[Third Person Pov]
When they finally arrived in front of Power High, it wasn't the beautiful, grandiose architecture that greeted them—the sprawling structure of marble and stone that looked like a castle and a mansion fused into one. Nor was it the orderly line of faculty members patiently waiting to welcome them at the gates.
Instead, it was chaos.
Reporters and paparazzi completely flooded the street, forming a dense wall of bodies and equipment the moment the limo slowed to a stop. Cameras flashed relentlessly, bursts of white light reflecting off the polished black exterior of the vehicle as voices shouted over one another, each journalist trying desperately to be heard above the rest.
Howard Stark took in the scene through the tinted window and couldn't help but curse under his breath. His jaw tightened, irritation immediately etching itself across his face.
"I thought we were very clear," he said sharply, turning toward the others inside the limo. "We agreed this was supposed to be private. Nothing was supposed to leak until everything was finished."
Tony, on the other hand, looked entirely amused. A smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back comfortably, clearly enjoying his father's frustration.
"How incompetent do you have to be," Howard continued to complain, "to fail at following such simple instructions?"
"It was Tony," Melissa said flatly, shaking her head in open exasperation as she pointed toward him. "He's the one who anonymously tipped off the reporters that we'd be here today."
Howard froze mid-breath. Slowly, he turned to stare at his son, disbelief written all over his face.
"You did what?" he demanded. "You told them? Why in the world would you do that?"
Tony didn't bother answering the question. Instead, he reached up and casually pulled the sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt, slipping them on with practiced ease. His grin widened just a little as he said,
"Let's not keep our fans waiting."
The limo door opened, and the moment Tony stepped out, the intensity doubled. The flashes grew brighter, the clicking of cameras louder, and the shouts more frantic. Names were being called, questions thrown into the air without pause. Tony paid them no mind, unfazed as he adjusted his glasses and stood tall, every inch the public figure he knew himself to be.
Howard exited next, both he and Tony immediately turning back to help Maria out of the vehicle. She was visibly pregnant, and they made sure to steady her carefully, one protective hand at her side as they began walking forward together.
Behind them, Tony turned back and extended both hands—one toward Melissa and the other toward Momo.
"Well, what a gentleman~" Melissa teased, graciously accepting his hand. She glanced over at Momo with a playful smile. "Don't you think so?"
"Certainly," Momo replied with a soft chuckle as she took his other one. "A gentleman indeed."
The two of them giggled together while Tony rolled his eyes, though he obligingly offered his elbows for them to hold as they walked in step behind Howard and Maria.
The reporters surged forward as much as security allowed.
"Tony Stark! Over here! Over here!"
"Can we get a smile?!"
"Would you like to make a statement regarding your recent achievements?!"
"Just one question! All we're asking for is one moment of your time!"
Tony slowed his pace slightly and turned toward a cluster of reporters, his smile widening into something effortlessly charming—perfectly crafted for the cameras. He stopped just long enough to ensure every lens was trained on him.
"Sure, sure," he said smoothly. "I don't mind answering a few questions. Just make it quick—I'm a busy man, after all. I can't possibly entertain everyone."
Melissa snorted outright, while Momo covered her mouth as she quietly giggled. In an instant, every camera shifted, snapping toward the trio as they became the undeniable center of attention.
"You—with the antennas," Tony said, casually pointing toward one of the reporters near the front of the crowd.
Almost instantly, the surrounding noise died down. Conversations cut off mid-sentence, microphones were lowered just slightly, and even the constant shouting quieted as every reporter waited for the chosen question. The man Tony had singled out didn't hesitate for even a second.
"Reports have stated that during the recent attack you were critically injured," the reporter said clearly. "Specifically, that you suffered a wound directly to the heart. Can you confirm the validity of those statements, and do you have anything you'd like to say regarding the matter?"
"Ah, yes," Tony replied smoothly.
He flashed a confident grin—one filled to the brim with unmistakable Stark charm, the kind of smile that had sold inventions, silenced critics, and made headlines all on its own.
"Well, it's true," he continued casually. "My heart was injured, and I've got the scar to prove it. As for what I have to say about it…"
Tony slowly lowered his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and looked directly into the nearest camera, his eyes sharp and unflinching.
"It's going to take a lot more than a sword through the heart to take down someone like me," he said firmly. "I'm tenacious and stubborn to my very core. Some people might think this should be my wake-up call—that I should stop being a hero, hang up the suit, and walk away while I still can. That maybe I won't get so lucky next time."
His voice didn't waver for even a moment.
"And to that," Tony continued, "I have only this to say: I am, and will always be, Iron Man. And that's something not even God himself can prevent."
He held the stare for several long seconds before pushing his glasses back up into place.
Silence fell over the street.
Not a single voice spoke. The only sound that remained was the steady clicking of cameras, dozens of lenses capturing the moment from every possible angle. Several reporters stood frozen, stunned by the sheer confidence behind his words. A few even felt a shiver crawl down their spine from the conviction in his tone.
"C-Can I quote you on that?" the reporter finally asked, breaking the silence.
"Word for word," Tony replied with a knowing smirk. He glanced around at the crowd. "Any more questions?"
The quiet shattered instantly.
The street erupted with noise as reporters surged forward again, voices overlapping as everyone shouted to be chosen next.
"You," Tony said, pointing decisively. "The centaur girl."
Once more, the chaos dropped into silence.
"There's really no better way to put this," she began carefully. "You recreated the sun—something that far surpasses anything anyone has ever accomplished using a quirk. To the point where many people are now questioning whether you're truly quirkless. Is it possible there was a mistake? That perhaps you were born with a quirk after all, or maybe you're a late bloomer who developed one later in life, which isn't exactly unheard of?"
Tony let out a long, irritated sigh. He reached up, removed his sunglasses completely, and tucked them back into his shirt with deliberate slowness.
"Ugh… just what is it with you people," he said, his tone sharp and clearly disgruntled, "that makes you think the impossible can only be done by someone with a quirk?"
He scanned the crowd, eyes hard.
"Quirks have poisoned this society—and the minds of everyone," Tony continued. "No, I don't have a quirk. And as I've proven time and time again, I don't need one."
He raised a hand and tapped the side of his temple with his thumb.
"I've got everything I need right up here."
"People seem to forget something very important," Tony continued. "Before the Era of Quirks, humanity wasn't helpless. We weren't weak. We didn't sit around waiting for powers to fall out of the sky."
"Before quirks ever existed, mankind grasped the heavens with its own hands. We built towers of steel that scraped the sky. We forged machines that split the atom. We created rockets—rockets—that tore free from Earth's gravity and carried human beings into space."
His eyes burned with conviction.
"We didn't fly because we had wings. We flew because we refused to accept the ground as our limit."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, but Tony didn't slow down.
"Then quirks appeared, and instead of pushing forward, humanity stopped. We traded innovation for instant power. We replaced curiosity with convenience. Why build, when you can punch? Why think, when you can burn, freeze, or explode your way through problems?"
"We regressed. Not technologically—no, we stagnated. Society began to worship strength over intelligence, spectacle over substance. Heroes became symbols, not pioneers. Fighters, not builders. And worst of all, people began to believe that without a quirk, you were lesser. Helpless. Irrelevant."
"That lie has done more damage to humanity than any villain ever could."
He glanced around the cameras around him, eyes sharp, unflinching.
"My achievements—everything I've done—weren't gifts handed to me at birth. They weren't accidents of genetics. They were earned. Calculated. Designed. Built. Tested. Failed. Rebuilt. Over and over again. Every breakthrough, every invention, every so-called 'miracle' I've made came from understanding the universe and bending it to human will."
A faint, dangerous smile tugged at his lips.
"I didn't recreate the sun because I was special, I became special because I recreated the Sun. I recreated it because I understood it. Because science doesn't care who you are, what you were born with, or what box society puts you in. Science rewards effort, intelligence, and perseverance—nothing more, nothing less."
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