[Tony Stark POV]
Man, everything I've done up until now has felt so perfectly ordinary, so strangely normal, that not once did I actually stop to admire it for what it truly was. Not once did I pause long enough to consider how utterly absurd and unnatural my actions truly were when seen from the outside. And yet… he was right. I was enjoying myself. How could I not? Who wouldn't, if they sohow found themselves in my position—caught between the impossible and the extraordinary, living a life most people could only dream of? He was putting everything into perspective without even trying.
Still, there was one thing I couldn't shake, one lingering question that had been festering at the back of my mind. I turned to Stan, watching him with a searching expression before finally speaking.
"Say," I began carefully, "are you, perhaps, the reason I was reincarnated? The reason I ended up where I am now?"
"Who knows," he replied again, in that sa maddeningly casual tone. His shrug was careless, almost lazy, and yet the faint curl of his lips told a different story. That smile said he was enjoying himself far more than he was letting on. He was seriously getting under my skin. And yet, despite my irritation, I couldn't help but find it a little amusing.
I smirked, resting my arms over the back of the bench. Tilting my head back, I spoke softly but sincerely. "Thank you." The words ca from sowhere deep inside . Even if he denied it, even if he laughed it off, I knew—sowhere, sohow—he had a hand in all of this.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, his smirk widening as if to mock . "I haven't done anything that deserves to be thanked."
I scoffed and shook my head. "Deny it all you want, but I know you had sothing to do with this. Thank you for the second chance. I don't know what I did to deserve it—or if there's so grand plan behind all this—but I'm still grateful for the opportunity."
"How humble," he replied in a playful tone, eyes glinting with mischief. "So unlike you."
"Huh?!" I shot him a mock glare, sitting up straighter. "What do you an, so unlike ? I'm the humblest man there is. No one's as humble as I am. If there were a contest for humility, I'd win second place just to prove how humble I am!"
"And there it is…" Stan chuckled faintly, shaking his head as if he'd been expecting that exact response.
A comfortable silence settled over us after that, a rare and delicate thing. Together, we stared out into the endless white space in front of us, neither of us needing to fill the void with words. It was peaceful. But peace never lasts long, does it? Stan shifted slightly, glancing at with a more serious expression this ti.
"Can I ask you sothing?" he said quietly. "You don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable."
I turned to look at him, curiosity piqued by his sudden shift in tone, and gave him a small nod to go ahead.
"Why do you try so hard to act like the original Tony Stark?" he asked, his voice asured but not unkind. "You could be your own person, but instead you wear this mask—this persona—that at so point you stopped taking off. It's like you lost yourself inside the performance until it fused with who you really are. You got so deep into the role that it fundantally changed you, and I can't help but wonder… why?"
His question stopped cold. It wasn't the sort of thing I'd expected to hear, and for a mont I could only stare at him, stunned. There was no malice in his tone, no hidden barbs in his words—just honest curiosity. Still, the question hit far too close to ho.
I leaned back against the bench, staring upward. My eyes closed slowly as I exhaled a long breath. If there was anyone who deserved the truth, anyone I might actually tell this to, it would be him. My voice ca out quieter than I expected. "Because I was scared…"
I didn't look at him. I didn't want to see his reaction—didn't want to read anything in his expression. I just spoke.
"I was thrust into a brand-new life, in a completely foreign world, with no one to really rely on but myself. I was suddenly Tony Stark—or at least, a version of him—in a dangerous reality where every mistake could cost everything. And I didn't think I was good enough to survive." My throat tightened as I forced myself to keep going. "How could I? I wasn't anything impressive in my previous life. I was nobody."
"I realized that if I wanted to make it in a world like this, I couldn't afford to remain the sa person I used to be. I needed to shed that skin, bury the self that would have never lasted here, and beco soone else entirely. Soone capable. Soone who could rise to et the impossible. And with everything that was handed to … who else could I beco but Tony Stark?"
My hands ca together, fingers interlaced, elbows resting on my knees as I leaned forward. My voice grew quieter, more reflective. "I thought… if I could be even a fraction of who he was—just one percent of his brilliance, his confidence, his strength—then maybe, just maybe, I'd have a fighting chance. If I pretended I wasn't scared… if I acted like I wasn't alone… then maybe I wouldn't be. And, in a way, it worked. I may have lost pieces of myself along the way, but that felt like a small price to pay compared to the alternative."
Stan studied for a long mont before asking, in a tone far gentler than usual, "And do you regret it?"
I didn't answer right away. His question sat heavy in my chest, and for a mont, I let myself really consider it. Did I regret it? All the years of pretending, of slowly erasing the old until only the mask remained? The answer ca almost imdiately, and a small, wry smile tugged at my lips. "No," I said firmly, shaking my head. "I don't regret it."
A quiet chuckle escaped , almost self-deprecating, but there was warmth in it too. "I an, look at —I've made it this far, haven't I? I've beco soone capable, soone dependable. Soone others can actually look up to. The person I was before… he can't even hold a candle to who I am now. And maybe that sounds like I'm belittling my past self, but honestly? I think he'd be proud. Proud, and maybe even relieved to see who I've beco. So no, not even a little bit of regret."
I felt a hand patting my back, steady and reassuring. Finally, I allowed myself to glance sideways, and there he was, smiling at —not smugly, not mockingly, but warmly.
"I appreciate your honesty," Stan said softly. "Takes a lot of courage to admit when you're afraid. And if you're happy with who you are now… then that's what matters most."
I returned his smile, though mischief crept into my eyes. "You know… since I was honest with you, maybe it's your turn to return the favor."
He tilted his head curiously, and I pressed on.
"Why wasn't I born with a quirk? Be straight with . Was it destiny? Fate? So grand plan to make sure I'd end up as Iron Man or sothing?"
Stan's grin widened, and that look ca over his face—one I imdiately disliked. His eyes glimred with amusent as he leaned in ever so slightly. "Do you really want to be honest with you?"
The sight of that expression made my stomach twist. I threw up my hands almost instantly. "Nope. Not anymore. Not with that look. Forget I asked—please, for the love of everything, lie to ."
He chuckled, patting my shoulder with mock sympathy before delivering the blow.
"You were just really unlucky to be born in the twenty percent without one."
I froze, staring at him in disbelief. My face must've been priceless, because within seconds he was laughing—full, unrestrained laughter.
"You're joking, right?" I asked, incredulous.
"Not even a little," he said between laughs. "Think about it. You had an eighty percent chance of being born with a quirk. Eighty! And yet sohow, you managed to roll snake eyes. Statistically speaking, you're a miracle of bad luck."
His laughter only grew louder, echoing in the blank space around us. I sat back, jaw clenched, running my tongue slowly over my teeth as I watched him laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world.
He was enjoying himself way too much. And he was seriously, seriously getting on my nerves.
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