Chapter 3: Fights and Engines
Year 1997.
Nathaniel Stark's first real fight happened on a late spring afternoon when the clouds hung heavy and the playground buzzed with the usual chaos. He was nine years old, smaller than most of the kids around him as he was with higher class students, but already carrying the stubborn streak that would shape his every choice.
It started over something small—too small to matter in the grand scheme of things—but to Nate, it was everything. A classmate, Jake, had knocked over his favorite toy car during recess, and though Nate had barely noticed the gesture at first, Jake's careless grin pushed him too far.
"Hey, watch where you throw stuff, Jake!" Nate snapped, his voice louder than he intended.
Jake just laughed and flicked the toy across the gravel, cracking it in two.
Nate's fists clenched. He wanted to yell, to storm away, but some part of him—the fire that was quietly building inside—told him to stand his ground.
"That's my car." His words were sharp, determined.
Jake leaned forward, eyes dark with mischief. "What're you gonna do about it, runt?"
That was the challenge Nate needed.
The first punch came quick, and Nate barely dodged. His heart pounded, adrenaline flooding through his veins. The world around him slowed. The chaos of the playground—the shouts, the laughter—faded into the background.
He moved, ducked, and then swung a jab.
The fight wasn't clean or graceful. It was clumsy and loud, the scramble of bodies and flying limbs marking a young, raw battle for respect. Nate's determination pushed him beyond his size, delivering a spinning kick that sent Jake staggering backward into the chain-link fence.
Silence fell. The circle of kids watched, wide-eyed.
Something inside Nate shifted in that moment. The sting in his knuckles wasn't pain anymore. It was power—and for the first time, he understood what it felt like to fight for himself.
Later that day, Tony Stark found out about the fight.
He wasn't pleased.
Tony approached Nate quietly at the back of the house, catching the boy watching a vintage car documentary in the garage. The setting sun cast long shadows across the floor, dust swirling in lazy beams of light.
"Got into a fight today, didn't you?" Tony asked, voice low but firm.
Nate looked up, cheeks flushed but eyes steady. "Yeah. He broke my car."
Tony sighed deeply, setting down the wrench he'd been holding. "Nate, fighting... it's not the answer. You could've hurt someone—or yourself."
Nate bit his lip. "I had to. I wasn't gonna let him push me around."
Tony nodded slowly, understanding the fire in his brother's eyes but worried about the path it might lead to.
" Well Atleast you won"
After that, fights became more frequent. Nate's temper and stubbornness, combined with his growing skill, made him a target and a challenger alike.
Tony watched with growing concern. He knew the thrill Nate found in fighting was real—the rush of adrenaline, the intoxicating mix of control and chaos. Yet Tony also knew the dangers.
One evening, after Nate returned with a fresh bruise on his cheek and a bandaged knuckle, Tony sat him down in the kitchen.
"You're not a kid who can just shrug off punches, You can't fight everyday" Tony said gently. "I want you to learn to fight smart—not just for taking hits or landing them,You can't just fight everytime "
Nate folded his arms defiantly. "I don't wanna fight with others. But situation forces me "
Tony sighs
Nate"I want to learn how to fight properly. Not like some wild brawler."
"No,You are already fighting a lot if learn to fight . You will be seriously others or worse you someday." Tony
"Please ,I promise to not to fight with others first if I learn to fight." Nate spoke in his most pitiful and emotional voice as he can mutter
Tony studied him for a long moment before he nodded. "Alright. But you promise me—no picking fights. No 'going out looking' for trouble. You fight to defend yourself, and yourself only."
Nate looked up, eyes sharp but honest. "I promise."
That promise marked a turning point.
From then on, Nate's fiery fights became sharp, disciplined training sessions.
He threw himself into martial arts with the same fierce mind that had drawn him to engines and inventions.
Tony helped him find best trainers and dojos,some more traditional than the fast-paced gyms filled with flashy fighters—someplace that taught respect, control, and history alongside the punches.
Nate was headstrong, quick to challenge teachings he found dull, but he learned to channel his rage into focus. The dojo became a second home, a place where he could fight his own battles away from the endless expectations of the Stark name.
While his body trained hard, Nate's mind stayed relentlessly hungry too.
Howard Stark's legacy wasn't just a dusty story in an old book. It was alive in every blueprint and every failed patent kept in the Stark archives.
Nate spent hours bending over his father's journals, deciphering lines of equations, sketches of impossible machines, and notes in pen that had grown faded with time.
He might have been a kid still mastering punches and kicks, but his intellect was already soaring.
His first major project was ambitious for his age: a small combustion engine cobbled together from scraps scavenged from Tony's workshop and forgotten car parts.
Nate worked on it late into the night, his small hands tightening bolts and fitting pistons, his mind racing through the principles he'd read about but barely understood.
When he finally fired it up, the engine roared to life with a satisfying grind, filling the garage with sound.
Tony watched quietly from the doorway, pride swelling inside him.
"That's my brother," Tony said softly.
Despite their shared love of technology and fight, Nate and Tony's personalities often collided—both stubborn, both fiercely protective, both unwilling to back down.
But beneath the sarcastic barbs and occasional glare, there was an unbreakable bond.
Nate teased Tony relentlessly about his flashy parties and his love for suits. Tony shot back with jabs about Nate's obsession with ancient muscle cars and martial arts.
"I'm just making sure the Stark name stays interesting," Nate once said with a sly grin.
Tony laughed. " The engine is good with some refinement we could do a lot business with this. It will make a lot of money."
Nate's eyes sparkled with determination. " What will be my profit."
Tony narrows his eyes." What do you money for. I handle your expenses. It will be Stark industries."
Nate just scoffed " I am not falling for that. I expect my share to given and saved." Nate spoke with haughty tone
Tony " Tch Tch. What a greedy kid you are " Tony laughed.
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By thirteen, Nate had become a force to reckon with, He was committed to both Fighting and his genius already at a level where most people won't be able to achieve.
His days were spent between the dojo, the Stark labs, and the garage—restoring his beloved Mustangs and Dodge, working on inventions, and pushing his body and mind to new limits.
Behind every punch laced with precision was a mind turning relentlessly over the puzzles and plans left behind by Howard Stark.
And in every glance thrown at Tony was the knowledge that brotherhood was never just about blood but about fire, fight, and the will to forge their own paths—together yet apart.
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Drop some Power Stones
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