A miniature Big Bang was going off inside Tony Stark's head.
Graphene… batteries?
The term hit him like an antimatter bomb, blowing a bottomless black hole through his vaunted knowledge base.
What even was that?
It was an academic term theoretical physicists used to put each other to sleep in top-tier journals. It was the Holy Grail of material science, perpetually unresolved and existing only in the conceptual stage.
Stable mass production? Commercial application?
That was more preposterous than believing Captain America was alive and kicking, grabbing a hot dog down on the corner.
But here, standing before him, was this fourteen-year-old kid who claimed to be his son, wearing an expression that screamed, 'Isn't it obvious?' as if they were just discussing whether to have scrambled eggs or cereal for breakfast.
"You..." Tony's Adam's apple bobbed. The air of a top-tier billionaire and the pride of a genius scientist vanished in that instant. He felt like a high schooler stepping into a university lecture for the first time. "How did you do it?"
"Oh, that." Paul could see his old man's worldview being reshaped, and he was secretly thrilled. On the surface, however, he explained it with a casual air.
"It's actually pretty simple. Mechanical exfoliation. But I improved it, using chemical vapor deposition to grow it on a catalyst substrate, then transferring it with a polymer-assisted method. The key is controlling the growth temperature and the flow rate of the methane gas. Find that perfect balance, and you can get large-area, high-quality, single-layer graphene films."
Paul explained, gesturing with his hands. The technical terms rolled off his tongue as easily as breathing.
"As for the battery, that's even simpler. Graphene for the cathode, lithium metal for the anode, and my own specially formulated ionic liquid electrolyte. The energy density can easily exceed ten times that of a traditional lithium-ion battery. Plus, the charging speed is astonishing, and it's much safer. Powering Baymax with it is frankly overkill."
Tony fell completely silent.
He understood every word, but he couldn't comprehend how they could be strung together and spoken by a fourteen-year-old kid.
Chemical vapor deposition? Polymer-assisted transfer?
These were fields that the top scientists at Stark Industries, the ones with PhDs, were still fumbling with in their most advanced labs. And his son hadn't just done it—he'd already turned it into a product!
An unprecedented sense of defeat, mingled with an indescribable feeling of absurdity, washed over Tony.
He stared at Paul's impossibly young face, his mind left with only a single, philosophical question.
*Who am I? Where am I? Have the last forty years of my life been nothing but a self-deceiving illusion?*
After a long moment, Tony finally recovered from the cognitive storm.
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the tempest raging within him and reverting to his shrewd businessman persona.
"One hundred million dollars," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "For a one-year exclusive license to this technology and the design data for Baymax. We'll sign the contract tomorrow."
He had to get his hands on this technology.
It wasn't just about the money. It was about the future of Stark Industries, and maybe even his own place in the world as Tony Stark.
"Deal," Paul agreed without a moment's hesitation.
The money was just the first step of his plan.
Seeing the utterly crushed look on his old man's face, Paul was inwardly crowing with delight. But after a full night of technical exchange, exhaustion began to creep in. He yawned, ready to head back to his room to sleep.
However, Tony Stark, having just been technologically annihilated by his son, wasn't about to let him get away that easily.
A father's dignity had to be reclaimed elsewhere!
The next morning.
Paul's bedroom was still dark. He was sleeping soundly, dreaming of crisp green bills.
"JARVIS," Tony commanded from the living room, already dressed for the day. "Play my favorite playlist. Max volume. Target: Paul's room."
"Sir, doing so may cause damage to young Master Paul's hearing..."
"Execute command!"
The next second, the wild, unrestrained opening of AC/DC's 'Back in Black' exploded in Paul's room like a thunderclap.
The guitar riff sounded like it was about to tear the ceiling off!
"Agh!"
Paul shot up in bed, clutching his ears in a daze, feeling as if his very soul was about to be blasted out of his body.
His bedroom door swung open to reveal Tony Stark, leaning against the doorframe with a cup of coffee in hand, a victorious smile plastered on his face.
"Good morning, my genius son. A piece of advice: never wake up later than the man who pays your salary."
Paul: "..."
He now seriously suspected that Tony had bought his tech at such a high price last night just so he could feel justified in waking him up like this today.
Childish! So childish!
Paul stumbled into the bathroom, hair a tangled mess and eyes half-closed, muttering about the ugly face of capitalism.
Just as he picked up his toothbrush, he saw a familiar figure.
Pepper Potts, dressed in a sharp business suit, was standing in the living room, holding a tablet and wearing a slightly exasperated look. She was clearly waiting for a certain tardy boss.
"Morning, Pepper," Paul mumbled, his mouth full of toothpaste foam.
"Good morning, Paul." Pepper gave him a warm smile. "You and Tony... had a late night talking?"
She'd received a notification from JARVIS last night that the father and son had, for the first time ever, held a 'technical seminar' in the living room, a development that left her both surprised and pleased.
"Yeah," Paul said, rinsing his mouth. He walked over to her and lowered his voice, speaking with the conspiratorial tone of a little adult. "Is my dad trying to show off his 'punctuality' for you again? Don't fall for it, Pepper. He just wants you to think he's a reliable guy. It's all just part of his playbook for chasing girls, you know."
Pepper's cheeks flushed crimson. She instinctively glanced at Tony, who was just coming down the stairs, and stammered, feeling flustered, "Paul! Don't say things like that..."
Tony, who had heard that last sentence, missed a step and nearly tumbled down the stairs.
"Ahem! What nonsense are you spouting, you brat!" he barked, trying to sound authoritative, though he couldn't quite meet Pepper's eyes. "Pepper is here to remind me of my schedule!"
"Oh? And what's on the schedule that's so important it requires Pepper to come all the way here this early in the morning?" Paul asked curiously.
Pepper glanced at her tablet and reported in a professional tone, "Sir, the jet is fueled and waiting on the tarmac. You must depart within two hours to arrive in Afghanistan on time for the Jericho missile demonstration."
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
The relaxed, teasing expression on Paul's face vanished without a trace, replaced by sheer, utter shock and an icy chill.
Afghanistan?
The Jericho missile?
A weapons demonstration?
The words were like a series of poison-tipped daggers, plunging deep into his heart.
He had been in this world for fourteen years, and his comfortable life had almost made him forget which world it was. But now, the memories he had deliberately sealed away burst forth like a breaking dam, flooding his mind.
Tony Stark. Afghanistan. Kidnapped. An electromagnet embedded in his chest. A cave. The birth of the Iron Man armor...
The starting point of the entire story, the beginning of all the disasters, was today!
He snapped his head up, his eyes locking on Tony, who was impatiently urging Pepper to hurry up. That man, his father in this life, had no idea he was about to step onto a path that led to both hell and rebirth.
The color drained from his face, leaving it deathly pale.
The room, so full of life just a moment ago, now seemed to him a dead, silent gray.
"Oh, crap..."
Paul muttered subconsciously, his voice barely a whisper.
*No! I absolutely cannot let him go!*
A powerful wave of panic seized his heart, making it nearly impossible to breathe. But in the midst of that suffocating despair, an idea struck him like a bolt of lightning.
He remembered the device in the safe in his workshop—the one he had secretly built, pouring immense effort and money into it, driven by some vague, inexplicable premonition.
It was supposed to be just a contingency plan.
He never imagined the day would come so soon, so suddenly.
A flicker of hope ignited in the abyss of his despair, but it was overshadowed by a vast, unspeakable sense of dread.
The storm... it was really coming.