Haki user in Marvel

The Stark Tower workshop was alive with energy, a chaotic symphony of sparks, clattering tools, and the low hum of Jarvis's voice. The Mark III armor was taking shape on its display stand, each newly polished component gleaming under the dim lights. Tony Stark worked tirelessly, his face set in a determined grimace as he adjusted schematics projected in midair.

"You know," Alexander said from across the room, where he sat sharpening a blade he had borrowed from Stark's collection, "if you push yourself any harder, you'll drop before you finish."

"I don't have time to drop," Tony replied, his eyes not leaving the hologram. "We're on a clock here, Alex. Every day I wait, someone else is putting my tech to work killing people."

"That's exactly why you need to train, too," Alexander countered, standing and walking toward him. "You're building a weapon, Stark, but you need to make sure you're the one in control—not the other way around."

Tony sighed, finally looking up from the hologram. "Let me guess—this is where you lecture me about instincts, balance, and finding my inner kung-fu warrior?"

Alexander smirked. "Something like that. But seriously, Stark. Your suit will protect you for a while, but you can't rely on it forever. That's where martial arts comes in. If you can move like the fighter I know you can become, then the suit will just amplify what's already there."

Tony hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But if you throw me on the mat again, I'm docking your nonexistent paycheck."

Martial Arts and Focus

The training mat in Stark's private gym was expansive, giving Alexander plenty of room to work with his reluctant student. Tony stood in the middle, already in a defensive stance, his expression a mix of skepticism and determination.

"Alright, what's on today's menu?" Tony asked. "More punching? Maybe some of that Jeet Kune Do stuff you keep raving about?"

"Close," Alexander said, stepping onto the mat. "Today, we focus on precision. You're fast, but speed doesn't matter if your strikes don't land where they need to."

Tony threw a half-hearted punch. "Pretty sure if I land anywhere, I'm good."

Alexander ducked the punch easily, spinning and tapping Tony's ribs with the back of his hand. Tony stumbled, his eyes widening in surprise.

"See what I mean?" Alexander said, stepping back. "Your strikes are sloppy. You need to aim for weak points—joints, nerves, areas your enemies won't expect. It's not about brute force; it's about control."

The next hour passed in a blur of movement and instruction. Alexander taught Tony how to focus his strikes, emphasizing economy of motion and adaptability. By the end of the session, Tony's punches were sharper, his movements more fluid, though his body ached from the effort.

"You're getting better," Alexander said as Tony sat on the mat, panting.

"Better," Tony muttered, wiping sweat from his face. "But not good enough."

"Not yet," Alexander agreed, offering him a hand to help him up. "But you will be."

The Ball

Later that evening, Tony found himself begrudgingly attending Stark Industries' annual charity gala, dressed in a tuxedo that felt more like a straitjacket. Pepper Potts stood beside him, looking stunning in an elegant evening gown, but her expression was all business.

"Remind me again why I'm here?" Tony asked as they entered the grand ballroom, where the city's elite mingled under glittering chandeliers.

"Because you're still the face of Stark Industries," Pepper replied. "And because people need to see you're still Tony Stark, not some mad scientist hiding in his workshop."

Tony groaned. "Fine. But if anyone asks me about the weapons division, I'm throwing you under the bus."

"Noted," Pepper said with a faint smile.

Alexander followed behind them, dressed in a simple black suit that somehow made him look even more intimidating. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, his Observation Haki subtly activated to detect any potential threats.

"You really know how to blend in," Tony said sarcastically as he grabbed a drink from a passing waiter.

"I'm not here to blend," Alexander replied with a smirk. "I'm here to make sure you don't do something stupid."

Tony raised his glass. "Cheers to that."

The Reveal

The evening wore on, filled with polite conversation and veiled criticisms from board members and investors. Tony's patience was wearing thin when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Mr. Stark," a sharp, confident voice said.

Tony turned to see Christine Everhart, a reporter he'd encountered before, holding a tablet in her hand. Her expression was a mix of professionalism and accusation.

"Christine," Tony said, forcing a smile. "Enjoying the party?"

"Not really," she replied. "But I thought you'd want to see this."

She handed him the tablet, and Tony's smile faded as he scanned the photos on the screen. They showed Stark Industries weapons—Jericho missiles—being loaded into trucks by insurgents in Afghanistan. The images were grainy but unmistakable.

"Where did you get these?" Tony asked, his voice low.

"Military contacts," Christine replied. "And they're all over the news now. Care to comment?"

Tony's grip tightened on the tablet. His face was unreadable, but Alexander could feel the storm building within him.

Before Tony could respond, Obadiah Stane approached, his polished smile masking the tension in his eyes. "Tony, let's talk for a moment," he said smoothly.

Tony turned to him, his expression cold. "Did you know about this?"

Stane glanced at the photos and sighed, shaking his head. "Tony, these contracts were in place long before you decided to change course. We have commitments to fulfill—"

"They're using my weapons to kill people," Tony interrupted, his voice sharp.

"This is business, Tony," Stane said, his tone soothing but condescending. "Sometimes there are... unintended consequences."

Tony stared at him for a long moment, then said quietly, "You knew. Didn't you?"

Stane's smile tightened. "We all have a part to play, Tony. I made sure the company stayed afloat while you were... indisposed."

Realization dawned on Tony's face. "You're the one who pushed the board to lock me out."

Stane's expression didn't waver. "It was a necessary move. You were jeopardizing everything we've built."

Without another word, Tony handed the tablet back to Christine and walked out of the ballroom, his steps quick and purposeful.

Into the Fire

Back in his workshop, Tony suited up in the completed Mark III armor, his jaw clenched as he activated the thrusters.

"Jarvis," Tony said, his voice hard. "Prepare for launch."

"Sir," the AI replied, "may I suggest reconsidering? This course of action appears... impulsive."

"Noted," Tony said. "Launching in five."

Alexander stepped into the workshop just as Tony took off, the thrusters roaring to life.

"Stark!" Alexander shouted, but it was too late.

Without hesitation, Alexander grabbed his own gear—a lightweight combat harness he had modified in the workshop—and activated his Geppo technique, launching himself into the sky in pursuit of Tony.

Afghanistan

The Mark III streaked across the night sky, its sleek design cutting through the wind as Tony made his way to Afghanistan. Below, the barren landscape stretched endlessly, illuminated only by moonlight.

When he reached the insurgent compound, Tony didn't hesitate. He landed with a thunderous crash, the repulsors on his palms glowing menacingly.

The insurgents scrambled, shouting orders in a language Tony didn't understand. One of them aimed a rocket launcher, but Tony fired a repulsor blast, sending the weapon flying and knocking the man off his feet.

One by one, Tony dismantled the operation. He used his repulsors to disable vehicles, his shoulder-mounted rockets to destroy stockpiles, and his fists to incapacitate anyone who got too close.

From a nearby ridge, Alexander watched the chaos unfold. His Observation Haki flared, scanning for hidden threats as he prepared to step in if needed.

Suddenly, an insurgent with a high-powered sniper rifle took aim at Tony. Alexander moved instantly, using Soru to close the distance. In the blink of an eye, he disarmed the man with a swift kick and incapacitated him with a single strike.

The Aftermath

As the last explosion faded, Tony stood amidst the wreckage, his armor scorched but intact. He looked around, his breathing heavy as the adrenaline began to fade.

Alexander approached, his movements silent but deliberate. "You handled yourself well," he said.

Tony didn't look at him. "They're going to keep coming, aren't they? As long as those weapons exist."

Alexander nodded. "Then we take them out. One step at a time."

Tony turned to him, his eyes filled with determination. "Then let's get to work."

The flight back from Afghanistan was silent except for the hum of Tony's suit and the occasional roar of Alexander's Geppo movements as he kept pace alongside the Mark III. The burning wreckage of the insurgent compound still lingered in Tony's mind, along with the faces of the innocent villagers he had saved.

But there was no satisfaction—only the grim realization that this was just the beginning.

Tony Stark hovered near Stark Tower's rooftop, scanning the area for a safe landing. Alexander appeared next to him in a blur of movement, his arms crossed as he hovered momentarily midair.

"You did well out there," Alexander said. "But we need to talk."

Tony groaned. "I'm guessing this is the part where you tell me everything I did wrong?"

Alexander smirked faintly. "Oh, you'll know when I do."

With that, they landed on the rooftop. The thrusters of Tony's suit hissed as he deactivated them, the armor's glowing arc reactor dimming as he stepped toward the workshop entrance.

Back in the Workshop

The workshop doors hissed open, and the familiar hum of Jarvis greeted them. The room was quiet, save for the faint whir of the holographic displays flickering above Tony's workbench.

Tony walked to the armor stand, his movements heavy. The Mark III hissed and clanked as he stepped out of the suit, the pieces folding away to reveal his sweat-soaked shirt and exhausted face.

Alexander followed him in, his expression unreadable.

"Alright," Tony said, slumping into a chair. "Let's hear it."

Alexander crossed his arms. "You didn't think things through, Stark."

"I think the explosions said otherwise," Tony replied, reaching for a nearby glass of water.

Alexander stepped closer, his tone sharpening. "You were reckless. Flying into a combat zone alone? No backup? No plan beyond 'blow everything up?' If I hadn't been there, you might not have made it out."

Tony frowned, setting down the glass. "I handled it."

"You got lucky," Alexander snapped, his calm demeanor cracking for the first time. "You're playing with forces you don't fully understand, Stark. Those people weren't just terrorists—they had access to your weapons. That means someone here, in your world, is pulling the strings. You need to think bigger than one mission."

Tony stood, his exhaustion giving way to anger. "You think I don't know that? I'm trying to fix this, Alex. I'm trying to take responsibility for what I've done. What else do you want from me?"

Alexander's gaze softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. "I want you to be smart. If you're going to fight this war, you need more than a suit and some good intentions. You need strategy, allies, and a plan that doesn't rely on brute force."

Tony stared at him for a long moment, his jaw clenched. "Fine. Then help me figure it out."

Before Alexander could respond, the workshop door slid open, and Pepper Potts stepped in, her heels clicking against the floor.

Pepper's Discovery

Pepper stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the Mark III armor standing on its display. Her gaze shifted to Tony, who looked like he'd just gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer.

"Tony," she said slowly, her voice a mix of shock and anger. "What is that?"

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Pep, this isn't what it looks like—"

"It looks like you built a weapon," Pepper interrupted, her tone sharp. "After everything you said about shutting down the weapons division, you're standing here with... with that."

"It's not a weapon," Tony said quickly. "It's a shield. Something to stop the people who are using my tech to hurt others."

Pepper stared at him, her expression torn between disbelief and concern. "And you think this is the answer? Flying off to the middle of nowhere, putting yourself in danger? Do you have any idea what would happen if you didn't come back?"

Tony opened his mouth to reply, but Alexander stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension.

"He knows," Alexander said firmly. "And that's why he's doing this. Because no one else will."

Pepper turned to Alexander, her eyes narrowing. "And what about you? Are you encouraging this? Helping him?"

Alexander nodded. "I'm making sure he doesn't get himself killed. But let's be clear—this isn't just about Tony. This is about saving lives. If you've got a better way to stop the people using Stark's weapons, I'd love to hear it."

Pepper hesitated, her gaze flicking between the two men. Finally, she let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't like this. But I know I can't stop you."

"Good call," Tony said, attempting a weak smile.

Pepper shot him a glare. "But if you're going to do this, Tony, you'd better do it right. No more secrets. No more half-truths. If you want me to help, I need to know everything."

Tony nodded, his expression softening. "You're right, Pep. No more secrets."

The Lecture Continues

As Pepper left to process everything, Alexander turned back to Tony.

"She's right, you know," Alexander said. "If you're going to fight this war, you need her. And more than that, you need a clear plan."

Tony sighed, slumping back into his chair. "Yeah, I got that. Thanks, Obi-Wan."

Alexander smirked but didn't let up. "You've got the tools, Stark. The brains, the resources, the determination. But if you're going to take on the kind of enemies you're dealing with, you need to think about more than just the next step. You need to think about the endgame."

Tony frowned, his gaze drifting to the Mark III. "The endgame," he repeated quietly.

Alexander nodded. "Exactly. These aren't just random thugs or terrorists. Someone like Stane doesn't think small. He's got connections, resources, and plans that go deeper than you realize. If you're not ready for that, you'll lose."

Tony looked at him, the fire in his eyes reigniting. "Then we'd better start planning."

The Turning Point

For the next several hours, the two men worked side by side. Tony focused on refining the Mark III's systems, while Alexander outlined potential strategies and scenarios. They argued, debated, and occasionally even laughed, but beneath it all was a shared sense of purpose.

By the time they finished, the workshop was filled with holographic blueprints and notes, a roadmap for the battles to come.

Tony leaned back in his chair, exhaustion creeping in but unable to dull his determination. "Alright," he said. "I'll admit it—you're not half-bad at this strategy thing."

Alexander smirked. "Glad to hear it. Now get some rest. You're going to need it."

Tony nodded, glancing at the Mark III one last time before heading upstairs. As the lights dimmed in the workshop, Alexander remained behind, his sharp eyes scanning the holograms.

This is only the beginning, he thought. But it's a damn good start.