The chaos at the Stark Expo dominated the headlines. Whether it was the plummeting market value of Hammer Industries or Iron Man's dramatic battle with the Iron Soldiers, every detail became front-page news that captured the world's attention. The fierce clash caused massive structural damage and even destroyed a landmark building known as the Earth. Yet, amid the destruction, one thing was clear: the armor made by Iron Man was incredibly powerful.
Tony Stark, perhaps reluctantly, made a concession by allowing Rhodes to keep the War Machine suit. This was seen as a compromise with the military. Otherwise, the authorities would never have let Tony retain such powerful armor, no matter who he was.
Morning arrived, bringing a sense of calm after the storm. The previous day had been a whirlwind of excitement and danger.
John sat on the sofa, sipping hot water. His slender fingers tapped the remote, flipping through a barrage of news reports about the events at the Expo. He finished his drink in a few long gulps, the steam rising as he set the cup down. Throughout this, Ivan, his body wrapped in bandages, watched John closely. Ivan eyed his own cup of hot coffee, but after feeling the heat, he realized he was not up to it.
"So… you were also sent by the Ten Rings Gang?" John paused on a channel reporting on Justin Hammer and glanced at Ivan with surprise. "You came all the way here just to take revenge on Stark?"
Ivan's connection to John's family was complicated. He had not participated in any mission to assassinate John's parents, nor did he even know that the Wick family was being targeted by the Ten Rings. Ivan's only goal was to settle the score with Tony Stark, and the Ten Rings, old enemies of Stark, were happy to help. After his attack on Tony in Monaco, Ivan had not seen anyone from the Ten Rings again.
Ivan was silent for a moment, running his hand over the tattoo on his finger. "Stark stole everything from my father," he said, hatred burning in his eyes. "It was that villain Howard Stark who made my father die in bitterness."
John understood the grudge. To put it simply, the elder Vanko wanted to make money, but Howard Stark, who built his empire on arms, refused to share. "That's it?" John asked, his tone flat.
"Huh?" Ivan shot John a sharp look.
John sighed. "You have a Ph.D. in physics, right?"
"Yes," Ivan replied, unsure where this was going, but still grateful that John had saved him the day before.
"Can you build a reactor?"
"Yes."
"And you can make armor?"
"Yes."
"Have you never considered other ways to get revenge?" John rubbed his forehead, exasperated. "You're a genius, Ivan, a scientist. With your skills, any country would welcome you. Instead, you chose a path of self-destruction against Tony Stark."
John shook his head. "What kind of upright Russian scientist are you?"
Everyone knew that Tony's arc reactor and armor were worth a fortune, but no one else had Tony's technology. If Ivan simply announced his abilities, both the Russian and American militaries would likely pardon him and fight to recruit him.
Ivan listened to John's words, thinking carefully. His brain, dulled by exhaustion and pain, slowly began to process the possibilities.
"You want to stop me from taking revenge?" Ivan asked, staring at the man who had saved his life.
"I am not saying it is wrong to want revenge for your father," John replied. "But right now, you have no advantage over Stark."
"Howard Stark was not a good man, and I have no sympathy for him," John continued. "Do not forget, Stark Industries was once the largest arms company in the United States. Howard Stark was no saint—not just because he drove out your father, but because he was a true patriot. His loyalty was to America, and his company armed armies around the world."
"So I am not going to tell you to let go of your hatred," John said. "But you could try another method. You are not Tony Stark—why do you insist on doing everything yourself?"
John leaned forward, his tone serious. "You could take your technology and go anywhere you want. Stop chasing after Tony Stark. It is not as if you are in love with him."
Ivan blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness.
"Think about it," John continued. "Iron Soldiers can be mass-produced and controlled remotely. If you set up a production line, you would be unstoppable. But right now, you are too weak."
Ivan hesitated, his mind spinning. "But my father…"
John pointed at Ivan's coffee cup. With a flick of his finger, the hot coffee instantly froze into a solid block of ice. "Wait until you are strong enough to make your father proud. Right now, you are not there yet."
John leaned back on the sofa, watching Ivan's inner struggle. "If you kill Tony now, you will become a wanted man worldwide, and all your knowledge will be wasted. I can give you a place to regroup, to build your strength. When you are on equal footing with Stark, then decide if you still want revenge. The choice is yours."
Ivan picked up the frozen coffee and tapped it with his finger, confirming it was solid. He looked up at John, seeing a face both familiar and young. Guilt and regret for his father's death flickered in his eyes. The gap between himself and Stark was too great. If not for Hammer, he might still be rotting in prison.
After a long silence, Ivan finally said, "I will think about it."
"Wise choice," John replied with a faint smile.
At that moment, a snowy owl flew in and landed beside John. Ivan, a bird lover, could not help but admire the owl, though he thought it looked a bit overweight.
"You raised this?" Ivan asked.
John nodded. "His name is Basil. He usually delivers my letters."
John took a letter from Basil's beak, stroked the owl's fluffy head, and handed the envelope to Ivan. "This is from Uncle Andre. It is for you."
Andre was John's eighth uncle on his mother's side. The Jovonovich family was large—twelve siblings on his mother's side—and the grandparents had always doted on the Wick children. John had written to Andre to ask about Ivan Vanko's connection to the family, and the reply had come overnight.
As soon as Ivan heard Andre's name, his calm expression vanished. He stared at the letter as if it were a deadly threat. The blood drained from his face, and his toothpick dropped from his lips.
"Are you afraid of him?" John asked, genuinely puzzled. This was the same Ivan who had been ready to drag Iron Man to hell with him.
Ivan picked up the toothpick and tried to look calm, but his hands shook. He took a deep breath. "Can I be alone for a while?"
John nodded. "Of course."
Ivan stepped outside, clutching the letter. He looked up at the clear blue sky, realizing that his reckless actions yesterday had not brought the world crashing down. The city was still alive, indifferent to his personal vendetta.
A while later, Ivan returned, looking more at peace. "Thank you for helping me find a good job," he said.
"What did Uncle Andre say?" John asked, surprised by Ivan's change in demeanor. A moment ago, Ivan had looked ready to spend the next thirty years plotting revenge. Now, he seemed almost serene.
Ivan would never admit what he had read in the letter: "If you cause trouble for my nephew, I will cut off your balls and stuff them in your mouth." He just said, "He wants me to do honest work."
John's advice made sense. The gap between Ivan and Stark was too wide. Revenge now would be pointless.
"Have you heard of Taran?" John asked, smiling. "It is a very good company. Perfect for someone with your intellect."
"Taran?" Ivan repeated. He had heard of the company—a weapons manufacturer, but one whose products were not meant for the battlefield.
"They have an internal research workshop," John explained. "It is a pleasure to work with you."
Ivan shook John's hand, sealing the new partnership.
Meanwhile, in a modest S.H.I.E.L.D. base, agents guarded the door as Tony Stark reviewed a projected file. His eyes fell on a folder labeled "Superhuman League Preliminary Report." He understood immediately—this was what Nick Fury had mentioned before.
Just as Tony was about to open the report, a large hand pressed it shut. Nick Fury sat across from him, his gaze sharp and unblinking.
"I do not want you to see that report," Fury said quietly.
He held another report—Natasha's assessment of Tony, written during her undercover stint at Stark Industries. The review was not flattering: impulsive, self-destructive, narcissistic. The conclusion was clear—Tony was not recommended for the Avengers, but as a consultant, that was acceptable.
Upon hearing this, Tony stood up abruptly, shook Fury's hand, and said with a smirk, "You cannot afford to hire me."
He started to leave, but Fury did not react. After a few steps, Tony stopped and turned back. "But maybe I can use my consulting fee. Do me a favor."
Tony hoped that the senator who had berated him in Congress would now be forced to give him an award. There was nothing wrong with Natasha's assessment—Fury saw right through him.
But Fury had one more question. "John Wick," he asked, locking eyes with Tony. "What kind of man is he?"
Tony paused, memories of the little wizard who could disarm him with a flick of the wand flashing through his mind. He forced a smile. "Maybe he is just a guy who likes to take off other people's clothes."