur slowly rose from the ground. With a slight flex of his arms, the chains binding his wrists snapped apart.
He dusted off his torn clothes, brushing sand and grime from the shredded fabric. His shoulders cracked audibly as he straightened.
"Son of a bitch…" Arthur muttered, rolling his neck and popping a few joints back into place.
"Acting sucks," he grumbled while stretching.
Then he glanced around—and a half-smile formed as he recognized one of the faces.
"Well, well, well… if it isn't the great Tony Stark," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I thought you'd been kidnapped."
Tony looked up from his work. His eyes were tired, his face smeared with soot, but his grin was quick and sharp.
"Nah. Must've been your imagination," he replied dryly. "This is just my vacation home. Don't you see the breathtaking view?" He gestured to the stone walls, the dripping ceiling, the hanging chains.
Arthur let out a short laugh.
"That's what I figured," he shot back, folding his arms.
But his attention soon shifted to something far more interesting—the contraption Tony and the other man were building.
On a makeshift table, a tangled mass of iron, cables, and metal plates was taking shape. It wasn't a missile—and it definitely wasn't what the terrorists expected.
"I heard them saying you were building a missile for them and that I should help," Arthur commented as he approached the prototype. "But I'm not stupid enough to mistake this for a missile."
Instantly, Tony and the man beside him—Ho Yinsen—froze.
A cold sweat trickled down their temples. The air thickened, heavy enough to slice with a knife.
Arthur noticed—and laughed. A light, almost provocative sound that made both men shoot him irritated looks.
For a brief second, they shared the same urge: to punch the mysterious guy until he stopped laughing.
Instead, they ignored him and returned to work.
Arthur casually dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged, watching them like someone enjoying a peculiar show.
The metallic symphony resumed.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Yinsen hammered relentlessly. Tony typed furiously on the old computer, the bluish glow reflecting in his focused eyes.
---
At Dawn
Mental exhaustion hit Tony and Yinsen like a punch to the gut.
Neither had slept a single minute.
The entire night had been devoured by calculations, welding, and hammering. The suit—once dismantled to deceive the terrorists—was taking shape again. Slow. Imperfect. But undeniably alive.
Yet not everything was going smoothly.
"The transmission mechanism in the left arm is failing," Yinsen panted, wiping sweat from his brow. "It might be because of the low-quality materials."
Tony growled.
That failure was critical. If the arm system didn't work, the integrated flamethrower and missile launcher would be useless. Without a functioning left arm, the suit would lose much of its offensive capability—and that meant dying before even escaping.
Time was running out. Reforging the pieces would cost precious hours.
Tony's fingers flew across the keyboard.
"Wait a minute… I'm almost done with the targeting program!" he said tensely.
Arthur watched with folded arms, an amused smile on his face.
"Impressive…" he whistled, as if enjoying a performance.
After a moment, he stood and approached Yinsen, who was staring at the faulty mechanism in growing frustration.
"The problem isn't the defective part," Arthur said calmly. "It's parts C9 and G9. You swapped them."
Yinsen turned, startled by the precision.
"What?" he murmured. "Are you sure?"
Arthur shrugged.
"I am. I've dealt with this kind of thing before. Robots, circuits… this crap loves pulling tricks."
Yinsen hesitated, glanced at Tony—still focused—and decided to try.
He removed the two pieces and switched them as instructed.
The difference was immediate.
The suit's arm moved smoothly, as if it had gained life. No grinding. No resistance.
Perfect.
"That's…" Yinsen stared at Arthur, speechless.
Arthur smiled faintly.
"Don't look at me like that. I've had enough experience with robotic nonsense."
Tony approached, having finished the code.
"Okay, the targeting system's complete. Let me see what's wro—" He stopped when he saw Yinsen smiling.
"No need, Tony. It's fixed," Yinsen said, explaining what had happened.
Tony was stunned.
C9 and G9 were small, discreet—but crucial. How could a stranger he'd known for mere hours pinpoint that issue in seconds?
It was… impressive. And unsettling.
But there was no time to dwell on it.
Arthur stepped forward casually.
"I have a proposal. Want to hear it?"
Tony raised an eyebrow.
"A proposal? Go ahead."
"I help you get out of here," Arthur said, crossing his arms. "In exchange, I want to destroy everything here myself."
Tony let out a disbelieving laugh.
"You're sure you can help us escape?"
Arthur's smirk deepened.
"Without a doubt."
Yinsen checked his watch.
"It's six in the morning. We still have time."
Tony grabbed a wrench and nodded firmly.
"Alright. Deal."
Yinsen hurried to prepare the remaining materials while Arthur helped Tony assemble the final parts of the suit.
Soon, their coordination became seamless.
Tony coded. Arthur adjusted.
Tony welded. Arthur steadied and finished.
It was like watching two prodigies working in perfect sync.
Tony could hardly believe it. They'd known each other less than a day, yet worked together as if they had years of partnership behind them.
For the first time in a long while, Stark found himself admiring another man's intellect.
This guy… is talented… Tony thought.
Deep down, he already knew he wanted him at Stark Industries.
---
"You finished half an hour ahead of schedule," Yinsen announced, approaching them, exhausted but smiling.
"By the way," he added, extending his hand, "I don't think we've properly introduced ourselves. My name is Ho Yinsen."
Arthur shook it firmly.
"Arthur. Nice to meet you."
"Alright, enough formalities, ladies. We've got work to do," Tony cut in, positioning the improvised bomb by the door.
With Arthur and Yinsen's help, he donned the Mark I—the primitive but powerful iron suit. The sound of metal locking into place echoed like the prelude to a storm.
"Alright… are you ready, kids?" Arthur grinned.
"SpongeBob at a time like this?" Tony mocked.
"Just lightening the mood," Arthur replied, stretching.
At that exact moment, an alarm blared outside.
On the terrorists' monitors, they had finally realized that Tony Stark had vanished.
Hell was about to break loose.
---
(End of Chapter)