Tony Stark's face flickered with the faintest trace of surprise as JARVIS reported.
"Unable to read."
That shouldn't be possible.
His armor integrated Stark Industries' most advanced life-detection and energy-analysis modules—capable of tracking a heartbeat through three inches of lead or identifying gamma radiation at a molecular level.
Yet now JARVIS was telling him that the kid standing in front of him—barely seventeen, if that—registered as a complete data void? Not noise. Not interference. Nothing.
It unsettled him more than scanning a live nuke seconds from detonation.
Tony triggered the highest alert protocol—but his expression twisted into something even more arrogant.
He'd be damned before he let anyone see him rattled.
"Cool kid," Tony drawled, giving an exaggerated shrug. "Looks like my scanner needs a firmware update. Usually, only ghosts pull this kind of reading. You sure you didn't just stroll out of a graveyard?"
At the eye of the storm, Joren's gaze swept past Tony and settled calmly on the one-eyed director.
"I need eight hours of sleep," he said evenly. "It's already late. And besides…" He paused. "I haven't finished my calculus homework. So whatever this is—we can talk tomorrow."
Silence.
Not just quiet. Eerie silence.
Nick Fury's single eye narrowed, his usual composure cracking for half a heartbeat.
Maria Hill's lips twitched—violently—as if her face were fighting a losing battle against laughter. Her icy professionalism hung by a thread.
Even Tony Stark—king of the quip, master of the room—found himself momentarily speechless.
Operation?
This kid had just single-handedly neutralized a Class-5 supernatural anomaly that had SHIELD scrambling for weeks.
And now he was bowing out… because of homework?
Tony and Fury locked eyes across the ruined chamber.
In that glance, they shared the same overwhelming sensation: pure, unfiltered absurdity. A cocktail of disbelief, outrage, and reluctant awe.
Was this genius-level misdirection… or the most elegant middle finger they'd ever received?
Tony whistled low and slow, breaking the silence.
"Guess academic pressure at Midtown High's worse than I thought," he said, voice dripping with faux concern. "Fury, maybe we should file a formal complaint with the Department of Education."
He sounded like he was joking.
But inside the suit, JARVIS had already run a full sweep the second Joren spoke.
Subject: Joren Joestar
- Affluent background. Parents: world-traveling historians.
- Academic record: flawless.
- Disciplinary notes: one incident of assaulting a teacher, one case of dining-and-dashing.
- Social circle: virtually nonexistent—except for a single classmate named Peter Parker.
- Personality descriptors: "aloof," "unapproachable," "possesses an unnerving presence."
A file so clean it screamed fabricated.
And that—more than the blank scan, more than the supernatural display—was what truly set off alarms.
"Fury," Tony murmured through the director's earpiece on a secure channel, voice stripped of all humor. "Let him go."
"Stark, do you even know what you're saying? He's a walking 'unknown.' Letting him walk back into the crowd is like tossing a tube of unstable nitroglycerin into a kindergarten!"
"On the contrary," Tony said, his voice dropping to something quieter—calmer, but no less certain.
"He's not nitroglycerin. He's a nuclear bomb. And have you ever seen anyone try to control a nuclear bomb that's already on its countdown? What we need to do now is figure out his demands."
"And right now," Tony added, his gaze flicking back to Joren, "they're crystal clear: go home and do his damn homework."
"J.A.R.V.I.S.'s preliminary psychological profile indicates he's non-aggressive—hell, he shows an outright aversion to conflict," Tony continued. "Everything that happened tonight reads like a forced counterattack. This isn't some berserker with a hair trigger. He's got a bottom line. Principles. And, most importantly—he's negotiable."
"Putting him on the opposite side of the room won't do us any favors. Your Avengers Initiative needs power like this—not another enemy. Leave the follow-up to me."
Fury went quiet.
He studied Tony for a long moment, mind racing through contingencies, risk matrices, decades of hard-won instinct. He knew Tony was right. Force had failed them before—ask the Hulk. But as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., every uncontrolled variable made his skin crawl.
Still… reason won out.
"Fine," Fury said at last, slow and deliberate. "Stark, he's your 'project.' If he so much as sneezes in the wrong direction, I'm sending the bill—and the blame—to Stark Industries."
Tony's signature smirk returned. "I'd be delighted."
Fury raised a hand. Around them, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents lowered their weapons. The ring of armed personnel parted, leaving a clear path.
Joren hadn't paid attention to any of it—not the hushed strategizing, not the standoff, not the weight of two of Earth's most dangerous men deciding his fate. The moment the way was clear, he simply stepped forward, hands in his pockets, and walked past Iron Man like any ordinary high schooler heading home after curfew—disappearing into the quiet dark without a backward glance.
Tony watched him go, fingers brushing the edge of his helmeted chin.
"Interesting guy," he murmured.
A burst of repulsors flared to life. With a streak of red and gold, Iron Man vanished into the night sky.
Only the wreckage—and S.H.I.E.L.D.—remained.
"Sir!" An agent sprinted up to Fury, voice tight with urgency. "All the Hand ninjas we'd captured during perimeter surveillance… they just turned to ash. Not a scrap left."
Fury's expression hardened. "Show me."
He turned to the tactical team behind him. "Recover everything inside—living or dead. I want it all."
"Yes, sir!"
The team flooded into the derelict theater, its shattered entrance yawning like the maw of some long-dead beast.
Moments later, a crackle came through the comms—tinged with disbelief.
"Sir… we found a body. It's Madame Gao."
"Vitals flatlined. Cause of death unknown, but… she's bleeding from all seven orifices. Looks… unnatural."
"And Wilson Fisk. He's alive—but unconscious. Orders?"
"Bring them both back," Fury ordered coldly. "Send Gao's body straight to forensics—Coulson oversees the autopsy himself. As for the Kingpin…" He paused, eyes narrowing. "Maximum clearance. Isolated island facility. Let him rot."
"Clear!"
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