"Is this the artificial intelligence you created?" Peter asked, eyeing the mechanical arm in front of him with curiosity.
"Yes. His name is Jarvis. He's my capable assistant at work," Tony Stark replied proudly. "By the way, is the AI you're working on similar to this?"
"I wish," Peter said modestly. "But with my current ability, I don't think I can create anything this advanced. I'm just dabbling, really."
Tony gave a confident chuckle. "Well, Jarvis is my masterpiece. He's the most advanced artificial intelligence in the world—no doubt about it."
His words weren't just confidence in Jarvis but also a reflection of his belief in his own technological prowess—bordering on arrogance. Still, Peter thought, that arrogance suited Tony Stark. After all, he was a billionaire and a technological genius. Who wouldn't be a little cocky under those circumstances?
If Peter had the same background, he might have turned out even more arrogant and reckless.
Compared to someone like Azu—who used power to commit evil—Tony Stark was relatively kind-hearted. Critics often labeled him self-centered and arrogant, but Peter thought those people simply didn't understand him.
"Mr. Stark, you're right. When it comes to technology, who in this world can rival you?" Peter complimented him with a smile. Normally, he wouldn't bother to flatter someone, but Tony had just given him a valuable atomic chip—he owed him some respect.
Tony laughed. "Heh, no need to be so modest. I've read your thesis. It left quite an impression. Anyone involved in cross-species gene fusion research isn't a fool. You just need time to grow."
The praise made Peter feel both flattered and more at ease. Tony seemed to genuinely like him—something about Peter intrigued him, gave him an odd sense of familiarity.
"Thanks. I'll do my best," Peter said with a shrug.
"Believe in yourself. By the way, aside from the atomic chip, do you need any other help? Like a job, maybe?" Tony asked casually.
Peter looked at him, surprised, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
"Don't misunderstand," Tony added quickly. "I've looked into your background. I know a little about your experiences. Maybe I can offer a job or something to make life easier. What do you think?"
Peter hadn't expected that kind of kindness from the famously egotistical Tony Stark. But then again, he remembered a version of Tony from a parallel universe—risking his life to snap his fingers and save the world. That man wasn't just arrogant—he had a deeply buried, heroic heart.
"Mr. Stark, I appreciate the offer. Honestly, I'm doing fine now. With this chip you gave me, things should only get better. So, no need for a job," Peter replied sincerely.
Since Aunt May's death, Tony was one of the few who had shown him genuine care. He wouldn't forget that kindness.
"Alright then. But if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to come to me."
"Thanks. Since everything's settled, I won't bother you anymore. Goodbye, Mr. Stark."
With the atomic chip secured, Peter turned to leave—he still needed to acquire two more materials.
As Peter walked away, Pepper Potts entered the room. She had stayed silent during the conversation, observing from a distance.
"That's the first time I've seen you care so much about a young man," she remarked.
"Did I?" Tony shrugged, sipping his wine.
"Of course. You gave him a chip and even offered him a job. Someone might think he's your illegitimate child."
Tony laughed. "Come on. Peter's 25—I'm only 35. That would mean I fathered him at ten. When I was ten, I hadn't even grown all my hair yet."
Pepper raised an eyebrow. "Who knows? You've always had a talent for romantic escapades."
Although she was officially Tony's assistant, everyone knew she was much more than that—his true partner. Sometimes, even Tony had to defer to her.
"Alright, alright. I surrender, okay?"
Pepper smirked. "I've already kicked out the model from last night and thrown away the bedsheets. Try not to bring those types into the house again. If your head really gets bashed in, I won't clean up the mess."
Tony scratched his head awkwardly. "I promise, it won't happen again."
"That's your 99th promise," she said with a sigh.
Though she wasn't his girlfriend, Pepper still felt responsible. She reminded him of things, but she never overstepped—some lines she refused to cross.
Meanwhile, Peter left the Stark residence and donned a new cartoon-style mask before disappearing into the night. When he reappeared, he was already in Hell's Kitchen—the most chaotic area of New York and home to the city's largest underground exchange.
Under the night's cover, the filthy streets teemed with junkies lying in the gutter, gangsters in the midst of violent shootouts, and streetwalkers flaunting themselves under flickering lights.
This district was both a cesspool and a playground—filthy yet seductive. If you had money, you could indulge in the illusion of power. But once that moment passed, it often led straight into the abyss.
Because beneath this chaos lurked a monster—Kingpin, the underworld emperor of Hell's Kitchen.
If Kingpin discovered the man who had recently stolen millions from him was now walking around his turf, he'd want his head on a spike.
Peter, still masked, walked calmly through the mess. His eccentric outfit didn't stand out here. In fact, it made him blend in.
"This must be what freedom feels like," Peter whispered mockingly as he took in the scene.
He entered a hidden shop within the underground exchange—a place where the illicit was openly traded. Gambling, drugs, and prostitution were just the beginning. Here, you could also buy firearms, human organs, and rare materials.
Peter came for special materials. After killing Kurt the night before, he had visited this very shop to finalize a deal. Now, he had returned to collect the goods.
A tattooed middle-aged man behind the counter stubbed out his cigarette when he saw Peter.
"Where's my stuff?" Peter asked in a hoarse voice.
The man pointed to a wooden crate in the corner. "Two hundred kilograms of military-grade titanium alloy and the synthetic skin you ordered—all in there."
He opened the box to show Peter the contents. After a brief inspection, Peter nodded in approval, tossed a few bundles of cash and a slip of paper with an address on the table.
"Deliver this to the location on the paper. Don't let anyone see you. It's best to act under the cover of night."
Though titanium alloy and synthetic skin were legally obtainable, Peter chose the black market to avoid leaving a digital trail. The delivery address was just an abandoned factory—he'd pick up the goods himself later. Transporting the large box in broad daylight would only invite trouble.
"Got it. I'll send someone right away. If you need anything else, come find me anytime." The man grinned, counting the bills.
"If you want me to come back," Peter said coldly, "keep your mouth shut. Otherwise, you might not live long."
With that, he turned to leave. But just as he opened the rolling shutter, a group of men came into view. They walked with purpose, and the crowd instinctively parted to make way.
Leading them was a bearded middle-aged man who seemed oddly familiar.
The shopkeeper behind him whispered, "Don't stare. That's Ulysses Klaue, a notorious arms dealer—and a friend of Kingpin."
Peter's eyes narrowed behind the mask. Now he remembered. He'd seen Klaue's face before, in old newspapers and during a gang shootout he witnessed upon first arriving in this universe.
It had been over a decade since then, yet Klaue was still free. Not surprising, Peter thought. With a police department riddled with corruption, catching someone like Klaue was wishful thinking.
Klaue carried a long black case in his hand, heading toward Kingpin Tower. It was likely filled with something valuable—maybe a weapon, maybe something worse.
Peter's curiosity sparked.
He'd planned to mess with Kingpin eventually. And now, an opportunity had fallen into his lap. While he couldn't topple Kingpin's empire yet, he could easily deal with someone like Klaue.
Whatever was inside that black case, Peter was determined to find out. And if it was worth it, he wouldn't hesitate to steal it.
After all, when it came to your enemy's belongings—why not take them, if you can?
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