Smith wasn't surprised by the first gift, the original arc reactor that had kept Tony alive in that Afghan cave held obvious sentimental value. But the second box? That one piqued his curiosity. It hadn't appeared in any of his transmigrator memories, which made it an unknown variable.
Tony set down the reactor's display case with surprising gentleness, then reached for the second package. He tore through the wrapping paper to reveal another box, this one smaller and unmarked. Inside, nestled in plain tissue paper, sat a remarkably round stone roughly the size of a baseball. A handwritten note accompanied it: "I heard no man can resist a perfectly natural round stone."
Tony lifted the stone, turning it over in his hands, fingers tracing its smooth surface. "Huh. It really is perfectly round."
The gift wasn't expensive, probably cost Pepper less than twenty dollars at some specialty shop. But the thoughtfulness behind it made Tony smile. A natural stone, unprocessed, just... round. Somehow that felt more personal than expensive jewelry or designer accessories.
Smith stared at the stone, his senses screaming recognition.
That wasn't just a stone. That was a Dragon Ball.
Turned to stone by the wish cycle's completion, currently inert and untraceable by conventional means.
The sheer cosmic coincidence of Pepper Potts randomly acquiring one of the seven most powerful artifacts on Earth and gifting it to Tony Stark as a novelty paperweight would have been hilarious if it weren't so staggering.
Smith forced a laugh, keeping his voice casual. "Lucky guy. That's genuinely a rare gift."
Tony placed the stone back in its box with the same care he'd shown the reactor. "What can I say? Some people just have all the luck." His grin turned smug. "Though I'm pretty sure everyone's received at least one weird natural stone as a gift, right?"
Smith's lips twitched. Not even a straight stick, he thought wryly, but kept his expression neutral.
Tony swiveled back to his computer setup, already shifting mental gears. "Alright, time to get serious. I need to adjust the parameters and upgrade the Mark II's systems."
His fingers flew across the holographic interface. "JARVIS, make a note: primary sensors failed above forty thousand feet. The pressurization system also showed critical weakness, almost certainly due to ice accumulation compromising the shell integrity."
JARVIS's response carried a distinctly droll tone. "Sir, your observational skills are remarkably sharp. If you're planning interplanetary excursions, perhaps we should also reinforce the exhaust system, cosmic radiation tends to be rather inconvenient."
Smith raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the casual mention. "You know, flying to other planets isn't as crazy as it sounds. Might actually happen someday."
Tony's grin widened. "Glad someone appreciates my forward thinking. JARVIS, contact Sith Corporation. I want procurement on the outer shell material immediately, specifically, the gold-titanium alloy they developed for the Seraph satellite project. We need optimal power-to-weight ratio without sacrificing structural integrity."
"Acknowledged, sir."
Tony reached for a glass filled with thick green liquid and took a long drink. Smith's eyes narrowed as recognition clicked into place, chlorophyll juice, the same stuff Tony would eventually rely on to manage palladium poisoning symptoms.
"Tony," Smith said carefully, "has it gotten that bad already?"
Tony looked up, confused. "What?"
Smith gestured toward the glass. "Chlorophyll. If I'm remembering correctly, that's primarily used to counteract heavy metal toxicity, specifically palladium poisoning."
Tony glanced down at the arc reactor embedded in his chest, then waved dismissively. "It's not serious. Just mild exposure. Better to start therapy early, flush the system before it becomes a problem."
He took another sip, completely unbothered. "I'll find a replacement element soon enough. This is just preventative maintenance until I do. No big deal."
Tony's confidence wasn't feigned, he genuinely believed he'd crack the solution in days, maybe weeks. Why wouldn't he? He was Tony Stark, genius billionaire inventor. He'd built the arc reactor in a cave with scrap metal. Finding a replacement element would be child's play by comparison.
Smith studied Tony's nonchalant expression, his knowledge painting a darker picture. In roughly a year, maybe fourteen months, that palladium poisoning would become life-threatening. Tony would spiral into self-destructive behavior, convinced he was dying, until Nick Fury dropped the hint about his father's hidden legacy.
But that timeline was still distant. No point warning Tony about a crisis he wouldn't take seriously yet. Better to wait, let events unfold naturally, then swoop in with the solution before SHIELD could leverage it. Tony would remember who helped him when he needed it most, and that debt would be worth far more than early warnings he'd dismiss.
"Sir," JARVIS interrupted, "shall I display the rendering?"
"Let's see what you've got."
The laboratory's main television flickered to life, interrupting with a news broadcast. A reporter stood outside an opulent venue, camera lights making the red carpet shine like arterial blood.
"The red carpet has been rolled out at the Walt Disney Concert Hall, where Los Angeles's elite are gathering tonight for the third annual Firefighters Family Foundation charity gala, "
Tony's head tilted, watching the screen with dawning recognition.
", Tony Stark traditionally hosts this prestigious event, but speculation runs rampant about his absence following his controversial press conference, "
"JARVIS," Tony cut in, "were we invited to this?"
"I have no record of any invitation, sir."
The reporter continued with barely concealed gossip-column glee. ", Society's finest have assembled for this star-studded evening. But questions remain about the event's founder, who hasn't been seen publicly since his shocking announcement weeks ago, "
Tony had been casually examining the Mark II's faceplate, but now he looked at his own image on the television, caught mid-statement at that press conference, looking defiant and certain.
", Some sources claim he's suffering severe post-traumatic stress disorder and has been bedridden for weeks. The truth remains unclear, but one thing's certain: we won't be seeing Tony Stark at tonight's gala, "
Tony's expression soured. He pulled the faceplate away from his face, lips curling in obvious displeasure at being written off so casually.
"That's ridiculous. You can't have a party without the main character." He stood abruptly, decision made. "Smith, want to crash a charity gala?"
Smith considered the invitation. Social events weren't typically his scene, the Fraternity had trained him to blend into crowds, not socialize within them. But his stomach chose that moment to remind him he'd been training for hours before Tony's call.
"Will there be food?"
Since integrating Goku template, Smith's appetite had exploded exponentially. What used to be a normal meal now barely qualified as a snack. He consumed forty, maybe fifty times more food than before the fusion, his body burning through calories at a rate that defied conventional biology. John Wick had asked once, half-joking, whether eating that much was actually necessary for power gains or just a side effect. Smith still wasn't entirely sure himself.
Tony laughed. "It's a charity gala for LA's wealthy elite. There'll be food and drinks that cost more per plate than most people's car payments."
Smith made an affirmative gesture. "Then count me in."
"Rendering complete, sir," JARVIS announced.
A holographic image materialized above Tony's workstation, the Mark II redesigned with the new gold-titanium alloy specifications. The armor gleamed entirely in brilliant, reflective gold, looking like something a pharaoh would wear into battle.
Tony stared at it critically. "That's... incredibly ostentatious."
Smith couldn't suppress his grin. "Hey, nouveau riche gold. fits your public image perfectly, Tony."
"Yes, sir," JARVIS agreed with audible amusement. "It certainly matches your well-known preference for understatement and subtlety."
Tony turned toward his collection of sports cars, gaze settling on his red, yellow, and black beauty. After a contemplative moment, he snapped his fingers. "Add some of the sports car's red. Break up the gold with hot rod color."
"Of course," JARVIS replied smoothly. "Much more understated."
Smith watched Tony work, feeling a pang of envy at the seamless interaction between man and AI. JARVIS wasn't just a program, he was a genuine artificial intelligence, capable of learning, adapting, even developing something approaching personality.
But then Smith thought of Bulma, currently working in the Fraternity's advanced laboratory he'd set up for her. The genius inventor could build an AI probably superior to JARVIS given proper time and resources. She'd create one for him eventually, he just needed to ask.
Far away in that very laboratory, Bulma suddenly sneezed violently, nearly dropping the circuit board she'd been soldering. She blinked, confused, wondering if the ventilation system was malfunctioning or if someone was talking about her.
Tony poured another glass of chlorophyll, downing it while studying the repainted armor rendering. The red and gold combination looked aggressive, powerful, unmistakably his aesthetic.
"I love it. Start assembly and paint application."
"Automated construction initiating. Estimated completion time: five hours."
Tony grabbed a watch from his workbench, checked the time, and called out toward the ceiling. "Don't wait up for me, baby!"
Then he turned to Smith with renewed energy. "Come on. Let's go make an entrance."
They headed toward the garage. Tony's Audi R8 waited there, sleek and eager, like it wanted to burn the asphalt itself. Tony gestured toward it, already opening his mouth to invite Smith along for the night.
Smith shook his head before he could speak. "I drove my own," he said.
Outside, the silver 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR Uhlenhaut Coupé sat under the lights, quiet and commanding. It needed no introduction. Tony paused, eyebrows lifting in appreciation, a slow grin forming.